Yet here the boy was, covered in dirt, his hands visibly bleeding and blistered, willfully ignoring the ultimate authority of his parents to continue a grueling, torturous exercise.
The Empress's flawless, serene mask violently cracked.
For a fraction of a second, absolute fury flared in her eyes. Her entire, years-long master plan had been meticulously designed to turn the Ninth Prince into a soft, useless, widely despised weakling who could never threaten her biological son's path to the throne. But in less than twenty-four hours, this Vanguard bitch had somehow managed to inject a spine into the boy.
"My heavens!" the Empress suddenly cried out, her voice dripping with artificial, maternal horror. She immediately rushed forward, holding her silk handkerchief to her mouth. "My poor child! What has happened to you? Look at your hands! Guards, fetch the imperial physician immediately! Bring towels!"
