---
"What is this feeling?" This thought lingered in Qaya's mind for far longer than she would have liked—days, even. It drove her mad because she didn't know whether to embrace it or fight it.
The feeling reminded her of an encounter she had a year after arriving in Eastforde.
"That day isn't exactly clear in my memory, but certain things stood out vividly—colors, smells. That day felt special to me. Maybe it was because I discovered a new feeling then.
I was strolling around the royal garden when I saw a pretty flower. It was alluring, and it made me think of the poems men wrote comparing their lovers' beauty to flowers. This was the flower they must have been referring to—a trumpet-shaped bloom in shades of purple, blue, and white.
As I walked further, I noticed the plants lying uprooted, their beauty strewn carelessly across the ground. And there, I saw the culprit—the fifty-year-old gardener. I asked why he would uproot such beautiful flowers. He scowled and told me they were weeds. He called them Morning Glory.
His reasoning stuck with me. He said their beauty wasn't worth the trouble. He joked that because he hadn't planted them, they were bound to spread and strangle the other plants with their vines.
That day, I felt like the Morning Glory. I wasn't raised in a beautiful place; no matter what I amounted to, I could never be truly good enough. I was convinced my cruelty stemmed from that fact. I resigned myself to the idea that, just like the Morning Glory, I was a weed the king would one day uproot once I started to 'strangle' his people.
But ever since the day I caught Denzel... that feeling... I feel like I could be a good person. Maybe it's because I ended up in Mahalia's body. She's a rose—brought up, cultivated, treasured, is it only through her body I'm able to do good things? But why can't I believe it?"
She was shaken from her reverie.
"Mahalia? Is something the matter?" Jaslin looked at her cousin, confused.
Mahalia shook her head as if to rearrange her jumbled thoughts, but she still felt off. The bustle and chatter in Hellion House didn't help.
"I'm fine," she replied, her voice raspy as she sipped her tea.
Jaslin nodded, though concern still lingered in her expression. "You look out of it. You were the one who insisted we come here today. You didn't even stay with Aunty when she was released."
Mahalia set her teacup down sharply, glaring. "Well, is my mother suddenly going to run away? I'll catch up with her. I have other important matters to take care of."
"What are those matters?" Jaslin pressed, folding her arms.
"Well—"
"She's such a two-faced snake."
Mahalia trailed off, her ears catching a snippet of conversation from another table. Curious, she began to eavesdrop.
"It's funny remembering how innocent she pretended to be. That Melinda…"
"I know, right? That nameless noble."
Mahalia smirked and stirred her tea. She had come to Hellion House to sour public opinion on Melinda, but it seemed she wouldn't even have to say a word.
"And to make matters interesting, it's the same people who were sucking up to her just days ago," she mused, eyeing their table.
She cleared her throat, drawing their attention, and flashed them a polite smile before approaching. Jaslin hurried to follow.
"I see you're talking about the hardworking noble of the Charmale House."
The group laughed nervously, clearly aware of her jab at their hypocrisy.
"Lady Mahalia, how do you do? We heard about your family's merger—congratulations," one of them offered.
Mahalia smiled graciously, accepting their parasitic greetings, but steered the conversation back on course. "I expected you all to be by Melinda Charmale's side. Didn't you adore her?"
Juniper Marcuse shook her head, setting down her teacup. "Did it seem that way? We may appear bad, but really, we were the ones betrayed. She fooled us all."
"Really?" Mahalia's mocking smirk deepened. "You were fawning over her because she's the Vicegerent of the Realm. As far as I know, she still holds that post and hasn't been proven guilty. Don't you think it's a bit premature to burn your bridges?"
They flinched at her straightforwardness, exchanging uneasy glances.
"Why are you siding with her?" Markham asked, frowning.
"Did it appear that way? I was merely advising you. As much as the evidence points to her guilt, don't you find it odd that no one suspected her sooner? It was so blatant."
She leaned closer, her regal demeanor turning menacing. "Don't you think the power that shielded her for so long could still protect her?"
The table fell silent, and Jaslin couldn't help but feel proud of her cousin.
"Just food for thought. I'll leave you to it."
As they stepped out of Hellion, Mahalia giggled softly. She hadn't done exactly what she set out to do, but she had accomplished something better.
"Will this be enough to throw suspicion on Awin?" she wondered.
---
The king's study
The chirping of crickets filled the cold, calm night, making the dimly lit study feel even more eerie. Shadows from the flickering firelight danced on the walls, casting fleeting, unsettling shapes across the room. The king's study, usually a place of calculated decisions and iron resolve, felt unusually oppressive tonight.
"Annoying insects," Awin muttered under his breath, rubbing his temples as he sat at his imposing mahogany desk. The weight of his position bore heavily on him tonight. He glanced at the report his spies had sent from abroad. Despite the turmoil within his own borders, the intelligence brought him some solace—at least his foreign dealings remained under control.
