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The next day after L'oracle de la Reine
Word had spread about how Mahalia Heris had fulfilled the ancient promise and was identified as the future queen. The whole nation was thrown into chaos, with people gossiping and making preparations. Some were selling fanfictions of the king and his future queen's love story, while others showered the Heris-Mariale family with gifts to win their favor.
In the king's palace, everything resumed its natural order, as if they weren't expecting a queen. In the king's office, he was busy discussing matters with Bertrand.
"The last report on the Yellow Jay was better than this," Awin said, flinging the document away, disappointment clearly written on his face.
"My apologies, but it seems their head was quick to pick up on our plans and tie the loose ends," Bertrand replied.
Awin tsked. "Excuses. Do better."
Bertrand nodded and bowed deeply. He hated himself for disappointing the king.
"Hope there's nothing linking us to the attacks?" Awin asked, his gaze sharp and quizzical.
"I made sure our traces were wiped clean. It won't lead back to us."
Awin nodded before suddenly turning to Melinda, who had been sitting in front of him the whole time.
"Is there something you'd like to say?" he asked, annoyed by her glaring at him. She quickly averted her gaze.
"No."
"Okay then. So, Bertrand, the next phase—"
"Why?" Melinda suddenly cut in, shocking herself. She held her palm over her mouth, embarrassed by her outburst.
The room fell silent for a moment. Both Melinda and Bertrand anxiously waited for Awin to speak, but his grave expression only deepened.
"Bertrand, wait outside," Awin said coldly.
As the door closed behind Bertrand, Awin turned to Melinda. She shrank back under his gaze. There was something about the way he looked at her—it made her stomach churn. She felt like an insignificant gnat that had inconvenienced him, destined to be swatted.
"Never. Interrupt. Me."
"I'm sorry, but it was driving me crazy," she stammered.
Awin ignored her, returning to his work. He wrote furiously, perusing documents as if she weren't there.
"Why Mahalia? Of all the women you could have married, why her? Why?"
Awin froze, then slowly set his pen down. Melinda watched him closely as he mumbled to himself before chuckling darkly. In that moment, she felt unbearably small and insignificant.
"I wasn't aware that I now answered to you. I would have hurried and sent you a report," he sneered.
"My apologies—"
"You asked why? I chose her because I can, and I want to."
"But why?" Melinda pressed, determined not to back down.
Awin sighed, standing up. Before Melinda could react, he was in front of her. She bashfully turned her face away.
"I was asking because I initially thought you hated her family. So why bother and mar—"
She couldn't finish speaking. Awin was already strangling her.
"I have done too much and waited too long not to marry her. Everything I've done to her family up to now was for this very reason," he hissed.
Melinda grappled with his hand, tears streaming down her cheeks as her consciousness began to fade. Just as her strength waned, he released her. She collapsed to the ground, gasping for air, while Awin looked down at her with irritation.
"So annoying."
"Wh... why her?" she sobbed.
"Melinda Charmale, don't you understand? I chose her because she's special."
"Special? What's so special about her? She's done nothing to be called special," Melinda cried, her fists clenched in frustration and heartbreak.
Awin stooped down, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "You wouldn't understand. Special people don't have to prove their worth. It's people like you who do, and frankly, you've been doing a bad job at it."
The door opened. "Your Highness, the commander of the Dragon Cavalry wishes to see you," Bertrand announced.
Melinda flinched and scrambled to her feet.
"Rivan Ceria? I don't want to see that idiot," Awin replied.
Bertrand nodded in understanding and turned to leave, but Awin stopped him.
"Take this one along with you." He dismissed Melinda with a wave as he sat back down.
The two of them walked out of the king's study in silence. Melinda wiped her tears, keeping close behind Bertrand. All she wanted was the comfort of her chambers, where she could cry and drown her sorrows in solitude. She wanted to attend L'oracle de la Reine, but Awin had vehemently argued against it. It bitterly occurred to her that he did not see her as worthy of him.
Bertrand stopped and bowed slightly. "The king is busy and unable to see anyone."
"I see." Rivan's voice was calm, almost expectant. "I'll leave a report with you, then."
Bertrand nodded graciously. Rivan peered past him, catching a glimpse of Melinda.
"Melinda? Why are you hiding behind... never mind. I wanted to speak with you. Can you spare me some time?"
Melinda smiled shyly and stepped forward. "Oh, you just had to see me like this," she laughed awkwardly, brushing her disheveled hair aside.
Rivan's expression softened, though it was tinged with melancholy. "Will you give me some time?"
"I'll leave you both to it," Bertrand said, bowing as he walked away. He cast them a few curious glances before disappearing around the corner.
"It's been a long time since we last spoke," Rivan began.
"Yes, when was it?"
"Before you were accused of Qaya Wright's murder."
Melinda froze, then let out a wistful chuckle. "So that's what this is about?"
"Of course. You were accused of murder, and you don't think you owe your closest friend an explanation? Even if you never spoke to me about it, I was ready to believe you were innocent... at least until you blatantly lied and sowed the seeds of doubt in my mind."
Melinda frowned. "What are you talking about? When have I ever—"
"You repeatedly lied, and to make matters worse, you tried to justify murder, saying the victim deserved her fate. That threw me aback because I was certain that the Melinda I knew would never act in such a way. It got me thinking—the Melinda I knew never existed. I'm looking at the real you, aren't I?"
She scoffed. "What are you getting at here?"
