Asros wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve, bounded up the stone steps in a single breath, and pulled on the firmly shut door. Through the widening gap, the great hall emerged into view, as silent as a tomb.
Looking around the gloomy expanse, where neither a guard nor a maid could be seen, he tiptoed up the stairs.
He did not even know why he was holding his breath.
He had felt it on his last visit as well, but this castle seemed like nothing so much as a mausoleum. The eerie stillness made his chest tighten instinctively.
Glancing past the heavily curtained windows, Asros skipped two steps at a time, reaching the third floor in moments.
At last, his sister’s bedroom door came into view.
Pausing before the heavy mahogany door to catch his breath, he knocked tentatively.
Yet even after waiting, no one asked who was there, nor came an invitation to enter.
‘Is she asleep, maybe?’
Pressing his ear to the wood, Asros knocked a little harder. This time, a dull thud echoed from inside.
After a moment’s hesitation, he turned the handle and peered in.
A hazy smoke drifted through the disheveled room.
Coughing at the stale air, Asros froze, his eyes going wide. It looked as though a storm had torn through the chamber.
Blinking, his mouth half open, he stepped into the wreckage as if drawn by a spell.
Shards of shattered glass lay strewn across the floor.
The carpet reeked of dark wine where a bottle had shattered, and long strips of shredded cloth and loose feathers from a torn pillow were scattered in a chaotic mess.
Asros stared blankly about the room until his gaze landed on the fractured full-length mirror. He flinched, pulling his shoulders inward.
His own reflection, splintered into dozens of fragments, stared back at him through the cobweb of cracks.
A chill ran down his spine. He took a hesitant step back, only to catch a faint rustling behind him.
Whirling around, Asros went rigid. Talia was sprawled across the carpet.
His breath caught in his throat.
Clad only in a thin nightgown, she was staring up at the ceiling with empty eyes. The utter absence of life in her face sent a shudder through him.
Moving arms as thin as birch twigs, she gathered a handful of feathers from the floor and tossed them into the air.
The white down floated like specks of dust through the smoky haze.
She watched them drift for a moment with unfocused eyes, then slowly shifted her gaze to him.
Asros stepped back on instinct.
Her lips, lined with dried scabs, parted to let out a dry, rasping whisper.
“…Did you come to gawk?”
“I—I just came… to see how you were doing…”
Her hollow gaze fell upon the large bouquet cradled in his arms.
Asros felt his ears burn. For some reason, bringing them felt terribly cruel.
Talia closed her eyes, exhausted.
“…Leave it and get out.”
Hesitating, he set the flowers on the low shelf beside the bed.
He did not know what else to do.
With one last helpless look at his sister, Asros turned and fled the room.
In the corridor, Berens furrowed his brow at the prince’s pale face, looking suspicious, as if wondering whether Talia had harmed him.
Without a word of explanation, Asros grabbed the man’s hand and pulled.
“Let’s go back to the Main Palace. Quickly.”
He broke into a run down the corridor, which lay as quiet as a grave.
He did not even know what he was running from. He only knew he had to get away from this cold, damp place as fast as his legs would carry him.
Glancing once over his shoulder at the cracked bedroom door, Asros bolted down the stairs and tore out of the Separate Palace like an animal escaping a snare.
It felt as if ants were crawling through her veins.
A sharp, prickling sting gnawed at her nerves, creeping from her shins up to her knees and thighs, then chewing into her hips and lower back.
It was not the blinding agony from before, but it was maddening all the same.
Talia dug her nails in, obsessively clawing at the lumpy flesh over her knees. As if provoked by the friction, the ants beneath her skin burrowed deeper, straight into the bone.
She gouged at the skin, tough as tree bark, desperate to drag the wretched vermin out.
Blood seeped steadily from the torn flesh. Ignoring the burning pain, she was digging her fingernails into the raw meat when the nanny walked in and shrieked.
“I told you, stop that! Please!”
The nanny slammed her tray down and grabbed Talia’s wrists.
Talia looked at her with dull, listless eyes, then tried to bring her other hand back to the scar.
“Why must you do this, truly!”
Pinning both of Talia’s hands, the nanny let out a heavy sigh.
“It is unsightly enough as it is. What will you do if it gets worse?”
Talia stared at her blankly.
This was the same nanny who used to praise her beauty until she was hoarse, fawning over how much Talia resembled Senevier in her youth.
It seemed that even to her, Talia had become hideous.
Yanking her wrists free with all her strength, Talia shoved the woman’s shoulder.
“Get out! I can’t stand the sight of you!”
Glaring sharply, the nanny stomped over to the side table, picked up a bowl of porridge and a medicine bottle from the tray, and thrust them forward.
“Eat this, and I will leave whether you want me to or not, so don’t worry.”
Talia swung her arm to knock the bowl away.
Yet even the dullest servant learned after the same thing happened time and again.
Stepping neatly out of reach, the nanny fixed her with a stern look.
“If you do not eat, I won’t light the sleep-grass.”
Glaring with bitter resentment, Talia finally took the bowl. She did not have the strength left to fight.
She picked up the spoon and mechanically shoved the mush into her mouth. It tasted like mud.
Swallowing down the nausea, she forced the porridge down and drained the bitter draught; only then did the nanny place a fresh bundle of herbs into the burner and light it.
Talia sank back onto the bed, inhaling the acrid smoke.
As her mind grew hazy, a heavy numbness rolled over her. Letting out a faint breath of relief as her senses dulled, she turned her eyes toward the window. Beyond the clear pane, the evening sky was bleeding crimson.
Once the sun dipped beneath the horizon, a thick darkness would descend upon her. Even through the fog in her head, dread crept in.
She was terrified of the night. The memory of waiting endlessly in the dark seemed to squeeze the air from her throat.
Yet she feared the morning even more. She did not want to face another day trapped in this wretched body.
She squeezed her eyes shut, whispering a desperate prayer.
She prayed that all the time left to her would simply bleed away while she slept.
So that she might finally be free of this agony.
Yet, as always, no one answered.
Roused by a hand shaking her shoulder, Talia looked toward the window where morning sunlight was streaming in, and let out a hollow sigh.
Another hateful day was beginning. She pressed a hand to her throbbing temple.
Then an unfamiliar voice cut through the quiet.
“You must wake now, Your Highness.”
Startled, Talia turned her head. A dark figure loomed beside the bed, and she bolted upright.
A woman, remarkably tall and broad-shouldered, was looking down at her with eyes the color of cold steel.
With measured, immaculate precision, she offered a curt bow.
“Forgive the intrusion into your bedchamber, Your Highness. I am Trania Meldren, Head Maid of the Empress Palace. By order of Her Majesty the Empress, I have come to see to Your Highness’s preparations for the day.”
Bewildered, Talia let her eyes dart across the room.
In the corner of the chamber, which had been tidied while she slept, stood a dozen maids in uniforms bearing the crest of the Empress Palace.
Seeing the garments draped over their arms, Talia froze.
An ominous chill gripped her throat.
“Preparations… For what…?”
“Today, Your Highness is granted an audience with His Imperial Majesty the Emperor.”
END