A few days later, the afternoon sun slanted low across the garden, its golden rays filtering through the latticework of the pergola where Princess Emilia and Duchess Gwendolynn sat. The air smelled of roses and freshly trimmed hedges, their perfume mingling faintly with the earthy tang of damp soil. Bees hummed lazily from blossom to blossom, a soft background melody to the otherwise stifling silence that had settled between the two women.
"A rather magnificent couple they make, don't you agree, your highness?" the duchess cooed suddenly, her fan fluttering before her painted face with a snap of wrists well-practiced in refinement. Her eyes, sharp despite the dreamy quality of her tone, followed the figures strolling leisurely down the flower path. Emilia's gaze hardened. In the distance, the crown prince—her own brother—and Lady Florette walked arm in arm beneath arching trellises heavy with wisteria blooms. Though their surroundings glowed in afternoon brilliance, Emilia sensed a shadow lurking beneath the scene. Her brother's sudden warmth toward Florette was strange—unnerving even. She folded her hands in her lap, stiff as marble, her narrowed blue eyes never leaving the pair.
The duchess, however, was lost in her own world. Her cheeks were flushed with pride, her lips curved into a dreamy smile. "Seeing them like this makes me realize there is no one other than my Florette who is better suited for his highness," she declared, her voice swelling with triumph before breaking into a soft, self-satisfied laugh. She waved her fan lazily, as though already envisioning her daughter crowned in jewels.
Emilia's lips curled into a smirk, though no warmth touched her eyes. He loathes her just as much as he loathes her mother, she thought darkly. If their talks of marriage ever reach a decisive point, Lady Florette might soon lose a limb—or her life, if fate is cruel. The thought sent a chill of amusement through her, and she lowered her gaze briefly, hiding her twisted delight behind a veneer of grace.
Meanwhile, laughter floated faintly across the garden path. Florette's high, lilting giggles carried through the warm air, accompanied by the gentle rustle of silk skirts brushing against lavender bushes. Her face glowed with joy, her eyes bright as stars as she leaned into the prince's arm. The warmth of his sleeve against her skin sent sparks coursing through her veins. Her heart drummed against her ribcage, her cheeks aflame as though she were walking not upon brick paths but upon clouds.
Nathaniel's voice, low and smooth, broke through her giddiness. "It has come to my attention that my lady has gone through quite an interesting ordeal as of late." The words struck her heart like an arrow. She bit her lip, her blush deepening until it burned like fire. "Indeed, your highness," she whispered shyly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "A filthy bond servant dared to covet my diamond necklace a few days ago, so I taught her a lesson she will never forget. Had it not been for my brother's intervention, she would have already been six feet under by now."
The pride in her tone dripped like venom. But she failed to notice the tension stiffening Nathaniel's shoulders, the subtle twitch of his jaw as he masked the fury that stirred within him. "Was that your first time punishing the innocent?" His voice was casual, but his words were laced with steel. His gaze stayed fixed ahead, one hand buried deep in his pocket. "Yes, it was," Florette answered airily, her eyes glittering as she leaned her head against his shoulder once more. "I must say, it felt exhilaratingly good to put that hussy in her place." Her laugh, light and careless, rang like crystal shattering against stone.
Those words snapped the thread of Nathaniel's restraint. The atmosphere shifted at once. The warmth of the afternoon dimmed as dark clouds rolled unnaturally across the sky, smothering the sun. The air thickened, charged with an ominous energy. A faint buzzing grew louder and louder until the garden quivered with the beating wings of a thousand insects descending from the heavens. Florette's laughter died in her throat. Her eyes widened in horror as the swarm gathered, blotting out the fading light. The buzzing enveloped her ears, making her stomach twist with dread. Her hands, once bold and flirtatious, now clung to Nathaniel's arm in trembling desperation. "W-what is that, your highness?" she whimpered, her voice cracked and thin.
Nathaniel turned to her, his amber eyes gleaming with a predatory golden light. A cruel smile curved his lips. "Reaping what one sowed is a very scary thing, isn't it, my lady?" His tone was soft, almost mocking. With a flick of his arm, he tore free of her grip. The insects hovered, awaiting their master's command. "Your highness, I—" Florette's words caught in her throat as the swarm surged downward. With a strangled cry, she lifted her skirts to flee, but her shoe slipped against a jagged rock, sending her sprawling face-first onto the dirt path.
