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Chapter 14
Whispers Beneath the Throne (I)
"Even truth must learn to whisper when power commands silence."
The rain followed me home like a secret I could not shake.
It trailed down the marble steps of the servants' passage, soaked into the hems of my gown, and clung to my gloves. The corridors of Rosaire Palace were hushed, slick with reflected torchlight. I could almost imagine the walls watching, their silence older than sin.
In this palace, silence was currency. Those who spoke the truth spent it too freely.
When I reached my chambers, Ana was waiting, her expression drawn tight with worry.
"Your Highness—!" she gasped, rushing forward. "You're soaked through! If anyone sees you—"
Her words died when she noticed my hands. The faint sheen on my gloves shimmered beneath the light.
"Your highness..." she whispered. "Is that—"
"Yes." I pulled them off, my voice low. "The water. The poison."
Ana's breath trembled. "They came twice tonight," she said. "The Queen's envoy. They said the King wants to see you at dawn. They know something, I'm sure of it."
I crossed the room, unfastening my cloak and draping it over the chair. The wooden box on my desk was still there, sealed tight. The vials inside glinted faintly, as if the illness itself pulsed in their depths.
"They move faster than the fever," I murmured. "Truth never wins the race."
Ana hesitated. "You shouldn't face them alone."
I smiled faintly, though it didn't reach my eyes. "I've done worse alone. Besides, if they intend to trap me, I might as well let them think I'm walking willingly."
Her voice softened. "Princess... It's dangerous to keep calling yourself that here."
"I know," I said. "But it's the name that remembers who I was, and what I refuse to become."
The night was long.
I couldn't sleep. The rain pressed against the windows, whispering like old ghosts. My reflection stared back from the glass, not the delicate royal they pitied, but the doctor who once defied death with her own hands.
By dawn, I was ready.
No jewels. No veil. Just the violet gown of the Physician's Court, plain and functional. My fingers brushed over the faint frayed seam at the sleeve, the same one that had caught on the cot of a dying patient weeks ago. It grounded me more than gold ever could. I wear it like armor, ready to strike her first offense.
Ana tried to fix my hair, but I stopped her. "It's fine," I said. "Let them see me as I am."
When I stepped into the corridor, the air felt heavier, as if the palace itself held its breath. Servants avoided my gaze. Even the guards seemed uncertain whether to bow.
They already knew.
The Hall of Councils was a cathedral of hypocrisy.
Columns rose toward painted ceilings, angels and saints hovering above a room full of sinners. Gold and glass glittered in every corner, yet the air smelled faintly of rust and incense, which beauty built on rot.
King Roderic sat at the center, draped in muted gold. He looked older than I remembered, his shoulders sagging beneath a crown that had long since stopped fitting.
At his right sat Queen Isadora Blestaire-Rosaire, radiant, composed, and terrifying. She wore red and gold as if the colors themselves had bowed to her. Her smile was measured, her poise immaculate. And at her side, like an echo sharpened to cruelty, stood Lady Anaya, the serpent's daughter, watching me with delight.
I walked the length of the chamber in silence. Dozens of eyes followed. The sound of my boots on the marble floor echoed like a heartbeat through the hall.
The King's voice cut through the air. "Princess Amethyst Celestria Rosaire. We are told you have conducted... unsanctioned investigations within the capital."
Unsanctioned. The word tasted of arrogance and incense.
"I have been tending to the sick," I said evenly. "The fever in the canal district is spreading. It is not natural... the water is tainted." I said, my voice full of confidence despite the loud beating of my heart that it was almost deafening.
A ripple of murmurs passed through the nobles.
From the lower dais, a merchant stepped forward, a broad, confident man wrapped in pale blue and gold. I recognized the crest on his sash: House Mercier, one of the suppliers tied to the Queen's council.
"Your Majesty," he began with practiced humility, "I cannot stay silent while false accusations stain the crown's allies. The Princess has been misled by superstition. I sell clean water, inspected by the Church itself. Surely, Her Highness' delicate health has made her imagination... generous." The head of the House Mercier spatted lace with mockery.
Laughter followed, low, polite, and poisonous. But it didn't bother me at all. I am prepared for what will be the outcome of today's event.
Queen Isadora tilted her head slightly, voice smooth as oil. "My dear Amethyst, no one doubts your compassion. But compassion, when left unchecked, becomes hysteria."
I looked at her, the woman who had murdered my mother with patience and prayer. I can feel the hatred rising deep within, that despite having a different soul within this body, I can understand her pain and hate against the queen. I can feel every ounce of feelings that the princess felt for a long time, as if embracing them as mine.
And, indeed, it is mine now to wield this little power that I have. I will not fail you. I promised you that.
