Upon their arrival at Doctor Hayden Bloomfield's facility in the dead of night, Fatima was quickly taken into the intensive care room to tend to her wounds. She was in such a bad shape that some of the tears on her skin had to be sutured. A handful of the attendants shot doubtful glances at Nathaniel, whispering their assumptions and concerns, unaware he could hear each and every spoken word. "Who could have done something so horrible to such a frail young lady?" Doctor Hayden sighed, a subtle grunt followed as he slumped on the wooden outdoor bench next to Nathaniel, the smell of antiseptics wafting in the air. "Fortunately, nothing seems to be broken, but she's fractured all over, which means she's in a lot of pain right now." He continued to inform, the expression of worry on Nathaniel's face an enigma to him. "Had your highness brought her in any later, I'm afraid it might have been too late. I gave her some sedatives for now since her fever has yet to subside, but I assigned a couple of attendants to keep a constant eye on her throughout the night."
The growing silence between them made the doctor uneasy as he was always unable to decipher the thoughts of the prince's stoic face. Hayden Bloomfield, a man of notable repute for his many good deeds, hails from a family deeply rooted in medicine, and as such he became a renown herbalist, carrying on a legacy of healing and expertise. However, when death treaded his doorstep and robbed him of his parents, Hayden fell into a bottomless dark abyss, a profound depression that resulted in several attempts on his own life. On a day when his dreadful thoughts led him to teeter over the edge of a cliff deep within a nearby forest, he met Nathaniel who was enjoying nature's scenery from a tree branch. "Do you perhaps enjoy peach tea?" The voice echoed in the air, sending a jolt through Hayden's mind as he retreated from the cliff's edge.
Confused, his eyes darted in all directions, searching for the owner of the voice and perhaps answer his query. Nathaniel jumped down from the tree, landing right in front of the screaming Hayden who was startled out of his wits by his sudden appearance. "Yes, I do fancy peach tea. Very much so, actually." Hayden responded breathlessly, despite the drumming of his heart. "Then, shall we have a cup together? Right now, at this very moment." The question startled the man who stared at the well-dressed boy blankly, unable to grasp the meaning behind his words, especially when there wasn't a single trace of emotion on his face. Pushing his curiosity aside, Hayden accepted his invitation, leading the boy to his home, and from that day onwards, he made a solemn vow to always be indebted to Nathaniel for the rest of his life, a promise he carried with unwavering conviction.
"Doctor Hayden, have you perhaps encountered such a case before? I've become curious about a disturbing rumor that has been surrounding the Kartier duchy as of late." Nathaniel asked, his gaze pointed at the full moon in the clear sky, shedding its light over the shadows beneath. His eyes then shifted downward, noticing the dreadful look on Hayden's face through his sidelong stare. "On the loop as always, your highness." Hayden replied, releasing a long sigh before slouching forward, his elbows resting on his thighs. "Unfortunately, yes, and most of them always had one thing in common." Hayden continued, nudging his round glasses upward before adding, "They all wore the same uniforms which piqued my curiosity right away. At first, I thought the duke was responsible, but upon further investigation, I discovered these events tend to transpire during his absence. The extent of the injuries inflicted upon these girls led me to speculate that some may have died en route to my facility." "Can you describe the person who usually brought them in?" "Ah yes, a copper haired man with dark eyes, average height, a crooked nose, and a cross scar across his left cheek. I believe he said his name was Adius which sounded quite foreign so I figured it must have been a pseudo."
The details in Doctor Hayden's description painted a clear picture in Nathaniel's mind. The Kartier stable man. "Were they perhaps abused in any other way?" He asked, trying to confirm his suspicions. "There was no sign of such a thing, we made sure of that before letting them leave. That man may not be the culprit but is likely an accomplice." Hayden shook his head, staring at the ground underneath his black shoes. The two continued to rack their brains all throughout the night, speculating on the enigmatic case and reminiscing about the past until dawn came. As Doctor Hayden, weary from the sleepless night, left Nathaniel's side to trudge his way up the stairs to catch some sleep before his day began, a loud shriek came from the room where Fatima was said to be resting. His eyes widened as he quickly climbed down the stairs, heading toward the room when Nathaniel zoomed past him, the impact of his speed leaving the tired Doctor disheveled and in a brief daze.
