The Princess And The Lord-Chapter 1431: Veil of Malice

Allina Lisandra Miza, the beloved Saintess of S.A.I.N.T., lounged on an ornate chair in her vast, glistening white bedroom. The lace-draped walls seemed to shimmer under the glow of an exquisite crystal chandelier, its delicate light spilling over gilded furnishings. Yet the beauty around her did nothing to soothe her fraying temper.

Her delicate features so often praised for their angelic softness, were now taut with frustration as her slender fingers scrolled furiously on her phone. A scowl, unbefitting her saintly image, twisted her sweet, innocent face into something darker: envy.

Why? Why was it so hard to surpass Princess Lorient’s reputation?

She gritted her teeth, fighting the bitterness rising in her chest. She had been chosen, or to be precisely ’designed’, to become the new beacon of hope, to eclipse the Lucient family and make people forget about the dead princess.

Allina had indeed played her part to perfection: saving lives, giving speeches dripping with compassion, presenting herself as pure, kind, approachable, gentle, with the beauty that she believed not inferior to princess Lorient.

And yet...

The latest polls flashed mockingly on her screen. Her popularity still trailed far behind the Lucients, though many people ,especially young people had indeed started to love and admire her like an idol, but that all that is, a mere idol.

Princess Lorient, on the other hand, belonged to an entirely different league. Lorient was revered, not for charm or spectacle, but for her illustrious lineage, her immense power, and her heroic deeds during the Dark Age War. She had been immortalized as a legendary figure, a beloved princess, a savior. Even now, years after her death, the people still mourned her as though she had been taken only yesterday.

To add insult to injury, people were mocked her attempts to emulate the princess’s elegant style, accusing her of trying to become something she could never be.

"Why?" she whispered under her breath, her perfectly manicured nails digging into her palm. "What does she have that I don’t? I save lives, too. Am I not kinder? More generous? More beautiful?"

Yet still, the people, especially the stubborn citizens of Harland, refused to embrace her. She had, more than once had expressed her desire to visit Harland personally, to ’connect’ with its people and show them her sincerity. But each request had been met with silence, a postponement; however, she had a suspicion that something had happened with King Lucas.

But Alinna wasn’t stupid. Everyone might treat her like a pretty, oblivious doll, the cherished saintess who floated through life untouched by worldly schemes. But she wasn’t blind.

She knew perfectly well, whatever happened to King Lucas right now, was the result of the cooperation between Alexander Behrenn and Theodore Nevaro.

Still, Alinna reassured herself, the organization’s actions were always for the greater good. The Lucient family had served their time; their era was over. The world didn’t need them anymore, the world had no need of king lucas or the dead proncess Lorient, what they need is her!

Her brooding thoughts scattered at the sound of a knock on her door. She straightened instinctively, smoothing her dress and softening her expression into one of angelic serenity.

A maid in pristine white entered with a deferential bow. Behind her, the imposing figure of Salvo De Rova stepped into the room.

The moment her eyes met his, Alinna’s entire face seemed to light up like a lantern.

"Salvo!" she breathed, her voice carrying a mix of excitement and bashful warmth. A flush spread across her cheeks, softening her frustration into girlish delight.

Salvo’s lips curved into a gentle smile. "How are you today?" he asked, his voice warm, deep, and laced with an almost paternal care. "You’ve give too many blessing to the new weapons. You must be exhausted."

Alinna shook her head quickly, her hands fluttering slightly as if to dismiss the idea. "I’m all right. Maybe a little lethargic, but..." She offered him a faint, angelic smile. "That’s only natural, isn’t it?"

There was a peculiar glint in Salvo’s eyes were sharp, fleeting, almost predatory, but it vanished so quickly that no one could notice it, not even Alinna.

He moved with unhurried grace, taking a seat across from her as if he owned the space. The maid, knowing her place, quietly served tea for them both before retreating without a word, leaving the room in a heavy, expectant silence.

Salvo crossed one leg over the other, his posture relaxed yet impossibly refined. He lifted his cup, taking a silent, measured sip.

Alinna ducked her head, fixating on her tea as if it were the most fascinating thing in the room. She let the ritual of stirring and sipping mask the heat creeping up her neck.

Even now, after all the time they had spent together, Salvo De Rova’s presence still unsettled her. The silence between them felt heavy, pressing against her chest until her fingers tightened involuntarily around her cup.

The man before her was simply too elegant. Too perfect. He radiated a beauty so refined it felt almost unearthly, as if an angel had descended from the heavens. And sitting across from him like this, so close yet worlds apart, make her feel so small. So Insignificant...

Just like him.

King Lucas.

Alinna’s fingers tightened around her teacup at the memory. She had seen the young king several times at formal events. Like every other girl, she also charm by his charisma, his commanding presence, his striking looks and the pair of his beautifu purple eyes.

But King Lucas... he had barely spared her a passing glance before turning away as though she were invisible. Even his ever-watchful Archknight hadn’t deemed her worth a conversation.

