Chapter 48
The North is colder than usual in winter.
In the dungeon.
The man was naked, his hands and feet shackled with iron chains. The chains, which had been heated red-hot and then cooled, bit into his flesh, and the scabbed wounds were frozen open again. The pale red blood that had just seeped out congealed into fine ice shards.
He hung his head, his disheveled hair frosted with white, and each breath he took carried a burst of white mist. The deep, bone-revealing knife wound on his chest was the most gruesome sight.
Three days ago, the woman made the cut with a rusty dagger. Now, the edges of the wound are bluish-black, like a dead snake crawling around it.
"cough……"
Unable to suppress the itch in his throat, he coughed violently, the chains clanging loudly and aggravating the crisscrossing whip marks on his back.
The whip marks were old ones layered on top of new ones, and in some places the skin and flesh had rolled back, covered with dry grass and mud, frozen hard in the cold wind. Even the slightest movement would tear at the internal organs and cause pain.
The footsteps outside the iron gate grew closer, accompanied by the creaking sound of military boots on the ground.
The woman pushed open the iron door of the dungeon. Her bright pink curly hair stood out in the dim light. Her black stand-up collar uniform was pressed perfectly, and the red crossed scepters on her gold epaulets gleamed coldly.
That was the unique mark of the Northern Admiral, and the silver anchor-shaped brooch on her collar accentuated her long, slender neck.
The hem of the white linen shirt was tucked neatly into the white riding breeches, the cuffs were secured with black leggings, and finally tucked into the gleaming white leather boots, not even the toes of the boots were stained with a speck of dungeon dirt.
Upon seeing the woman enter, the man struggled to spit at her, but unfortunately, it was too far away, and the phlegm didn't touch the hem of her clothes.
It fell with a "thud" onto the blue stone slab in front of him.
Catherine laughed at the provocation, not a gentle laugh, but a smirk that resembled the schadenfreude of a stray dog watching a show.
She didn't say anything, but simply raised her foot, her white leather boots, with their hard, cold texture, and kicked the man in the stomach.
The kick was quite forceful, and the man immediately knelt down. The woman moved her fingertips, and Suijun stepped forward to loosen the man's chains.
Freed from his restraints, the man tried to stand up, but as soon as he lifted himself up a little, Catherine's military boots slammed heavily onto his back.
The treads of the boots rolled over the whip marks on his back, and the man seemed to have all his strength drained away. He collapsed to the ground with a thud, his cheek pressed against the cold stone slab, his teeth chattering.
She didn't stop. Instead, she used the sole of her boot to dab the frozen phlegm on the ground, then stepped on the man's head, grinding her heel against his hair, rubbing it back and forth like wiping dirt off the sole of her shoe.
“Catherine…” the man’s voice was forced out of his throat, filled with blood and hatred: “You will go to hell!”
"hell?"
Catherine scoffed, drew a leather whip from her waist, and lashed it across his face. The tip of the whip cut his skin, and the man trembled in pain.
She spoke slowly and deliberately: "I have killed at least eight or ten thousand people. If there really is a hell, then you should all line up down there and wait for this admiral to grace us with his presence."
"Anyone who shakes the peace of the North."
"They all deserve to die."
The woman put away the whip, turned and left, leaving behind the words: "Let him remember the consequences of betraying the North."
After Catherine finished speaking, she turned and left the dungeon. Once her footsteps disappeared outside the iron gate, the soldiers immediately went forward and tied the man back to the iron frame on the stone wall.
Then, a bucket of salt water mixed with ice crystals was poured over his head, and his shrill screams instantly filled the entire dungeon, penetrating the thick stone walls, but were quickly swallowed up by the cold winds of the North.
All that remained was the increasingly strong stench of blood in the dungeon and that figure trembling incessantly in the cold air.
When Catherine returned to the Duke of St. Lanfina's mansion, the sky was just beginning to lighten.
She stood before the bronze mirror in her bedroom, the fierceness in her eyes gradually fading, replaced by a calm and peaceful expression, as if she hadn't been the one in the dungeon just moments before.
She raised her hand and smelled her collar, her fingertips catching a faint scent of blood. She frowned slightly, turned around and called Mary, the housekeeper, her voice gentle: "Prepare some hot water and clean clothes. I need to wash up; I have a cabinet meeting to attend later."
Mary, the housekeeper, replied "Yes" and turned to prepare.
Catherine took off her military uniform, revealing the crisscrossing scars on her back, some from knife wounds, some from arrow wounds, old and new, layer upon layer, each a mark of her battles on the battlefield.
