A full, twelve hour rest has me bright-eyed and energetic the next day. Enough remains after my lessons with Lady Nyoko to seek out Sigvard and Benno. Though they aren't hard to find—they wait for me in the Salon of the West Wing, criss-crossing little wooden planks to form a three-story manor, complete with front steps, two terraces, and plenty of windows.

Sigvard stretches his neck toward the clock. "Two minutes early, I see."

"That's the great thing about Lady Nyoko. She's so punctual, she's early." When I woke up this morning and fully registered that I no longer had to deal with Lady Avrilaya, I couldn't have been in higher spirits. Her comments about Odeia were the last straw.

They were also suspicious. If she can think so poorly of Odeia, who knows what more she's capable of, perhaps even capable of murder.

"We already checked out you-know-what," Sigvard whispers, pivoting my attention to him.

"I do not know what," I say. Sigvard mouths the word "passage." "Oh, right."

"Odeia was right about it being boarded up. Based on what Benno and I saw, there's no getting past it."

"So that's it?" It feels too soon for the saga of the passage to end. "Is it possible there's another one?"

He shrugs, and we turn to Benno, who cracks a smile.

"I have less of an idea than you two. Remember, I'm just visiting." He thinks for a moment, stacking another few logs to complete a third-story room. "But if I were you, I'd ask myself what the purpose of having the passage was."

"Probably an emergency escape route," I say without thinking.

"In that case, it probably would make sense to have another one installed. So I have two more questions: where do I want to end up after leaving the King's study, and what's the advantage of this location over the fourth floor?"

I join in on the building project, which has turned into a thinking project. We start on the fourth level when I finally break the silence. "The fourth floor is the activity floor. Maybe they wanted him to be in a place where no one would see him."

"Or maybe they wanted a way to get him off the palace premises without being seen," Sigvard says.

"The forest is worth a try," I say. "Though I'm not sure how far we can wander without getting in trouble again."

"Yeah, and you're already skating on thin ice after that whole Lady Avrilaya incident."

My gaze whips from the logs to Sigvard. "How do you know about that?"

"Everyone knows thanks to Clemaina and the Lady herself. They wouldn't shut up about it after dinner."

"At least they waited until most guests left," Benno says.

"I don't really care either way," I say. "They were the ones being pretty and rude. I can't even repeat the things they said about Odeia." Benno's eyes lock onto mine for an instant. Something flickers behind his dark irises, but it's impossible to read. Then, he's focused again on the miniature castle.

"Back to the passage..." Sigvard lowers his voice. "Should we check the forest?"

It seems like the most logical place, yet something still nags me. "Would it be safer for the king to physically leave the palace in case of emergency, or to remain in the palace's walls but be near an exit?"

"We must also remember the location of the passage needs to be realistic for its size," Benno mentions. "You know, like if it runs into the forest, how would it fit within the palace infrastructure?"

Three more logs fit together before a new idea clicks. "What if it just leads to another part of the Royal suite? That would certainly be unexpected if the castle were under siege."

"It wouldn't get him out of the palace, though," Sigvard points out.

"But if he can hide in another room, or better yet, hide in the tunnel, it's safer than physically leaving the palace walls. Out in the open forest, anyone could be hiding in the treetops."

"So you think we should check the study." Sigvard collapses into the couch cushions.

"Come on, we're wasting time." I grab his arm, hauling him to his feet.

Around the corner, two guards frame the entrance of the royal suite. I wonder how we can get past as we approach. Then voices drift from the corridor beyond, fading with distance. Uncle Rothbart's is one of them.

"I need to speak with Uncle Rothbart," I say to the guards.

"About?" the guard says, monotone.

"Personal matters."

"I believe Duke Rothbart is engaged in important matters," she replies. "Can this wait?"

"It'll only take a minute."

The guard glances at her companion, whose armor clinks with his shrug. The wing must be more open now that Uncle Rothbart and the other officials have examined the crime scene.

"Where do we look first?" Sigvard whispers once we're past the guards.

"Maybe his room?" I hadn't really thought that far ahead.

"It's probably locked though..." Sigvard's gaze shifts to Benno, who's already grinning. "Oh right. How could I forget."

