" Y-Your Majesty... " Porter began, his voice faltering. He dared a glance at Castillion, but what he saw in his monarch eyes-suspicion, a flicker of madness-made him lower his gaze again at once.
He swallowed hard, choosing his words with trembling care. " I... do not presume to judge the hearts of royals, Your Majesty. But... I believe the Empress and His Highness the Crown Prince would never wish harm upon you. "
Castillion's lips curved-not quite a smile. It was too bitter, too sharp.
" Would never wish it, " he repeated quietly. " Ah, Porter... betrayal never begins with wishing. It begins with waiting. "
Castillion turned his head away, staring into the dim candlelight, his shadow stretching long and broken across the floor.
Castillion took a slow, deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling as though the weight of the entire empire pressed upon them.
The sound made Butler Porter tremble slightly; something in that quiet exhale felt heavier than anger-like the calm that follows a storm.
Castillion shook his head, the fire in his eyes dimming into exhaustion. " I just want to rest, " he murmured. " Help me lie down... and then you may leave. I'll call for you when I need you. "
Porter hesitated, unsure if he should speak, but obedience was safer than concern. He stepped forward, gently taking his Emperor's arm, helping him to recline against the embroidered pillows.
The Emperor's hand lingered briefly on Porter's sleeve-a fleeting touch, almost human. Then he let go.
" Go, " Castillion said softly, eyes already drifting toward the ceiling. " Let me have a moment of silence. "
The butler bowed deeply, murmuring, " As you command, Your Majesty, " before retreating toward the door. His heart felt heavy as he left.
Castillion lay motionless, his gaze fixed upon the vast painting that adorned the ceiling above him. The golden light from the candles reached only halfway to its height, leaving some figures swallowed in shadow, others glowing as if alive.
The scene above was a storm of gods and mortals-radiant beings draped in flowing garments, their hands raised in triumph or judgment. At the center, a crowned woman held a sword and a scale, standing over a fallen man. Around her, angels and spirits clashed, their wings unfurled in blinding light.
To Castillion, it was not merely art. It was a cruel mirror.
" The goddess of justice, " he murmured under his breath, ' striking down the king who thought himself divine. "
His eyes drifted across the painted clouds, where more celestial figures watched in silence, faces serene, detached-just as his court had watched him these past years.
" How strange, " he whispered, a faint smile curling at his lips. " They painted heaven as a court, and hell as a battlefield... yet both feel the same to me. "
He traced the faint cracks on the plaster with his eyes-the marks of age that split the divine figures like old wounds.
" Even gods fade, " he muttered, voice heavy with weariness. " Even Devine justice crumbles. "
Castillion's eyes remained fixed on the ceiling, tracing the painted blade of the poised goddess above him. An unbroken silence weighed upon the room-until the balcony door creaked open, and a cold gust swept in, snuffing out the candle's fragile flame. Darkness swallowed his chamber, leaving only the ghostly light of the moon to guide him.
Moving with quiet precision, Castillion reached beneath his pillow and drew a small dagger, his senses sharpened to every shift in the air.
" Come out, " he said softly, his voice steady. " What do you need from me? "
From the shadows, a figure emerged. The spy stepped forward in silence, his black attire catching the pale wash of moonlight. Though Castillion could see the shape of him clearly, the man's face remained hidden-an absence beneath the hood.
" Kneel down, " Castillion commanded.
The figure obeyed without hesitation. " I bear a secret letter from the Empress's palace, " the spy said, his tone low and cautious. " It was sent by bird. . . but I intercepted it with an arrow. "
He stepped closer, bowed, and extended the sealed letter. Castillion's dagger never lowered, yet he took the parchment with deliberate care.
" But before you read that, " the spy continued, " there is another letter-one my employer bids you to read first. " Castillion's hand tightened around the dagger, his eyes fixed on the cloaked figure before him.
" Your employer? " Castillion's gaze darkened.
The spy lifted his head slightly, the faint curve of a smile hidden beneath his hood.
