1712, De Fontaine Manor, Lorewell

       There was a knock on the door. "Miss, I've brought your breakfast. May I come in?"

No answer came. Rosie pursed her lips dejectedly, then tried to turn the doorknob. Locked.

    "I will leave the tray outside, Miss. If you need me, I'll be right here."

She stood there silently for a short while, hoping that her mistress would eventually come out, but she never did. It had been four months since Catarina returned from the palace. No proposal ever came, and her mistress had never left her room since. Rosie could not blame her though, as that final day at the palace was nothing short of traumatic.

    She had been strolling around the palace grounds with Marie that morning, and as a result, they were among the first people to see Lavinia Olivier's splattered head.

Almost immediately after a crowd had formed, the accusations about the Prince's alleged affair with Eleanora Finley came to light following the discovery of her pregnancy. What a scandal!
While one might relish in such delicious gossip, this particular piece had affected her mistress so deeply that Rosie felt sick to the stomach whenever she heard it.

When it became certain that Catarina would not come out, Rosie let out a resigned sigh and eventually walked away.

    Inside the bedroom, Catarina waited with bated breath for Rosie's footsteps to fade away, and once they had disappeared entirely, she finally let out a sigh of relief.

She rarely ate since she returned home, but the sensation of hunger seems to have long abandoned her. Her stomach no longer rumbled, and her tongue no longer craved the taste of salt and sugar. It was as if her body was rotting, dissolving in this thick miasma of melancholy, disintegrating into a pile of nothingness.

    The bedding felt so soft underneath her, so warm and comforting. If she could remain there forever, she would.

There is no one here, only darkness and her continuous desire to sleep and never wake up. No sound could be heard other than her own weak breaths and the ticking of the clock.

Tick... Tick... Tick...

    It has been four months since that day. She had not been chosen as the Prince's consort. Eleanora was, albeit disgracefully.

Tick... Tick... Tick...

    It was autumn when she left, and now, it is winter. Soon, spring will come, then summer, then autumn again.

Although she herself had uttered those cruel words towards the Prince, deep down in her heart, she wished that he would continue reaching out for her. She wished that he would come to her. Wrote her letters proving his innocence. But they never came, and nor did he. In her eyes, his silence only confirmed Dinah Finley's accusations.

Tick... Tick... Tick...

     It has been four months.

∆

    "A letter has arrived for the young lady," the pageboy said, handing a small, weathered envelope to Rosie.

    "From whom?" she inquired.

    "I don't know, mam. But it came from the northern border."

The little brown envelope almost crumbled in her hands, and the messy handwriting on top of the envelope was barely corrigible. 'Lady Catarina de Fontaine,' it wrote.

Rosie brought the envelope up to Catarina's room, then softly knocked on the door. "Miss, there is a letter for you," she called out.

But as per usual, there was no answer. With a sigh, she knelt down on the floor and slipped the letter through the gap under the door.

    "It came from the northern border," Rosie added. "I thought you might be interested in knowing what it says."

Inside the bedroom, Catarina stoically sat by the foot of her bed, silently staring at the brown envelope on the carpeted floor.

    Her lips curled into a weak smile, and she reluctantly stood up to pick up the letter. Though the sender's name was not on the envelope, she knew perfectly well who it came from.

Moments after she had walked away from the Prince, she received another proposal almost immediately. Jessamine le Comte, whom she had only ever considered as a friend, had grasped her hand and bent down on her knees.

    "Come with me, dear Catarina," she had said. "We shall go and see the world together, and we will never have to deal with this cruel society anymore. You and I, dear Catarina."

It had caught her off guard, leaving her completely speechless. Jessamine's deep green eyes were filled with genuine sincerity and a burning desire, and Catarina knew that the former's feelings for her were indeed true.

    However, she did not feel the same. To tell the truth, Catarina did love Jessamine, but as a friend, and she was not willing to forsake her friendship.

    "I would very much like to," she began softly. "But I cannot. My father..."

    "He will be rest assured, for I will never hurt you like the Prince did," Jessamine argued.

    "I know. But I cannot leave my father behind. This farce of a ceremony must have ired him enough. I cannot possibly cause him even more pain."

They had parted on that rainy day, though they maintained a correspondence with one another. The letters were short and sweet, as Jessamine was not much of a writer herself, but it was enough to bring joy to Catarina's cold, dead heart.

Today's letter was different though.

My dear Lady Catarina,

    The Amarisian troops have ambushed the northern border. I do not know if we can withstand their attacks any longer. This might be the last you will ever hear from me. I love you, Catarina.

Jessamine le Comte

Her hands trembled as she read those words over and over, hoping that the letter was nothing more than a joke. But when she heard her cousin calling out for her from the other side of the door, his tone full of urgency, she knew that it was in fact, reality.

