1711, Lavillia Perra, Kestramore City

        "I've received and examined the blood samples that you've sent," the Grand Tutor, Archibald Breckenridge said. "Based on the clotting and transparency of the blood, I concluded that it must've been pufferfish poison. Furthermore, look at the corpse. The signs of paralysis are evident here."

Tristan de Fontaine's eyes darted towards the corpse of Eufemia Dubois, completely immersed in a pool of alcohol to prevent it from decomposing. It was a morbid sight, even for Tristan himself.

         "I believe so too," he admitted. "Now that we've concluded the cause of death, we should hasten the funeral. She had been lying here long enough, poor woman."

     That afternoon, news of the Princess Consort's cause of death was revealed to the public, and now, the palace officials were in mad pursuit for those who dealt with and sold pufferfish poison.

The dealers in the Isles of Vitale had fled their shops, and anyone who owned even a drop of the poison was swiftly tied up and brought into custody.

       Of course, no one was more agitated than the murderer herself. Upon hearing the news, Marguerite immediately pocketed up the vial of poison and donned the clothes of Aspen, her maid. 
She had to hide the chest of poisons while simultaneously disposing of that vial of pufferfish poison, and she had to do it fast.

She hastily put on Aspen's bonnet and stuffed her long golden hair beneath it, while ensuring that the bonnet covered a sizable portion of her face.

The weather was pleasant outside, and Marguerite hoped that it would remain that way. She put the colourful vials of poisons into her stockings, where they remained perfectly hidden underneath her skirt. However, they did produce a suspicious clinking sound whenever she walked.

That was the least of Marguerite's worries though, and she soundlessly left the room, wanting to get it all done and over with.

       Marguerite knew her way around the palace well, and she decided that the best place to hide the vials would be in the maze. Very few people ventured there out of fear of getting lost, although she would have to be careful as to not get lost herself.

There, she would hide the poison vials. They were encased in glass, so Marguerite was confident that they would withstand the rain.

As for the vial of pufferfish poison, she would chuck it into the nearby stream. Then, she would wipe her hands clean and walk off merrily. Even if people found out that she was the one who poisoned Eufemia Dubois, there was no evidence to implicate her.

     She calmly headed to the maze and cut out a piece of turf, exposing the soft dark soil. Marguerite plopped the vials into the soil and covered it with the turf. One down, one more to go.

Marguerite exited the maze and headed towards the stream, but instead of the gentle, serene freshwater stream that she was used to seeing, she saw a turbulent, chaotic river. The water from all the incessant raining had accumulated here, and the stream had swelled up considerably.

Marguerite smirked. All the better, it seems. Even a corpse would simply vanish if it were thrown in there.

She reached for the vial in her pocket, but instead of feeling the cold, smooth glass surface, she felt nothing inside her pocket. It was empty.

Marguerite let out a gasp as she wriggled her hand into the pocket, hoping that it was somewhere in there. It had to be in there.

But there was nothing.

      In a panic, she turned around and skimmed the path she took earlier, combing through every bed of grass and looking into every rabbit hole. It had to be somewhere. If someone were to discover it and link it back to her, then she was ruined!

In desperation, she knelt down on the ground and began to pull out the blades of grass. The soil swiftly accumulated under her fingernails, staining them black. The sharp grass blades created tiny little cuts all over her fingers, but Marguerite did not care about that. All she cared about was that vial, and she needed to find it and destroy it.

     Then, she heard the soft rustling sound of grass as someone made their way closer towards her.

    "Are you looking for this?" said the voice of a woman, her tone cold and laced with suspicion.

Marguerite contemplated running back to her room instead of facing this individual, but she decided not to. If this person's rank was below hers, then she could simply silence her.

Marguerite did not carry a knife in her pocket for nothing.

       However, luck was definitely not on Marguerite's side that day, because when she turned around to confront the woman, she came face to face with the Marchioness of Avionne, Miriam Breckenridge.

Marguerite knew Miriam, oh she knew Miriam very well. She was the wife of the Academy's head tutor, and she treated all the students as if they were her own children, even the two-faced Marguerite.

Marguerite often wondered if Miriam saw straight through her innocent façade, as the middle-aged woman constantly cast suspicious stares in her way, especially after Jacquetta Palin's disappearance.

