In all of her years working in the palace, Ignacia has had her fair share of the dangers that come with supporting First Prince Aspen.
With no mother to support him, and his maternal family having lost the power that they once had, Prince Aspen was lucky to have lived to the age he is.
Countless assassinations have been attempted over the course of his life, and with the risk of being targeted by all the other royal children who are vying for the throne, being dragged into the dangers of power struggles was only natural for a prince's secretary.
In the beginning, Ignacia had a hard time coming to terms with the fact that she might fall prey to the schemes of others in the palace. She wasn't naive when she first entered the palace to serve His Highness Aspen, but she hadn't expected the levels of hostility to be quite so high.
After narrowly escaping attempts at smearing her reputation, and finding all manner of obstacles cropping up in regards to her duties as secretary, Ignacia came to realise that His Highness Aspen was the only one in the succession war being subjected to the continuous stream of attacks.
It seemed as though all of his other competitors had their eyes on his downfall, and she learnt soon after she joined his party and proved her abilities that the royal siblings had formed alliances with one another to push him out of the succession race.
As for the reason behind their sole attention on him, Ignacia could only guess, until Prince Aspen opened up to her some time after they started working together.
And the story that she heard, was one that was both renowned and shrouded in mystery.
Eleven years ago, Prince Aspen had still been a commoner. Or so he believed himself to be.
Before his birth, the late empress sought to escape the clutches of her oppressive husband, Emperor Sigmund, and fled under the cover of smoke and ashes when a roaring fire engulfed her palace.
The emperor, who loved his wife like one would suffocate a beautiful flower in bloom, went half-mad with anguish at the news of her death.
Her body was found burnt to a crisp, with nearly all her identifying features ruined by the scorching palace fire that raged for days on end.
Unbeknownst to the emperor, Empress Charlize's death had been orchestrated on her own orders. And it was only sixteen years after he mourned her passing that he would hear rumours of a beautiful, sickly lady with bright, fuchsia locks circulating in the capital's streets.
The rumours had spread from regions in the south of the country. Due to the large land space separating the southern cities from the capital in the north, it had taken years for such trivial gossip to spread to the very heart of the country's nobility.
Frantic at the possibility that his beloved was in fact still alive, the emperor ordered an immediate search for the woman depicted in the rumours, uncaring of whether it was merely the ramblings of commonfolk.
Against all odds, the suspicions of nobility who protested the emperor's decision to abandon his kingly responsibilities in favour of a delusion were overturned.
Within months, the emperor had identified a match in a small, coastal town where the weather was warm and mild - the complete opposite of the capital city's chilly winds.
There, he found Empress Charlize, who had succumbed to illness just days before imperial scouts raided the house that she lived in.
Devastated by a second loss, Emperor Sigmund sought any and all information about Empress Charlize's last days, forcing the local lord to find the truth about how she came to reside in the small town.
And through recounts of Empress Charlize's first appearance in town, Emperor Sigmund discovers that his beloved had arrived there out of the blue, alone, and carrying an infant in her delicate arms.
Not long after her arrival, she had left the town with the infant and returned some time later without it. And she never talked about the mysterious child whom she had supposedly abandoned.
The townspeople swore on their lives that they didn't know who the infant belonged to or what Empress Charlize did with them, but the dead end to the investigation only fueled the emperor's desire to cling onto whatever that the late empress might have left behind.
He wanted anything. Even if it was a child that she had picked up on the streets out of pity.
Despite knowing that he was the reason the late empress ran away from the palace, Emperor Sigmund refused to let her go in peace.
Instead, he spent his days combing the southern region, and then the whole country, just for a lead on the whereabouts of that small infant who would have grown to be a teenager by then.
After nearly a year of searching, at last, the imperial scouts managed to track down the trail of the child that was last seen with Empress Charlize.
When the emperor received a report about the child's discovery, he made the decision to visit them himself. And what he found, was not just a piece of the late empress' memory.
He was the spitting image of Empress Charlize, from the slant of his large eyes, the soft curve to his cheeks and the rare, rich fuchsia of his hair. Even the defiant set of his jaw was identical, indicative of the fiery spirit that she had passed on to him.
What was different, however, was the eerie, blazing gold of his eyes.
Too bright to be the royal family's signature mustard yellow, and nothing like the lime green of the late empress. His glowing, golden eyes were like those of a predator, otherworldly and ethereal, fierce and piercing - striking an irrational sense of unease in the emperor.
His eyes gleamed with an indomitable spirit, his gaze narrowed by a suspicious glare when strangers turned up at his door.
In the instant that he laid eyes on his visage, Emperor Sigmund knew. That the boy was his beloved's child, and that he was the father.
They had shared a bed only once, three months before the fire that consumed the empress' palace, but Emperor Sigmund had never in his wildest dreams thought that their accidental union would bear fruit.
