Her gaze lingered on Lysander's face, as if the answers to her question might be written somewhere between the furrow of his brows. His expression, even in unconsciousness, was strained - haunted. But then she saw it; a tear slipping from the corner of his closed eye, gliding down his temple before vanishing into the pillow.
The sight startled her.
Was he crying? For real?
For a prince to cry, even in his sleep - what kind of torment could draw that out of him?
She remembered the last thing he'd said before collapsing. 'Don't let them touch me.' The words echoed in her head, chilling her more than the cold air in the chamber. Who was he talking about back there? His attendants? His guards? Someone closer?
"Save me," he suddenly murmured, his voice trembling with fear. "Save me."
Jia froze. The sound was faint but desperate, the kind that came from a place no medicine could reach.
Save him?
From what?
In his own home?
Her hand hovered uncertainly before she finally laid it gently against the side of his head, careful to avoid injury. Her touch was light, more comfort than cure, and she gave a small, soothing pat.
She didn't know what kind of pain surrounded the prince or what he was enduring behind those gilded walls. But in that moment, she knew one thing was certain. Whatever he needed saving from, it was far more than what she alone could offer.
**********
During her free time in the late afternoon, Jia wandered through the palace, her steps light but deliberate as she ascended the stairways.
She was trying to guess which floor Lysander had fallen from. The palace had so many wings and levels that it was hard to imagine anyone surviving from such a fall, especially from the upper floors where the royal chambers were said to be.
The corridors were busy with servants carrying the trays, documents and laundry baskets. Their hushed voices and hurried footsteps echoed faintly against the gilded walls. Jia kept her head slightly lowered, pretending to admire the intricate tapestries while making sure her movements didn't appear suspicious.
Still, even her discreet glances couldn't shield her from catching snippets of gossip drifting through the halls.
"The second prince is starting to lose his mind," one servant whispered to her companion, their eyes darting nervously towards the stairwell. "They said he spent the whole night talking to himself before he fell from the sixth floor."
"The sixth floor?!" Her companion gasped softly. "And he survived that?"
"Oh yes," the first murmured, her voice trembling with both awe and fear. "But do you think he's… affected too?"
"I mean, we shouldn't be surprised," the second servant shook her head grimly. "It's the same pattern as before. Every second child of the royal line never lives past twenty-five, and the second prince is about to turn twenty-one. They say it's the Moon curse taking effect. Poor Prince Lysander… and he's such a fine man."
Jia slowed in her pace, the name catching in her thoughts.
A moon curse?
She frowned slightly. This was new.
The Solara Empire was only ever familiar with the Sun of Empire, an ancient title reserved for the Crown Prince, said to embody strength and divine favor, but she has never heard of a Moon.
A curse tied to the Moon? And it only affects the royal family?
"Miss Jia!"
Jia turned sharply upon hearing her name, startled by the familiar voice.
It was Harry.
He was coming down the stairs of the upper level, his expression composed, but his urgency could still be felt.
"You're here as well?" Jia asked, blinking in surprise.
Harry stopped beside her, lowering his voice to a near whisper. "Are you also here to check the floor he fell from?"
Her brows furrowed. "How did you–"
"Come with me," he interrupted quietly.
Without another word, he led her up the next flight of stairs. The higher they climbed, the quieter the palace became - until the usual murmur of servants faded into the stillness. The air on the seventh floor felt cooler, almost heavy, as though it carried the weight of secrets.
But why did he bring her here?
Jia immediately grew wary.
When they reached the corridor, Harry paused, scanning the space before speaking again. "This is where I believe the second prince fell," he said. "I got curious myself, and thought I'd take a look."
Jia glanced over the railing, and the view below made her stomach twist.
She shook her head in disbelief. "But that's not possible. He fell from the sixth floor, didn't he?"
"I'm just as confused," Harry replied. "But I can assure you that this is where it happened."
He suddenly crouched near a corner of the hallway, motioning for her to come closer.
"Look here," he whispered.
Jia knelt beside him and followed his finger. Fine scratches marred the polished marble, barely visible unless one looked closely.
"There are scratch marks on the floor," Harry explained, his tone low and measured. "It's faint, but if you notice the pattern, it looks like someone was dragged up here… maybe by force."
Jia's heartbeat quickened.
"Dragged?"
"And there's more," he continued, his tone low. "The garden below, where we found the prince, I heard the place had been sealed since yesterday. No one was allowed near it. But this garden has always been an easy access to herbs for us, so why was it sealed all of a sudden? That could explain why we found him first and not someone else. I'm not going to say it, but I know you know exactly what I'm hinting at."
Jia didn't respond and simply looked below the railing. A fall from up here was unsurvivable. If he had fallen from the seventh floor as Harry stated, then he must have struck the willow branches on his way down to break his fall, just enough to spare his life— though not without consequence.
That painfully explained a lot.
"I don't think His Highness fell," Harry said. "I think he was brought here. Maybe he fought back from whoever did, and when he resisted, he was struck down and thrown. Just my speculation."
The words settled between them like ice.