Ceres Crisis. The Crown Prince.
Unlike Richt's golden radiance, Ceres possessed hair as black as a raven's wing, though they shared the same blood-red eyes—the mark of the royal line. In our kingdom, the one with the most magic becomes the heir, and since Ceres's mana far surpassed Richt's, the throne was his by right. However, he lacked physical strength; he was useless on a battlefield, a frail mastermind hiding behind magic and shadows.
But why would he kidnap me? What use did a future King have for a "villainess" like me?
A gentle tap on my cheek snapped me back to reality. "Come back to earth, Lady. What are you thinking about so intensely?"
I realized then that I was still sitting on Richt's lap. I quickly regained my composure.
"Nothing that concerns you, Your Highness," I replied, my voice returning to its usual icy silk.
"You said you heard a familiar voice."
I looked at him for a long moment, weighing the consequences. If I told him, I was lighting a fuse that would blow the palace apart. In the end, I chose the truth.
"I do not know if Your Highness will believe me, but I heard the Crown Prince's voice in that hallway. I was injured, yes, but I was not mistaken. I know what I heard."
I waited for him to explode, for him to call me a liar or a madwoman. Instead, a terrifying silence filled the room. Richt slowly, almost gently, tucked me back into the bed, pulling the covers over me as if I were a precious porcelain doll. But his face... his expression darkened by the second, shifting into something truly monstrous.
"I have some unfinished business to attend to," he said, his voice dangerously low.
Without another word, he stood and swept out of the room, Dion following closely behind like a silent shadow. Finally, I was alone. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Finally, peace.
Or so I thought. Peace is a luxury the gods have never seen fit to give me.
A knock sounded at the door. "Lady Ellington, Duke Ellington has arrived to visit you."
Father? Why now? The very thought of him was exhausting.
I schooled my features, pulling my mask of indifference tight. When the door opened, I saw two figures trailing behind the Duke. One was Maria, and for a moment, I felt a flicker of genuine relief. But the other? I would have been happy to never see her again.
Isabella. My half-sister.
"Pati! I missed you so much!" she cried, running toward the bed and throwing herself onto me.
Move, woman, I am covered in bandages. I didn't say it; I only sighed as her weight pressed against my bruised ribs.
"Isabella, move off of her," Father commanded. For once, I was grateful for his coldness. He sat in a chair beside the bed, his eyes scanning my injuries with an unreadable intensity.
"My lord, what brings you here?" I asked.
He didn't reply immediately. He looked at the bandages on my arms, then at the royal crests on the pillows. "How are you feeling?"
Suffocated, I thought.
"Much better than before, my lord," I said aloud. Now please, take your family and leave.
But Isabella couldn't keep her mouth shut. She looked around the room, her eyes landing on the Prince's personal belongings, then back at me with a look that was far too sharp to be "innocent."
"Pati... why are you in the First Prince's private bedroom?" she asked, her voice tilting up. "Did you two...?"