trigger warning: death

1711, Aethiel Palace, Kestramore City

"You seem to be in high spirits, Your Highness," said the Prince's butler, Mister Graham. "I suppose you have made your choice?"

He turned towards the table and picked up a porcelain teacup, then filled it up with a dash of piping hot red tea. The Prince liked his tea a bit sweet, so the butler picked up a pair of pincers and gingerly added two sugar cubes into the cup.

"Thank you," Julian murmured under his breath as Mister Graham placed the cup of tea by his bedside. "I have indeed made my choice, and today, I will ask her father for her hand in marriage. Will you wish me luck, Graham?"

"Of course, Your Highness. Earlier I spotted the Duke of Lorewell near the dining hall, so you know where to look later," Mister Graham said smilingly.

"You already knew who I would choose?" Julian asked, amused.

Mister Graham lowered his head as he tried to hold in his chuckle. "Isn't it so blatantly obvious, Your Highness?" he says, gesturing to the hideous painting of an orchid, still hung up on the wall.

"Make haste, my prince, for once the hour passes, the chance might be lost forever."

∆

Grey and dull, the morning was. Perhaps it was due to the wine and whiskey he downed last night, but everything seemed to be hazy and blurry.

The wind felt much colder, and lesser leaves were on the tree branches. A sign of the passing days, as autumn slowly turns to winter. Even the skies were grey as if the grey clouds were withholding endless hours of rain.

How ironic, Julian thought. The night prior had been so full of life and celebration, and today, the world seemed as if it were dead.

It was not the grey sky, nor the cold wind. Not even the lack of greenery. Rather, there was something in the air that just felt wrong. It smelled like dread, like something ominous lurking in the shadows.

The vaguely metallic stench was familiar, like when he lacerated his own arm during a swordfight two years ago. It was the smell of blood.

There was a loud, piercing scream echoing from the courtyard, and then it died down as abruptly as it had begun.

In alarm, he rushed towards the source of the screams. Far away, in the distance, he saw a lithe, crumpled figure on the ground.

It was his cousin, Eleanora Finley. And even more shockingly, beside her was his other cousin, Nicholas. He held the unconscious Eleanora in his arms as if she were a fragile glass ornament, a precious, invaluable relic, while his eyes darted around wildly, trying to find anyone nearby.

It was a peculiar sight, to say the least. Who would have ever thought that a man whose hands are stained with the blood of thousands could ever show such affection?

His eyes finally landed on Julian.

"Call for the physician," he stammered, holding Eleanora even closer to his chest. "There's a dead body."

That was when Julian realised how strong the stench had become. He followed Nicholas's line of sight, and there, he saw it. And by God, he wished he had never seen it.

There was a mass of tangled black hair, a lace nightgown splattered with red, and flesh. The little bits looked like the raw beef and mutton sold at any local butcher, but this was human flesh.

This poor girl, whoever she may be, had fallen down on her side, and half of her head splattered on the ground, deflated even. He bent down beside her, then reluctantly pushed aside the hair that covered the face of the dead girl.

Julian let out a gasp as he came to the realisation that the corpse was Lavinia Olivier, the dull little girl that had been so enamoured by him.

"O God have mercy," he whispered under his breath. While the sight was horrific enough on its own, knowing that the corpse was someone who he had once known made it much worse.

The once lively Lavinia had met her end in the worst way imaginable, and Julian could not help but pity her.

A massive crowd had formed, surrounding him and Lavinia's corpse, so he quietly stood up and moved away, giving space for her family to mourn.

Then, he noticed that a crowd had formed around his cousin Eleanora, too. He saw a physician there, taking her pulse, as well as a familiar face that he would rather not see, that was Dinah Finley.

And immediately upon seeing him, she sprung into action, exactly the way she did all those months ago.

"Your Highness, you must take responsibility!" she cried out, tears and snot flowing down like a waterfall. "You are the only man to ever touch her, so it must be your child!"

Julian stiffened up upon hearing those baseless accusations, making him seem as if he were in the wrong, despite the fact that he had never touched Eleanora in his life. His mouth felt dry, as if he had swallowed a mouthful of sand, and not a single word left his lips.

All the while, Dinah Finley threw more and more accusations at him, each more egregious than the former.

Her loud screeches, accompanied with Julian's silence had painted a scene that most definitely depicted him as the villain, and Eleanora as the wronged damsel in distress.

Julian could feel their gazes, full of disgust, prying tiny little holes into his skin. In their eyes, he was a lecher, a sinner. Or at least, that was how Dinah Finley framed him to be.

Unluckily for him, since the last incident, Dinah Finley had brushed up her acting skills, and her tears appeared so genuine that even the crowd began to feel bad for her.