The hallway is perfectly still, so Uncle Rothbart and whoever he was with must have entered another room. We follow the curving walls until we pass a large window at the end of the hall. A sitting room occupies the corner beside it, open and inviting, and to the left of it lies my father's bedroom. Benno molds a key for the door, and we shuffle inside.

The room is humongous, double the size of mine. It even dwarfs the jumbo bed along the left wall. Not only is it wide, many cream-colored, quilted blankets, topped with tasseled pillows, provide a significant height boost. An ocean of empty space separates it from a bureau on the right and two wardrobes—one large, one small—on the back wall. Many, many feet away from the bed, there's a door. I open it only to discover the bathroom, or more specifically, the spa—complete with sinks, massage tables, and two giant bathtubs.

"Wonder how much it cost to make this," Sigvard says, taking in the extensive granite countertops and flooring.

There's a closet on the opposite side of the room. Inside it, the shelves hold items such as towels and soap.

"I have a feeling the passage doesn't connect here," Benno says.

"Agreed," I say, shutting the closet door. We file back into the main room. Sigvard opens the bureau while I go for the first wardrobe. Sadness washes over me when I unlatch the doors to the larger one, face to face with my father's old clothes. Essential oils, kind of sweet and herbal, fill my nose. I barely noticed his scent before, but now, it overpowers my senses.

"You okay?" Benno asks. I realize he's beside me, leaning against the bureau. I swallow the lump lodged in my throat.

"I'm fine." My eyelashes bat away tears, blink past my father so I can peer at his clothes. "I never realized he had so many different outfits."

"He has to if he's king. Can't appear in the same thing all the time," Benno says.

"Just shirts and papers over here," Sigvard announces.

My brow creases. "Enough to fill two wardrobes?"

Benno shrugs. "Sure. Though the other could've belonged to your, uh..."

"No, it couldn't. Mother slept in a different room."

"Oh. That's kind of..."

"Weird?" I shrug. "Tradition is weird." I walk to the other wardrobe. While the previous one stretches across more than half the wall, this one is a third of its size. And a lock guards the thin metal handles. "Got your key handy?"

Benno arches an eyebrow. "Locked wardrobe, huh? Must be very special attire in here."

Unless it isn't more clothes...

The doors swing open, and my hopes sink. White, red, and gold jackets and pants hang inside, imbued with gems and glittering embroidery.

"It's his ceremonial garb," I say. "You were right."

Benno reaches behind the stiff, bulky clothing. His hands slide along the back paneling. A frown creases his face, clearly he hasn't found anything. That is, until the dark oakwood creaks.

"You hear that?" he says, his black eyes alight. I nod eagerly. His hand emerges from the clothing collection to close around the outside of mine. He places my palm against the wooden planks, applying gentle pressure so that it caves inward. I gasp, then quickly lay some clothes from the wardrobe on the bed to expose a hole in the wooden backing.

"Sigvard, we found it," I whisper.

He appears at my side. "Ingenious. No one would suspect a thing."

The tunnel is rectangular, running the vertical length of the wardrobe and disappearing into the wall. Even though it's dark so I can't see very far inside, I gather my skirt and climb inside. On either side of me, there's an inch or two of space, and the ceiling is tall enough that I don't need to crawl, which enables me to move faster and avoid the cobwebs that have inevitably formed. I'm almost grateful that I can't see much; it makes it easier to travel without distractions from insects.

The further I go from the king's room, the darker it gets. My feet stumble in the dark, and I lift my skirt higher than customary to facilitate travel. It's not like the boys can see anything. After several minutes, punctuated only by our pattering feet, I smack into stone. A moment later, someone bumps into me.

"Why'd you stop?" Sigvard asks.

"There's something here," I say, feeling along the blockage. "It feels like a wall."

"Let me pass you," Sigvard says. I turn to the side so he can shuffle past me. I wait with my arms crossed as he presumably inspects the wall. A few minutes later, he says, "Aylo, help me move this thing. It slides to the left."

I push against the wall. It jerks to the left, and light streams from the bottom half of the wall while the top half remains covered. Sigvard goes first, then I duck underneath it, squinting against blinding light. The bright spots fade, leaving the royal study in their place in my visual plane. When I turn around, I realize a painting blocks the top half of the wall. I looked at that mountain view every time I came to my father's study. Only now do I know it harbored a secret.

"So here we are," Sigvard whispers. "Good find."

