Chapter 2745: Corey II, Princess of Scots

Date: Unspecified

Time: Unspecified

Location: Zhongguo (China), Liaodong Province, Shuntian Prefecture, Shenyang City

"Red hair, where are you coming from?"

The head guard broke away from his men and approached the donkey cart, leaving the others to inspect crates and baggage in the long queue of merchants and travelers waiting to enter the capital. His gaze lingered openly on the two red-haired women seated in the cart. It was not a common sight in Zhong Guo, and certainly not one that arrived alone without banners, soldiers, or a noble convoy.

Martha felt her expression tighten at the crude address. Red hair. As though that were an identity.

Without argument, she reached into her sleeve and withdrew a golden token engraved with the imperial sigil of the Zhong Guo imperial family. She held it up calmly and said evenly, "We are guests of the imperial family."

The token had once belonged to King James. The Emperor himself had gifted it to him after James had saved his life a few years ago in the vestige. It was not an ornament; it was proof of imperial favor. Martha borrowed it from King James’s chamber taking advantage of the chaos in the palace.

The head guard’s eyes sharpened the instant he saw the gold crest. He bowed deeply without hesitation. The token could not be forged; even an untrained man could feel the faint but undeniable imperial presence radiating from it. The Emperor’s authority clung to the metal like a living seal.

When he straightened, his tone had lost all suspicion, as she said, "Honored guest, my apologies. His Majesty’s court requires that all distinguished guests be properly announced. Under what names shall I report your arrival?"

"Martha March of Scots. I represent Her Highness Corey the Second, Princess of Scots," Martha stated, her tone firm and carrying the quiet authority of someone accustomed to command.

’Foreign royalty,’ His eyes lowered once more in acknowledgment. The battered donkey cart and modest travel garments no longer held any relevance. Titles and tokens outweighed appearances.

"Understood," the head guard replied, his posture straightening as he inclined his head once more. "Her Highness’s arrival will be recorded accordingly. You need not remain in the queue. Please proceed through the central path. I will assign a guard to escort you safely."

His voice carried across the checkpoint with controlled authority. At his signal, the soldiers stepped aside and cleared the central lane, the passage typically reserved for high-ranking nobles and imperial envoys.

The merchants in line shifted uneasily as the guards waved the battered donkey cart forward. Laden caravans and lacquered carriages creaked to a halt while the modest wooden cart rolled past them. Silk-draped entourages and well-dressed nobles, who had been waiting far longer, could only watch in silence.

The donkey snorted as Martha flicked the reins lightly, guiding it down the cleared path. Murmurs rippled through the crowd, but no one dared protest. However humble the cart appeared, it carried an imperial guest.

Once inside the gates, the head guard summoned one of his most trusted subordinates. The man stepped forward immediately, his armor polished, posture rigid, gaze sharp yet disciplined.

The head guard gave detailed instructions that he would serve as their official guide and escort within the capital. He was to oversee their security, meet their needs, and ensure they encountered no obstruction inside the city. Any lodging, provisions, or expenses incurred during their stay would be charged to the imperial household.

The guard bowed deeply, accepting the assignment without hesitation.

Martha watched the exchange with measured calm. Imperial hospitality was rarely an act of simple generosity. An escort guaranteed protection. It also guaranteed supervision.

The donkey cart rolled forward again, no longer just another hick out of place, but an officially acknowledged presence within the capital’s walls.

The guard assigned to them jogged alongside the donkey cart, maintaining a respectful distance while ensuring they were never out of sight. Though disciplined, he found his gaze drifting toward the princess more often than protocol required.

She was nothing like the royal women he had heard described in tavern gossip or official reports. There was no heavy entourage, no lacquered carriage, no ornamental guards announcing lineage at every turn. Her clothing was practical, her posture relaxed, her expression curious rather than aloof.

He began to wonder whether the Kingdom of Scots was so poor that even the princess had to dress in rags—or if this was merely a difference in culture. Perhaps foreign royalty expressed authority differently. Perhaps restraint was their display of strength.

As they moved deeper into the capital, weaving through crowded avenues and crossing familiar intersections, another detail unsettled him.

Martha did not hesitate once. She turned confidently at major junctions, avoided congested streets without pause, and adjusted their course following all the rules as though navigating a city she knew intimately. The guard narrowed his eyes slightly.

It didn’t seem like this was here first time here. Then he followed her line of travel more carefully. The direction became unmistakable. They were heading toward the imperial palace.

His steps remained steady, but a quiet tension settled in his chest. Foreign royalty arriving unannounced was one thing. Foreign royalty heading directly for the palace without formal summons was something else entirely.

Before the guard could signal ahead or quietly dispatch a runner, Martha eased the reins and brought the donkey cart to a slow halt. She had already noticed the subtle shift in his posture—the tightening shoulders, the sharpened attention, the calculation behind his eyes.

She gestured calmly toward a modest inn on the side of the street, its wooden sign swaying gently in the afternoon breeze, "Guard, we will be staying at this inn."

The guard immediately inclined his head, though his voice carried careful resistance. "Honored guest, this establishment is not suitable for an imperial guest. Allow me to escort you to a more appropriate inn. There is an excellent one just a few blocks behind us."

His tone remained polite, but his intent was clear. Keep them away from the palace district.

Martha regarded him evenly, neither offended nor persuaded. The princesses, seated quietly in the cart, observed the exchange without comment, believing Martha knew what she was doing.

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