Blinded by his greed to possess the one thing that he never got to have, Emperor Sigmund proposed a deal to the young boy: move into the imperial palace and receive his rightful title as First Prince of the royal family, and his adoptive family would never have to worry about living in poverty ever again.
Unsurprisingly, Emperor Sigmund learned of his naivety the moment the deal left his mouth.
All he received in return was a vicious scowl of distaste and a thinly-veiled threat. With the door slammed shut in his face, he could only stare in shock and despair.
In that moment, Emperor Sigmund realised that he had underestimated Empress Charlize's will.
Having grown up without the influence of his mother, who hated the emperor so, Emperor Sigmund believed that the seventeen year old could be coaxed into relying on his backing.
After all, who would ever turn down the chance to be a prince, and ensure the safety and continued comfort of their loved ones?
But the young prince was adamant about staying with his adoptive family, where a father, daughter and another orphan child gave him all the warmth and love that he needed.
Nothing the emperor said could change his mind.
Knowing the stubborn nature of his mother, Emperor Sigmund relented, but not without promising that his offer still stood.
When he returned to the palace in a daze of relief and disappointment, he began to once again plot how to turn the tides in his favour.
Just like when Empress Charlize was alive, Emperor Sigmund found ways to manipulate the ones around her and bring them to his side. It mattered not that she refused his advances again and again, and ignored his earnest wishes to spend time together.
If Empress Charlize was having tea in her garden, he would turn up at the same place, claiming it was a coincidence that he arrived just when she was trying to relax.
Then he would join her, whether or not she wanted him to, and implore her to accompany him for dinner, a plea she would vehemently and repeatedly reject.
Visitors to the empress' palace were closely monitored and recorded in regular reports to Emperor Sigmund.
In the beginning, other than her family, noblemen and women were barred from entering her palace. But when Empress Charlize protested the ridiculous rule, the emperor simply locked her away in her chambers, using the excuse of protection to block her access to the outside world.
When confronted by the empress' family, he fed them lies about the empress contracting a sudden illness, and managed to nudge them back home without any the wiser.
Empress Charlize, who despised having her freedom ripped from her so, grew more and more resentful of her marriage the longer she was kept isolated and alone.
She began to raise chaos in her palace, threatening to jump from her balcony unless she was let out.
And every time, Emperor Sigmund would placate her with sweet words, claiming he loved her too much to share her with the rest of the world.
He would lean close despite her disgust at his proximity, swearing that he would never hurt her. But the poison on his tongue and barbs in his speech were unmistakable.
His obsession slowly drove Empress Charlize to the brink of insanity, as she was forced to endure the humiliation of being trapped in her own palace and having her authority as empress be overridden by the emperor's self-serving edicts.
She tried hanging herself, only to wake up with a bruised throat and hundreds of attendants standing by her on a rotation schedule to make sure she wouldn't attempt it once more.
She would try jumping off the balcony again and again, and find one day that her windows were sealed shut permanently.
She would drink herself to sleep each night, crying her eyes out when she was inebriated and vulnerable. And every time she woke up, she would see the emperor's face staring down at her from beside her bed, haunting her with his placid smile even as she slept.
Finally, having had enough of Emperor Sigmund's utterly deranged behaviour, she resolved to fake her death.
She bribed one of the soft-hearted attendants who fell for her pitiful, desperate display of tears, and waited until her palace was engulfed in flames before breaking the glass of her sealed windows and narrowly escaping death.
After that, she ran without a backward glance, the only things she brought with her the clothes on her back and her unborn baby.
Her life, or what was known to the public, had shifted dramatically from wealth and comfort to ruins. And the emperor mourned her passing with as much grief as he had obsession.
Then, seventeen years later, as though the loss of his beloved wife revealed nothing about the atrocity of his actions, Emperor Sigmund reverted back to his old habits without hesitation the moment he glimpsed a speck of hope - hope that he could once again possess a part of her existence.
He sent spies to watch the young prince's little family, recording their daily activities and planning ways to convince the hard-headed boy to come on board with his deal.
What he concluded after weeks of spying was harrowing: the adoptive family must perish.
Only through loss could the boy be vulnerable enough for the emperor to approach.
As such, two months after the emperor's discovery of his child, when the moon was high in the sky and congratulations were sang over a slice of cheap pastry, Prince Aspen went to bed with his belly half full and his dreams as sweet as the well wishes he received.
Come morning, the inhabitants of the house, with the exception of the young boy, had come to know the meaning of eternal sleep.
And, stricken with horror and grief, Prince Aspen snapped like a rubber band wound too tight.
That day, nearly seventy men from the imperial squad stationed near the prince's home were massacred.
