"Are you sure you want to come with me, Amalia?"
"Mm."
In the Third Princess's chambers, Astrid gazed at the black-haired little girl before her, dressed in a fluffy princess dress, pulling delicate white thigh-high stockings up her legs, and spoke softly.
"Since you're so insistent, I won't try to stop you."
"But if you feel uncomfortable at any point, tell me immediately. Don't push yourself. Just say you're feeling uncomfortable, and I'll take you to the restroom to rest for a while."
Astrid naturally understood the animosity between Amalia and Lucas. Although she herself deeply disliked the eldest prince's playboy demeanor, she could still manage basic communication with him.
"I'm fine, sister." Amalia replied softly.
Whether it was her intense possessiveness toward Astrid, or the deep-seated prejudices and hatreds carved into her bones, she could conceal them all perfectly, without anyone noticing.