"If hysteria saves lives," I said softly, trying to calm my bursting heart because of the accusation, "then perhaps the gods should bless us all with madness."
The Queen's smile froze.
I reached into my satchel and drew out one of the vials. The murky liquid shimmered faintly under the torchlight, like the memory of moonlight over the lake.
"This was drawn from the eastern canal," I said. "It contains traces of iron, rotroot, and bileweed. Those compounds do not occur naturally. Someone placed them there, deliberately."
Gasps rippled through the hall.
The merchant flushed. "Impossible—"
"Then explain it," I said. "Explain why the fever only spreads where your barrels are sent. Explain why the poor die faster while the nobles remain untouched."
The King's hand struck the armrest sharply. "Enough."
The hall fell silent. I look at the king's eyes, despite the trembling knees behind the plain gown I wore, I didn't back down.
"You act without sanction, without understanding. You disrupt trade and bring disorder. You are not a physician of rank! You are a princess. And you will behave as one."
My voice was calm, but my heart thundered. "And what is a princess, if not one meant to protect her people?"
It left them speechless. It seems like they didn't know that this fragile, abandoned princess, whom they treated as an obstacle and useless, could act like this in front of the council, in front of the king.
I'm not the same old Princess Amethyst that you knew.
His jaw tightened. "Your duty is to obey, not to act."
I bowed slightly, the motion slow and deliberate. "Then I shall obey, Father... until obedience becomes complicity."
A soft murmur broke through the hall: shock, admiration, and fear.
Then the Queen's fan snapped open with a delicate sound. "Such defiance," she said, smiling. "Truly, your mother's spirit lingers."
I felt a pang of pain after the Queen mentioned my late mother. The princess's late mother. Lady Celestine.
That was the last straw.
"If it does," I said, "then may her spirit haunt those who made her suffer."
The chamber fell into stunned silence.
The King's voice thundered. "Enough! You are dismissed."
It seems that I will be grounded in my quarter. Not that I'm not used to it. With a heavy sigh and heart, I shake my head in disappointment. It seems these people, despite the evidence shown to them, choose to remain blind. That those who are in power will choose to stay in blindness despite knowing the truth, they are not directly affected, so why would they fight for the people if it doesn't benefit them?
I curtsied then turned to leave. But before I can step away from the room, at the far end of the hall, a figure stood near the carved pillars. Tall. Still. Cloaked in military black trimmed with crimson. The crest at his shoulder, a burning flame. And that was when I saw him.
House Valleria.
The King's tone shifted. "Duke Lucien Devereux Valleria. You return early from the border."
My heart beat crazily when his presence registered with me. Why is the duke here? Isn't it too early for his return? This is not what I read from the novel. Am I dying early this time? My lips tremble a bit out of fear and the chaos running through my thoughts. But before the chaos consumed me, the duke answered the king.
Lucien inclined his head slightly. "Duty called me back, Your Majesty," he said in his deep voice that felt so familiar, something like whispering in me at the back of an alley.
He said no more... but his eyes found mine.
The world stopped when, finally, I processed the person who was slowly walking towards us. His heavy foot stepped, screams command, that every person in the room look at him cautiously, with respect and awe.
My heart went crazy when I gazed at his appearance. His dark hair polished as if someone who was born into an aristocracy, wearing his military uniform in deep crimson red with the touch of gold and black, carrying a sword in his strong hand, gripping it effortlessly. The hilt shines in silver when the rays of the rising sun touch it... just like the color of his eyes.
And I knew them.
Cold gray-silver eyes. Quiet, unreadable. The same eyes that had met mine once in the alleys, beneath the weight of dusk and danger.
Lucas.
Our gazes locked for one suspended breath, heavy with something neither of us could name.
Then the King waved a hand, dismissing me.
"Leave this matter," he said. "The council will handle it."
But as I turned, I saw the faintest movement, Lucien's hand curling slightly at his side. His expression betrayed nothing, yet I could feel it: calculation, recognition, and beneath it, a restrained fury that did not belong to the court, but to the soldier he still was.
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That night, the palace slept.
But I did not.
I was inside my room for the whole day. Ana just deliberately brought my food during meal time. There's still no notice from the court or from the king. The silence makes me restless, so I make use of the time by studying the evidence and medicinal herbs that I have in my room.
Right now, dressed in my night gown, ready for bed, I sat on the edge of the bed, lost in thought of the scene earlier this day. The confrontation, the queen's accusation, the council's hushed voice, and the strong, deep voice of... the duke.
Why did he come early? What was the reason that pushed him to return earlier than it was expected? And why did he disguise himself as someone who belonged to the slums?
