For the next few days, Astra stood silently, observing the progress of the work herself. Under her meticulous guidance, the servants had cleaned every corner of the palace—from the kitchens to the guest rooms. It was as though every inch of the place had been revived, scrubbed clean, and refreshed.
The servants, puzzled by the sudden interest the princess had taken in the state of the palace, exchanged quiet whispers. What had caused such a shift in her behavior? Why was she now so insistent on the upkeep of the palace, a place she had once seemed indifferent to?
Astra, however, remained focused. She had instructed them to trim the dead roses and cut back the overgrown bushes that had blocked the pathways leading to the palace. But as they reached for the thorns, Astra stopped them.
"Roses are beautiful," she said calmly, yet with a sharp edge, "yet their thorns give them resilience. Without them, they'd be as defenseless as a cat without claws, a lion without its roar, or a snake without fangs."
"Beauty without protection is weakness. The thorns grant not only allure but strength to endure a world full of threats. That is why they are captivating."
Under her guidance, the once-overgrown garden bloomed with life, its thorns standing proud amidst carefully pruned beauty.
In just nine days, the once-overgrown and tangled space transformed into a formal, elegant garden filled with black roses, their sharp thorns glistening under the sunlight. Symmetrical flowerbeds and neatly trimmed hedges framed a central pathway leading to the palace entrance.
The ground was covered in a soft carpet of dark, velvety petals, creating a stark contrast with the sharp thorns that seemed to guard the space with an air of silent authority.
The roses, standing tall in their clusters, exuded an aura of strength, their deep black hue hinting at a hidden power beneath their delicate appearance.
The fragrance of the roses wafted through the air, a blend of subtle sweetness and earthy tones, mingling with a spicy, woody scent.
The atmosphere felt alive with the refreshing aroma, an intoxicating mix that filled the senses, drawing visitors into the very heart of the palace's essence.
Soft whispers of wind carried the fragrance further, weaving it into every corner of the palace grounds.
The air felt charged with magic, as though the garden itself had become a living testament to the strength and grace of the one it now adorned.
It was now a palace worthy of its name—The Black Rose Palace, a place where beauty and danger intertwined in perfect harmony.
Inside Astra's chamber,
Astra stretched her arms and let out a soft sigh, her fingers digging into the plush comfort of the bed she had finally reclaimed.
The soft rustling of the sheets echoed through the room as Cassia stood beside her, awaiting instructions.
"I'm exhausted, Cass," Astra murmured, her voice tinged with fatigue. "I'll be resting for a few days. So no visitors."
"But all the work was done by the servants, Your Highness," Cassia replied.
Astra, exhausted from the exertion of the past week, jumped onto her bed as though she hadn't rested in months. The weight of her responsibilities had finally taken its toll, and now she welcomed the comfort of the soft mattress.
Cassia sighed knowingly, bowing her head before leaving the room quietly, understanding that Astra would not be leaving her bed anytime soon. The princess needed this time to recharge, even if only for a few days.
Astra fell asleep instantly, her body sinking into the comfort of the bed, her muscles relaxing from the intense work she had put in. Her breath evened out, and the stillness of the room enveloped her.
The rest of the day passed in peaceful silence as she slept undisturbed.
For the next few days, Astra didn't bother to leave her room, allowing herself to recover from the exhaustion that had plagued her for so long.
But that calm was short-lived.
In the dead of night, a shadow moved silently through the window. A cloaked figure, an assassin, crept toward Astra's bed, a gleaming knife clutched in his hand.
The night was still, the only sound was the rustle of fabric as the man drew nearer to his target.
However, just as he reached the edge of the bed, a soft, glowing circle flared beneath his feet. A rune etched into the ground pulsed with light.
His eyes widened in confusion. Before he could react, darkness overtook him, and he collapsed unconscious, the knife slipping from his grasp.
The next morning,
Astra awoke, stretching lazily as the first rays of the sun peeked through the curtains. Her fingers brushed through her tangled hair, and as her eyes adjusted to the light, she froze, noticing the unconscious man lying motionless on the floor.
Her cold, calculating gaze narrowing slightly. Astra didn't even flinch. She simply stared down at the unconscious man. She knew exactly who was behind this.
...It must be the work of those nobles, Astra thought, her gaze sharpening.
Since I'm already aware of the bloody schemes and power struggles among the nobility... I was prepared for this, and now I've finally caught a rat.
"Garan… Geran," she called.
Gerald entered, bowing respectfully.
"Do you need anything, Your Highness?"
Astra's gaze flicked briefly toward the unconscious man sprawled on the floor. For a fleeting second, her lips parted.
"Take this man and throw—" she coughed lightly, turning her face aside as if to mask the slip.
"I mean," she continued calmly, correcting herself without the slightest hint of embarrassment, "hand him over to the Royal Guards."
Gerald glanced at the unconscious assassin with surprise, but he didn't ask any questions.
"As you command."
Without hesitation, he swiftly lifted the unconscious assassin, slinging the man over his shoulder with practiced ease. Carrying him off to the Royal Guards for interrogation.
Astra watched in silence until the door closed behind him.
"…Tch," she muttered under her breath, eyes narrowing slightly. "I should really watch what I say."
Her gaze drifted back toward the window, where sunlight filtered in faintly, illuminating her chamber.