There was only one photograph of them together that had been snapped by paparazzi, which was actually staged by her handlers. A carefully manufactured scene meant to spark rumors of a secret romance between her and the king.

At the time, Alexander had hoped that linking her name to Lucas, even through fabricated gossip, would stir Harland’s citizens into embracing her. After all, the nation was eager for their beloved king to find a consort.

But a rumor is just a rumor.

The Harland royal press office quashed it swiftly. Their statement had been sharp, almost disdainful: "If His Majesty were to enter into a relationship, it would not be ambiguous nor concealed. As with his predecessors, there would be a formal announcement and appropriate fanfare."

Within hours, all stories of her so-called "secret relationship" with King Lucas were silenced.

The memory still burned in Alinna’s chest, not just the humiliation of rejection, but what came after.Salvo De Rova had been the first to comment when the scandal unraveled. He had looked at her with that infuriatingly calm, condescending smile and murmured, "I knew this would happen."

His words had stung far more than she cared to admit. Now, sitting before him again, she felt that old mix of awe and shame gnawing at her insides.

"Our request to Harland has finally been approved."

Salvo De Rova set his teacup down with careful precision, the soft clink almost swallowed by the stillness of the room.

Alinna’s eyes widened, her hands clasping together in delight. "Is that true? Finally!" she exclaimed, her voice trembling with barely contained excitement. But a beat later, her expression shifted, her brows knitting in curiosity. "But... why? They’ve rejected our visits so many times before. Why accept now?"

Salvo’s gaze deepened, his usually calm eyes darkening with unspoken concerns. He had his suspicions—and none of them were good.

It had started with the sudden outrage in Zalchana, a wave of violence that forced S.A.I.N.T. to sacrifice dozens of healers far ahead of schedule. The deaths had been hastily covered up as an ’accident’ in Rockfield.

It was a reckless move, yes, but they had no other choice. Theodore Nevaro forced them to take action, remind them that their fates were now entwined. If one fell, so would the other, and with them, the grand vision they had labored so long to build would crumble with them.

And now Harland, after months of silence, had suddenly extended an invitation to their Saintess... to attend an art exhibition.

Salvo’s unease only grew stronger by the day, for he knew full well, whatever had happened in Zalchana it had to be connected to the Scion lurking within Harland’s young king.

The erratic behavior in Zalchana, the unexpected gesture of welcome from Harland kingdom, it all pointed to forces moving in the shadows, a force that to subtle for Alexander Behrenn refused to recognize.

Alexander was blind, drunk on his newfound power. But Salvo... Salvo could feel the storm brewing.

"We don’t know yet," he said finally, his voice calm but threaded with a quiet steel. "That’s why we’ll go there, to see exactly what they’ve prepared for us."

Alinna’s fingers tightened around the teacup handle. The porcelain felt fragile beneath her grip, much like her own composure. Salvo De Rova’s pale eyes flicked to her face, noticing the faint strain in her expression. He tilted his head slightly, a subtle predator’s gesture.

"Are you afraid?" he asked, voice low and smooth.

Alinna hesitated, lips pressing into a thin line. "No..." she murmured.

Salvo’s smile was faint, almost tender, but there was no warmth in his eyes, only a chilling judgment that went unnoticed by her. His long, pale fingers began tapping the armrest in a slow, deliberate rhythm, like the ticking of an unseen clock.

"Do you fear Harland?" he asked softly. "Or is it the Archknights... perhaps even King Lucas himself?" His tone was gentle, but every word slid under her skin like a cold blade.

"I... I don’t..." Alinna’s voice faltered, betraying the faintest quiver.

Salvo’s eyes darkened, though his voice grew smoother, almost intoxicating. "It’s natural, Alinna. They’ve wrapped themselves in the image of saviors, beings chosen by heaven, wielding divine power to heal and protect. But look deeper."

His tone hardened. "What did they do with their blessings? Did they share them with the suffering masses? No. They hoarded them to themselves and only to his people. They locked themselves away in their gilded cage, and refuse to interfere with outside worlds matters, as they let the other countries crumbles and falling into dust. They are not saviors. They are cowards and selfish monarch, clinging to their thrones that built on the bones of the weak."

He stood then, his movements unhurried, graceful like a serpent uncoiling. Crossing the short space between them, Salvo stopped just in front of Alinna. His expression softened, and he raised a pale hand to brush her hair back with a gentleness that belied the venom in his words.

"But even gods can bleed," he whispered. "And the Lucients... they’re not even gods. They’re flawed. Human. Vulnerable in ways they’ll never admit."

His fingers lingered against her cheek, his touch deceptively tender. "In the new world we build, no Kings. No Archknights. No Lucients, not even Gifted people will be needed anymore. Only equality for all human, and you my dear..." His smile curved faintly, almost reverent. "You will be their new hope. Their new goddess. Can you do that for me, for us?"

A chill slid down Alinna’s spine, and for a fleeting moment, something in his eyes made her throat tighten. But she forced the unease away. Perhaps she was simply nervous. She summoned a sweet smile, her voice steady now, determined.

"Yes. I will be."

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