Blake quite appreciated Betty and Ginny's mindset.
After all, Blake and they belonged to opposing factions. Even though the consequences of this incident, luring the Revolutionary Army to attack Mary Geoise, were severe, they were more annoyed at themselves for not seeing through it sooner.
There was certainly resentment in their hearts, but they didn't adopt the attitude of "I'm not wrong, it's everyone else's fault" like the scholars of Ohara.
It must be said that true warriors who take up arms are much tougher than others.
So, Blake took Betty into his room that evening.
"You were once a warrior."
In the dim room, candlelight flickered on Blake's face:
"Now you are a trophy of mine."
Betty didn't speak, just silently gazed at the dancing flames in the fireplace.
On the mantelpiece were porcelain from White Porcelain Island, divination reeds from the Tarot Kingdom, jeweled daggers... each item, like her, was a symbol of conquest.
Moonlight poured like mercury onto the corridor, and Blake's fingers traced the collar around Betty's neck:
"Your idealism is moving, but also naive."
"History is always written by the victors."
"You can defeat me, defeat the Revolutionary Army."
Betty's voice was like a flickering candle in the wind:
"But you can never defeat the indomitable spirit in people's hearts."
Hearing Betty's words, Blake smiled, the smile of a hunter facing helpless prey.
His fingers lightly traced Betty's spine:
"Although I've heard that even the hardest rocks are smoothed by flowing water, I've never wanted to defeat anyone's soul."
"Your souls still belong to you."
"But everything else... belongs to me!"
The moon that night was unusually full, casting an ominous, blood-red halo, but it was blocked by thick curtains.
The air was filled with a mixture of expensive spices and the scent of books, and on the wall hung an oil painting depicting a hunting scene.
It was a lion, tearing at a fallen elk.
"Look at you."
Blake's fingers caressed her cheek:
"You are so beautiful, yet so stubborn."
"Actually, I still hope you can let go of the past and serve me wholeheartedly from now on."
Betty closed her eyes, letting her thoughts drift far away.
She remembered the wheat fields of her hometown in childhood, golden waves stretching to the horizon.
She remembered her mother's lullabies, gentle as a summer night's breeze.
She remembered the laughter of the Revolutionary Army members, sharing simple food and grand dreams by the bonfire.
The reality, however, was the cold touch of velvet sheets.
It was the soft click of metal buckles as clothes were undone.
It was the suffocating weight of a heavy body pressing down.
Blake's breath brushed her ear:
"Forget the past, it was just a dream."
"You will experience the joy of being above others, just like me."
Blake casually bluffed a few words; it was best if they worked, but it didn't matter if they didn't.
Betty bit her lower lip until she tasted blood.
She didn't cry, because tears were for those who still had hope.
As pain tore through her body, she only sank deeper into the refuge of her memories, where there was an unfading spring and endless light.
Morning came, and maids entered the room to change her clothes, their eyes avoiding the bruises on her body and the marks on her wrists.
Betty silently let them do as they pleased.
Blake had already left, his scent still lingering on the pillow.
On the bedside table lay a leather-bound poetry collection.
Ironically, it was the work of a liberal poet Betty usually loved most.
She walked to the window. The garden, which had been damaged just a few days ago, was now full of flowers, dewdrops glistening on the petals like tears.
Betty looked up towards the horizon, then down at her palm.
The marks left by years of training were still clear.
In the distance, perhaps there were still people fighting for that seemingly unattainable ideal.
And she, now, had become a trapped beast in a gilded cage... In the dining room, Stella placed warm honey milk in front of everyone.
Her gentle gaze swept over the increasingly numerous seats, a smile on her face:
"Today's orange marmalade is new, everyone please try it."
Blake took a bite and nodded:
"The taste is not bad. Remember to send some to Mandy and Koala."
"Your Highness, rest assured, I have already arranged it."
Blake patted her hand. Stella always handled things thoroughly.
Just then, Hancock gracefully arrived, holding a gilded tray, her peacock-blue skirt sweeping past Kalifa, who was sitting next to Blake, ready to serve him during the meal:
"Quickly move out of my way!"
Hancock's tone was unfriendly, and she glared down at Kalifa.
Sixteen-year-old Hancock, due to ample nutrition over the years and early training, was already close to her original physique.
Facing Kalifa, who was seated, her imposing aura was completely overwhelming.
Kalifa, however, adjusted her glasses, not moving at all, and glanced at Hancock, who was glaring at her:
"You are sexually harassing His Highness!"
"What did you say?!"
Hancock was furious and was about to confront Kalifa, but Blake reached out to stop her.
"Alright, alright, no arguing first thing in the morning."
Blake was a little helpless.
These two seemed to be incompatible, always clashing within a few sentences of meeting.
Hearing Blake's words, Hancock immediately became docile.
When she turned her head, a sweet smile was already on her face:
"Saint Blake, these are almond cookies that I personally supervised the baking of!"
She placed the tray in front of Blake as if seeking praise, looking expectant.
Blake didn't disappoint her. He raised his hand and pinched Hancock's chin:
"Little Hancock is getting more and more well-behaved."
"I... I..."
Hancock covered her face and hurriedly ran to sit beside Marigold.
Marigold looked speechless, sighing to herself:
"Sister is really too disappointing."
Kozuki Toki was helping Rami and Hiyori divide their food.
She looked at the two with indulgence, as if she had two children, no longer showing the disheartened look she once had.
"The golden ratio for cane sugar and honey is 0.618."
Kalifa calmly spread a precise amount of jam on Blake's bread.
Suddenly, her hand paused:
"However, Perona just hid the pine sugar."
Although Blake was a little helpless about Kalifa's obsessive-compulsive behavior, he still squinted at Perona, who was pretending to be unconcerned.
He grabbed her by the scruff of her neck:
"Oh, you little troublemaker, are you being naughty again?"
"It wasn't me! I didn't!"
Perona twisted in Blake's hand, adopting an attitude of absolute denial.
"Rough corporal punishment hinders children's intellectual development."
Robin sipped her Blake tea, her fingertips lightly tracing the rim of the cup, and gently reminded him.
However, her tone sounded more like she was fanning the flames.
Blake put on a cruel smile:
"It's alright, her intelligence probably doesn't have much room left to decline."
Saying that, he pressed Perona onto his lap.
Slap! Slap! Slap!
Crisp slapping sounds accompanied exaggerated wails, and another day full of hope began.
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