"The irony," he laughed bitterly, his thoughts wandering to the girl who kept sabotaging his plans.
"What should I do about you?" he murmured to the empty room, his lips curving into a melancholic smile. He reached for the bottle of rum on his desk, taking a deep swig, the burn bringing a brief reprieve.
With a heavy sigh, he tossed the report into the fireplace and watched as the flames consumed it. The scent of burning parchment filled the room, mingling with the faint traces of ink. His eyes flickered to a shadowy corner of the room, narrowing as he discerned the faint outline of a figure.
"Could you be more reckless?" he asked, his tone dripping with disdain.
The figure stepped into the light, revealing Melinda, her expression unapologetic as she shrugged off her cloak. "I'll worry about my own neck."
Ignoring his scowl, she poured herself a glass of rum, the amber liquid swirling in her cup.
"Thought you didn't drink," Awin remarked as he strode to lock the door.
"There were many things I thought I didn't do," she replied coolly. "But I need the drink. I'm shaking."
"From the cold?"
"No. Fear," she admitted, her voice quieter now. "I very obviously snuck out of confinement to the person who punished me. You've been so unpredictable lately. I didn't know if you'd have the guards arrest me on sight."
Awin laughed, running a hand through his hair, but the sound carried no warmth.
"I'm not joking," Melinda continued, her tone sharp. "You've been so out of character, I don't know if you'll help me anymore. But you have to."
Awin's expression darkened, his gaze cutting through her like a blade. The sudden change in his demeanor made her shudder.
"And what makes you think demanding my help will get you what you want? Are you so indispensable that you believe you can command me?"
Despite the tension in the room, Melinda forced a cheery smile. She tied her hair into a bun, stepping closer to him with an air of feigned confidence. "I apologize, Your Highness, if I sounded rude. I know you're a man who values worth, and I can prove I'm not expendable." Her voice dropped as she leaned closer, her face inches from his.
Awin's eyes flickered to her exposed neck and collarbone before he stepped back, his expression one of clear disgust.
"If you're trying to seduce me," he said flatly, "you're achieving the opposite effect."
The venom in his tone made Melinda's stomach churn. She quickly stepped back, fumbling to pull her cloak back over her shoulders. Embarrassment flushed her face, and she found herself staring at her boots.
"Get out," Awin breathed, the dismissal cold and final.
"I won't," she muttered, barely audible.
"Excuse me?"
"I said no," she repeated, her voice steadier now. "You can't just dismiss me and leave me to the wolves. You'll regret it. I'm a ticking time bomb, and I won't go down alone."
Awin stared at her, shock flickering across his features before a manic laugh escaped him. He threw his head back, the sound echoing in the study as he clutched his stomach. When he finally stopped, he wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, his expression hardening.
"Pathetic," he spat. "You dare threaten me?"
Melinda's resolve faltered but only for a moment. "Yes. What will you do?"
"Nothing," he replied, his tone dangerously calm.
"Nothing?" she echoed, uncertain.
"You must think I'm some gullible fool," he said, circling her like a predator stalking its prey. "I'm certain you have no credible evidence."
"It might surprise you—"
"Journals?" he interrupted with a sneer. "You put your faith in journals, Melinda?"
Her throat tightened, words failing her as she wondered how he knew.
"I'm the king," he continued with a chilling smile. "Do you think I seized the throne by being naïve? I know everything. What other 'evidence' do you think you have?"
He grabbed her wrist, his grip firm enough to make her wince. "I was considering helping you, but this foolish stunt of yours won't be forgotten. Never forget your place."
He shoved her aside, turning his back on her. "Now get out."
Melinda bit her lip, realizing she'd lost this battle. Head bowed, she trudged out of the room in silence.
---
A Day before the Commencement of the Reinvestigation of Qaya Wright's Death
The Heris Mansion
Jaslin winced as the food forcefully moved through her throat. The meal was delightful, but the atmosphere was so stiff that it made enjoying dinner difficult.
The normally cheerful dining room was quiet, save for the clattering of cutlery.
She looked at Aunt Marie, who seemed to be staring daggers at her former lover, Dylan Mariale, who, on the other hand, was doting on his daughter. He was putting all the food on her plate, telling her to eat more.
And Mahalia, the cause of the sour mood, ate indifferently, as though she didn't notice—or rather, didn't care—about the tension in the air.
Jaslin cleared her throat, preparing to lighten the mood. "This should help, right?" she thought to herself.
"Aunty, you must be thrilled to be back home. Is there anything you'd like to do?"
Marie turned to her niece. "Indeed, I thought I would be thrilled to be home, but what can I say… I was greeted by a… surprise."
Jaslin scolded herself for even speaking. Mahalia also threw her cousin accusatory looks.