"Fatima!" Nathaniel shouted, bursting through the door, the loud thud disturbing the other patients in the room. With widened eyes and trembling hands covering her mouth, the assistant stood aghast before Fatima's bed, the unraveled bandages a testament to the scene that had shocked her to her core. "Her wounds," she stuttered, grappling with the sight before her eyes. "…have all disappeared." Her voice trailed off as she flopped on the floor unconscious. Fatima's skin had completely returned to normal leaving only the tears, holes, and bloodstains on her dress to tell the tale. In fact, she looked much more refreshed than when Nathaniel first laid eyes on her. "Your highness, could she be a healer, perhaps? I've never met one so young before." Hayden asked, after regaining his composure. Nathaniel opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by Fatima's abrupt awakening. "Where am I?" She asked weakly, squinting her eyes at the tall ceiling.
**
Morning light spilled across the Kartier estate, its grand halls hushed in a fragile stillness that seemed to magnify the weight of troubling news. The duchess sat in the tearoom, sunlight filtering through tall arched windows, catching on the lace cuffs of her gown and painting her in pale gold. Yet there was no serenity in her countenance. Her hazel eyes, usually sharp and commanding, were wide with disbelief. "What do you mean there was no one near the annex?" she demanded, her voice sharp enough to slice through the silence. The porcelain teacup rattled faintly against its saucer as her hand trembled.
Before her stood Elliot, the stable master—broad-shouldered, sun-kissed from his morning labors, with a rugged handsomeness that seemed entirely out of place amid the gilded refinement of the duchess' chamber. Unlike the other servants, he neither lowered his head nor shrank beneath her fury. His arms were folded across his chest, posture relaxed, his steady gaze gleaming with quiet defiance. The confidence in his bearing skirted dangerously close to arrogance.
"That is correct, your grace," he said evenly. "The only thing I found there was an oil lamp. She isn't in the stables either." His deep voice carried a calm assurance that only further stoked her unease. Gwendolynn's lips parted in a sharp inhale. A shadow of dread swept across her flawless features, drawing faint lines at the corners of her mouth. Dimitriu. The thought struck like a chill draft through her heart. Could he have reached the girl first? She had ordered Damian, the butler, away early the night before, certain her carefully conditioned stepson would not defy her. And yet, as she sat with her manicured nails twitching toward her lips, a knot of unease tightened in her chest.
"You should refrain from biting your nails so much, Gwen," Elliot murmured, his tone almost playful. He stepped closer, his earthy scent of leather and horse lingering in the air, his expression caught somewhere between concern and mischief. Her eyes flashed as she snapped, pressing her hand quickly against his mouth. "Shut your trap, Elliot, before anyone hears you," she hissed. The warmth of his lips against her palm only sharpened her agitation. "Can't you see I am in great distress?"
Her thoughts spiraled, a storm gathering beneath her poised exterior. If word gets out about my entanglement with this man, my reputation will shatter.I climbed higher than the empress herself—I will not have it all torn down by gossip. Neither her stepson, the battered bond servant, nor even Elliot himself truly troubled her; all were manageable threats she could dispose of in due time. The one she feared was the crown prince, whose piercing nature could unravel her schemes with a glance.
Elliot's voice slid like velvet into her ear, his arms snaking firmly around her waist. "Shall I help you relieve some stress later tonight, my queen?" he whispered, his breath warm against her neck. "A good rubdown from me will leave you begging for more. These hands of mine can do wonders… What do you say, my sweet Gwen?" He coaxed in soft, lulling tone, pressing a lingering kiss on her neck, warm and enticing.
Her body stiffened at his boldness. "What are you suggesting in broad daylight, Elliot?" she hissed, shoving lightly against his chest. But the faint flush that crept across her cheeks betrayed her. Elliot's lips curled into a grin, his dark eyes glittering with amusement. "You say that, but your face is bright red, and your body quivers at the slightest touch of my fingertip." He lifted one hand, admiring it as if it were some divine instrument. "Your feelings are betraying your words, my dear."
A rush of heat flooded her face as she turned sharply away, lips pressed thin in frustration. Elliot had always known how to corner her—how to unravel her composure with the sheer force of his physicality and sly tongue. Fourteen years he had held her attention, keeping her hunger sharpened, feeding her indulgence with the stamina of a beast. And though she despised her weakness, she could not deny how much she craved it.