She was soaking in hot water, and Mary, the housekeeper, sat beside her, gently washing her back. When her fingertips touched the raised scars, her movements became softer.
Butler Mary dedicated her entire youth to the Duke of Saint-Lanfina's mansion, from a young girl to a middle-aged woman; every drop of her blood was shed for Saint-Lanfina.
The woman stroked the scars on her back, sniffed, and her eyes were moist.
“Mary, don’t cry.”
Catherine noticed her emotions and softened her voice: "It hasn't hurt for a long time."
Catherine knew that the aunt who had watched her grow up was saddened and heartbroken for her, so she said softly.
The woman wiped away her tears and gazed at the woman in front of her. The little girl who had been nestled in her arms had unknowingly grown into the Northern Admiral who commanded the three armies.
Mary wiped away her tears, looked up at Catherine's profile, her features were well-defined, her eyes were firm, and she had long lost the childishness of her youth.
She sighed softly, "Miss is now... a pillar of the Northern Frontier. If Madam and Master were alive, they would be very pleased."
Catherine smiled, said nothing, and simply closed her eyes, letting the hot water envelop her.
The snow was still falling outside the window, and the winter in the North was still cold, but as long as she was there, this castle and this land would never fall.
She wanted to protect everything in the North for her parents.
Catherine's parents both died in battle. The North was an icy wasteland, and countless wolves and tigers around them wanted to devour their territory.
Her mother was the first female admiral in the North:
Reilly Saint-Lempina.
Her father was Major General Cameron, her mother's most powerful right-hand man. Catherine was born with her mother's surname, inheriting the name of Saint Lanfina and the Duke of Saint Lanfina's mansion.
She was only sixteen when her parents died on the battlefield of Konevi.
That day, it was pouring rain. In a daze, she knelt in the temple, holding her parents' ashes. Various forces pressured and intimidated her, trying to force her to hand over her mother's military power. Some wanted to seize Saint Lanfina's territory.
The young girl was stubborn and unyielding. Clutching the scepter and badge left by her mother, she pleaded with Wang Fumei to retain her mother's military power so that she could succeed her as admiral.
Mel's contempt was like a needle pricking her, but Princess Moise stood up and single-handedly overcame all difficulties to support her succession.
Moise, her former best friend, ultimately made the greatest concession by relinquishing her right to succeed to the throne, allowing Mel to continue ruling.
Catherine lived up to expectations. Within three years, she led her army to quell the rebellion, recaptured the three cities occupied by the Kingdom of Conaville, and established the first navy in the North to control the sea trade routes, preventing foreign enemies from ever setting foot on her territory again.
The scepter badge in her palm gleamed from being worn; it was her mother's keepsake and a testament to her vow.
The bronze mirror reflected Catherine adjusting her cuffs; her silver-gray cabinet uniform accentuated the sharp, angular lines of her shoulders, and the epaulets on her collar gleamed matte in the morning light.
Just as the maid removed the restraints she had taken off, the steady footsteps of Mary, the housekeeper, could be heard outside the door.
"Miss, the carriage is waiting in the courtyard."
Mary's voice came through the wooden door, with her usual attentiveness: "Should we prepare a bouquet of flowers for the princess, as usual?"
Catherine paused at the silver buckle at her waist. In the mirror, her eyelashes drooped slightly, casting a faint shadow beneath her eyes.
"Keep it in mind."
She finally nodded, her voice as soft as snowflakes falling on velvet: "We might not even see her. Our statuses are different now, so there's no reason or excuse for us to see her."
The silver pocket watch on the dressing table tapped gently, revealing half a tulip petal tucked inside its dial.
Moise secretly gave it to her last year on the anniversary of the Queen's death.
That day, Moise wore a long, jet-black dress with dark gold mourning patterns embroidered on the hem. Her eyes, which usually shone like stars, were veiled by a thick layer of sorrow.
Catherine stood at the head of the courtiers' procession, their eyes meeting amidst the swirling incense smoke across the twenty jade steps.
Mois's pupils contracted, like a startled fawn, and she hurriedly turned her head away the next second, her ear tips turning so red they were almost bleeding.
"Miss, the bouquet is ready."
Mary entered carrying purple tulips wrapped in silver foil. Seeing Catherine staring intently at her pocket watch, she slowed her pace.
Catherine closed the pocket watch and pressed the remaining warmth into her palm.
Everyone knows that Moise gave up her right to the throne in exchange for the decree that she would rule the North.
But no one knew that behind it all was a compromise made by two girls under the camphor tree in the garden, a compromise they had reached after three years of friendship.
She is now the Governor of the North, wielding military power, while Moise is a princess secluded in the inner palace; one guards the nation's borders, while the other balances the court.
