The conundrum between Princess Irrys and her father in the courtroom still echoed in her mind like the tolling of a cursed bell. A dull throb pulsed at her temples as she reclined sideways on her velvet lounge chair, her cheek pressing into a silken cushion that smelled faintly of lavender and rose oil. The room was dim and cool, the gauzy curtains drawn halfway over tall arched windows, filtering the late afternoon light into ribbons of gold that danced over the marble floor.
A maid knelt by Irrys' side, kneading the tension from her delicate hand, while another worked her slender foot with rhythmic precision. The faint scent of sandalwood drifted from the nearby incense burner, mingling with the soft hum of the maids' breath and the occasional creak of the chair's carved legs.
A low moan escaped Irrys' lips, a sound of reluctant pleasure and exhaustion. Her long lashes fluttered as she exhaled, her body slowly melting into the plush embrace beneath her. Yet her thoughts refused to quiet. Each recollection of her father's piercing gaze sent a fresh wave of unease through her chest. He knows. She could still see the flicker of suspicion in his eyes — the same eyes that once looked upon her with affection.
Her throat tightened. Had she miscalculated so gravely? Her involvement in her sister's death teetered on the edge of discovery, and the fragile mask she'd so carefully worn was threatening to crack. "It seems," she murmured under her breath, her voice languid yet laced with venom, "I'm left with no choice but to proceed with the alternative plan… until everything settles down." She released a long, heavy sigh — a sound that seemed to drain the air from the room itself — before closing her eyes again.
The sudden knock on the door shattered the fragile stillness. Each rap was sharp and hurried, followed by a muffled masculine voice. "Pardon the interruption, your highness. I come bearing urgent news from the inner palace."
Her brows arched. The serenity vanished from her features, replaced by sharp curiosity and the faintest glint of alarm. She turned her head toward Raul, who stood ever so still near the door — a sentinel anticipating her command. "Let him in, Raul," she said, her tone cool and commanding, though her heart beat a restless rhythm beneath her ribs.
With a soft click, Raul twisted the ornate twin knobs, the gilded patterns on the doors catching the dim light. The hinges groaned faintly as the doors opened to reveal a young informant with wide, frantic eyes. For a heartbeat, Raul's gaze met his — silent, assessing — before he stepped aside. The messenger stumbled in, nearly tripping over the carpet's fringe in his haste. His breath came in ragged bursts, chest heaving as he bowed low before Irrys. Beads of sweat rolled down his temples, glistening against his flushed skin.
"The king—" he gasped, struggling to find his voice, "has issued an order to halt the preparations for the funeral… and is now headed to Bassup Prison with the queen and Sir Eleison in tow."
The air left the room and Irrys shot upright, her movements so sudden that the teacup in her hand slipped and shattered against the marble floor, scattering porcelain fragments across her gown's hem. Hot tea splashed across her wrist, but she barely flinched. "What?" she whispered, the word trembling on her lips, her eyes widening in disbelief. A chill raced through her veins, burning away the haze of fatigue.
Her pulse roared in her ears as dread settled in her gut like molten lead. No… not now. She had calculated every outcome, accounted for every weakness — or so she had thought. The plan she'd spun so delicately was unraveling before her eyes.
She rose to her feet, pacing the center of her parlor with restless energy. Her silken robe whispered against the floor as she gnawed on a perfectly manicured nail, her mind racing through contingencies. "Think, Irrys… think." Her murmurs became a frantic rhythm beneath her breath.
The room seemed to shrink around her, the warm fragrance of incense now stifling. Then, abruptly, she stopped — her figure still and regal, every trace of hesitation wiped clean from her face. Her gaze locked on Raul, cold and resolute. "Proceed with the final plan immediately."
Raul stiffened, his hand twitching slightly at his side. For a moment, it seemed he might protest. His lips parted, then closed again as he lowered his head in deep obeisance. "As you command, your highness. We will mobilize our troops at once and head to Bassup."
Silence followed, heavy and suffocating. The faint sound of porcelain fragments being swept away was the only noise that dared to exist. Deep down, a quiet voice urged her to rescind her command — to stop before she pushed the kingdom past the point of no return. But Irrys silenced it. Her expression hardened, her chin lifting as her eyes glimmered with cold determination. Whatever storm awaited, she would meet it head-on.
**
The carriage wheels rolled on the glacial and desolate snowy ground of Bassup at a steady pace, surrounded by armor-clad knights riding on their individual horses. Although it was only a couple of hours past noon, an unnatural and seemingly perpetual darkness filled the sky above them, prompting them to use lamps to illuminate the path ahead. Past the leaves, weighed down by a thick blanket of snow, lay a collection of abandoned skeletal huts, their structures askew and leaning heavily on one another under the immense pressure of the snow, their tattered roofs almost completely hidden from view. The snow had rendered their croplands into a lifeless desert, where all growth had ceased, leaving behind a scene of barrenness and desolation. Decades of stillness had settled upon the land, a chilling silence broken only by the whisper of the wind through the bare tree limbs. The landscape, encased in ice, offered no hint of life or hope.
