The gossips were quick to wag their tongues.
While the incident involving the Second Princess was unfortunate, many voices rose to argue that it was unjust to pin the entire blame on Sir Varkas. Under ordinary circumstances, shouldn’t the matter have ended with the punishment of the Second Princess’s personal knight?
Above all, this decision made light of the First Princess’s position.
Though their engagement had been born of political interest, the two had shared a bond since childhood. Their formal betrothal was three years old, but in truth, the arrangement had stood for more than a decade.
Many voiced bitter criticism against the decree that tore them apart without warning. And all agreed that behind the Emperor’s unreasonable judgment, the Empress’s hand was at work. It was an open secret that she was maneuvering to put her young son on the throne.
“What do you think will happen to the alliance between the Crown Prince and House Shearkan?”
A maid stirring a pot with a ladle turned to ask the healing sorceress sent from the Empress Palace.
The middle-aged sorceress, Marisen, was a frequent visitor to the Main Palace and well-versed in court rumor. She answered nonchalantly, mincing a bunch of fresh herbs on the board.
“Who can say… If Sir Varkas truly breaks his engagement with the First Princess and marries the Second, that unshakeable alliance is as good as dead.”
“Then might House Shearkan throw their weight behind the Second Prince?”
Marisen’s expression grew dubious.
“Knowing Sir Varkas’s temper, I doubt he would shift his stance so easily.”
“Why not? The Second Prince is far better than that scoundrel of a Crown Prince.”
At the maid’s reckless words, the sorceress shot her a stern look.
“Mind your tongue. No matter how secluded this place is, the Imperial Palace has ears in the walls.”
The maid pouted. Fear must have struck her beneath the defiance, however, for her eyes darted restlessly around the room.
Watching her, the sorceress gave a short, dry chuckle and went back to chopping. Whatever became of the ties between the Crown Prince and House Shearkan was none of her affair. She kept her ears open to protect herself, but beyond her duties, she cared little for palace intrigue.
Marisen tipped the rare herbs she had struggled to procure into a small pot and worked the bellows. Soon the Mandrake Sap began to bubble, filling the kitchen with its heavy, pungent steam.
Once the brew had steeped enough, she set the jar on the windowsill to cool. Suddenly, a harsh voice cut through the air outside.
“Is no one here!”
The maid, drenched in sweat as she shoved firewood into the stove, jerked her head up in alarm.
“Were we expecting someone?”
“I was told nothing…”
Marisen leaned out the window toward the gate of the Separate Palace. Through the thick shrubbery, she saw a line of figures draped in flowing cloaks. At a glance, they did not look like anyone sent by the Empress.
A bad feeling prickled at her, and Marisen nudged the maid toward the back door.
“I’ll go out. Run to the Empress Palace and fetch the guards.”
At present, the Separate Palace held only three or four maids, the Second Princess’s Nanny, and Marisen herself. Because the Second Princess was notoriously difficult with people, they did not even have proper guards stationed at the doors. If these visitors came with ill intent, there was no way to keep them out.
Grasping the danger, the maid slipped swiftly out the kitchen door.
Marisen waited until she had cleared the grounds before crossing the hall to open the front door. On the steps stood two men in uniform and three women dressed as noble ladies.
Appraising them with a wary eye, Marisen spoke cautiously.
“May I ask your business here?”
“I have come to see Talia Roem Guirta.”
The woman standing at the rear spoke as she stepped forward.
Recognizing her face, Marisen caught her breath. Before her stood the woman second in rank only to the Empress. Marisen dropped her head at once.
“I greet Her Highness, the First Princess.”
“Spare me the formalities and take me to the girl.”
Ayla Roem Guirta cut her short, her voice laced with exhaustion.
Marisen raised her head, hesitated, and offered a careful refusal.
“I beg your forgiveness, Your Highness, but the Second Princess has not yet recovered her strength. If you could return on another day…”
“Are you afraid I mean to harm my own sister?”
The Princess’s voice went suddenly cold.
“Your loyalty does you credit, but you forget whom you address. I did not make a request. I gave an order.”
· · ·
“If you understand me, lead the way at once.”
Pinned like a mouse before a viper, Marisen had no choice but to turn around.
The First Princess said not a single word as they walked the corridor. Marisen glanced back every few paces to gauge her temper, swallowing hard as they neared the bedchamber door.
Hours had passed since the incense was lit; the Second Princess ought to be awake by now. Still, Marisen dreaded whether that frail, broken patient could endure such a formidable guest.
“The rest of you wait here. I will go in alone.”
At the end of the hallway, the Princess gave curt instructions to her attendants, then leveled a haughty look at Marisen. Pressed by the wordless command to announce their arrival, Marisen tapped timidly on the wood.
“Your Highness, you have a visitor. May we enter?”
No answer came from within.
Could she still be asleep?
After a moment’s hesitation, Marisen turned the latch. A sickly sweet smell, like fruit turning rotten, hung in the air alongside the sharp sting of herbs.
Frowning at the dizzying draft, Marisen started when she saw Talia sprawled on the mattress like a corpse. Rushing to her side, she pressed two fingers beneath Talia’s nose and let out a small breath when she felt the faint, steady air.
Her relief withered the moment she saw Talia’s legs beneath the hiked-up hem of her gown. She had torn off the bandages and clawed at her scars again; angry red scratches scored the flesh.
With a heavy sigh, Marisen laid a hand on Talia’s leg and murmured a simple healing spell.
A gaunt hand shot out and clamped around her wrist. Marisen jumped, turning to meet a pair of hazy blue eyes.
The unfocused pupils drifted through the empty air. With every small shift, the deep blue irises rippled like dark water. They were eyes that scattered a person’s thoughts, not unlike the smoke the Princess took into her lungs each day.
“…Who said you could enter?”
Talia parted lips crusted with dry blood, her voice thin, metallic, and strangely clear.
Gathering her wits, Marisen hastily pulled the coverlet over the princess’s bare legs.
“Forgive me, Your Highness. A guest insisted on seeing you…”
As Marisen straightened and gestured toward the door, Talia’s gaze flicked past her shoulder. Beneath her touch, Marisen felt the Second Princess’s brittle frame go rigid.
Staggering as she dragged herself upright, Talia glared at her half-sister with open hostility.
“What brings you to such a wretched place?”
“I came to speak with you.”
The First Princess crossed the threshold, looked long and silently upon her sister’s pale, sickly face, and turned to Marisen.
“Leave us.”
Bowed beneath the First Princess’s crushing presence, Marisen backed toward the doorway. As she drew the door shut, the sight of the two sisters, born of different mothers, branded itself into her mind.
Beside Talia Roem Guirta, who looked ready to shatter at a touch, Ayla Roem Guirta was radiant with unblemished life. The contrast left a bitter taste on Marisen’s tongue.
She lingered a moment, watching Talia through the narrowing gap with shadowed eyes, before pulling the door closed with a long, heavy sigh.
END