1712, Fort of Verdun, Southern Amaris

    The snow crunched underneath Julian's feet as he approached the tent that housed his best friend, now the pretender to the throne of Amaris, King Anton's greatest threat.

Having shed his old persona a long time ago, Rafael Van Den Berg has now shown his true colours. His cold, stormy gaze was trained on the leather map spread over the table, while his anticipating fingers trailed over the hilt of his sword again and again as if he was murdering Anton a thousand times in his head.

    "We will attack tomorrow, at dawn," Rafael informed Julian as soon as he walked into the tent. "Tell the general to stay put, for this war soon shall end."

    "I will. Although I would advise you to put that sword down, lest you'd injure yourself before you even enter the battlefield," Julian said with a frown.

Rafael let out a low grunt as he laid the sword on the table. "I cannot help it. To think that I will finally avenge my parents tomorrow... My blood screams with excitement."

    And how could he not? In 1692, Rafael's father, the Crown Prince of Amaris, Maximillian Van Den Berg had met a brutal death on the way to his own coronation, and his corpse had been strung up for all to see in the city hall.

His mother, his poor mother, had escaped to Ravaeryn with the infant Rafael in tow. She would have been safe by then, if it were not for the injuries she sustained during the botched assassination. Rosalind Lombardi, the Crown Princess of Amaris, met her end at the doorstep of de Fontaine Manor, moments after handing her son to her sister-in-law, Lucianna de Fontaine.

    "What of your aunt?" Julian suddenly asked. "Do you think that the Amarisians killed her too?"

Rafael frowned. "That would be the most likely explanation. Although, there are quite a few discrepancies. My aunt had faked her death a few years prior to the uprising in order to avoid a marriage to her own half-brother, hence she escaped to Ravaeryn with the Duke of Lorewell. Here, she assumed the identity of Lucia, a runaway minor noblewoman.

    If they had known that she was the Princess and subsequently poisoned her, what stopped them from doing the same to me, who had been only four at that time, and my cousin, her direct descendant?"

It was a question that constantly haunted Rafael. How long have they known? Will they soon make another attempt? Is Catarina truly safe, now that Anton thinks that he is dead and no longer a threat to him?

    "Unless it wasn't the Amarisians," Julian suggested. "House de Fontaine's rise to prominence was astronomical. No family had risen to such heights in such little time. It would be inevitable for someone to hate them so deeply to the point where they are willing to shed blood. Perhaps, your aunt's murderer is walking right under our noses."

    "And Catarina is her father's sole heiress," Rafael murmured.

For a moment, both men sat in austere silence, benumbed. There was only one question in their minds.

    "What if..."

But before it could be voiced out, a messenger boy burst into the tent, his face pale white.

    "Your Majesty," he stammered before Rafael. "There is grave news from Lorewell. Your cousin, Lady de Fontaine has been poisoned."

1712, de Fontaine Manor, Lorewell

    "I do not understand, Master de Fontaine," Rosie cried out. "My mistress barely ate a mouthful of food last night, and she requested no food or drink whatsoever. So how did the poison get to her?"

Tristan de Fontaine coldly glanced around Catarina's room, looking for anything that was remotely suspicious. "Miss Rosie, poison comes in many forms. It is not always ingested, it can also be inhaled or even topical."

    He bent down beside the vanity, where Catarina had been found unconscious that morning. "Did anyone come to visit my cousin in the past few days?"

Rosie hastily nodded. "Yesterday, Miss Eleanora Finley dropped by, and they had tea together. She gave my mistress a box, though I do not know what it contained."

Tristan extended a gloved hand and picked up the red scarf, which had been messily discarded on the floor. "Well, now we know. Only someone living in the palace would be able to get their hands on such finery. Such a shame that it was used to commit a heinous act."

    Catarina had been laid in her late mother's room, where she was attended to by a team of physicians led by her own cousin, Tristan.

Already anguished from the death of his wife, Elliott could not bear to watch his only daughter suffer the same fate. Over fifteen years ago, Lucianna had fallen unconscious and bled to death in a matter of days. And now, the very same thing was happening to his daughter.

Elliott had done everything he could to find the antidote that would cure his daughter, but to no avail. Fifteen years ago, the physician said, "Forgive me, Your Grace. There is nothing more that can be done. All we can do is to pray for her soul." Elliott swallowed hard, knowing that he would hear the same words today.

    As he laid his back against the walls of the manor, he heard a ruckus coming from the main entrance.

    "Where is she?" a voice yelled out. "Where is Catarina?"

Elliott jolted awake as the Prince came running down the hallway, his head of golden brown hair soaked by the summer downpour.

    "Lord de Fontaine," he greeted breathlessly. "Please, I must see your daughter. I must see that she is safe and well."

    "She is not safe and well," Elliott said with an eerie calmness. "You may see for yourself, Your Highness. It is the same poison that killed her mother fifteen years ago, and I had been unable to find a cure back then. That fact remains unchanged."

Julian's blood ran cold. Wordlessly, he pushed past the door that led him into the room of the late duchess, where Catarina lay. The sight of her, so weak and frail upon that large bed made his heart tremble.

    Her skin was deathly pale, almost translucent even. Her eyes were sunken, like a corpse, and her lips were pale blue. He rushed to her side and grasped onto her limp hand. It was cold to the touch.

    "How did it happen? Do you know who did it?" he barraged the duke.

