66 | ACT IV, SCENE V

P R E V I O U S L Y

I gave him the thunder with my eyes and said a single sentence before I marched out of the door.

I had no intention of letting her die.

HARTINGTON CASTLE, ALNWICK, STORMHOLT.

EDWINA

I WAS WALKING ALONG THE upper balconies of the castle, striding in the quiet moonlight. The rooms in the upper floors were lavish and private, all belonging to Tristan and I - rooms that no one except us were allowed to enter. Under us were the chambers of the other royals: the grey and silver curtained rooms of Llewellyn and Celestina, the ivory chambers of Celinette. Halette and Vincent resided in the luxurious guest wing, while Miriel preferred to stay in the glass greenhouses with her roses and kittens, even when offered the richly furnished halls of the castle.

Tristan had often insisted that I stay here in peace, and tonight I'd finally taken his advice. The breeze was soft and cool.

No one here would accuse me of being a murderer.

Only one week was left

One week until the Trial.

And once they'd kill me - once they'd take my life for the crime I hadn't committed, the Century Ball would come along in half a year, leaving Tristan alone without me.

This was what it cost one to be a Queen.

Celinette was wandering in the hall, her glowing moonlight was everywhere. Her dress flowed down the floors like quicksilver. Beside her was Tristan, dressed in a black like tendrils of the night, his hair a mess, ultramarine lightning crackling in his palms every few seconds.

I could still hear both mother and son arguing about me.

I could hear him trying to convince her, and her trying to scold him - when he finally put up his hands in exasperation and ran a hand through his dark locks.

And that was when I heard it.

I seemed to be the only one who heard it, as both the immortals below were still in heated discussion, and the rest of the castle was silent.

And then I heard it again, louder, and more distinct than last time.

A female scream.

• • • • •

I couldn't place the person who was screaming - yet I knew that it came from the lower floors.

The floors where the other gods stayed.

I pulled out two knives from my boots, pushing aside the heavy curtains in the corridors to step across. It was then that I gasped.

The guards on duty were drugged!

Again I heard it, and this time I recognized the voice.

"Help!"

It was Halette!

"No!" I cried, running in the direction of the guest wing. My footsteps were loud in the night. The moonlight was here too, providing just enough illumination.

Even as I burst the doors open to their bedroom, I heard a sickening crunch and the sound of flesh giving way to cold steel.

And just for a flash, the tiniest fraction of a second, I saw it.

The silhouette of a hooded figure right over the couple, a wicked blade in its hands.

I made a run to catch it red handed, cutting through Halette's screams of pain.

And as soon as the person, the thing saw me - it was gone.

"No!" I shouted desperately, looking out of the window to find who it was. The assassin had disappeared right into thin air, gone. I returned to the present to find Vincent's hand closing around my neck, threatening and suffocating.

"You stabbed my sister!" he shouted in my ear, as I tried to register him choking me, his hands around my neck.

"I didn't - there was someone here - let me go!" I snarled, my voice stifled by surprise as I tried to look around in the darkness. I could see Halette out of the corner of my eye as Vincent's grip grew tighter, both of us grappling over the sound of her crying. The sounds of commotion and footsteps in the corridor grew louder as I kicked him straight in the balls. The door burst open no sooner than I could clearly see a shining silver blade buried to the hilt in Halette's bleeding neck.

"What? What happened?!" Llewellyn questioned, entering the room first, followed by Celinette. Both their eyes widened at the sight of Vincent hunched over Halette, who'd curled up into the mattress, tears falling down her face.

Her neck was a bleeding mess, slick with dark blood, with the bright silver knife protruding out of the carotid artery. Blood had spurted out in quick pulses, even as I worriedly tried to make my friend lie down so that I could carefully cut out the knife.

"It's Ekrite - get the healers!" I called over my shoulder, my voice taut with concern. I ripped off a strip from my sleeves to stop the bleeding, but Halette cowered at my touch, and Vincent pushed me off his wife instantly.

"Get off her!" he hissed, eyes blazing a dark emerald.

"She's bleeding, you bastard!" I snapped back, enraged.

"You tried to kill her!" he screamed.

"I did not! There was someone else in the room!" I shouted.

"Oh, no. I saw it! You were standing over her with a knife! Red hair - the person had red hair!"

"You think I'm the only person in the world who has red hair?" I hissed, lunging for his throat, my knife out - and that was when Celinette grabbed my arm, ice in her silver eyes.

"You murderer," she cut out, bitter. "You betrayer, you traitor!"

The door slammed open again as Tristan stormed in, his expression unreadable. A frown quickly settled on his brow as he took in the scene, his gaze turning blacker than the night. Behind him, Celestina tumbled into the room, clad in a nightgown of white silk, rubbing her sleepy eyes.