The swarm enveloped her. Her screams ripped through the garden, shrill and ragged, as the insects engulfed her entire form, her rosy gown swallowed in a writhing storm of wings and stingers. Nathaniel stood untouched; the swarm parted around him like waves around stone. He chuckled lowly, the sound chilling. "Bon appétit."
From beneath the pergola, Emilia shot to her feet, the blood draining from her face. "Zen! Zen! Please stop!" she screamed, her voice breaking in terror. But Nathaniel remained unmoved, his presence regal, his rage barely contained beneath his composed exterior. Her pleas could not drown out the words echoing in his mind—Had it not been for my brother's intervention, she would have already been six feet under by now.
Duchess Gwendolynn stumbled forward, falling to her knees before him, her ornate gown trailing in the dirt. Tears streaked her painted face as she clasped her hands together in trembling supplication. "Your highness, please stop this, I beg of you! Please spare my princess!" Her wails rose shrill and desperate, though beneath them lingered the faint grind of clenched teeth. Nathaniel's eyes bored into her, sharp and merciless. "Your daughter trampled on an innocent girl without an ounce of remorse, yet you dare ask me to stop? Who are you to stand in my way?" His scowl deepened, and the golden glow in his gaze sharpened like a blade. "Now that you know how it feels to watch one's daughter being helplessly bullied, I suggest you teach her how to behave properly. Otherwise…" He let the words hang like a death sentence. "This will keep happening until she learns."
The duchess shuddered, her hands trembling against the earth. For a moment, Nathaniel's anger boiled high enough that he considered crushing her throat where she knelt. But then— "That's enough, Kazein! You are going too far!" Emilia's voice cracked the air like a whip. His eyes flicked toward her, aflame with fury. "Quit meddling and back away if you do not wish to get hurt, Emilia." His voice was low and venomous, his glare cutting like a drawn blade.
Fear coiled in her stomach, but she stood her ground. "I said stop it, you stubborn fool!" she cried again, her voice shaking. She rushed at him, smacking his back with her hand fan again and again. "I am your sister, for goodness' sake and I will always stand in your way whether you like it or not." Her chest heaved, and with a frustrated groan she tossed her fan aside, raking her fingers through her disheveled crimson hair. "Honestly, what am I to do with you?"
Nathaniel exhaled sharply, his expression darkening, though irritation flickered across his face. With a reluctant wave of his hand, the swarm dissolved, scattering into the distance as swiftly as they had come. Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode away, his cloak swirling behind him. The garden, once filled with warmth and fragrance, now reeked of fear and the bitter tang of dread.
**
Five days had dragged by since the incident, and Florette still lay confined to her bed. The once lively girl was now pale and swollen, her breaths shallow and strained, each one rasping through the inflamed passages of her mouth and nose. The physicians and healers who bustled in and out of her chamber carried the smell of bitter herbs and pungent salves, yet their remedies brought no relief. Day after day, her mother lingered at her side, wringing her hands and pressing scented handkerchiefs to her face as if mourning a daughter who had not yet died. The air of the sickroom was thick with wilted florals and worry—baskets of lilies, roses, and violets sent by friends surrounded her bed, their fragrance cloying, almost suffocating against the sour scent of ointments and fever. It wasn't until the fifth day that the angry welts on her skin began to shrink, leaving her frail but no longer fever-flushed, her release from bed a distant hope but no longer an impossibility.
Meanwhile, in Dimitriu's study, the atmosphere was entirely different—quiet, sun-dappled, and perfumed with the faint musk of aged leather and parchment. Princess Emilia sat gracefully upon the soft, vintage sofa, her silken gown spilling around her like waves of pale blue fabric. Her fiancé lay stretched out with his golden head resting against her lap, his features restless even in sleep. His brows pinched together, his lips pressed into faint murmurs, and his fingers twitched as though fending off unseen phantoms. Emilia's sapphire eyes softened with worry as she leaned forward, her touch delicate as her fingers combed through the long strands of his fine hair.
"What troubles you so, my darling?" she whispered, her voice no louder than a breath of air, hoping to soothe the torment etched across his face.
Inside his dream, Dimitriu stood before the glowing altar of the grand temple in Alkaraz's capital city, the soaring marble columns lit by jeweled windows that spilled colored light across the floor. Rows of polished wooden benches gleamed in the radiance, filled with noble guests whose chatter and laughter filled the vaulted chamber. The air buzzed with anticipation, the faint incense of myrrh curling around him as the priest's voice rang out: "By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now share a kiss with your bride."