    "She was found unconscious on the floor yesterday. As to who did it, we have no leads yet-"

The Duke's words were cut off when the rapid footsteps of Tristan and Rosie could be heard entering the room.

    "Actually, we have found a lead, Uncle," Tristan voiced out. "Look at this, Your Highness. Does it seem familiar to you?"

And indeed it was. "That scarf... It is an engagement gift from the queen of Phoenicia..." he murmured in disbelief as he stood up and touched the red scarf in Tristan's hold.

    "It was given to Miss Finley... How did it get here?" he said with a frown.

    "Well," Tristan began. "You must haven't known that Miss Finley visited my cousin just hours before she went unconscious. If you are smart, which I certainly hope you are, I believe that you should be able to piece two and two together."

Julian slumped onto the bed beside Catarina, his expression blank. The realisation that Catarina had been poisoned because of him made him feel as if he had been brutally punched in the gut, and no words could explain the anguish and guilt he felt.

    "Have you identified the poison she used?" he questioned weakly, his voice trembling.

    "It is powdered gravebloom. When inhaled, the victim's blood will instantly become thinner, and it will slowly leak from every pore and orifice of the body, condemning them to a slow, but certain death."

    "How cruel," was all that Julian could say. Catarina grew paler and paler by the minute, and he knew that her time was numbered. "Is there a cure? Is there anything that can be done to save her?"

    "There is only one known cure for gravebloom poison, but it is not something that money can buy."

    "Tell me," Julian insisted. "I will do everything in my power to get it for her."

    "Even if it means defying your family?"

Deep within the twisted maze in the royal gardens was a pavilion, and in the heart of the pavilion grew a single tree. Despite existing for hundreds of years, the tree barely reached the height of a grown man's shoulders, and the glittering emerald leaves were sparse, and even rarer than the leaves were the pale white flowers that sprouted at the end of the branches. The petals were smooth and fragile, as if they would disintegrate at the slightest touch, but unbeknownst to many, this weak, delicate plant was the key to cure life's deadliest sicknesses and maladies.

Of course, if the public knew that the royal family was concealing such a miraculous plant, then there would be riots all across the streets of Ravaeryn. Hence, it was hidden from the world. Even the king could not harvest the petals as he pleased. He could only use it when there is no other option left, so how could Julian, a mere prince, get his hands on this plant? Especially when he intended to use it to cure Catarina de Fontaine, both a commoner and an outsider?

       "I will get the cure," he swore. "And I will make sure that the perpetrator would get what she deserves."

1712, Aethiel Palace, Kestramore City

        
        "Julian!" his mother's voice rang as soon as he walked into the drawing-room, where both Eleanora and Dinah Finley were seated on gilded chaises, their necks wrapped under golden shawls, their bejeweled hands holding onto delicate porcelain teacups. "Oh, Julian! How could you disappear just like that? You knew that the wedding would take place in less than a week! You were supposed to be fitted by the tailor today, and the jeweler had come to take your measurements-"

        "There is no need for that, Mother dearest," Julian rebuked snarkily. "There shall be no wedding."

A painful silence befell the drawing-room, but there was no sound more audible than Dinah Finley's horrified gasp.

              "My old ears must have failed me," she guffawed. "Please, I must have misheard you, Your Highness."

Julian's lips curved into a sardonic grin. "Lady Finley, I will not be marrying your daughter."

    "But you must," she stammered. "You must take responsibility-"

Dinah Finley's words came to an abrupt halt as Julian retrieved a red silk scarf from his robe pocket, the fabric so soft that it slithered around his arm like a snake,  the deep red reminiscent of blood. She had seen the scarf before.

When the wedding gifts from the neighbouring kingdoms came, Dinah cared little about this silk scarf from Queen Blanche of Phoenicia, and instead, she marveled over the golden plates and cups nestled within the same crate. But yes, this blood-red scarf, she had seen it before. And she had left it for Eleanora to hold onto.

    "This scarf was found in the room of Lady Catarina de Fontaine in Lorewell, where she was discovered poisoned and unconscious a few days ago. My dear cousin, Eleanora, was the last person to visit her. And with her, she brought this scarf."

As he threw the scarf onto the marble flooring, he noticed how pale Eleanora's face had become. But he did not care. He resented her for what she had done, resented her for still being able to stand, to eat, to breathe, as if there was not another human being suffering as a direct result of her actions. If he had time, then he would immediately send her to court to be tried, but he had no time. No, Catarina had no time.

      "Lady Mother, there is something that I need," he said. Like his aunt and cousin, his mother was also in a state of shock, but instead of pure horror, her features were marred by blistering rage.

Guilt began to creep within her chest, not only towards her son, whom she had repeatedly refused to believe, but also toward Catarina, the innocent girl who was now in between life and death. If only she had not brought this mother and daughter pair here, then none of this would have happened. The more she pondered, she began to wonder if the incident that occurred many months ago was just a fiasco facilitated by Dinah Finley.

    "Anything," she said softly to Julian. "Anything to atone for my sins towards the poor girl."

    "I need your permission to harvest the Flower of Anaise. I am aware that the flower should only be used for a member of the royal family, but I implore you to make an exception."

The Queen smiled weakly. "There is no need for an exception. Once she recovers, I shall welcome her as my daughter-in-law with open hands."

As Julian's footsteps faded away, the drawing-room was once again filled with silence. While Dinah Finley was quite overwhelmed by the events that has just unfolded, Eleanora knew that the damage had been done. This time, she truly had no way out.