Chapter 455: Chapter-455
The moment the wheels began to clatter against the cobblestones, Naya grabbed a jar of heavy makeup remover and a cloth, throwing herself at Heena’s face. "Sit still! We have exactly ten minutes before we hit the main palace gates! Your parents’ carriage is already approaching from the western thoroughfare!"
What followed was an absolute disaster. Naya might have been a lethal military operative, but her hands were built for swords, not cosmetics. She aggressively slathered foundation and powders over Heena’s face, trying to erase the tanned street-boy look.
Heena squinted into the small, polished bronze mirror mounted on the carriage wall and gasped. "If you want me to look like a literal pig, just say it! Why are you trying so hard to ruin my face?"
Naya looked at her hands, her stoic military face cracking with defensive panic. "I don’t know anything about makeup, my lady! I’m trying my absolute best here!"
Heena looked back at the mirror and felt her soul nearly leave her body. It was hideous. The pale foundation was caked on so thick it looked like someone had thrown her face into a flour bucket, and Naya had aggressively smeared a circle of bright red blush across her cheeks. She didn’t look like a noble lady; she looked like a terrifying horror movie heroine that had crawled out of a well at midnight.
"Damn it, give it to me!" Heena hissed, snatching the cloth away and rapidly wiping the ghostly white mess off her skin.
She grabbed the cosmetics jar to fix it herself, but as she started dabbing at her face, she suddenly remembered a vital fact: ’she was also completely terrible at makeup.’ A few frantic moments later, she looked back into the bronze mirror. It was better than Naya’s crime against humanity, but still entirely off.
Naya leaned in, inspecting Heena’s handiwork with a look of profound, deeply critical hesitation. "My lady... can I say something to you?"
"What?" Heena snapped, frustrated.
"Before, I said you looked like a pig," Naya whispered solemnly. "Right now... you look like a tragic little piglet."
A violent tick developed beneath Heena’s left eye. To control her mounting rage, she grabbed the entire jar of washing water, threw it straight onto her own face, and wiped it completely clean down to the bare skin. She grabbed her damp hair, pulled it back, and tied it into a tight, aggressive ponytail.
She stared at the frilly, pastel-pink noble gown resting on the carriage seat—the one her mother had forwarded to her room. Her face twisted in disgust.
"Naya. Get me the military uniform clothes," Heena commanded coldly.
Naya blinked, shocked. "There are no military clothes, my lady! I didn’t bring any armor or vanguard uniforms!"
Heena pointed a trembling, angry finger at the carriage door. "You know what? Get out. Get out of the carriage right now. I need to change."
"My lady, I am a woman!" Naya protested, her pride as a top-tier operative taking a hit. "I’m your guard!"
"Who knows what you are? I don’t trust you," Heena sneered, her eyes flashing dangerously. "Get out before I ask grandfather to turn you into my female concubine. Out!"
Naya let out a deeply disgusted sigh, looking at her chaotic young lady with utter disbelief before knocking on the ceiling and slipping out onto the driver’s bench.
The moment the door shut, the System materialized into the empty carriage air. Oddly enough, it was lifted onto its hind digital legs, mimicking a cat aggressively licking its own paws.
Heena paused, one hand on her shirt. "You are an advanced Artificial Intelligence. What type of absolute nonsense is it to lick your feet like a common house cat?"
The System stopped, rubbing its digital paw over its ears with an embarrassed hum. ’[Well, Host, I am currently manifesting in a feline interface. I thought I should act the part completely to immerse myself in the environment!]’
"Shut up," Heena grumbled, tossing her dirty servant tunic aside. "Get me some proper military attire from the storage data. Something that looks good on an army woman."
’[Ding! Retrieving tactical aristocratic military robes from the auxiliary inventory...]’
Instead of wearing the suffocating, frilly pink dress meant to make her look submissive, Heena pulled on a deep, bloody-red silk inner robe, layering it with a heavy, structured black outer robe. She fastened the wide leather belt around her waist, securing her twin daggers invisibly beneath the heavy folds. With her dark hair pulled tightly up, her face completely bare of powder, she looked less like a fragile debutante and more like a lethal blade freshly pulled from a furnace.
She stared at her reflection. Her bare face looked sharp, but her eyes needed an edge.
"System. Give me a mascara stick."
Picking up the sleek black cosmetic tool that materialized on the seat, Heena carefully drew a sharp, dramatic line along her eyelids, tilting the edges upward into a striking, lethal phoenix-eye shape.
When she finished, she looked in the mirror and smiled. The rowdy street boy was gone. The sloppy piglet was gone. In their place stood a striking, dangerous lioness straight from the battlefield. This was exactly how the sole heir of a legendary military Marquisate was supposed to look.
The carriage slowed down to a crawl, the heavy clatter of hundreds of noble transports echoing outside. They had officially arrived at the grand entrance of the Imperial Banquet.
Outside, the elite of high society were gathered in droves, draped in silks and jewels, waiting to enter the palace. As the plain, unmarked carriage bearing the unmistakable silver griffin crest of the Marcuset family pulled up to the front of the line, a sudden, expectant hush rippled through the crowd.
The gossiping nobles nudged one another, craned their necks, and peered through the torchlight, desperate to get a first glimpse of the mysterious, hidden heiress who had just returned to the capital.
"Hey, look! Is that the Marcuset carriage?"
"Is it her? Is that the newly brought-back granddaughter?"
The carriage door didn’t gently swing open; it was pushed aside with a swift, heavy thud.
The gossiping nobles held their breath, fully expecting to see a delicate, trembling girl clad in soft pastel silks step out, overwhelmed by the grandeur of the imperial capital. Instead, a sleek, leather-booted foot planted itself firmly onto the carriage step.
Heena stepped down into the brilliant torchlight of the palace gates.
A collective, sharp intake of breath rippled through the aristocratic crowd. She wore no lace, no jewels, and absolutely no frills. Her deep, bloody-red inner robe sharply contrasted against the heavy black outer robe, a combination that practically screamed of iron and blood. Her dark hair was bound tightly in a high ponytail that swayed with absolute arrogance, and her bare skin, completely devoid of caked-on noble powders, looked fiercely alive.
But it was her eyes that truly paralyzed the onlookers. The sharp, dramatic lines of her mascara turned her gaze into a pair of lethal phoenix wings, piercing through the crowd like a pair of cold daggers.
"My goodness..." a countess whispered, dropping her fan. "She doesn’t look like a lady. She looks like a commander."
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