" My master bids you a warning, Your Majesty " he said quietly. " Watch your surroundings. It is wiser to prepare than to wait for the fall. "
Castillion lowered his gaze to the two letters resting before him, their shadows crossing in the pale light of moonlight. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, slowly, he looked back to where the spy had bowed at him. But the spy was gone.
His eyes shifted toward the balcony. The doors that had once been open to the cold night now stood firmly closed, as though untouched. A faint unease stirred in his chest. Then, without warning, the candle at his bedside flared back to life, its flame trembling as if reborn from the dark.
Castillion drew a deep breath, his face half-illumined by the trembling glow of the candlelight. His gaze returned to the letters. The one bearing the Empress's seal caught his attention-a crescent moon entwined with a serpent, its coils pressed around a smear of darkened crimson at the center. The wax glistened like fresh blood beneath the flame's unsteady light.
" What's your plan, Miliani? " he murmured to himself, his voice low and distant.
He paused, forcing the impulse down. With measured restraint, he set the Empress's hidden letter aside and turned instead to the plain envelope with no fancy seal, the one delivered by the spy. The paper felt colder, rougher beneath his fingers.
He drew a slow breath, then broke the seal.
He read in silence, his eyes tracing each line with growing heaviness. One passage, written in a bolder hand, caught his attention-its words striking like the edge of a hidden blade:
{ It is a beautiful thing-to live among those you love, to give them everything you possess-until the day they betray you for mistaking love as weakness.
The family you built will be the one to destroy you. But ask yourself, who is truly at fault? You would not stand in this peril if there were not another who shared your power-someone you, yourself, bestowed upon.
- E }
Castillion's eyes lingered on the final letter of the signature, the ink still dark and wet beneath the trembling candlelight.
The letter slipped from Castillion's hand and fell silently onto the bed. His gaze stopped on another one-the Empress's secret letter obtained by the spy. Slowly, he picked it up, his fingers brushing against the wax seal: a crescent moon entwined with a snake, its curves faintly gleaming in the candlelight.
He followed the mark with his thumb, and a drop of fresh blood touched his thumb. Anger welled up from deep within him-cold, rising-but he took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down.
He steadied himself before breaking the seal. Drawing a long breath, he exhaled sharply, and the wax split beneath his thumb. The parchment opened with a soft hiss, its edges trembling in the faint draft.
His eyes followed each line, each word carved in the Empress's elegant hand-yet with every phrase he read, a cold tremor of anger coursed through him, coiling tighter in his chest.
" Miliani... are you truly going to stand against me? " he murmured, his voice low, trembling with restrained rage. " I gave you that position-and your child. You think I've grown weak? " He lifted his gaze, the candlelight catching the shadow in his eyes.
" Well, " he whispered bitterly, "you're wrong."
‡*‡*‡*‡*‡*‡*‡*‡*‡*‡*‡*‡*‡*‡*‡*‡*‡*‡*‡
The first light of dawn crept through the curtains, scattering soft gold across the chamber walls. The air carried the faint scent of morning dew, a fragile peace settling over the palace after the long night.
Footsteps approached—measured and light. The head maid, accompanied by a young servant, stopped before the door. She adjusted her apron, then knocked gently.
" Your Highness, " she called, her voice composed and respectful. " It's the head maid. I'm coming in. "
The head maid slowly opened the door, her eyes instinctively falling upon the bed—empty. A ripple of unease crossed her face. Before she could speak, the young maid beside her gave a hesitant nudge, gesturing softly toward the balcony.
The headmaid followed the direction of her gaze—and there she was. The Princess sat quietly beneath the morning light, her posture graceful, her hair catching the sun's tender glow. The breeze stirred the thin silk of her night gown as she watched the horizon, the warmth of dawn brushing gently against her skin.
The headmaid quickly composed herself and stepped forward, bowing deeply.
" Good morning, Your Highness. " Myrrh did not turn to face her, but she inclined her head in acknowledgment.
