Chapter 60: The Past

Chapter 60: The Past

Soft warmth, tender jade.

Yet for no reason, it rekindled the anger in the Prince's heart.

"Get out!"

The Prince swung his hand in a rage, losing control of both aim and force, and his palm cracked across the Princess's face with a sharp sound that rang out clearly in the room.

The sound stunned them both.

The Prince had always been careful about his image. No matter how much he disliked something, he would carefully maintain his reputation—everyone knew this, as the Prince had many eyes and ears around him.

People on the outside all believed that the Prince and Princess shared a deep affection and a happy, harmonious home.

The Emperor was very pleased.

Even the Princess herself believed the Prince loved her deeply, and more than once she rejoiced at her good luck, and thus served him with even greater devotion and tenderness, doing everything she could to help him with whatever came up.

But after these two months of living together, that layer of false pretense had been torn apart step by step.

With that slap, the bond between them as husband and wife was shattered completely.

No—the affection between them had always been one-sided. It was never the mutual, harmonious union of husband and wife it seemed to be.

"Your Highness..."

She covered her reddened, aching cheek, her lips trembling as she spoke, staring in disbelief at the man lying beside her. The tenderness and care of the past had vanished without a trace, leaving only intense disgust and cold indifference.

In the past,

even if she merely stumbled, the high and mighty Prince would attentively steady her, asking with gentle concern: "Rong'er, how could you be so careless? It breaks my heart."

She would always smile shyly, her lips curving, her eyes lowering: "With Your Highness looking after me, I'm fine."

"Don't let it happen again. Leave such matters to the servants—you mustn't hurt yourself."

Her husband treated her like a precious pearl in his palm.

The two of them were the exemplary couple admired by countless people, and the Prince set a great example for everyone.

But now...

She let out a bitter laugh. By now, how could she not understand?

The Prince was nothing like he used to be. He cast a disgusted glance at her, his cold gaze filled with hostility.

"Let me be honest with you—if not for Father's regard for your family background and character, you would never have been qualified to serve me. With your ugly face and ruined figure, I can't stand the sight of you."

She was speechless.

"Get out."

The Princess shook her head in disbelief: "You're speaking in anger, aren't you? Tell me you're just saying that in anger!"

She didn't think of herself as a goddess, but her features were clear and pretty, her figure graceful—surely not as awful as he made her sound.

Facing his wife's tearful pleas, the Prince looked her up and down, a sneer curling at the corner of his mouth.

"From now on, don't bring me meals. Get out."

"No, Your Highness, you used to be different..."

"Shut up! Don't talk to me about the past!" The Prince suddenly grabbed her arm roughly, as if she were as delicate as a lotus stem, as if a slight squeeze would snap it.

He dragged his delicate wife and flung her out the door.

The door slammed shut with a bang.

The noble Princess, destined to be the future mother of the country, now stood with her hair ornaments scattered, her clothes wrinkled, tears streaking her face—a pitiful, wronged sight.

The moment she was thrown out, her personal maid rushed forward.

She had heard the quarrel from outside, but as a servant, she dared not approach, and could only wait anxiously from a distance. Now seeing her mistress come out, she hurried to support her.

"Milady, are you alright?"

Alright?

She gave a bitter smile and shook her head: "His Highness is in a bad mood. Let's go back to our room."

"Yes, milady."

This maid had come with her from her parents' house and was her closest companion. Having suffered so much lately with no one to talk to, she had grown thin, unable to sleep night after night, growing more haggard by the day.

The maid saw it all, worry eating at her heart.

She helped her mistress wash up and get ready for bed, then came back a quarter of an hour later to change the tea—only to find the Princess crying in secret again. Her heart ached for her.

She knew that servants were not supposed to meddle in their masters' affairs.

But between the two of them, such rules didn't apply. The Princess had grown up with her and had always treated her well.

After much deliberation, the maid could not help but ask: "Milady, I've noticed His Highness has been in low spirits lately. What happened today to make him so angry?"

Why, indeed?

The Princess sighed, a bitter smile on her lips. Perhaps this maid was the only one who would ask after her. Feeling like she finally had someone to talk to, she poured out all of the Prince's recent strange behavior.

Of course, she didn't mention her own suspicions.

Saying it out loud made her feel a little better.

"His Highness values his reputation above all. No doubt he can't accept this right now, and the Emperor's punishment has shaken him up—that is why he acts this way."

"There's a saying: when husband and wife quarrel, they make up by nightfall. Husbands and wives don't stay angry overnight."

*

The next day,

the Princess, for once, wore a different color—more youthful and vibrant, more radiant and striking—and pushed open the door to the Prince's chambers again.

Ever since his confinement, they had slept in separate rooms.

The Prince spent his days alone in his room, refusing to leave, not even seeing the light of day.

She walked in.

The Prince did not even lift his head, holding a book and reading. His expression was nothing out of the ordinary, just cold, his face a little haggard.

"Your Highness, please eat."

She laid out the meal, closed the door, and went to fetch him.

There was no response.

The Crown Princess hesitated, then cautiously edged closer to him, slowly placing her hands on his shoulders, and clearly felt him flinch.

The next moment, he grabbed her slender hand, yanked her hard, and she tumbled into his arms.

"What do you want?"

The Crown Prince asked point-blank, as if he'd seen right through her clumsy little scheme.

Her refined upbringing and natural reserve made her cheeks burn crimson. She turned her face away, avoiding his gaze, and stammered guiltily: "This concubine saw that Your Highness seemed downcast, and wanted to, wanted to..."

"Wanted to cheer me up?"

The Crown Prince chuckled, his gaze drifting over her sheer silk robes that hinted at every curve. Her graceful figure, wrapped in gauze as thin as cicada wings, looked even more enticing.

She curled in on herself in shame, her brow twitching with unease.

A dark cloud seemed to hang over the Crown Prince's brow. He stared at her hard, then suddenly scooped her up by the waist, set her on the table, and bit her hard.

"Hiss... that hurts... no, it doesn't..."

The moment she met those dark, deep eyes, she quickly backtracked, not daring to defy her husband, who was a powder keg ready to blow.

The Crown Prince said nothing, kneading her hard and mean.

Clatter.

The tea on the table went flying.

A wet patch spread.

The Crown Princess bit her lip, arching her neck back, hands braced on the table, slender white legs dangling over the edge. She looked like a broken doll, pitiful and fragile.

"Your Highness..."

She called out, lost in the moment, as if they were back in the early days of their marriage, when he would hold her gently, answer her call, and climb the peaks of pleasure together.

But this time, he didn't.

Not only did he stay silent, but at her soft, water-like whisper, he looked as if he'd heard something horrifying. His face went pale in an instant.

His grip tightened.

The woman on the table winced, her face draining of color from the pain.