"Benno's the one who discovered it," I say, turning to him as he exits the tunnel. "Thank you."

"Anything to get this mystery solved," Benno replies.

"We're lucky Uncle Rothbart isn't in here," Sigvard says. "Imagine what would happen if we walked through the wall. Do you think he knows about it?"

I shrug, heading for the desk. "We can speculate later. Right now, let's poke around. We might not get another chance. Who knows what we'll find?" I open the top drawer while Sigvard sifts through some papers on the desk. In my peripheral, I catch Benno by one of the bookcases.

It takes three drawers for something to steal my breath. An envelope lies face down amongst other letters. When I flip it over, the unreadable script is unmistakable. It's the same letter from Uncle Rothbart's room, the one we need to read.

"Sigvard, Benno." My voice is barely a whisper, but both look in my direction. I hold up the letter, mouthing the name "Dr. Grinszein."

"Should we read it here?" Sigvard casts a nervous glance at the door. He's probably anxious to leave, but I can't imagine him suggesting we take the note with us.

"Sure." The letter slides from the slit top right into my hand, as if it wants me to read it. I unfold the paper, neatly creased down the middle.

Clearly it doesn't want to be read that badly. All the words blend together into a scribbled mess. We may have to take it with us after all if we can't decipher it here. It shouldn't be too hard to sneak back in here, though things often aren't as they should be.

"Cateel!" Sigvard hisses.

"What?"

"The name of the poison is cateel extract," Sigvard explains. He points to two words in the letter. Now that he's said it aloud, I can see how the deformed letters read "cattile extract," at least in Dr. Grinszein's head.

"Did you pick up on anything else?" I ask.

Benno, still squinting at the letter, slowly nods his head. "Yeah, I think the doctor says that extract residue was found on the king's fingertips."

Very interesting indeed. My interest in the letter grows to the point that I actually attempt to decipher it. On the other side, I catch something about analyzing the items within the study for the poison. I sift through the drawer again and find a second letter from Dr. Grinszein, slit at the top like the previous.

"Not another one," Sigvard mutters.

The paper is already in my hands. I skim the three paragraphs of gloppy ink. The funny thing about bad handwriting is that the longer you look at it, the more your eyes adapt to the mess. Two sentences, actually just a few words, tells me all I need to know.

"...no residue was found..."

"...wiped away or otherwise removed by criminal..."

Sigvard tugs on my arm. "We need to leave. Come on."

"I don't hear any footsteps or voices," I say after a moment of listening for hallway noise.

"Do you want to wait for someone to catch us? Come on!"

I slide the letters back in their casings, then replace them in the drawer. Benno goes first through the tunnel this time, me next, and Sigvard last to reseal the tunnel, plunging us into darkness.

No residue found. Wiped away or removed by criminal.

Removed.

I trip over my feet, stumbling into the wall. Sigvard bumps into me, and something skitters across my arm.

"Ah!" I jump back, brushing the spot. Fortunately, whatever it was is gone.

"Keep moving," Sigvard whines. "Why'd you stop?"

"I just thought of a way Father was poisoned," I say. "Cattile extract was found on his fingertips right?"

"Yes..."

Benno's footsteps stop up ahead. The dead silence waits for me to speak.

"Dr. Grinszein did additional testing of all the objects in the study. He didn't find any residue and concluded that the poison must've been removed in some way."

Fingers find my arm, Sigvard's I presume. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"We found Clemaina's ribbon inside the study," I say. "And probably removed it before they could examine it."

"I still have it in my room," Sigvard says. "Do you think they can still test it for evidence?"

I frown. "I don't know. Do you think cattile extract wears off?"

"Probably not."

"But if the poison was on the ribbon, then wouldn't we have been poisoned?" Benno points out. "We touched it too, and I doubt the extract is selective."

"True," I say. "There's only one thing to do: find out more about this poison, just like we did with attsed. I'm certain that research holds some of the answers."

"And where are we going to find a book on cattile extract?" Sigvard says. "We can't leave the palace."

That is the problem. "Maybe we can scrounge up something in the palace libraries."

"Seriously?" Sigvard's voice oozes sarcasm.

"It's a start, okay? And worth a try."