A smile flickered on Dimitriu's lips as he reached for the veil, expecting to meet Emilia's serene beauty—but instead he found himself staring into Fatima's face. Her lips curled in a sharp, mocking grin as she let out a cackle that ricocheted through the hall. Gasps rippled through the crowd, their joy souring into disdain.
"Fati? What—what are you doing here?" His voice cracked with disbelief. The guests' eyes, once warm with approval, gleamed with malice as they mirrored Fatima's wicked smile. Fans snapped open like the wings of crows, and whispers slithered through the air. "The young duke marrying a bond servant? My, what is this world coming to?" one woman hissed behind her fan. "This is worse than his father's dalliances," another scoffed, her jeweled head shaking in contempt. "Indeed, the apple has not fallen far from the tree. What a disgrace."
Their laughter swelled, sharp and merciless, until it pressed on his chest like a vice. Dimitriu spun toward the familiar voice of his father. "I am disappointed in you, son," Dominique said, his face heavy with sorrow, his head shaking slowly as though the weight of his shame was unbearable. "Father!" Dimitriu cried, reaching desperately toward him, but Dominique melted into the jeering crowd, leaving only echoes of judgment behind. A sudden tug wrenched Dimitriu back. Fatima's hands clutched his collar, her breath hot against his cheek.
"What are you waiting for, husband? Kiss me!" Her lips puckered mockingly as she pulled him closer. "No! Get away from me, Fati! Let go of me!" Noooo!" he shouted, his voice breaking as he jolted awake. The dream shattered. He sat upright with a strangled gasp, chest heaving, sweat beading on his forehead. The study's golden light and familiar warmth pressed in, breaking the nightmare's hold.
"You're finally awake, my darling!" Emilia's gentle voice steadied him. She dabbed his damp brow with her lace handkerchief, her touch tender and cool. "Emilia?" His hand shot up to seize her wrist, clinging as though to anchor himself in reality. Relief swept through him in a quiet wave. Thank the heavens.
"You fell asleep on my lap mid-conversation," she murmured, her sapphire eyes searching his weary green ones. Her lips curved into a small, affectionate smile as she helped him sit fully upright. "I apologize. I must have been more tired than I realized," he admitted, rubbing his eyes before stifling a soft yawn. "That is understandable." She rose gracefully, smoothing her gown, her gaze never leaving him. But then her voice softened, curious and probing: "On another note, darling… who is Fati? You kept murmuring her name in your sleep."
Her question hung in the air like a blade. Dimitriu's breath caught, his blood draining from his face. His widened eyes betrayed the truth before his lips could form a denial. Though Emilia had asked with innocent curiosity, his reaction told her far more than words could. Her heart tightened, but she masked her thoughts with a serene smile. Not now. She would not let this ruin their afternoon. "Shall we take a stroll, my love?" she suggested lightly, bending toward him until her lips hovered just a whisper away from his. "I think you need a breather."
**
The day was drawing to a close, the sun bleeding gold and crimson through the canopy as Fatima and her friends strolled along the winding forest path. The air was thick with the damp musk of earth and moss, clinging to their skin with a humidity that made every breath heavy. Fireflies had just begun to flicker faintly among the leaves, their soft glow punctuating the shadows like scattered stars.
"Ah! Finally, time to enjoy a proper bath," Clover sighed, stretching her arms above her head with exaggerated relief. Fatima trailed behind them, her woven basket bumping lightly against her hip. A bead of sweat trickled down her temple as she murmured, "Today was especially humid. That doesn't usually happen here…" "Summer is on the horizon," Ivy replied, exhaling a weary sigh that fogged faintly in the cooling evening air. "It'll only get worse from here."
Their voices mingled with the distant chatter of cicadas, but Fatima barely heard them. Her thoughts strayed elsewhere—back to Dimitriu. It had been five long days since she last saw him, though it felt like an eternity. He must be busy tending to his sister after everything that happened… The thought dragged at her heart, leaving her chest hollow and heavy. She remembered the gossip carried by the maids—whispers of Florette and the crown prince's scandal. Hearing it had filled her with a secret, guilty delight, but now the memory brought no comfort. "Yay! We're here!" Clover squealed, breaking into a run. In a flash, her dress was tossed carelessly to the grass before she dove into the clear spring water with a splash. "Last one in is a spring chicken!" Ivy laughed, quickly stripping down and leaping in after her, the rippling water catching the fading sunlight in dazzling fragments.
