"Apologize."
The chaotic atmosphere shifted to utter silence, all eyes turning toward the woman kneeling on the floor.
The princess, though her entire attention was on her brother, fixed her eyes on her lady-in-waiting.
The woman on the other side of the room was confused.
This had never happened before.
Their relationship as master and servant was good, friendly even. However, compared to the princess's bond with the incompetent prince of Dhara, their relationship was nothing.
"I-I sincerely apologize to His Highness." The woman bowed, her hand still placed against her cheek, which still stung. "I deserve to die."
The princess could feel the insincerity in her words. Enraged, Amelia turned to give the woman another warning, but she stopped when she felt a slight tug on her skirt.
She turned around and saw Cleus trembling, his eyes dimly fixed on the carpet.
"I want to g-go h-home," the boy spoke, continuing his stuttering façade.
The princess softened her gaze and sighed, placing a hand on his back.
"I'm sorry…" she whispered. "I'll get to the bottom of this."
While chaos ensued inside the princess's chambers, the two siblings patiently waited outside for the prince's carriage.
As they waited, Cleus caught a glimpse of his sister's burned hand. Guilt swallowed him whole as he thought that there could have been a better way to warn her earlier.
The worry on his face was easy to read, and the princess simply patted his head.
"You saved my life today. Thank you…" she said with a smile.
The boy lowered his head, attempting to hide the tears in his eyes. Other than being poisoned, a lot of things had happened that could potentially endanger his older sister in the near future.
Her slapping her lady-in-waiting for his sake was one of them. Though she had a higher status than her servant, it did not change the fact that her lady-in-waiting was also a noble lady, capable of affecting his sister's future.
The carriage finally appeared in front of them. Unlike the princess's carriage, his was humble, made out of Darkwood—one that was typically ridden by a lowly baron or a commoner from the countryside.
Before stepping inside, Cleus turned to his sister and spoke, still showing no signs of stopping his stutters.
"S-sister… The l-lady was only w-worried for s-sister. F-Friends shouldn't f-fight."
The sentence took the princess by surprise. Rather than feeling as though she had just been scolded, she smiled and caressed her brother's cheek.
"You are right. She is my friend, and I shouldn't fight with her. I'll apologize to her," she replied, leaning in and resting her forehead against his. "But at the same time, you are my brother. You are so much more important than my friend. Do not fret. I will still say I'm sorry."
The two bid their farewells, and Cleus watched as the princess waved her hand, her figure growing smaller and smaller.
He didn't take his eyes off her until she went inside, trying his best to engrave her face in his mind.
Because that brief meeting over tea they had just shared was going to be the very last time he would see her.
"Though I did wish it ended quite normally… Why did someone just have to poison our tea today?" he mumbled.
Cleus reached into his pocket and took out a silver butter knife that he had swiftly hidden while having dessert with his sister.
"The last of my collection. I'm sorry for stealing your cutlery, sister. Though, I doubt your house will ever notice."
It was an extremely unusual behavior for a prince to pocket silver knives, but it was not his first time. As he had said, he already had quite a collection of silver.
The carriage arrived at the Black Palace, his residence since birth and one of the oldest palaces in the First Fort—the fort where the Imperial Family lived.
The boy entered the building, only to find the lobby empty. No butler or maid greeted his arrival. But such an occurrence was very common. The emptiness only further emphasized the little care given to this house.
The unlit wall lights, the dark, unwashed carpet, the dusty black marble floor, the stained white walls, and the unpolished ebony handrails all contributed to its neglected appearance. It was this unclean look that had made the Black Palace infamous for being haunted.
Despite it all, Cleus simply climbed the stairs to his chambers in haste, pulling at the annoying bow that was choking his neck and taking off the shoes that hid his oversized socks. He then slumped down onto his bed, his hair finally coming undone.
He planned to lie down until night came. He could always choose to spend his time reading books; however, he had already read all the books in the study, and if he were to read them again for the Nth time, he would start to go crazy.
Cleus's head slumped onto the white, feather-stuffed pillow, his arms embracing it at the same time. After the unfortunate event earlier, all he wanted to do was shut his eyes. But with a big plan on his mind, he decided that sleep was a waste of time and stood up.