Sigvard releases my arm, and we continue through the passage without another word.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☀. :☆ﾟ｡･ ───

The next morning is abnormal. Lady Nyoko awaits me in the Salon and tells me that morning lessons are cut short so I can try on the dress for the ball. I vaguely remember Matilda asking me about what I wanted to wear a week ago. I think I said something akin to "green and unobtrusive." The tailors' interpretation of that should be interesting.

A maid collects Clemaina and me after breakfast to bring us to the tailor's room on the fourth floor. The four palace tailors sit at their respective work tables, spread among the four corners of the room. Fabrics, threads, beads, and other embellishments crowd shelves lining the walls. Lady Avrilaya whisks Clemaina to the changing screen. I'm almost excited to see whatever monstrosity she commissioned.

Lady Avrilaya refuses to acknowledge me. I can feel her bristling energy from the opposite side of the room.

"You'll go after your sister," a maid tells me. I smile and thank her only to hear a snort from Lady Avrilaya's direction.

Fabric rustles behind the screen. A swash of blue rises over the screen as does shuffling feet and a few grunts. I lean forward, growing more curious the longer she takes. Finally, a couple maids work to completely fold up the changing screen. I quickly realize why. Clemaina waddles out in a giant blue-feathered dress.

It's comically disproportionate. The bodice is a single piece of silk squeezing her torso. A diamond is embedded at the top, and from it spew two blue feathers in a semicircle. The remaining ninety-nine percent of the dress is below her waist, a gushing waterfall of fabric that creates a healthy circumference of distance between herself and anyone else. It certainly isn't a "hold me close, Sewale" kind of dress. And of course, the entire hoop skirt, from hips to the very edges, is covered in feathers.

"Oh!" Lady Avrilaya exclaims. "The work you've done is stunning so far!"

One tailor rises from her seat and bows, a strand of red escaping her bun. "Thank you." She examines her handiwork, taking measurements and dictating to a maid, who writes down her assessments.

"You'll be the center of the ball!" Lady Avrilaya clucks.

I press my lips together to restrain my laughter. She'll be the center, all right. But the question is whether it's a good thing or bad.

Clemaina does a quarter turn, facing me. Her smile drops to a scowl. "And what do you find so amusing?"

"Nothing," I say with a shrug. A grin sneaks up on me before I can stop it.

"Oh!" she exclaims, all the vigor of a toddler. "How dare you insult the tailor's beautiful work?" She starts to spin around, but the tailor cries out and demands a bandage for her finger. She had been holding a pin.

In a flash of inspiration, I say, "I would never insult such beauty. It's quite colorful and bold, much like a peacock."

Clemaina blinks at the dress she ordered in all its feathered, blue, and bloated glory. For a moment, she has no response.

Lady Avrilaya steps forward. "I love it!" she says again. "In fact, we ought to have a costume ball."

Clemaina's smug grin returns. "You're right. This dress is simply perfect, with or without a theme, but my coronation deserves all the grandeur. Costumes will be the cherry on top."

"I knew the event wasn't complete enough as is," Lady Avrilaya trills. "Lady Fleur, we need more peacock embellishments..."

I duck behind the screen before Clemaina catches that I'm as smug as she. She never would've listened to me if I suggested a costume ball. But now, they think it's their own idea, and Odeia can come to the ball.

Lady Brigitta, another tailor, approaches me. Frosted pine-green silk drapes across her arms. "We may need to start over with the design of your gown. It's rather plain right now."

"I like plain," I say. I take the dress behind the changing curtain. A maid helps me out of my current skirt and blouse, folding the butter-yellow garments next to Clemaina's tulle day dress. The gown slinks over me, then flares into a pool around my feet. It's slick on my palms, and I have a hard time gathering it up to step from behind the screen.

Lady Brigitta shakes her head at the sight of me. "This won't do."

"Actually, the color and top are great," I say. "Though we can remove the wide skirt so it's a slender fit."

"For a ball?"

"I don't see why not. Then add in some black lace detailing around the neckline. Perhaps on the skirt, too, sort of geometrically."

"I'm sorry, but I don't see where you're going with the design, nor how it will fit with the costume party."

"Since it's already green, it might as well be a snake."

Horror stuns Lady Brigitta's face. The maid detailing my dress waits a minute before asking,

"Uh, miss? Do I write that down?"

Slowly, Lady Brigitta nods. "If that's what you really want, Princess Aylo."