Left behind, Fatima crouched by the edge, fumbling with the basket of clean clothes. A sharp gasp escaped her when her eyes darted over the contents—her undergarments were missing. The color drained from her cheeks as panic set in. "No, no, no!" Her voice quivered as she plunged her hands deeper into the basket, rustling through Ivy's and Clover's garments in desperation. "This can't be happening…" "What's wrong, Fati?" Ivy called, lifting her head above the water, droplets glistening against her flushed skin. "M-my underwear is missing," she stammered, her gaze flitting wildly around the ground as though it might reappear by sheer will.
"Did you forget to bring it?" Clover asked innocently, wiping her face with both hands. "I know I packed it!" Fatima cried. Without another word, she bolted into the trees, the basket abandoned at the spring's edge. Her hurried footsteps thudded against the forest floor, fading swiftly into the distance. "Be careful!" Ivy shouted after her, but Fatima was already gone. Beside her, Clover's playful grin faltered, replaced with dawning realization. Her eyes widened as she grasped Ivy's shoulders. "I remember now! When we were rushing across the road earlier—Fati's underwear fell. I thought it was just a scrap of paper the wind carried away, so I ignored it…" "What?!" Ivy snapped, water sloshing angrily around her.
**
Meanwhile, Fatima retraced every step, combing through bushes, pushing aside leaves, her fingers trembling as they clawed through damp earth and crushed grass. The forest pressed close around her, its shadows deepening with the sinking sun, each rustle of leaves feeding her restless dread. If someone were to find it… The thought curdled her stomach. Back in her country, a woman's undergarment was more precious than gemstones—delicate, rare, and guarded. The idea of hers lost, drifting in the hands of a stranger, left her cold and frantic. "Where could it be?" she whispered hoarsely, her throat tight with frustration. She leaned forward to search beneath a thicket when a sudden sound cut through the air—laughter. A woman's laughter.
It rang light and teasing, carried from the direction of the paved road. Fatima froze, then moved silently, her bare feet pressing into moss as she crept forward, heart pounding in her ears. Peering from behind a tree, her breath hitched. There, framed in the last golden light of day, stood a couple. The young man's hands cupped the woman's face with tender reverence, lips claiming hers in a slow, hungry kiss. The woman moaned softly, tilting her head back as he deepened the embrace. Her gown shimmered with rich embroidery, the mark of nobility—unfamiliar, but undeniably high-born. Fatima's gaze slid upward, and in that instant, her world shattered when the man's face came into view—Dimitriu.
Her lungs seized, her pulse plummeted. Tears blurred her vision before she could even process the pain. She wrenched her eyes away, stumbling backward until her knees buckled beneath her. She sank to the forest ground, clutching her chest as silent sobs tore through her. The sound of her own muffled cries mingled with the echo of their laughter. She didn't hear Clover until her friend's shadow fell over her trembling frame. "Fati, did you—" Clover's voice faltered as her eyes darted past the tree, taking in the scene for herself. Shock swept across her face before her gaze shifted down to Fatima, quivering and drenched in tears.
"Oh no…" Clover's voice broke. The weight of guilt settled heavy on her chest—she and Ivy had meant to tell her, meant to prepare her for this very moment. But the days had slipped by in chores and distractions, and now, it was too late. She knelt beside Fatima, her hand gently rubbing her friend's back in soothing circles, though her own eyes brimmed with tears. The forest that had moments ago felt humid and alive now pressed in silent and suffocating, bearing witness to a heart breaking quietly in its depths.
**
Fatima's world—fragile, confined, and already weighed down by chains of servitude—felt as though it were breaking apart piece by piece. The realization pressed against her ribs like a stone. She knew, deep down, that a bond servant could never stand beside the young master as his equal, yet the thought of abandoning the dream entirely made her chest ache. If her lowly status was the wall between them, then perhaps revealing her true identity might tear it down. The idea was reckless, dangerous—one whispered secret could mean her death. But her heart, unruly and insistent, longed for him.
Earlier that day, however, she had witnessed enough to shatter that fragile hope. The truth had burned her pride raw, and though her tears had dried, the sting of humiliation and betrayal still clung stubbornly to her heart, leaving it heavy as lead. "We're deeply sorry for not telling you in advance, Fati. Please forgive us…" Clover's voice trembled as she crouched before Fatima, her knees sinking into the packed dirt. Her tear-streaked face glistened in the wavering firelight, her small hands clutching Fatima's skirt as if begging for mercy.
"The thing is…" Ivy's voice was steadier, though softened with guilt as she, too, sank to her knees beside Clover. Her eyes darted away before she confessed, "I heard from the maids that they had been apart for quite some time, and their engagement was allegedly annulled. That's why we held our tongues when we noticed your interest in the young master."