"Alright, alright," she sighed at last, flicking her hand dismissively. "We shall meet tonight at the usual spot." Elliot's grin deepened. He caught her hand in his, bowing low as he brushed his lips against her knuckles with a roguish reverence. "As always, I look forward to our fun little tryst, my love." Then, with unhurried steps, he turned and left the tearoom, the echo of his boots fading down the marble hall, leaving the duchess alone with the morning sun—and her tightening dread.
**
Having wrapped up the ordeal with Doctor Hayden who was still unconvinced that Fatima was a healing mage, they promptly set off for the Kartier estate. The rhythmic clopping of the horse's hooves provided a steady beat against the backdrop of the otherwise silent landscape, but it was Fatima's own heart that pounded the loudest in her ears during that ride. She was sitting so close to Nathaniel that she could feel his breath ruffling the top of her hair which tickled but she couldn't dare laugh lest she angered him. However, she lost her composure when a delicious scent came wafting by her nose, leading her to frantically sniff the air, searching for its origin. "Why are you sniffing around like a mutt?" came Nathaniel's abrupt question which surprisingly didn't have any effect on Fatima. Only when the words left his lips did he realize he just insulted the girl he owed an apology to. "I smell fresh bread. Fluffy, delicious, and warm bread." She said, clasping her hands together as a stream of drool trickled down the corner of her mouth.
"Right, there is actually a bakery nearby. They must be making their first batch of the day." Just when he was about to suggest they stop by, Fatima's stomach made a grand entrance into their conversation. She giggled nervously, pressing her arms against her belly to prevent it from making any more embarrassing noises, her cheeks flushed at the sound of Nathaniel's sudden chortle that he morphed with a fake cough. She is surprisingly adorable and humorous. The thought crossed his mind as he shifted the reins. "Why are we turning around?" she asked, noticing the subtle shift in direction. "We're taking a detour to the bakery, of course. You are hungry, after all. We can't have you go back home with an empty stomach after the night you've had." "I'm fine, Sir Nate." She responded quickly, too quickly. "I am not hungry at all and-" her speech was interrupted by yet another growl from her stomach which made her want to vanish into thin air that very instant. The sheer comedy of her trying to hide her embarrassment from Nathaniel made the whole situation that much more amusing, and he erupted into uncontrollable laughter. Something he hadn't done ever since he was a child.
"This isn't funny in the slightest, Sir Nate! Please stop laughing at me." she whined abashedly, her hands covering her face. "You should stop flailing first, lest you fall off the horse. Don't blame me when that happens." He chuckled, riveting in her embarrassment.
**
With the fresh bread now in their possession, the two resumed their trip back to the Kartier estate, the horse's hooves treading the path ahead with practiced precision. At first, she was skeptical about eating something he bought for her, but her stomach refused to cooperate with her pride. "So warm! So soft! So delicious! So wonderful!" she exclaimed, cradling her cheek in astonishing admiration. She marveled at the next piece of bread between her fingers before shoving it into her mouth, continuing to make joyful sounds as she chewed. This humored Nathaniel in ways he couldn't even understand. Her hearty appetite filled him with relief; each chomp was a visible sign of her recovery. Her cheeks puffed out like a that of a squirrel's, and he felt the urge to poke them but held himself back, lest he pushes the wrong button again.
"What? What are you looking at, Sir Nate?" she asked with a blank stare, finally noticing his eyes on her. "Would you like some bread? My apologies, it was selfish of me to assume you weren't hungry just because your stomach hasn't protested yet." she said timidly, offering him chunk of bread. "No, I was not-" his speech was interrupted when Fatima suddenly shoved it into his mouth which left him bewildered. What sort of face was I making for her to come to this conclusion? he thought while munching the bread, the sweetness of which enveloping his sophisticated palate. Having only indulged in delicacies made by professional culinary experts, Nathaniel never once indulged in simple things such as this. He liked it. "Delicious, isn't it?" she giggled, pulling the plastic wrapper over the remaining half to save for her friends. "I'm sorry. I know this is brazen of me considering you bought this for me, but it wouldn't feel right for me to be the only one starting the day on a full stomach." She sighed, cradling the brown paper bag against her chest and averting Nathaniel's curious eyes.
