Simore’s chest rose and fell with labored breaths, the rage in his eyes not abating. The muscles in his jaw tightened as he met Linone’s gaze, his fists still trembling with barely contained fury. But no words came from his lips, only the silent testament of his anger, directed like a weapon at the trembling figure of Sigel.

EPISODE 7
VERDALISSE

Sterlla cast a sidelong glance at Sigel as the palace maids helped her up, their hands dusting off her gown’s soaked hem from the water pooling around her feet from the shattered vase. Though Sigel appeared shaken, her expression carrying the fragile look of someone caught unawares, Sterlla knew better. She wasn’t about to let her brother, the Crown Prince, be blamed for an incident that Sigel’s carelessness or scheming might have caused.

In that tense moment, Serox, Seradole, and Sir Shane arrived, their presence adding gravity to the scene. The rest of the staff, along with the household cooks, had also gathered, lining the lower stairway, eyes wide as they watched the scene unfold. Sterlla clenched her jaw, her grip tightening on Simore’s shoulders as she leaned close to him, murmuring softly, “This could make it seem as though Brother Simore was at fault.” Her words, though almost inaudible, reached Linone, who stood quietly by her side.

Before Seradole could speak, Sterlla took control of the situation, her voice rising in an orchestrated tone of concern. “Brother Simore! Oh, heavens! You look completely shaken!” She shook him slightly, her performance one of exaggerated distress. “Are you alright? Please, tell me what happened!” Her sudden outburst drew all eyes toward Simore, turning the gathered attention squarely upon him.

Linone stepped forward, his face a composed mask, as he stood beside the Crown Prince. “Are you well, Your Highness?” he asked, his voice carrying authority and concern alike. “It seems you may be quite disturbed by what has occurred.”

The display of familial and loyal support caught the attention of the staff. Those who were not holding Sigel quickly moved to Simore’s side, murmuring concerns and offering aid. Sterlla continued to shake her brother lightly, her worried face only intensifying until Adena appeared, visibly rattled as she approached the scene. She seemed unsure of what was happening, though instinctively, her eyes darted to Sigel, sensing her involvement.

Sterlla’s firm yet frantic touch eventually brought Simore out of his initial rage. Blinking, he glanced down at his sister, her presence seeming to steady him. “Ah, my dear sister,” he muttered, regaining his composure, a glimmer of warmth softening his otherwise stern features.

Their father, Serox, had positioned himself at the foot of the stairs just below them, his wise eyes observing the scene closely. “What happened, my son?” he asked, his voice gentle yet authoritative, a pillar of calm amidst the brewing tension. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

Simore straightened, looking at his father with a faint but reassuring nod. “I am unharmed, Father. It was... merely an accident.”

At that moment, Sigel clenched her fists, her eyes filling with tears that spilled over as she let out a wail, her voice quivering with feigned innocence. “Crown Prince Simore,” she sobbed, her voice filled with an almost poetic sorrow. “I do not know what I could have done to offend you, but it seems I must have, for I cannot fathom why else you would push that vase toward me!” She dabbed at her tears delicately, each gesture calculated, as she cast her gaze downward, appearing like a fragile flower crushed by unseen cruelty.

A murmur of sympathy passed through the crowd as some of the staff turned their gaze upon Simore, their eyes now filled with doubt, even pity for Sigel’s apparent plight.

Sterlla’s eyes narrowed, her gaze hardening as she glared at Sigel. Her stare was brief, but fierce enough to reveal her fury to those keen enough to notice, before she softened her expression, redirecting her focus to her brother. “My dear brother Simore,” she began, lifting his hands into her own, her tone laced with a protective tenderness, “has been struggling of late, his limbs often failing him unexpectedly.” She gave him a slight, encouraging smile before continuing to address the staff, her words as carefully arranged as the flowers that once filled the now-shattered vase. “His body is so weakened at times, my poor brother, that he occasionally knocks things over without intending to.”

A hushed silence fell over the hall as Sterlla’s words sank in. Her composed voice had an air of undeniable truth, and the weight of her sincerity was clear to all who watched. She maintained her grip on Simore’s hands, squeezing them gently to steady him as she kept her gaze fixed on Sigel, challenging her with an unspoken but unbreakable resolve.

Linone inclined his head respectfully, his voice calm and sincere as he echoed Sterlla’s words. "Indeed," he began, "since the Crown Princess faced those harrowing assassination attempts, Crown Prince Simore has been relentless in his efforts to uncover the culprit. His devotion has taken such a toll that he seems to have lost all will to care for himself, leaving him so weakened that even standing upright now strains him."

Serox's gaze softened, though his voice carried the authority of both a father and a ruler. "My son," he spoke, his words laden with compassion and concern, "I assure you, the one who dared harm your sister shall not see the coming winter. Justice will be served swiftly. But as your father, it pains me deeply to see you allow yourself to be weakened so by your own sacrifice. This weight you bear should not come at the cost of your own health."

Sigel, steadying herself, glanced up, her expression one of dawning contrition as she absorbed her father’s words. "I... I didn't realize," she stammered, her voice wavering. "I had no idea that Brother was dedicating himself so fully to ensure Sister’s safety." A delicate sadness shadowed her gaze as she continued, "For that, Brother, I must apologize. I have been remiss, blind to the burden you carry." Her eyes fell to the floor, humbled, then lifted to meet the concerned gazes of the staff. She straightened, her voice rising with gentle assurance. "I know this incident must have unsettled everyone here," she said, her tone suffused with a grace that belied her age. "Please, do not worry for me. It is merely a scratch upon my foot from the broken vase, a trivial injury compared to the weight my brother bears."

The staff looked on, visibly moved by Sigel’s words and the elegance with which she spoke. Her words flowed with the quiet strength and gentle beauty of wildflowers in spring, radiating an inner grace that captivated her audience.

Seradole, ever the nurturing presence, watched Sigel with admiration and pride, her lips curving in a warm, maternal smile. "You are wise beyond your years, my dear child," she said, stepping closer and gently brushing her hand over Sigel’s hair with the tenderness only a mother could bestow. She then turned to Simore, her gaze soft yet firm. "While this was indeed an accident, I trust that you all will be mindful of one another's well-being. These halls are for family and unity, not burdens to be carried alone."

Addressing the household, her voice carried gentle authority. "Come, let us retire for now," she continued, her tone calming the room. "The night is long yet, and rest will do us all good." Taking Sigel’s hands in hers, she guided the young woman toward her chambers, a quiet strength leading both her family and the palace to a night’s rest.