Fatima's throat tightened. The flicker of the bonfire painted every unspoken truth across her face—her crush on Dimitriu had been obvious, glowing as plainly as the noon sun in a cloudless sky. She had never hidden it, never thought she needed to. And yet, the ones she trusted most had allowed her to play the fool. Anger burned beneath her ribs; grief stung her throat. She felt like a jester dancing for an audience that had known the ending of her play all along. "Go to bed without me," she said at last, her voice steady only because she forced it to be. She inhaled sharply, her chest rising as though trying to contain all the turmoil inside, then turned from the fire. Her footsteps were firm, thumping hard against the ground as she strode toward the looming line of trees at the edge of the farm. The night's cool air swept past her cheeks, carrying the faint resinous scent of pine and damp earth.
"You're going there at this hour? What if something happens to you—" Clover's voice broke into a sob, the words dissolving before they could take shape. She moved to chase after Fatima, but Ivy's hand caught her wrist firmly. "Let her go, Clover." Ivy's tone was low, almost resigned. Her eyes glistened, though she refused to let the tears fall. "She's angry, isn't she?" Clover hiccupped, covering her mouth with trembling fingers. "She needs time to calm herself," Ivy murmured. Slowly, she rose, brushing the dirt from her knees. Her gaze wandered toward the stables, where Fatima had already laid down their bedding in preparation for the night. The sight of the neatly arranged straw beds made Ivy's chest tighten, and she exhaled a long, weary sigh. She shook her head, blinking back the heat in her eyes before speaking softly, "Come, Clover. Let us rest. She'll be back soon enough."
The stables smelled faintly of hay and warm animals. As Ivy sank onto her bed, the dry straw rustled beneath her, prickly against her skin. She lay there stiffly, listening to Clover's muffled sniffles beside her, until at last the silence of the night folded around them.
**
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the estate, Nathaniel had overheard every word between the girls. He had been mid-drink with Dimitriu when the voices drifted through, his ear catching Fatima's pain as if it were his own. Abruptly, he pushed back his chair, the scrape of wood against stone startling Dimitriu. Nathaniel snatched the heavy bedcover from his bed and stormed toward the door, his shoulders rigid with determination. "Where are you going with that blanket in the middle of the night, your highness?" Dimitriu darted in front of him, spreading his arms to block the exit. His golden brows furrowed, confusion etched across his handsome face.
Nathaniel's reply was wordless at first—just a glare, sharp and cold, that sliced through the air like steel. The force of it made Dimitriu's chest tighten, his breath faltering, yet he held his ground. "I am sleeping outside tonight," Nathaniel finally said, his voice clipped, laced with a frustration too deep to argue with. "That's absurd! You have a perfectly good bed right here," Dimitriu countered, his voice rising with alarm. "I don't have time to waste on your antics," Nathaniel growled, his jaw clenched so tight the veins along his neck stood out starkly in the lamplight. He took a threatening step closer. "Move aside before I make you." The intensity in his gaze made Dimitriu falter. Reluctantly, he shifted, his arms falling to his sides.
"What's all this noise?" Emilia's light, melodic voice broke the standoff as she appeared from the hallway, her nightgown trailing softly against the floor. She tilted her head, peering past Dimitriu to catch sight of Nathaniel's retreating back. "Emilia—did we wake you?" Dimitriu asked, trying to school his tone back into composure, though his chest still rose and fell with uneven breaths. "Where is Zen rushing off to with such fury?" she asked, brows knitting together. "Your guess is as good as mine, Emmy," Dimitriu muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "He decided to storm out in the middle of our conversation." He added with a sigh.
**
Outside of the estate, the world was drenched in silver moonlight. Nathaniel's boots thudded against the ground as he broke into a run, the blanket clutched beneath his arm. The night air was cold, sharp in his lungs, carrying with it the earthy scent of moss and the faint chirp of crickets. It wasn't long before he heard it—soft, broken sobs weaving through the stillness of the forest. They pulled him forward like a beacon. His steps slowed as the sound grew clearer, until at last, the trees parted, and there she was. Fatima sat flat on the ground, her back leaning against a tree trunk, her face buried in her hands, shoulders trembling in the moon's pale glow. "There you are," Nathaniel exhaled, his chest heaving from the run. He clutched the blanket tighter under his arm, relief and worry blending in his eyes as he finally stood before her.