A chilling silence blanketed most of the ride to the prison, broken only by the steady thuds of horses' hooves against the frozen ground, the raspy caws of crows perched on brittle, snow-covered branches, and the piercing howl of the wind. The Queen sat across from her husband, the quiet punctuated only by her constant sighs. Her thoughts swirled around her, a tempest of questions and worries that she longed to share, but his cold demeanor only served to stretch the distance between them. With another deep sigh, she turned her head towards the small window; the wind whispering through the evergreens as they rushed by.
The land grew darker and more forbidding the farther they went, the sounds of nature replaced by an unnerving quiet, until the carriage stopped before a small, weathered wooden cabin enclosed by high, imposing brick walls. Adrian and Leticia took turns stepping out of the carriage as their boots sank into the snow. They stood motionless in front of the tall metal gates, taking in the sight of the towering walls surrounding the vast land beyond the gates.
The wind howled, making the flames of the two torches fixed on the gates leap and dance, their shadows stretching and contorting into grotesque shapes, enhancing the already unsettling atmosphere. Snow clung to the evergreen branches, transforming their green leaves into heavy, drooping white plumes that hung sadly over the wall. Despite the seemingly bare and abandoned appearance of the place, the rising smoke from the cabin's chimney and the audible crunching of boots on the snow as the approaching knights neared the gates painted a different picture.
"Who goes there? Identify yourself immediately." One guard yelled as they emerged from the darkness, their hands resting on their swords' hilts, ready to strike should their exchange turn into something else. "By order of his royal highness King Adrian, you are to open the gates at once." A young man's voice rung from behind the group of knights who instantly parted to make way for him to come forward. When his face came into full view, the guards' eyes widened in shock because they recognized his face. How could they not? This young man escorted more criminals to Bassup than they ever could in their lifetimes. Standing before them, tall and brawny, Eleison Degretch, the king's right-hand man and fiancé to the former crown princess, glared, his jaw clenched in a dissatisfied scowl, the muscles in his neck and shoulders tight with barely contained fury. "Right away, Sir." One of the guards responded promptly, offering a deep bow before rushing forward, pulling out a stack of keys from his pocket.
With a groan of aged metal, the rusty gates screeched open as Adrian and Leticia stepped forward first, their hooded fur coats concealing their faces as they strode past the silent guards whose heads remained bowed. While their presence wasn't officially announced, it was impossible for them to ignore the unmistakable regal air that surrounded the mysterious individuals. Leticia, to calm her unease, linked her arm to Adrian's, drawing herself closer to him as they walked, but, contrary to his usual charming smile, she was met with a solemn silence. His eyes, hard as flint, stared blankly ahead, his jaw muscles rigid, his mind far away in a solitary, impenetrable realm disturbed only when the muffled sound of laughter and joyous chatter reached out from beyond the cabin's front door.
Eleison sighed and shook his head knowingly as he pushed the door open with such force that it slammed against the wall, and all heads whipped toward the noise, gaping at the group with unblinking wide eyes. In a corner of the cabin's foyer stood a fireplace with fresh woods burning in its hearth, and a stack of the likes piled up on the floor next to it. The tension in the air grew thick as the king's sharp gaze scanned the room, his eyes lingering on each chaotic scene. On the wooden tables around the room were half emptied bottles of liquor, with cards, dices and gold coins sprawled out at the center. An old man laid limp on the stairs hugging an empty bottle and muttering to himself between hiccups. Another man held a wooden tankard in his mouth, frozen in fear as the yellow liquid trickled down his beard and splattered on the table before him. The foul stench of alcohol and sweat permeated the air, making Eleison scrunch up his nose as he stepped further into the room, kicking an empty bottle to the side as it rolled and clattered against the opened wooden door. Although he's walked into this kind of situation before, he was at a loss for words, and he wasn't the only one.
"Take us to Sebastian at once." Adrian said to Eleison, his voice a low and threatening growl that made all the hair on everyone's body stand alert. "Right this way, Sire." Eleison instructed, opening the door to the storage room where the entrance to the underground prison laid right underneath the sizable hatch at the center of the space. Kneeling down, he grabbed the handle then yanked it sideways, revealing a spiral staircase leading into nothingness as the stale air rose to their nostrils. Eleison, the ever so zealous leader that he was, grabbed a couple of lit torches, and stepped into the darkness first, the king and queen, as well as the other knights in tow.
**
The rhythmic clatter of hooves against the cobblestone road echoed beneath the carriage, blending with the faint creak of polished wood. The air inside was thick—heavy with words unsaid. Opposite one another, Nathaniel and Fatima sat in silence, the pale morning light slipping through the velvet curtains to paint muted streaks across their faces.