I haven't seen the duke's portrait. I didn't even bother to ask Ana since I've been busy establishing my reputation and connections. Though I have interactions with the duke through the letters, I didn't fathom that I had already met him, not just once, in the slums.
His character in the slum was far from the things I read in the book and the rumors I heard inside the palace. Even though Lucas, or Lucien, in the slums seems dark and dangerous but he is kind to the people there. He acted as a knight in the shadows within the capital.
The rain came again, relentless as my thoughts.
And when the knock came — slow, deliberate, and certain — I already knew who it was. My heart beat fast as I heard the balcony doors open with a soft sigh of wind.
I gazed at my right side to see a dark and tall figure, dressed in the same cloak I saw in the slums, standing at the edge of my room.
Lucien Devereux Valleria stepped into the light.
He stood as if the storm itself had followed him in, tall, composed, the rain clinging to his cloak. His gloves were off, his expression calm, but his eyes... his eyes carried a storm far quieter and far deadlier than the one outside.
"You should not be here," I said. My voice trembled just enough to betray that I meant more than the words implied.
"Neither should you," he replied with the same voice I'm familiar with. "Those alleys were death waiting for a cause."
He said it like a reprimand, but his gaze was something else entirely, a mix of concern and curiosity, the kind that could burn if held too long.
I forced a breath. "Lucas."
His jaw tensed, the smallest sign of acknowledgment.
"Why?" I asked. "Why did you lie?"
He stepped closer, shadows tracing the edge of his face. "Because truth in this palace kills faster than poison. And sometimes, to fight it, one must learn to walk unseen."
"So you watched me," I said quietly. "Watched me fight alone."
"I watched you endure," he corrected softly. "And I learned that defiance, in you, is not a flame. It's an illness. It spreads."
The faintest curve touched his lips, not a smile, but something caught between admiration and warning. I gulped, trying to hide the lump in my throat out of nervousness. The wind outside brushes my shoulders gently. It's cold, the opposite of the heat from the duke's presence, blocking the cold air from the balcony.
"You could have spoken for me in the council," I said. "You didn't."
I stared at his gray eyes, the same eyes that I always face in the alley. It doesn't show any emotions to whatever he was feeling inside. I wanted to read his thoughts, but he didn't show any sign of it.
"If I had, you'd be in a cell by now. Or worse," he answered dangerously.
"Silence isn't mercy, Duke," I stand, facing him more now, as if challenging him.
"Sometimes," he said, stepping closer until the space between us thinned to air, "it's survival."
Lightning flashed beyond the balcony. His presence filled the room like a second heartbeat. I can feel the heat of his body enveloping my thin night gown. My heart went crazy, deafening me by its sudden burst. Whatever turmoil I felt inside, I didn't let him see it.
He's a foot taller than me, with his built, he can easily crush my fragile limbs and body. The difference between someone raised inside the palace, and someone at a young age faced war as if he belonged to the dangerous battles and bloodshed.
He looks down at me, his thick brow slightly furrowed as if learning every detail of my face. I heaved a sigh to calm my insides after his piercing eyes studied me.
"You played the slum's healer well," he said after a pause. "But this—" he gestured faintly to the palace, the crown, the marble "—this game is crueler. The Queen already moves against you. The Church whispers of heresy. You're walking into their fire."
"Then I'll walk through it," I said with confidence. Standing with my two feet and meeting his calculating gaze.
His eyes softened for a moment, rare but fleeting. "You sound like her."
"My mother?" My eyes widened because of the realization.
He nodded once. "Lady Celestine was the only one who believed knowledge could outshine faith. They hated her for it."
The words struck deep. "You knew her?"
"I saw her once," he said, looking far lost in his thought as if remembering a rare memory he had with my mother. "The night before her wings were clipped."
For the first time, his composure cracked, a flicker of something raw behind his calm.
"She told the King," he continued, "that ignorance is the slowest poison of all."
My throat tightened. "And now her daughter poisons that ignorance."
"Or cleanses it," he said softly.
A long silence hung between us, thick with history, with understanding neither of us asked for.
"Why reveal yourself now?" I asked finally.
"Because the current is shifting," he said. "And you've stirred the water enough that it's no longer safe to stand on shore."
He then turned toward the door. "Choose your next step carefully, Princess. You're not the only one who wants to heal this empire... but not everyone will use the same medicine."
Without answering, the door clicked shut behind him, leaving the scent of rain and smoke in his wake.
I stood there, unmoving, heart pounding like war drums.
Lucas was gone.
But Lucien remained.
And somewhere between them lay the truth... dangerous, magnetic, and inevitable.
When the last candle flickered out, I whispered to the storm:
"Let them whisper beneath the throne. Let them drown in silence if they must. For I will not."