"Instead of arguing like the impervious fools you all are, did it strike any of you lunatics to see if Halette is alright?" he shouted, furious.

"I tried to, but Vincent didn't let me-" I shot back.

"You stabbed her!" Llewellyn interrupted me.

"Quiet, all of you," Tristan thundered, making Halette tenderly sit up. Her wounds had begun to close, but she still hadn't stopped sobbing from the pain.

The door opened again. Instead of the castle healer, it was Vivian Emmerson - the god of healing himself.

He crooked an eyebrow impatiently, and wordlessly motioned for us to move aside. Brisk with medical efficiency, he was gentle with his touch, carefully sweeping back her blood streaked hair to examine the wound. Vincent had managed to pull out the stained knife, but Halette was still shivering in her night robes. Her brother quietly held her hand as a few more tears escaped her pained eyes.

"Be thankful that the person who did this didn't have a Bloodstone knife," Vivian said in a low voice, eyes sweeping over the rest of the blood, as the skin slowly closed up. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm... I don't know," she mumbled. "It... it hurts."

"Get a glass of warm milk," he called over his shoulder to the attendant. "Add a pinch of nutmeg and Valerian, if you will. No sugar."

The maid nodded and went off.

"Alright. Now," Tristan got up, straightening his sleeves. "Halette, can you tell me what happened?"

"I - we were sleeping. And then suddenly I felt this sharp pain in my neck and something warm trickling down-" she stammered. "And - and then I tried to speak, I tried to scream - but the - the person wouldn't stop stabbing. And then - Vincent woke up - he shouted - I saw Edwina with a knife in her hand - and Llewellyn - then Celinette - and then you came..."

"Did you manage to see the face of the person?"

"I - no..." she shuddered. "I saw... I saw red hair."

"What is there to see?" Vincent raged. "The moment I woke up, I saw Edwina standing there with the knife in her hand. I know she did it."

"There was someone else here!" I shouted.

"There was someone else here, I tried to knock the knife out of their hand, and the person ran-" I sharply interjected.

"There was no one else," Celinette patted Vincent's back. "I came in a few seconds after the screams, there was not a single person down the corridor."

"I swear it, Vincent Rotavelle!" I said firmly, "I risked my life to come save you, and you fucking dare accuse me of trying to kill her?" my hand moved to the knives at my side, but Celinette grabbed it at once.

"Why don't we take a moment to talk about your need to turn to violence when things don't go your way?" she hissed, staring right into my eyes.

"Violence?" I cackled. My hand burst in flame and my mother in law flinched. "Violence? There was someone else in this room, I saw it! You call defending myself violence, Celinette Valmont?"

"You will speak to my mother with more respect!" Llewellyn shouted, flexing his muscles.

"You will not speak at all," Celinette screamed.

"I will see that tongue ripped from your fucking mouth," Vincent swore, picking up his sword from the corner.

"My ruined tongue will still be more truthful than yours, Vincent Rotavelle," I spat, pulling out my own sword. Tristan immediately moved to stop me.

"Woman. Put that sword back."

"He dare accuse me of such atrocities? Oh, you wait, I will show you - out of the way, Valmont-"

"-no."

He firmly took the sword and handled the hilt, pointing it at Vincent's chest, the top biting the skin on his throat.

"Speak the truth," Tristan growled, his voice rough.

"This is the truth. You broke guest right," he said, kissing Halette on the cheek. "You brought us into your home, offered us your salt and bread, you offered us your protection. And then you deigned to kill us."

"There was someone else."

"That is what she said," Llewellyn frowned, looking angrily at Edwina and stomping his feet. "Why would you believe the word of a murderer?"

"You will watch your tongue, brother," Tristan barked harshly, "before I cut it out for you."

Vincent had begun to pack up his belongings, wrapping his robes around himself and picking up his weapons.

"We're leaving. I will not stay in the same Castle as as a traitorous, murderous woman," he hissed, wrapping a hand around Halette's waist and helping her stand up.

"Go, then," Tristan said quietly. "Go. Leave."

"I bloody well will," he stormed, and walked his sister out of the room as I stared at them, crestfallen.

She was my friend.

She hadn't spoken another word, still in a state of shock. Her eyes were green and dark, too wide with wonder. As everyone parted to make space for them, I looked at her with a silent plea glimmering in my eyes.

"Come back," I whispered.

She never did.

• • • • •

I crumbled.

I hated myself.

This wasn't me. No, this wasn't.

The woman I used to be would have simply snapped her fingers, fixed her crown and got up, sword in hand, eyes gleaming. But me?

This was no longer even me.

My friend had left me. It broke me.

This me was afraid. This me was weak. This me was utterly lost and helpless and dependent and breaking piece by piece on the inside. Only one person held me down to the ground or I would have floated up in the air, then and there, and dissolved into nothing.