Separated by not only the palace walls, but also the group of cunning old foxes in the cabinet who were eyeing them with gleaming greed.
Let's go.
Catherine accepted the bouquet; the sweet scent of tulips mingled with the cedarwood from her cuffs, weaving a fine net in the air.
She walked to the door, glanced back at the empty space in the dressing mirror, and seemed to still see Moise in her teenage years, sitting there in a warm yellow dress.
She pinned the first Northern-style hatpin on her.
The sound of carriage wheels rolling over the cobblestones gradually faded into the distance. Mary stood in front of the mansion gate, watching the figure disappear at the end of the street, her fingertips unconsciously clenching the hem of her dress.
She clearly saw that when the young lady got into the car, she carefully placed the bouquet of tulips on her lap, as if she were holding a fragile treasure.
Their ending shouldn't be that they become strangers.
During the cabinet meeting, Mel had already come to regard Catherine as a thorn in his side.
In order to stabilize the North, Catherine secretly eliminated half of her subordinates and dismantled the forces that might be used by Mel. How could Mel not be wary of such decisiveness and ruthlessness?
Now that the princess is growing up, rumors are spreading throughout the North.
Some say that Mel is deliberately clinging to the throne, but Catherine and Moise know that Mel has another plan in mind.
He never approved of women holding power. How could the monarch of the North be a woman?
The old king's decision to force the queen to the throne against all odds was wrong in his eyes, and now he wants to "correct" it all.
Mel knew what Moisé meant to Catherine. The two were like the Queen and her head lady-in-waiting Fran back then. On the surface, they seemed to have no relationship, but in their hearts, they cared for each other.
Fran was proud and came from a prominent family. She was unwilling to marry a widower and become his stepmother. When he made this request to Fran, she refused him without hesitation.
When Mel found Fran with the infant girl in his arms, the man pleaded, "Moise has lost her mother, and this is her child. Can you bear to let her become a child without a mother?"
Seeing the tiny, sleeping baby girl, Fran hesitated for the first time.
Yes, Moise is her child.
She wouldn't trust anyone to take care of the child.
Fran married Mel and became the queen consort of the country, as well as Moise's stepmother. She would not allow any other woman to bask in the glory of the queen, and neither would she.
Since becoming queen, the empress's palace has been cleaned daily, and the incense burned on the anniversary of her death has never ceased. She wants all her people to remember that this country once had a great empress, and to protect the only bloodline she left behind.
Fran will not allow anyone to threaten Mois's position as heir apparent. Over the years, due to her covert interference, only Mois remains of the Stuart royal family.
But to outsiders, the Queen's body was barely cold when her former friend Fran took her place, her husband, and became Moise's stepmother.
In all traditional Chinese stories, it seems to be an undisputed fact that women are prone to jealousy and resentment.
Friends are like hands and feet, women are like clothes.
Such rhetoric has been passed down from generation to generation, leading everyone to believe that a woman's enemy is another woman.
The reputation of the wicked stepmother spread throughout Stuart, and Fran bore all the blame.
Why are there no new bloodlines being born into the royal family?
Because Queen Fran was unable to have children.
Why can't Princess Moise appear in public?
Queen Fran was jealous of the princess's appearance, as she inherited the beauty of the deceased empress.
Everyone said she mistreated Moise, who was treated worse than an ordinary maid in the palace.
Whenever Fran heard these rumors, he would simply stroke the gilded comb that the Queen had loved most during her lifetime, with a few long-faded strands of hair still tangled between its teeth.
She never explains, nor does she need to.
Some acts of protection don't need to be seen by the world.
The cabinet meeting ended without major incident; those old foxes didn't manage to find any fault with her. Although Catherine has acted ruthlessly over the years, she hasn't made any mistakes and excels in everything, making her a hundred times better than those incompetent fools.
As the carriage crossed the stone bridge outside the palace, Catherine instinctively lifted a corner of the curtain.
High above the palace wall, a slender figure leaned against the railing, her crescent-white skirt fluttering gently in the wind.
It's Moise.
Their gazes met again through the layers of palace walls and the crowd. This time, Moise did not flinch, but simply blinked and made a very light gesture with her fingertips at her side.
That was a secret code they made when they were young, meaning "I'll wait for you".
Catherine's heart skipped a beat, then she slowly curled her lips into a smile and raised the bouquet of tulips in response.
I thought I wouldn't see her today either.
Catherine smiled; it turned out she hadn't forgotten.
The carriage continued on its way, the palace walls receding into the distance. Catherine clutched the bouquet of tulips in her hand, making up her mind.
I must give it to her in person next time.
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