Fatima's fingers twisted together in her lap, knuckles blanching as she stared fixedly at the passing blur of trees beyond the window. Every bump of the carriage made her pulse jump. Questions clawed at her throat, each one desperate to escape, yet she pressed her trembling lips shut and bit down gently, forcing them to behave.
Nathaniel, by contrast, seemed carved from composure. His posture was perfectly straight, his gloved hands resting loosely on his knees. Yet behind that calm façade, his mind churned—dark with worry. What if this silence meant the end of their friendship? The thought constricted his chest, a pressure that no deep breath could ease.
"Your highness." Fatima's voice broke the stillness, higher and thinner than she intended. The sudden sound startled them both. "Nathan," he corrected quietly, lifting his head. His eyes caught hers, bright and expectant. Her breath hitched. The simple correction, the warmth in his gaze—it made her heart leap traitorously. Heat bloomed beneath her skin, and she quickly averted her eyes, lashes fluttering as she fought to regain her composure.
"Are you not curious," he began softly, "as to why I hid the truth from you? You've not asked me a single question since we left the capital of Ipera. If you're upset with me, I'd prefer you lash out at me like you usually do, and—" "That isn't it, your highness," she blurted out before she could stop herself. The words rang too loudly in the confined space, and she instantly clapped a hand over her mouth, mortified. Did I just raise my voice to the crown prince?
"Please forgive my impertinence, your highness," she stammered, her voice shaking. Straightening her back, she forced herself to meet his eyes—but the intensity there made her spine prickle. His gaze was like molten gold, heavy and penetrating, and she lowered her head instinctively, feeling her courage waver.
"The truth is," she murmured, her fingers twining together once more, "I don't know what to say to you right now. I've tried to think of something—anything—but nothing comes. I'm not angry at you for hiding your identity. If I were in your place, I'd have done the same. It's only natural for someone of your station to take precautions."
Her voice faded, swallowed by the creaking of wheels and the distant caw of a bird outside. A tense stillness followed, thick enough to hear each other's breathing. Nathaniel's throat bobbed as he swallowed, his pulse racing beneath his collar. A fine sheen of sweat glistened at his temple despite the cool draft slipping through the window crack. "Is that all?" he asked finally, his voice low—almost fragile. He leaned back, shoulders sagging as disappointment settled over him like a weight.
"Yes," Fatima replied softly, her eyes fixed on the dark red carpet beneath her feet. Her thoughts were a storm. Beneath the bandage around her arm, the mark pulsed again—slow and steady, like a heartbeat not her own. She winced and pressed a hand over it, the faint throb radiating through her veins.
Now that he knows who I am… will he use this against me? The fear coiled tight in her stomach. She had to find a way to leave. Her chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. The faint scent of cedar and musk from Nathaniel's uniform filled the carriage, mingling with the subtle perfume of jasmine from her own gown—a strange, dizzying mixture that made the air feel even smaller. "Which noble family do you hail from in your homeland?"
Nathaniel's deep voice cut sharply through her spiraling thoughts. Fatima flinched, her eyes darting up to his face. But something was off. His lids were heavy, drooping as if sleep beckoned him against his will. "Are you all right, your highness?" she asked, concern breaking through her fear. She rose halfway from her seat, leaning toward him. "Are you perhaps feeling sleepy? It's strange—you can hardly keep your eyes open."
He opened his mouth to reply, but the carriage suddenly lurched forward with a violent jolt. Fatima gasped, losing her balance as the world tilted. Her knees hit the carpet with a dull thud, and before she could catch herself, her hands landed squarely against something firm and warm. She froze.
Her wide eyes rose slowly—too slowly—to find herself between Nathaniel's straddled thighs, her palms braced against his lap. The outline beneath the navy fabric left no room for misinterpretation. A small, strangled gasp escaped her throat, followed by a scream that could have awakened the dead.
**
As a result of her earlier scene, Fatima was once again kicked out of Nathaniel's carriage and was now riding alongside the maids who kept staring at her with pitiful eyes. "What happened this time, Miss Fati?" one of the maids broke the awkward silence and asked. "Did his highness threaten your life?" another asked enthusiastically, eyes filled with curiosity. "Did he draw his sword at you?" another maid giggled, motioning the act with her hands.
They were bombarding her with questions she could not answer because she was still in shock, her eyes staring up as the image of Nathaniel's thighs and his flustered expression played in her mind. At first, she was shocked beyond her own comprehension, but when her eyes met Nathaniel's, she couldn't but swoon at his flushed cheeks, an expression she never thought she'd get to see him make. At that thought, she suddenly burst into laughter, her chest heaving in delight as the heat rose in her cheeks. "That bad, huh?" an older maid said nonchalantly, shaking her head with a sigh. "It seems she has finally lost her wits. The day has finally come, ladies. His highness has finally drove someone mad." Another maid said in a sad tone, clicking her tongue in frustration. "Oh! The poor thing." Another maid responded dramatically, pounding her fist on her chest. "Take courage, Miss Fatima. We know what you're going through." A maid said, patting her back to comfort her.