It landed right at Sheffield Benedict’s feet.

The maid kneeling by the door looked up at Sheffield Benedict as if she had seen a savior.

Sheffield Benedict’s expression was indifferent as he stepped forward, his voice calm, "What temper are you throwing now?"

Emma sat by the bed, clutching a pillow that she then slammed down onto the floor, before turning around, "Was it you who released Hannah from the dungeon?"

Sheffield Benedict chose a somewhat remote spot to sit, his demeanor gentle, "No."

Emma’s eyes were red, her usual demeanor of feigning weakness and playing the victim.

In front of different people, she always put on different faces.

At this moment, she turned pitiful and weak again, "Sheffield, even if it wasn’t you, it must have been Wayne."

Sheffield Benedict remained noncommittal.

He always adhered to gentlemanly etiquette, mostly appearing as graceful as an aristocratic young master.

Even when displeased, his voice remained so tender it was moving, "Tiffany, you should learn to control your temper. You are a princess and will have to inherit the throne someday. You can’t always expect people to indulge you."

Emma lowered her head and started to cry, her quiet and honest demeanor somewhat pitiful.

Sheffield Benedict sighed almost inaudibly, "Tiffany, why must you oppose Hannah so."

Emma’s sobs ceased, her eyes brimming with sharp hatred, "I just hate her. If not for her, Father would have only one daughter, and there would be only one princess in the royal family."

But Hannah’s arrival ruined it all.

She was more capable than herself, more talented, and even earned people’s approval faster than she did.

The maids kneeling at the door had already moved to a slightly farther spot, and the broken pieces on the floor had been cleaned up.

Emma was still complaining.

Bitterly cursing that Hannah better die out there.

Of course, she wouldn’t say these words in front of Sheffield Benedict.

At most, she would say, "She is a criminal of the royal family, she should have died long ago, why did she come back."

Why didn’t she just die on Blue Star!

Sheffield Benedict did not argue, just quietly sat in his chair, like a patient listener.

But his thoughts had drifted far away.

He remembered the appearance of Hannah the first time she was brought into the palace.

Her simple attire made her stand out awkwardly, as if she were a refugee from a war-torn planet.

So, at that time, Emma pointed at Hannah without any courtesy, "You’re so dirty, so disgusting, I would never have a sister like you."

The bystanders just looked on, no one spoke up for Hannah.

Although he did not agree, he did not intervene either.

Because of his mother’s admonitions and also because of the camaraderie they shared growing up.

Hannah didn’t say anything, just stared at Emma.

Such a gaze was chilling, unsettling to those who encountered it.

Emma was the first to lose her composure, her face unabashedly displaying disgust, "What are you staring at, you unsophisticated bumpkin!"

Hannah just shook her head, not getting angry, "I was just wondering how someone could like wearing such an ugly ’Fine Laceflower’ in their hair. In my hometown, we use this flower to feed pigs."

"So, dear Princess, do you have a special fondness for pigs?"

That day, the previously haughty Emma turned red in the face, losing all semblance of princessly etiquette, charging forward to hit someone.

Hannah dodged, deliberately leading her on a wild chase through the garden, heading specifically for the muddy paths that were not paved with stones.

Emma, clad in a cumbersome long dress, tripped several times because of her skirt, getting her mouth full of mud and her dress splattered with mud and water.

She also trampled a large patch of the queen’s favorite pink ’Dream Bells’ flowers.