The man I loved.

I didn't know how it happened. I didn't know how quickly it happened. Perhaps I never hated him from the start. But somewhere, somewhere in all the mess and chaos, between arguments over shared wine and tears dripping down my lashes, I realized that I was utterly, completely, irrevocably in love with Tristan Valmont.

He was the only one who stood beside me. The only one who unflinchingly believed in me. Even with all the evidence, even with all the proof, all he said was just one thing. I know you did not do it. I wondered what I had done to deserve a man like him. I wondered what I had done to deserve such faith, such loyalty from such a fine man.

But I had no courage now. It was gone, along with so many other parts of me. I wasn't brave enough to tell him. I just wasn't. I kept on trying to make myself go on. He kept on trying to make me go on. But what was left in me wasn't enough to go on.

Whoever had been doing this to me had cleverly timed themselves. And they seemed hell bent on ruining me. I wondered what they would do next.

What hurt most wasn't that I was convicted for murder. No, that I could bear. But what hurt most was the fact that not once, not even once, did my family and loved ones even stop to think. To really consider if I would do this. Was this how less they trusted me? Cared for me?

It hurt.

Badly.

I loved my father but he did not pause for one second. Aidon did not pause for one second. Amphitrite was blind with rage. And Eric. Sweet and beaming and helpful Eric. He became my sworn enemy. And Halette. Innocent and friendly Halette. She left me too.

I stopped going to Dracnesse. I stopped getting out of my room. Wherever I went, my ears perceived only one word. Murderer. They called me names that could put even a man to shame. And so, like a coward, I stayed inside my room and counted the days which flew by faster than doves. Francis and Hullard were working their heads off with interrogations. But nothing turned up. And when they came to report to me at the end of each day, I knew the words they would speak. We could find nothing, your Grace. But we will try again tomorrow. The both somehow still had some faith in me. But there was no time.

Only one week was left.

Sometimes a lost cause, was, exactly, a lost cause. Sometimes it becomes too much. I gave up. I stopped fighting it. I put down the sword and cried in the corners when no one could see. I did not get out of bed. Because this was the worst I had ever been.

And I knew that even when this all would finally get over one day, with me perhaps dead in the grave, Tristan would break. And if I stayed alive, I would still be broken. Because some cracks never healed.

"Get out of bed," his voice broke in through the haze. I firmly closed my eyes to make him believe I was asleep.

"No."

"Woman," he sat down beside me and tried to pull the pillow over my head.

"No."

"Get the fuck out, hoarder. I'm not going to let you lay here for days on end."

"I'm sad, Valmont. Let me be sad."

"That is not an excuse, woman. We don't get to choose what fucked up fate is destined for us. It hurts. I know it hurts so bad that you can't breathe. But that's how you're going to make it through. You're going to feel every inch of that  pain, and you're going to remember that it won't hurt so much tomorrow. Now get your lazy ass off the bed and get into the fucking shower, you stink to high heavens. I need you to start functioning like a normal person. And as High King of Endollon, I order you, command you, absolutely forbid you to give up. Is that clear?"

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" I croaked.

"I'm the only person you have in this situation and you-are-going-to-deal-with-it. Lying in this bed isn't going to deal with it. Now get up. If you waste another minute more in this lousy bed, I'll throw it out of the castle."

He roughly pulled the pillow and the blanket off and jerked me upright. I pulled my robe closer and he settled my head into the crook of his neck, plastering a kiss on my tear stained cheek. I tried to hold back the tears once again, clenching my teeth with the effort it took. He understood, squeezing my shoulder warmly. My heart was weeping uncontrollably, yet his warm, crisp, masculine scent managed to comfort my hysterical senses.

"I'm going to take a bath," I whispered.

"Okay," Tristan said softly.

"Don't leave."

"Okay."

"I'm going."

"Don't fall asleep in the water," he muttered, and I gave him an amused smile, picking up a set of clothes and heading to the bath.

• • • • •

I emerged a few minutes later, just having laced up my corset. It seemed too tight for me to breathe, but it felt real. The pain felt real. I slipped the gown over myself, dark crimson, a near black. I stepped out in wet hair to find Tristan lounging on the bed, eating a plum and watching me.

"That's better. At last, you don't stink like last night's dinner."

"Shut up."

I sat down beside him and sunk my head into his chest as he wrapped his arms around me. We sat still for a few minutes.

"Thank you," I whispered. He looked at me incredulously, with amusement shining in his alluring eyes, a sight that nearly made me deep with joy.

"For what?"

"For being here... for - for being here for me," I gulped, trying to put my feelings into words. My breath was caught in my throat, my voice cracking, wondering - wondering how to tell him.