    "Marguerite le Prince," Miriam gasped in shock upon seeing her face. For a moment, she stared at Marguerite in surprise, but Miriam was smart. She glanced at the vial in her hands, and quickly put two and two together.

    "I assume this is yours," Miriam said, her usually warm gaze now uncharacteristically cool. "Poor Miss Dubois... She must've never expected to be murdered by her own best friend."

Marguerite said nothing, not a single word of remorse, and not a single word of denial. In Miriam's eyes, Marguerite essentially admitted to the murder, and she showed absolutely no regret about it.

    "You always had that vicious streak about you. You may have fooled everybody else, but you haven't fooled me. You are cruel and heartless, just like your dear mother," Miriam huffed indignantly. She never liked Alberta le Prince, and this young lady standing in front of her was a true testament to her mother.

    "I will let the authorities know about this. People like you deserve to rot in a dungeon!" she spat before lifting her skirt and prepared to take off.

After remaining quiet for so long, Marguerite eventually decided to open her mouth.

    "You are right, Lady Breckenridge," she said coolly. "I am cruel and heartless, just like my Lady Mother. Do you want to know a secret?"

Miriam's steps came to a halt, and hesitantly, she turned around.

    "What secret?" she barked, trying to appear bold and resolute, though it did little to hide the fear that was blooming in her chest.

Marguerite's lips curved into a sweet smile. "Do you remember Lucia de Fontaine?"

    "Lucia?" Miriam mumbled. Of course, she remembered Lucia, she was her best friend. Miriam was just a newlywed bride when the enigmatic Lucia de Fontaine, the young wife of the Duke of Lorewell emerged in the high society.

     Miriam, though the daughter of a wealthy baron, was born and raised in the rural region of Aurigny, and as a result, she was dubbed 'the Country Bumpkin'. That was why when she first saw Lucia de Fontaine, she was absolutely dumbstruck.

How could anyone be so beautiful and noble? Lucia de Fontaine's etiquette and countenance outshone even that of the Queen's, and Miriam adored her. She would model herself after Lucia de Fontaine, even years after her death.

    "Let me tell you, Lady Breckenridge," Marguerite began softly. "Lucia de Fontaine was poisoned to death by my mother."

In a split second, Marguerite's calm persona dissipated, and all that was left was a cold, chilling madness. Her pale blue eyes appeared dead and soulless, like the eyes of a witch that sold her soul to the devil.

    "Lucia de Fontaine was my mother's rival, so she got rid of her. And one day, I will kill her daughter in the exact same way. With poison."

To say that Miriam was shocked would be an understatement.  She was horrified, mortified even.

That was when she realised how dangerous her predicament was. Here she was, alone with a heartless murderer. If Marguerite could kill off her former best friend, what was stopping her from killing Miriam?

       She had to escape, and she had to do it fast. Miriam hastily took a step back, praying that Marguerite would let her be, but 'mercy' was not a word in Marguerite's dictionary.

    "Oh, Lady Breckenridge..." Marguerite drawled as she clamped her hand around Miriam's shoulder. "You didn't actually think that I'd let you leave, did you?"

Beads of sweat formed on Miriam's forehead as she looked at Marguerite's face. The latter was smiling, cheerfully so, but her eyes remained the same. Cold and lifeless.

    "How optimistic you are," she added. "But to be frank, I personally would consider you stupid instead. You already know my secrets, Lady Breckenridge. There is no choice but to dispose of you."

     Reality struck Miriam like a thunderbolt, and she quickly pried off Marguerite's death grip from her shoulders before running off as fast as her short legs could carry her.

But how could the heavy-set, middle-aged Miriam outrun the young, tall and slender Marguerite?

       For a brief moment, Marguerite remained quiet, silently watching as Miriam sprinted off, confident that she would be able to escape Marguerite's clutches. But of course, Marguerite had no intention of letting Miriam's dreams become a reality.

    She pulled out the knife from her pocket, and within seconds, she had already caught up with Miriam.

Miriam let out a shriek of horror once she saw Marguerite right beside her, but she forced herself to keep going forward. It was a futile attempt.

      A rough shove on her back sent her tumbling down on the ground, and before she could stand up, Marguerite slammed her foot onto Miriam's abdomen, effectively pinning her down to the ground.

    "I hope you kissed your daughter goodbye," Marguerite cooed softly. "Because you'll never see her again after I'm done with you."

Miriam barely managed to process those words before a knife was plunged into her neck.