    "Nina, open the door!" he yelled.

With alarm, she hopped off of her bed and tugged the door handle, allowing Rafael to come inside.

    "Have you heard about the ambush, Nina?" he asked, almost breathlessly.

She tightly clutched onto Jessamine's letter, and nodded. "I have. But we can fight them off, right? We always do, Rafael."

    Her cousin did not show the same optimism. "The odds are against us. The Amarisians are larger in both size and number. It will be difficult for us to overpower them. Which is why I intend to join the military."

    "The military?"

    "Why, do you not trust me, Nina?"

    "I do trust you, Rafael. But the last place that I want you to be at is the battlefield! Why must you gamble your life like that?"

    "I never intended to gamble my life, Nina. It is a chance for me to finally reclaim what is mine. What is ours!"

Catarina frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

He gestured to the opal locket resting upon Catarina's collarbones. "If you had learned how to speak Amarisian, then you wouldn't have been so clueless, dear cousin."

    Rafael unclasped the slim platinum chain, and read out the words engraved on the locket. "Vie Farense la Amarisia. The Princess of Amaris. And here is my father's locket."

Unlike Catarina's pale green locket, this one was luminous yet pitch black. Engraved on it were the words, Vie d'Or Faren la Amarisia. The Crown Prince of Amaris.

     "I swear, Nina. By hook or by crook, I will take back what is mine."

∆

    Like the rest of the palace, the throne room was bright and opulent, though a dull, somber feel had lingered in the air for the past few months.

    The proud King Guillaume was seated upon his throne, seemingly unfazed by the crisis undertaking the north. It would take a closer glance to see the unease in his eyes.

    "I have come here to strike a deal with you," the young man said. "If you lend me your soldiers and your support, I shall put an end to this war."

    "You seem so certain, Master Lombardi. How will you know if the Amarisians will accept you?" the king retorted.

    "They have no choice. Anyone is better than Anton."

    "Then, do you plan to slay your own uncle?"

    "If I have to. A small price to pay for peace."

The king solemnly gazed at the young man, and eventually, he let out a soft sigh. "None of this would have happened if your father hadn't shown mercy towards that bastard. Neither he nor his wife would have died, and you wouldn't have been orphaned."

    "Which is why I shall correct his wrongs. But to do that, I shall need your support, Your Majesty."

Guillaume waved his hand. "You need not ask, boy. You already have it."

    "Before I proceed any further, it must be made known that Anton is aware of my existence, and his Amarisian spies could be anywhere, ready to draw their blades. Tomorrow, I will march through the forests of Riviera, and there, I shall meet my end at the hands of a wild bear. Everyone must be made known of my death. Everyone must believe that I am dead."

∆

    Rafael had truly planned his death very well. The narrow track that he and his men had taken yesterday was thoroughly splattered with chicken blood, and small tufts of bear fur were stuck onto the tree barks.

Claw marks were etched on the trees, and bits of Rafael's clothing were strewn on the forest floor. It was a perfect setting, and few would doubt his apparent death despite the absence of a corpse.

    It had been three days since he carried out his plan, and he was certain that the news had spread far and wide. Only the King, the Prince, and his close followers knew that he was still alive and breathing.

Rafael knew that the Amarisian spies must be closely monitoring the de Fontaine manor, where the daughter of the deceased Princess Lucianna Van Den Berg resided. Even though it would be safer for him if Catarina did not know, he could not bear to cause her any more distress.

    So now, he sat alone in the dingy inn, a small candle lit in front of him. A piece of parchment was spread out on the wooden table, and his fingers were curled around a feather quill.

To my dear cousin,

Wipe your tears away and rest assured, for I am still alive. Life still flows in my veins, and not a single drop of my blood has been splattered. You may have heard of my apparent death, but that is nothing more than a hoax. A distraction. Anton knows of my existence now, which is enough to threaten him, as Amarisian spies have been following me for the past few weeks. My death should satisfy him now, I hope.

Cousin, I shall march up north soon, and it will be difficult for me to write to you. But do not worry about me. I shall reclaim my rightful place on the throne, and this war shall be put to an end.

Rafael Van Den Berg

He folded the parchment and sealed it with red wax, then passed it to the young, scruffy messenger.

    "Bring this to the de Fontaine manor. It is for the Lady Catarina," Rafael said. "And here is your pay."

The young boy beamed a toothy smile at the sight of the two gold coins, and with a tilt of his hat, he grabbed the letter, tossed it in his bag, and took off.

    Now, Rafael probably should have chosen a more reliable messenger. Instead of heading east towards Lorewell, the young boy made his way down south to Charon, where he indulged himself in wines and spirits. As for Rafael's letter, it lay alone in the bottom of the bag, never to see the light of day again.