"I'm your husband, woman. This is my goddamn job," he said, a smug smile tilting up his marbled lips. I put my fingers in through his dark midnight hair which always ruffled in one spot, and gently pressed a kiss against his warm, delicious mouth, barely brushing his lips. I knew it drew him mad with desire when I did that. He responded with a husky laugh that made me melt like butter. His strong hands were corded with muscles, gently brushing my hair back to gaze at my face with awe, then returned the kiss with a more passionate one. It made me laugh and moan with delight, breaking my melancholy. My hands turned down his collar which had stuck up around the edges, and Tristan waited for a moment and reached down the bed, all of a sudden and pulled out something.

"A rose," I gasped. My pain and sorrow and sadness melted away for a moment as I saw him nervously finger the long stem and hand it to me.

"Er... I found this - and - I thought of you, woman," Tristan said, still unsure of himself. "It's an Osiria Rose."

I looked at the delicate, velvety petals. The insides of the petals were a pure, blood red, while the outer side was silvery white. It was delicate. And so beautiful. And rare. The thorns had been painstakingly plucked away, leaving the young stem slender and smooth to the touch.

"It's beautiful, Valmont," I whispered, feeling the flower in my hand. He nervously scratched the back of his neck, and the tips of his nose and ears reddened.

"I... thought that - you always like to put flowers in your hair... so," he muttered softly.

I nearly cried. Here I was, trying to escape grief and pain, and he was the only person coaxing me out with his tender gestures. But I hadn't worn flowers in my hair since nearly three weeks. Ever since the arrest and the... the things I was trying to escape from.

"Please put it in my hair, Valmont," I asked, turning sideways with a small smile pulling up my lips.

A smile just for him.

He jumped up happily, and tucked it into my hair. All the while, the grin wouldn't leave his face, like a new fortress he was proud of conquering.

Suddenly, someone knocked the door.

"Tristan?" a female voice asked frantically. "Tristan! Someone tell me where he is, I need to speak to the King!" she chimed. The voice seemed oddly familiar and yet... distant.

"Come in," he said oddly, and we both settled ourselves decently on the bed as the door opened.

Lunette Emmerson.

She was the daughter of Vivian and Rosalva Emmerson, and sister to Edmund Emmerson. Atherton and Cymbeline were her grandparents. With silvery golden hair and light amber eyes, she moved like water and sleek breezes.

Lunette was the immortal deity of the stars and the celestial bodies.

However, her eyes were wide with surprise and shock and panic, behind her, Cressida hovered, hyperventilating.

"Your Grace!" she screeched, "there has been an emergency-"

"-quiet, Cressida. Drink some water," Tristan said firmly, handing her a filled glass. "And tell me."

"It's-"

"-in fact, it's better if I explain, really," Lunette said in her warm, rich voice. She had a large map in her hands which I clearly recognized as the map of Endollon's constellations and stars. But what was she doing with it right now? The Century Ball, to commemorate Aurea's selfless sacrifice, was to be held in a few more months, when the six planets of Endollon  would pass each other at such angles that they'd form a perfect hexagon. The phenomenon occurred only once every hundred years. And the special festival to celebrate it, the Ball, was supposed to be held in Stormholt in a few months. But what was Lunette doing here right now?

"What is the meaning of this? Explain it, then," Tristan said quietly, and she gulped. Her eyes darted to me in a quick flit, then immediately settled onto the constellation map.

"Alright... so," Lunette began, matter of factly. "You know that the six planets will pass each other in three months, right?"

"Yes. The Ball will be held here in three months?" Tristan answered. Cressida finished the glass of water and nervously lingered by the Lunette.

"And well... actually - it seems that the planets will be passing each other sooner than expected. I don't know why, or for what reason. The passing happens accurately every hundred years. But this time... I can't even control the planets. They do not seem to answer to me."

"It is a bad omen, your Grace," Cressida whimpered.

"It is known," Lunette agreed. Tristan frowned as well.

This situation did not bear well.

"How much time do we have to prepare for the Ball, then? Two months? One month? If it's just thirty days, we might have a bit of trouble getting things together in such a short-"

"-that's what the problem is, Tristan Valmont," Lunette whispered. "We don't have one month."

His mouth fell open as I absentmindedly drummed on his fingers and Cressida had an oddly triumphant smile on her face.

"I told you, your Grace. I told you to start preparing for it, months beforehand. If only you had listened..." she said sadly.

"Lunette," Tristan said desperately, now alarmed out of his wits. "How much time do we have? A month? Three weeks? Two-"

She cut him off brusquely.

"You must begin your preparations at once. The planets will pass each other in two days."

• • • • •

Shit has blown up. AND THE NEXT FEW CHAPTERS ARE GONNA BE BOOM. I literally would never want to be in Edwina's shoes rn. Even Halette left her. Even Vincent left her. There's only one person left for her to lose.

Tristan.