Julian had already been declared guilty before he even step foot into court.

∆

"You are the only man to ever touch her, so it must be your child!"

An avid fan of gossip and chaos, Catarina pushed aside the burgeoning crowd of people so she could get a closer glimpse at the commotion that was occurring.

It was a windy autumn morning, so she had put on a pair of pink woven mittens, covering her cold fingers. Then, she felt someone grasping on her gloved hand.

It was Jessamine. The young general stood tall amongst the other members of the crowd, and the look she gave Catarina was filled with both knowing and pity.

"Don't," it seemed as if she had wanted to say, but those words never managed to pass through her lips.

Catarina frowned in confusion at Jessamine's odd behaviour, but her curiosity ruled over her in the end. It seemed that in this case, curiosity would indeed kill the cat.

She tried to release her hand from Jessamine's iron grip, but the latter's hold was far too strong for her to overpower. All the while, the screeches and screams around her suddenly became clearer.

"Your Highness, you must marry Eleanora! You have soiled my daughter, impregnated her, and you intend to remain silent? Where is the justice in this world?"

Catarina gasped, eyes widening in shock. The world surrounding her seemed to turn into a blur, and Jessamine's grasp on her wrist had weakened.

The words of Dinah Finley seemed to repeat inside her head like an endless echo, as if she were locked inside an abandoned cathedral.

"Where is the justice in this world?"

"Where is the justice in this world?"

"Where is the justice in this world?"

She crumpled to the ground, her head spinning and twirling like a top. She could feel herself falling into Jessamine's strong arms, though she was unable to see the latter's face.

Her eyes had been filled with too many tears.

"My dear Catarina, you mustn't trouble yourself thinking about these matters," she could hear Jessamine say.

"Take me away from here, Jessamine," Catarina whimpered softly, and she felt herself being pulled up to her feet.

They pulled away from the crowd, melting into the inconspicuous grey surroundings. No one noticed that they were there, and no one noticed that they had left.

It was as if the eyes of the crowd had been shielded by a thick cobweb, spun by none other than Dinah Finley herself.

No one noticed, except for Julian.

The incessant screechings, the taunts, the accusing glares, the pointed fingers, it had become all too much to bear.

The crowd was closing in on him, like a pack of rabid wolves ready to devour an injured deer. Like a sea of flames that ravaged an old wooden hut.

But then, there, in the distance, he saw her, his love. Catarina. That brief glimpse of her could be likened to seeing a sliver of light in the darkness, a cupful of pristine, crystal clear water in the heart of a blistering hot desert.

He turned away from Dinah Finley and forced his way through the crowd, and though they all thought he was accountable for the accusations, no one really dared to hold him back.

At first he staggered, as if he were drained of all strength. And then, he ran.

"Catarina!" he shouted as he caught up to her. "Catarina, you must know that those accusations are not true. I would have never done those things, you know I wouldn't-"

"Are you saying that Lady Finley is a liar?" Catarina seethed vehemently as she turned to face him. "Then whose child is in Eleanora's belly?"

"I do not know, Catarina! I had never even touched her! All I know is that I woke up with a blaring headache with that girl beside me!"

Catarina scoffed, rolling her eyes. "There is no use in denying it. I hope you lead a long and happy life with Eleanora, Your Highness."

"You must believe me, Catarina. I never touched her, and I never loved her. It has always been you who I love, who I wish to marry."

Both agitated by the sight of Lavinia's corpse and disillusioned with Julian's apparent actions, Catarina discovered that she was capable of being more vicious than she ever thought she could be.

"You may wish to marry me," she began, "but I have no intent nor desire to marry you. You are dead to me."

Julian's grasp on Catarina's hand weakened, though he was not willing to completely let go. However, Catarina spared him the trouble and roughly tugged her hand away, leaving his hand outstretched mid-air.

"I shall return home and forget all about you and the foolish ideas that you have put in my head, and I suggest that you do the same, as there is no future for us, and there never will be."

Those words were like a barrage of arrows that incessantly fired toward Julian's heart, maiming and wounding him.

Like a remorseless tyrant, Catarina did not bother to look at the man whose heart she had just shattered. She turned her back on him, looped her arms with Jessamine and walked forward.

Unbeknownst to Julian, the words that had hurt him so were as hard to utter as they were to hear.

The dreary grey skies opened up, releasing a shower of rain. The huffing wind whispered in their ears like a ghost, and the cold rainwater seeped through their garments.

Lavinia's congealed blood on the courtyard ground was washed away, as if she had never even existed.

As the shroud of silvery clouds engulfed the dead air, the skies rumbled and crackled. Catarina was already soaked to the bone, but she could not care less. In fact, it was for the better.

No one could see her tears this way.