He bent down and reached underneath his bed, taking out a small shovel and a pair of brown leather gloves. He placed them on top of his bed.
The boy then ran to his walk-in closet—a room that was supposed to be his yet, at the same time, didn't feel like his. Most of the clothes there were too big and didn't seem as though they were meant for him. They were more like clothes that had simply been shoved at him, which he was forced to keep and wear.
Inside the room was a wooden trunk. From it, he took a thick blue winter coat and immediately put it on. He took the things that were on top of his bed and approached the door, his hand resting on the doorknob.
The moment he turned the knob, he heard footsteps approaching and the gossiping voices of the maids.
"Two… No, three people," he muttered.
Cleus stepped back and hid the things he carried behind his pillow. Though the maids were still far away, he could hear every word they said. They talked about how handsome the knights from the main palace were, the newest fashion trends among noblewomen, and, of course, the events that had happened earlier in the Empress's Palace.
"Oh, how fast word flies," Cleus sighed.
The boy climbed onto his bed and went under his sheets, his face turned away from the door. Suddenly, a knock was heard, followed by an annoyed voice.
"Dinner, Prince," the maid spoke.
He didn't answer. Such a tone did not deserve any response.
"Tsk. Whatever." The maid clicked her tongue and left with her friends.
Cleus got up and opened the door slightly, his green eyes peeking through the small gap. All he could see was a butler's cart, which he assumed contained his dinner.
Finally opening the door fully, he lifted the silver cloche and stared down at his plate, his eyes dull.
His finger pressed against what seemed to be bread.
Very stale bread.
Possibly the same bread he had gotten for dinner a week ago.
He leaned in, his nose hovering just above the meal he assumed to be gruel.
The prince leaned back with a sour expression, covered the food, and pushed the cart aside as if it had never existed.
"It seems that I'll be paying the kitchen a visit later tonight."
Returning inside his room to retrieve his belongings, he immediately tiptoed out after seeing that the halls were clear.
After passing by several rooms, he stopped in front of a certain door.
A door he had opened several times.
The palace's library.
A room that, aside from his bedroom, had served as his solace. A place where he had spent most of his life, even during the days when his mother was still alive.
Though the palace was in a poor state, the library was full of books. If a bookworm had entered, the place would positively have become that person's paradise.
With the Black Palace being famed as a crumbling relic, even older than the main palace, that also meant that the books dwelling on its shelves probably dated back centuries.
And, as they say, the oldest walls often shelter the greatest treasures.
The prince quietly turned the knob, trying not to make a sound, but with the door's age, it was bound to creak slightly. It was something he couldn't help. Fortunately, the maids were usually already in their quarters by early evening, so he had nothing to worry about.
His good ears didn't pick up on anyone's footsteps either.
Cleus passed by the large shelves filled with dusty books. The room was dark, and he didn't carry a lamp with him. Even so, he knew his way around and never bumped into anything.
He knew every nook and cranny of this room like the back of his hand.
At a certain shelf, he slowed his pace, his fingers gliding along the spines of the books before coming to a stop. With only his fingertips, he pulled out a book.
But when it was halfway out, it slid back into the shelf on its own, followed by a soft click.
The middle section of the shelf shifted, revealing a hidden opening.
The boy pushed the doorway wider and stepped into the dark tunnel beyond.
The hidden pathway led to the palace's garden, another place where he found his peace. In the harsh winter, it seemed desolate, but in spring, the smell of jasmine flowers would fill the entire place, its branches heavy with white blossoms.
A place that reminded him of his mother.
Ever since she died, he had taken care of the garden. He learned from the books in the library, though he often struggled to understand them. He watered the plants, pulled out the weeds, and carefully tended to the flowers.
Sometimes, he would simply sit among them, making sure they were not alone.
It was not much, but it was the best he could do.
But this was no time for gardening.
He trudged through the deep snow with his small feet, taking the path away from the garden as he made his way toward a large willow tree.
The tree stood bare beneath a thick blanket of snow.
Cleus took a deep breath as soon as he arrived at the tree. He lifted his gaze and looked at the moon, hiding behind the tree's branches, before lowering his eyes to the ground below.
"Time to start digging."
.
.
.
(The Black Palace, Year 285)