" Head maid, " she said softly, her gaze still fixed upon the horizon, " do you feel it—the cold of the wind and the warmth of the sun's first light? It seems like a good morning today. "
The head maid and the junior maid bowed their heads.
" You are right, Your Highness, " the headmaid replied gently. " It looks as though the day will be beautiful, blessed by such light. "
" Indeed " Myrrh murmured under her breath, her voice barely carried by the morning breeze.
" Your Highness, " the headmaid said softly after a pause, " I've brought you some warm lemonade. Please, have a drink " the head maid turned to her junior maid, who stepped forward and nodded. With a careful bow, the maid approached the Princess and presented a silver tray, the glass cup gleaming faintly in the dawn's light.
Myrrh reached for the delicate cup with graceful elegance, her fingers caressing the rim of the cup before she lifted it from the tray. The heat gently clashed with the cool air passing thru the balcony.
" Thank you. " she murmured, her tone calm but distant. She raised the cup to her lips, sipping slowly as her gaze lingered on the rising sun. The golden light danced upon her face, softening her expression yet revealing a quiet melancholy beneath it.
The headmaid and her young attendant remained still, waiting in silence. The only sound was the faint rustle of the wind and the soft chime of the glass as Myrrh set it down upon the marble rail beside her.
Myrrh turned her head slightly, her silken slightly wavy hair catching the sunlight as her gray- like Black diamond eyes settled on the two women. The movement was enough to make them bow their heads once more.
" Head maid, " she said softly, her voice carrying a quiet authority, " in the mornings, you used to come alone to my chamber… yet now, you bring an attendant. " The headmaid still bowed her head and answered myrrh's question.
" She will be your personal maid, Your Royal Highness. She is a junior maid, though already experienced in service. " Stepping back, the headmaid gestured to the young girl at her side. Her tone became firm yet measured.
" Show your respect to the Princess, and introduce yourself. " The junior maid took two careful steps forward and lowered herself into a polite curtsy.
" Your Royal Highness, " she said, her voice steady though tinged with nervousness, " I am Cora—your appointed personal maid. I shall serve faithfully and obey your every command. " She bowed deeply.
Myrrh looked at the young girl quietly, her eyes steady but unreadable. The morning light gave her face a beautiful appearance, softening the coldness in her expression.
" Cora, " she said at last, her tone measured. " A beautiful name. " She whispered loud enough for a young Junior maid to hear.
Her gaze lingered on the girl a moment longer, noting the way Cora kept her head bowed, her hands trembling slightly against her skirt. Myrrh's lips curved faintly — not quite a smile, but something close.
" Serve with loyalty, " she continued, her voice calm yet edged with quiet authority. " Be honest, and obey every command I give you. . . " She paused, turning her gaze away from the young maid to look once more toward the horizon, where the morning sun bled through pale clouds.
" …and if you value your life, " she continued quietly, " learned to be deaf and blind to everything you hear and see. "
A shiver passed through Cora, though she bowed her head even lower, whispering, " Yes, Your Highness. " The young maid said.
Myrrh sighed softly and rose from her seat. Her gown shimmered faintly as she turned, her gaze falling upon the head maid who still stood waiting at the corner, while the young maid instinctively stepped back three paces.
" Head maid, " Myrrh began, her tone composed yet cold, " I know you have many duties. You may leave now. The junior maid you appointed will attend to me. " Her eyes shifted toward the girl.
" Cora, prepare my bath. " Core, bowed her head and obeyed myrrh command. Then, turning her attention back to the headmaid, her expression hardened slightly.
" Head maid, I am not satisfied that you've given me only one personal maid. " The head maid bowed her head quickly.
" Is one alone expected to do everything? " Myrrh asked, her brows arching faintly.
" Forgive me, Your Highness, " the headmaid replied, her tone trembling. " I will select more junior and senior maids for your service. Please… be patient. "
" Be patient? " Myrrh repeated, her brow lifting higher, a trace of displeasure touching her voice. " Are you commanding me to be patient? " The headmaid immediately dropped to her knees, her voice trembling.
