欧美最猛性视频另类

Her hands are folded in the lap of a sumptuous skirt, the image of a well-behaved, rich kid. It’s weird seeing Julia up close again. The last time I saw her was when we’d learned I was a promised child and she was throwing a tantrum about why her ‘slave’ sister was there. So I don’t buy the facade at all.

“Sister,” Julia says in a stiff manner. Her mask thankfully cracks at this point, ungifted at the deception that runs in her mother’s veins. Her smile is thin and brittle, ready to break apart at any moment. Even a blind man would be able to see her displeasure.

“Julia!” I’m almost more Katya’s daughter than she is, the smile lighting up my cheeks looks far more realistic than hers. My trick? Believe the lie. Lean into it. I rush over and grab cold hands that jerk in my grasp, grinning like Julia’s my best friend instead of the daughter of the one who wants me dead.

“What brings you here?” I ask, settling down against my will in the seat beside her.

“Mother said I am to learn with you from now on,” Julia grumbles.

I nod, as her words were what I’d assumed the moment I stepped inside. It is very unwelcome to have yet another stranger piercing the realm that is supposed to be my own space. But it serves as a helpful reminder that in this world, nothing is truly mine. Not as long as I’m a princess of the imperial family.

.....

Julia shakes herself from my grip, looking quite uncomfortable. But with a glance over her shoulder, she quits ruffling her feathers and sits facing Ms. Laroche who has been tapping her ruler as she waits. Whether she is pleased or displeased with the introduction of a new student, I will never know as she launches into the lesson the same as usual. However, I find myself faced with a bit of a dilemma.

Do I show off my skills and capabilities as usual? Or do I tone it down so Julia, and by extension, Empress Katya, don’t know the full extent? As a former college student and an honor roll kid most of my life, learning is as easy as breathing, coupled with the fact that I already did my own research in the early depressing days when my days consisted of reading and staring out the window.

There is a pause as Ms. Laroche waits for someone to answer. Julia bites her lip and looks down, fumbling with a pretty bracelet and seeming like she wishes she could be anywhere but here. I raise an eyebrow in interest. She does not seem to possess the level of studiousness I would expect from a progeny of the empress. Whipsmart and calculating, I’m not ashamed to say that Empress Katya may be one of the most intelligent women I’ve ever encountered.

But even though Julia matches the empress in terms of beauty, her intellect falls short. This girl is a troubled student. She’s the kid the teacher would send a note back home to the parents telling them to get her a tutor. I’d feel bad for her if I could afford it. With my current circumstances, pity is a little out of my price range.

In the webnovel, Julia did not present as someone too bright either. First, she was obviously a dud at science considering how she wished to marry her own half-brother. And second, the stupid author clearly just wrote her in the be a superficial bully to the female lead so that Augustus could swoop in to save the day. Technically, there is nothing superficial about Julia trying to set Clara on fire just to see if her red hair was really the same color as fire, but compared to the final boss of the empress, Julia is another small fry.

That being said, I still have to work to stifle my inner rage as she keeps on “accidentally” knocking my pen from the table. Once or twice is believable, but come on, five times?

“Sorry.” The insincerity is dripping from Julia’s voice. Her delight is so obvious I can see Emperor Helio frown from the corner of my eye. But he won’t interfere. That’s not his style.

“Don’t worry about it,” I tell her. To be petty and get revenge or to be the bigger person, that is the question.

There is no avoiding the Duvernay family today, it seems. Scarcely after my lesson ends, I can see Marie standing beside a holy priest in his pitch-black robe. My father sees him too, his frown further deepening.

“Your highness, I am your escort to the Grand Temple,” he says with a bow.

I nod, allowing Marie to throw a cloak over my shoulders as I leave the imperial palace for the first time in several months.

The city looks different during the autumn season. Cheeks are stamped with red and my breath clouds the carriage window as I stare outside. But my head is not lost in the gray clouds outside, for I attentively listen to the holy priest give me a brief synopsis of the day’s events. It is an ordinary feast day to celebrate some saint I’m sure Ms. Laroche has once mentioned, but I’ve already forgotten.

Sit still. Look pretty. Lay hands on the partitioners who come forward at the appointed time to heal them. Say a prayer with the high priestess.

It had all sounded quite simple in the discreet carriage we took to the location.

But when I’m surrounded by a sea of hundreds of eyes greedily looking upon me, as if to simply see my face would be enough to ail their wounds and fill their bellies, I finally understand why Bishop Duvernay requested this from me.

Gas motors may not exist in this era, but the fanatical belief in this room would be enough to power a submarine. Every eye is trained onto Bishop Duvernay who stands at the center, conducting the mass for the feast day. And this time, unlike when he was conducting prayer at the warfront, I am up close and personal to this sorcery.

And don’t be mistaken, this is sorcery. Forget my ability to heal people with my hands, Bishop Duvernay’s words are healing their souls. They drink in every word with rapture, following his hand gestures like a dog to a bone. And me? I’m just a tool in his gifted hands, albeit an important one.

“And as such, Helio heard our prayers for he brought us the child that was promised.” He gestures towards my figure, clad in white to suit the setting.

“The child that was promised,” the throngs echo, the burning stares turning towards me before they greedily lap up whatever else Bishop Duvernay has to say.

The dais of the temple is where myself, Aria, and Bishop Duvernay stand. As the High Priestess, Aria sits on a semblance of a throne behind the altar, a seat that visibly denotes her as the most important figure in the room. I’m seated to her left in a much smaller seat, while the bishop stands before us both in front of the gold-laden altar. Just like me, she’s just a figurehead, a tool. However, when I look her way, she smiles at me in greeting despite being blind. It makes me wonder how far her gifts extend, as I already know she’s quite intelligent for a young tween.

“Now approach for a blessing of health from Helio himself, through the promised child.” I’m dragged out of my musings as the bleach blonde pope invites the crowds to approach slowly and receive a “blessing”.

One by one, they come. A peddler whose back has become so hunched over she can barely sell her goods walks away in a spritely manner. A weeping mother with a baby suffering from chronic jaundice carries her chuckling baby boy away. I know that this was all a deal to preserve my safety, but I’m still grateful for the opportunity to help others. It feels like a chance to reset my karma and a way for me to see the many people who live in this city. I haven’t been a princess for that long, but already it feels like Radovalsk is nothing more than greedy nobles with underhanded motives and people who spend more gold in a day than anyone gathered here will spend in their life. It’s nice to get a very visual reminder that I share the capital with many other good and ordinary people.

But at the same time, while I understand why the Holy Church wanted me to please their fanatical followers and obtain new worshippers, I am struck by the dangerous precipice I now teeter on. Today, I am the one these people look to in reverence. But now, if I ever get on the bad side of the Duvernay family, I will become the devil. A scourge. A witch. And coincidentally, the Winter from the webnovel was falsely accused of being a witch and beheaded.

I heal the rest of the temple goers with a smile while my insides roil like a restless sea. That is until I see a familiar face, smeared with dirt and dressed in rags as if he is a beggar. A large cut runs down his arm, cruelly ripping through his young skin.

Jack. Clever Jack.

I fake cough to hide my change in expression when I suddenly see him out of the blue.

“Please... promised child...,” he gasps out of chapped and bloody lips. It is so startling to see him this way and I cannot think of our petty enmity when Clever Jack stands before me like he’s been through the wringer. But he winks at me, the corner of his mouth pulling into a smile as I reach out to take his hand.

A paper is stuffed into my palm. And then just like that, Jack is gone.