The First Princess's Visit
Gossips across the capital were quick to grind their tongues. While the misfortune that had befallen the Second Princess was regrettable, many raised their voices to argue that laying the blame at Sir Siarkan’s feet was unjust. By all rights, the matter should have ended with the punishment of the Second Princess’s personal knight, they insisted. Above all, the decision took no account of the First Princess’s position.
Though their betrothal had been born of political necessity, the two had known each other since childhood. The formal engagement had been announced only three years ago, yet their true bond stretched back more than a decade. To sever that tie so abruptly drew sharp criticism from many quarters. Behind the Emperor’s overreaching judgment, everyone agreed, lay the Empress’s strong influence. It was an open secret that she schemed to place her own young son upon the throne.
“What will become of the relationship between His Highness the Crown Prince and the House of Siarkan?”
The maid stirring the pot in the kitchen turned to the healer dispatched from the Empress’s palace. Marisen, a middle-aged mage who often visited the main palace and knew every rumor, sliced a bundle of fresh herbs with her knife and answered in a flat tone.
“Who knows… If Sir Siarkan truly breaks his engagement to the First Princess and marries the Second, the solid alliance between the two factions will be finished.”
“Then the House of Siarkan might turn to support His Highness the Second Prince?”
Marisen’s expression turned skeptical.
“Given Sir Siarkan’s temperament, I doubt he would switch sides so easily.”
“Why not? His Highness the Second Prince is far better than that wastrel Crown Prince.”
The healer shot the maid a stern warning at her careless remark.
“You would do well to watch your tongue. Even if few people pass through here, the palace walls have ears.”
The maid pouted, but fear flickered across her face; she glanced nervously about the room. Marisen let out a short laugh and resumed chopping.
Whatever became of the Crown Prince and the House of Siarkan was none of her concern. She kept her ears open to rumors for the sake of self-preservation, yet her interest ended there. She dropped the precious herbs she had obtained with difficulty into a small pot and worked the bellows. Soon the mandrake sap bubbled thickly, filling the kitchen with a rich herbal scent.
Once the herbs had steeped, she set the jar on the windowsill to cool. Suddenly a rough voice called from outside.
“Is anyone here?”
The maid, sweating as she stoked the stove, looked up in surprise.
“Were we expecting anyone?”
“Nothing was reported to me…”
Marisen leaned out the window and peered toward the annex entrance. Through the dense bushes she saw several figures in long robes lined up—clearly not the Empress’s people. Frowning at the ominous feeling, she pushed the maid toward the back door.
“I’ll go out and see. You go to the Empress’s palace and fetch the guards.”
At present the annex held only a handful of maids, the Second Princess’s nanny, and Marisen herself. Because the Second Princess was so particular about whom she allowed near, not a single proper guard had been posted. If these visitors meant harm, there would be no way to stop them. The maid, understanding this, slipped quickly out of the kitchen.
Marisen waited until the maid was well away, then crossed the hall and opened the front door. Two men in military uniform and three women who appeared to be nobles stood at the entrance. She studied them warily.
“What brings you here?”
“We have come to see Talia Roem Guerta.”
The woman at the very back stepped forward as she spoke. Marisen drew a sharp breath when she recognized the face. The woman who stood before her held the highest rank in the empire after the Empress herself.
Marisen bowed her head at once.
“I greet Your Highness the First Princess.”
“The formalities are done. Simply show me to the child.”
Ayla Roem Guerta spoke with weary impatience. Marisen hesitated, then carefully voiced her refusal.
“I beg your pardon, Your Highness, but the Second Princess has not yet fully recovered her health. If you would return another day…”
“Do you imagine I have come to harm my sister?”
The princess’s voice suddenly turned cold.
“Your loyalty is admirable, yet you seem not to know with whom you are dealing. I am not making a request. I am giving an order.”
“……”
“If you understand, lead the way.”
Marisen, frozen like a mouse before a snake, finally turned and walked ahead. The First Princess said nothing the entire way to the room. Marisen kept glancing over her shoulder, swallowing dryly as the bedroom door drew nearer. Several hours had passed since the incense had been lit; the Second Princess should have awakened by now. Still, she worried whether her frail patient could endure this imposing visitor.
“Wait here. I will enter alone.”
At the end of the corridor the princess gave her attendants a firm command, then fixed Marisen with an imperious stare. Under the silent pressure to announce her arrival, Marisen knocked hesitantly.
“Your Highness, a guest has come. May I enter?”
No answer came from within.
Perhaps she was still asleep. After a moment’s thought, Marisen quietly turned the handle. The room was thick with the sharp scent of herbs and a cloying sweetness that suggested fruit on the verge of rot. Wrinkling her nose at the dizzying odor, she spotted Talia sprawled on the bed like a corpse and started in alarm.
She rushed to the bedside and held a hand beneath the princess’s nose; a faint breath stirred against her palm. Relief lasted only a moment. When she lifted the hem of the dress, which had ridden up to the thigh, she saw the ruined leg beneath. The bandages had been torn away again, and fresh scratches covered the mottled skin where Talia had clawed at her scars.
Marisen sighed heavily and placed her hand on the leg, casting a simple healing spell. At that instant a bony hand shot out and seized her wrist. Startled, she turned to meet Talia’s clouded blue eyes and found herself holding her breath. The unfocused gaze drifted aimlessly through the air. With each tiny movement the deep blue irises rippled like water.
It was the same gaze that met the princess every day when she inhaled the smoke—an unsettling, mind-scattering beauty.
“…Who said you could enter without permission?”
Talia parted her cracked, blood-crusted lips and spoke in a voice laced with iron.
Marisen snapped back to herself and quickly pulled the blanket up to cover the leg.
“Forgive me, Your Highness. The guest insisted on seeing you…”
She straightened and gestured toward the doorway with her eyes. Talia’s gaze followed at once. Marisen felt the slender body beneath her hands go rigid with tension. Talia pushed herself upright on shaking arms and fixed her half-sister with a wary glare.
“What brings you to such a wretched place?”
“I wished to speak with you.”
The First Princess stepped into the room and looked down at her ailing sister’s face for a long moment before turning to Marisen.
“Leave us for a while.”
Marisen, driven by the weight of the princess’s presence, backed out of the bedroom. Just as she was about to close the door, the image of the two sisters burned itself into her eyes. Unlike Talia Roem Guerta, who looked as though she might shatter at any moment, Ayla Roem Guerta glowed with vibrant life. For some reason the contrast left a bitter taste on her tongue.
Marisen stared at Talia with shadowed eyes for a heartbeat longer, then closed the door with a heavy sigh.