Brutally, and with an efficiency that no eighteen-year-old should have, Prince Aspen poured his rage out in deafening waves, his fists split and bruised and his face streaked with tears and blood.
"You people did this! I know you did!" he screamed and bellowed loud enough for the streets near the soldiers' encampment to hear, anguish squeezing his words and violence colouring his burning, golden eyes.
In the end, Prince Aspen stood among the corpses of the men he slaughtered, his knuckles stinging from countless cuts and his spine buzzing with the power that coursed throughout his body. But no physical pain could ever come close to the agony he had felt as he stood alone, drenched in crimson and choking on his sobs.
His heart, empty as a shell and broken like fine china, had felt like a burden in his chest, crushing his lungs with the weight of his sorrow.
And as though the heavens had heard his tormented cries, the sky darkened in mere minutes and showered the land with its tears.
He had stood there, soaked to the bone while surrounded by death and the stench of iron, until he collapsed from exhaustion, the adrenaline from the fight drained and useless.
And there he was found, one day later when the emperor had gotten news of his deeds and left his work behind to investigate the incident personally.
When Emperor Sigmund saw the utter despair on the boy's face, he thought that his plan had finally worked. Now, he had reason to bring him into the palace, as he was shackled no more by the chains of sentimentality.
What he didn't expect when he offered the young prince his hand was to be attacked.
It was only narrowly that he managed to avoid a fate similar to the bodies that littered the ground.
By the time the boy was wrestled to the ground by half a dozen imperial guards, cursing the emperor with all manner of foul names that would have gotten him executed if not for his bloodline, he had dealt damage to three people and killed one.
Shocked by the display of sheer hatred, Emperor Sigmund was once again struck with fear, as he recalled the way the late empress had glared at him with the same look in her tired eyes.
Too shaken to stay, the emperor eventually gave orders for the boy to be moved into the palace. They dragged him, kicking and snarling with barely contained rage, into a carriage and back to the palace, where he spat and fought with every ounce of his strength to get out.
Just like his mother, Prince Aspen was imprisoned inside the palace, with not a soul beside him to share the grief that was eating him alive inside.
A month passed, six months passed, and still he could not escape.
Resigned to his fate, Prince Aspen chose the same path that the late empress took, but ultimately failed.
Each time he managed to summon some hope that the hell he was in would finally be over, it would all come crashing down into pieces as he was yanked back into the world of the living.
Without even the right to die, he wasted away, consoled only by the fiery hatred that bubbled under his skin. But even then, as time passed, he grew more and more weary of living.
With everyone around him begging him to live, ordering him to stop his nonsensical behaviour, and forcing him into a corner that grew smaller and smaller by the day, Prince Aspen found that he was quickly being driven to madness. The kind that clawed at his consciousness and reduced his identity into one of only resentment and agony.
He just wanted to die. Was that so much to ask for after the nightmare he lived through?
It was sickening how he had gotten to this deplorable state and he spent his days aimlessly as a hollow shell of himself.
But just when he felt like he could no longer bear to wake up each morning and not see the faces of his loved ones, new light shined on his wretched life.
The girl was a year younger than him, with beautiful blonde hair the colour of sunlight and eyes as red and fiery as the core of molten magma.
Their first meeting changed the trajectory of his miserable existence.
"Your eyes are just as the rumours say, Your Highness. They are certainly beautiful beyond belief, but there is no mistaking the misery in them. You look like you would rather die than be here." she had pointed out as they stared each other down for several tense moments after their greetings to each other.
Irritated and on the cusp of exploding, he had snapped coldly at her. "Anyone can tell that I want to die, but they won't let me. Now, what the hell do you want?"
While most of his visitors would retreat and cower under his harsh tone, she had puffed up her chest and straightened her back, her eyes flashing with stubbornness.
And he would forever remember the words she said after - the ones that saved him: "If dying would heal you and rid that empty look from your eyes, then I, at least, want you to die."
Prince Aspen had spent several moments frozen, dumbfounded at her blunt words and need to voice such treacherous thoughts to him, a prince.
Even if he himself held no affection for the lineage and blood he was born with and couldn't care less whatever happened to those related to him, she didn't know that.
If she had said those words to anyone other than him, she would have been suspected of treason and been punished harshly.
But fortunately or unfortunately, Prince Aspen was not like the other royal children.
All he had wanted was to die. Since he was first dragged into the palace, every thought that crossed his mind that wasn't hate and anger had to do with death.
But that day, for the first time in over a year, he decided that he wanted to live to see another day. That he would live to see her again.
And when he did see her again, he reached an inevitable epiphany: that the only thing left tethering him to the world of the living was this girl, with all her bluntness and fiery honesty.
So why does she, the one who's been by his side since they first met all those years ago and who also saved his meaningless life, now stand behind him, smelling both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time?