" Forgive me, Your Royal Highness, Princess. I did not mean to offend you. Please, grant me a single day to choose those worthy to serve you. " Myrrh's eyes narrowed slightly, her expression calm but cold.
" Did I feel offended? " she echoed quietly. " No — but you have failed in your duties as the head maid of the Emperor's palace. " Her voice softened, though the weight of her words lingered.
" What will my father, the holy emperor and the nobles think when they learn that the young Princess has been given only one personal attendant? " The question carried neither anger nor tears, only quiet disappointment that struck deeper than any outburst.
" Do not make me remind my father — or the butler — that you have neglected your duty, " she continued, turning toward her chamber doors.
She paused, her voice softening, though the weight behind it remained.
" You must have heard what happened to my former personal guard's headmaid. . . " Silence fell heavy in the room. Myrrh's next words came measured and deliberate, each one precise as a blade. " As my father once said — take good care of me within this palace. And see to it that there are no mistakes… especially in how you serve him, my father, Headmaid. "
The headmaid opened her mouth to respond, but before she could speak, a gentle knock echoed through the chamber.
" Your Highness, " came a soft voice from behind the door, " this is Cora. Your bath is ready. " Myrrh did not turn back. She simply walked toward the door, her steps unhurried, her presence commanding even in silence. The headmaid remained where she was—bent low, motionless—until the sound of the Princess's footsteps faded beyond the threshold.
******
The Emperor's gaze darkened as he turned his head from the window.
" What news, Lord Albrecht, about what I asked you to do? " Lord Albrecht bowed low, his black cape brushing the marble floor.
" Your Majesty, as you commanded last night… your suspicions were correct. The Empress has begun to gather loyal nobles—those sworn to her house—to remove you from the throne. " He hesitated, lowering his voice.
" But… " he paused to speak. Castillion's eyes narrowed.
" But what? Speak plainly, Albrecht. "
" The wax seal you showed me, " Albrecht said, producing a folded parchment, " belongs to a secret guild protected by Her Majesty and the Crown Prince. There are six members in total. The Empress leads them. " He dropped to one knee, head bowed.
" Your Majesty, it appears the Empress intends to act in a way that will destroy not only your rule… but your name itself. " Castillion's hand clenched his fist.
" Destroyed! How will that woman ruin me? " he demanded, his voice sharp as steel.
Albrecht swallowed.
" At dawn, I received rumors… disturbing news about you. They spread swiftly across the capital. " He paused, uncertain how to continue.
" Rumors? " Castillion's voice lowered dangerously. " Go on. "
" Your Majesty… " Albrecht rose only to kneel again, presenting a rolled tabloid. " They claim you've gone mad—that you're speaking to the ghosts of the past, and you're unable to stand without assistance. "
Castillion snatched the tabloid from his hands. His eyes burned in rage as he traced the lies written there. His fingers trembled—then, with a sudden motion, he tore it apart.
Albrecht kept his head bowed.
" Your Majesty, the High Council and the Minister of State have already called an emergency assembly. They mean to discuss your… condition. " Castillion's jaw tightened, his eyes glinting with restrained fury.
" My condition? " he sneered, voice low and venomous. He turned his gaze sharply toward Lord Albrecht.
" Is that what you think as well, Lord Albrecht? " The question struck like a blade. Albrecht immediately lowered his head, his hand pressed against his chest in a gesture of submission.
Castillion exhaled slowly, shaking his head in disbelief.
" Only one leg falters, " he said bitterly, " and my councilors and Ministers already tremble as if death itself sat upon the throne. Their fear reeks of treachery. " A dangerous silence filled the hall—the sound of his cane striking the marble echoed faintly.
" Your Majesty… " Albrecht began carefully, his tone calm amidst the storm. " Please, compose yourself. I bring another matter of grave importance. " Castillion's gaze snapped toward him, cold and unyielding.
To be continued.....