"Are you still upset with me?" he asked after a lengthy pause to gather his thoughts. "I really am sorry for pointing my sword at you yesterday, and for insulting you." The words came flowing out of his mouth like they couldn't wait to break free, and at that moment he felt the tension in his heart slowly dissipating. It was another feeling that was new to him as she was the very first person to have ever received an apology from him. "That's already water under the bridge." She replied nonchalantly, kicking her feet midair. Fatima wasn't expecting this change of events but was strangely happy to hear him be polite for once. "Should I take this to mean that you forgive me then?" Nathaniel was still taken aback by the casual tone in her response, a far cry from yesterday's tearful display. He wasn't sure if she truly meant those words or said them merely to placate him out of fear.
"I cannot hold a grudge against someone who rushed to save me at his master's behest. What kind of person would that make me? So, all is forgiven, Sir Nate." She said, patting his shoulder with a smile. In Fatima's mind, Nathaniel's actions from last night until this very moment were at Dimitriu's behest which did not sit right with him at all. Ha! I don't know whether to feel happy or annoyed right now. He scoffed internally, his grip tightening around the horse's reins.
**
"Did something happen last night, your highness? You weren't in your room this morning when the maids went in to tend to you. Your highness, you are aware that you aren't supposed to roam around without a-" Dimitriu's words of genuine concerns were met with Nathaniel's glare as he unbuttoned the front of his shirt that was soiled with blood. Taking note of his facial expression, the young lord understood that he must not probe any further lest the prince loses his temper, again. "What I wasn't aware of is that I must to report my every move to you, Dimitriu." he responded curtly. "No, your highness. I was not implying-" Dimitriu stammered before Nathaniel interrupted him saying, "I'm going to wash up and get to bed. Alert your staff to keep the noise to a minimum." "As you wish, your highness." Dimitriu replied promptly, bowing before exiting the room.
Once outside, he caught sight of a couple of maids who bowed to greet him, their cheeks turning red from meeting his gaze. "Good morning, young master Dimitriu." He corresponded with their courteous greeting with one of his own. "Hello, ladies." He said respectfully, his charming smile deepening the red hue on their faces. "By any chance, do any of you know where the slaves are working today?" he inquired, prompting the maids to look at each other inquisitively before delivering their answer, "It is their day of respite, young master. They should be somewhere around the stables or in the forest." "Thank you, ladies. You may return to your chores now." He instructed with a slight nod before walking away, leaving them swooning and fanning each other's face in the background.
**
The morning sun hung high enough to drape the stable yard in a warm, golden glow, though the faint scent of hay and horse musk still lingered in the cool air. A restless neigh carried from one of the stalls, followed by the shuffle of hooves on packed dirt. "We were so worried about you. Thank goodness you're safe!" Clover burst out, her words broken by sobs and muffled around the crust of bread she was trying to chew at the same time. Her cheeks puffed comically, but her eyes brimmed with real tears.
"Choose one, Clover," Ivy scolded, thwacking her firmly between the shoulder blades. "Either eat, cry, or speak. You can't do them all at once." Clover yelped, squirming as she clutched the spot Ivy had struck, but the bread still remained clenched stubbornly between her teeth.
"As you can see, I am all better," Fatima said brightly, stepping into the sunlight. She spread her arms wide, twirling once as though the stable yard were her stage, her cotton skirt catching on the breeze. "My handsome master took good care of me," she whispered conspiratorially, unable to keep the mischievous lilt from her voice.
Her giggles were cut short by a sharp flick to the forehead. "Ouch! That hurt, Ivy! Why would you—?" "You dummy!" Ivy snapped, her voice trembling as she suddenly threw her arms around Fatima's neck. Her face pressed against her shoulder, hidden beneath loose strands of hair. "Do you have any idea how worried we were? We couldn't sleep a wink last night after seeing the state you were in." The words cracked under the weight of emotion, and for once Ivy's composed demeanor shattered. Tears streamed freely down her face, staining Fatima's gray dress.
Clover abandoned her bread at last, sniffling noisily as she joined the embrace. Their sobs and hiccups tangled together, filling the stable yard with a fragile, aching warmth. Even the horses seemed quieter, as though listening in solemn respect. "Could I be invited to the weeping party?" a familiar voice teased from the distance. The three girls froze, their tear-soaked faces snapping toward the sound. Slowly, they drew apart, cheeks wet and glistening, and there he stood, stepping out from the dappled shadows beyond the tree shades. "Young master!" they gasped in unison, hands flying to their mouths in shock, the last of their tears still clinging to their lashes.