"Well, look at the bright side. You're here. I'm conscious we can finally catch up."
Marie nodded. "Of course, my dear. I wouldn't want to undermine your efforts to get me released and clear my name. I'm grateful." She suddenly laughed, her tone wistful.
"Is something the matter?" Jaslin asked.
Marie shook her head. "The irony is not lost on me. I fell into Awin's trap because my daughter was used as a weakness. Yet, it's this so-called weakness that bailed me out."
Qaya's grip on her fork tightened, and her breath hitched.
"What do you mean?"
"Don't you remember Qaya Wright? She was the one who framed me. I cozied up to her because she reminded me of you." She turned to her daughter, who just kept quiet.
"In a way, I don't feel resentment towards her. Just pity. Her life was so… pathetic, and even now, her death is more pathetic."
Clang!
Mahalia dropped her fork. "I'm tired. I'll turn in for the night."
"Are you alright, dear?" Marie asked in concern.
"Yes, I just feel very tired."
Everyone watched as she stood up, perturbed by her sudden mood change. But Jaslin's gaze lingered longer.
"Mr. Mariale, it's all your fault. You kept stuffing her like she was some sort of livestock."
Dylan rolled his eyes. "Every unfortunate thing that happens is my fault?"
"Why are you asking me? Haven't you confirmed it? You're misfortune itself."
The room fell silent as a result of Marie's cruel remark. Jaslin kept thinking about her cousin. She had seen something the others didn't catch.
"Just why was Mahalia crying?" she mused.
---
The First Day of the Reinvestigation
Melinda's Residence
Mahalia stepped out of her carriage and bid the coach driver farewell. As she quietly walked toward the gate, her mind ignored the surroundings as she thought about what Marie had said the night before. She had to admit that her life was pathetic, but that was why she was trying to fix her mistakes. Deep down, the fear of losing this body and being thrown into despair, as Qaya Wright haunted her, troubled her. She shook off the feeling of self-loathing and watched a commotion just outside Melinda's house.
A man was busy arguing with the police about wanting to briefly see Melinda. She recognized him. He was the handsome, quiet man who had accompanied Melinda that day at Hellion.
She pitied him a bit. Rivan Ceria was a man of impeccable standing with a highly respected family, yet here he was, fighting with the guards. Seeing him go from fighting them to groveling slightly upset her.
"Just what did you see in her to fall in love with her?" she muttered to herself, as if wishing for an answer. She walked up to him.
"Quite the commotion," she commented, flashing a smile at Rivan, who was just confused.
"Who are you?" one of the guards barked, but recoiled when he saw Mahalia's gaze of anger. She proudly showed him the king's seal.
"I have the king's permission."
"Apologies."
She turned to Rivan. "What do you wish to tell her? I'll drop a message on your behalf."
He kept quiet and turned away, but she held him back.
"Lady Mahalia…"
"I'm pretty confident that I can answer the questions burning in your heart."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, please, Lord Rivan. You're not subtle. You scream, 'Please tell me that you're innocent, even though I already know you aren't.' Don't worry, it's the love talking. Let's talk over there." She pointed at the gazebo and walked there, confident he would follow after her. He did.
Mahalia gave him an intense look for a long time before finally breaking the silence.
"A part of me was bluffing when I said I could answer your questions."
"So you don't have answers?"
"Not exactly. Anyway, how far have you gone?" She laughed bashfully. "Forgive me, I worded that poorly. I mean, how deep are your affections?"
Rivan frowned and started contemplating whether he should just walk out.
"What use is that information?"
"It's quite important. You see, the higher your expectations of her, the more I use euphemisms. Because Melinda is a horrible person. It would be sad if I hurt you by telling you the bitter truth."
Rivan shook his head. "Well, I immensely respect her."
Mahalia smirked. "You also admire her… romantically, if I might add."
Rivan had an expression that Mahalia interpreted as him internally debating the claim, then coming to terms with it.
"You love her. That's why, even when the truth is so plain to see that she's horrible, you're busy scampering for any glimpse, any shred of hope that she's innocent. You so badly don't want your image of her to be shattered. My heart hurts for you, really."
He clenched his jaw. "Just answer my questions. That was what you said you were going to do."
"Then ask them."
"Something is amiss. Melinda is not like this. I just want to know… if she did do it, why?"
Mahalia shook her head. "This is a finished man," she thought.
"Isn't the answer obvious? Rivan, don't tell me you don't see why."
"…"
"The Melinda you fell in love with doesn't exist. She's a character made up."
Rivan shook his head. "But why?"
"That answer is a bit complicated, but let me give you a comforting answer. Melinda is just like you, in that she's admiring the wrong person. But I hope that your love turns out differently than hers, and you don't end up being a horrible person."
---
To be continued...