Rivan stared at her, wide-eyed. She wasn't even denying it. "I don't know if you were aware and chose to ignore it or were simply oblivious, but everything I've done for you was out of love. Romantic love. Maybe that's why I was desperately grasping at straws, trying to understand why you did what you did. Because I'm certain, persona or not, that I love you and would stand by you."
"Rivan, what on earth are you mumbling about? Love? Murder? Yes, I was aware. Only an idiot wouldn't have noticed your lovesick gaze, but I can't reciprocate your feelings. And what's this about Qaya? I'm really innocent. Even if I did kill her, what would you have me do? Confess and go to jail? Why? So you can protect me and live out your knight-in-shining-armor fantasies?"
"I myself wasn't sure what I wanted from this conversation, but please, Melinda, it's not too late to right your wrongs," he said, holding her hands pleadingly.
Melinda flung his hands away. "I'm tired of you. Aren't you listening? I don't love you."
"I'm not asking you to love me back. I've always been content with the way things are. I'm asking you to love yourself, to value yourself. Why must that man treat you with such disdain, and then you turn around and do the same thing to yourself?"
He gazed at her gently, his eyes lingering on her bruised neck. Catching on to that, she used her hair to cover it.
"Ah," Rivan sighed, a disappointed look on his face. "This was not how I planned this conversation to go. But I saw you and just blurted out everything."
"It's really hard," he continued. "I'm torn between love and my principles. Knowing that you're the murderer is something I can't just ignore. So I'll stretch out one last hand of trust to you and hope you turn yourself in. If you don't, don't worry—I'm actively looking for evidence to indict you."
Melinda felt a knot in her throat, and her eyes stung.
"What have I done?" she thought. "Rivan is the only friend I have… In my anger and pain, I've pushed away the only one who cares for me."
Melinda trembled. Her brain told her to reconcile with this friend, but she couldn't. Even as he gave her one last hug and she wanted to cling to him, she wouldn't.
"Foolish Rivan. Righteous to a fault," she mumbled under her breath as she watched his silhouette thin out as he left.
"How could I possibly let go of Awin? I can't, even if I fall into hell with that bastard."
---
Ten years ago
The Dukedom of Chastivy
A sixteen-year-old Melinda ran across the corridor and into a bedroom. It was the room of her best friend, Ethera.
"What's the rush?" Ethera giggled as she put away the shawl she was embroidering.
"I had to give you this." Melinda shoved a flower into Ethera's arms. "It has such a short lifespan. I needed to show you its beauty—it reminded me of you."
"Oh?"
Melinda froze. She noticed the look on her friend's face. She didn't look impressed.
"Ethera, you don't look happy. Was it something I said?"
"I appreciate the thought, Linda, I really do. But I don't think you should have plucked the flower."
"Wh—then how would I have shown you?"
Ethera gazed at her weak, limp legs. "Beauty as fleeting as this should be enjoyed where it belongs, in the soil. You were right; this flower is like me in some aspects. Sometimes, you should just accept that certain things can't leave where they are and instead make the most of where they are."
"Linda, I appreciate your concern, and I'm eternally grateful for your love. But you can't pity me forever."
Melinda clenched her fists. "What are you going on about? Me pity you? Really? Is that what you think?"
Suddenly, the mood shifted, and Melinda raised her voice, tears at the corners of her eyes.
"I act this way because I have to. Do you think it's easy for me to watch you lay there, unable to do the things you once did? You're practically lame, and it's all my fault."
For a long time, the whole room stood still. No one spoke, each person feeling the weight of the other's emotions. Finally, Ethera smiled and patted the space on the bed beside her.
"Come here," she said gently.
Melinda obliged, settling down and taking Ethera's hand in hers.
"Why would you think that, Linda?"
"You're too nice. If you didn't risk yourself for me during our mercenary exams, you wouldn't just be able to walk—you'd be able to go on missions with me. We spent our entire lives training to be mercenaries, and yet only one of us gets to live that dream. To be honest, it's a very bitter dream without you."
"If I could turn back the hands of time, back to when that pillar almost collapsed on you, I would sacrifice myself again. You're like a sister. And just as I sacrificed my dream for you, you ought to live that dream for both of us. Live with the happiness of two people."
"But you're not my sister." This was Melinda's thought. She couldn't say it aloud; she couldn't dream of being ungrateful. Ethera was her best friend. They had grown up together because Melinda's parents served under the Duke, Ethera's father, as the butler and head maid.
Despite her humble status, the Chastivy family treated her and her family with respect. She felt more than loyalty to them—they were her home.
"When is your next mission?" Ethera asked, brushing her hair aside.
"It's down south. Apparently, the forces want us to uncover some shady businesses."
"Really? Then I trust you to go on this mission on my behalf. Work as hard as two people, and enjoy as much as two people."
Melinda left the room feeling unsure of herself. There was so much she wanted to tell her friend, but she couldn't. She didn't want to disappoint her too much.
With one last look at Ethera, who was busy putting the now-wilted flower in a vase filled with water, Melinda decided she would live just as her friend wanted.
"Yes, as much as two people."
---
The Knight Courtyard
The place was bustling, as any would be if filled with drunken men singing cheery songs of camaraderie. In Melinda's tent, she was busy packing for her next mission when a colleague walked in.
"I didn't know you were going to Transylvania. What's with all these stakes?"
"Walter, quit making jokes," Melinda replied without looking up, continuing to whittle.
Walter stopped in front of her and rubbed the space between her eyebrows. "What's wrong?"
"Why would you ask that?"
"You've always hated whittling since our training days, but you feared our instructor more," he chuckled. "It was always amusing watching you whittle in terror whenever we had to make stakes for the instructor."
"Gross. Why the mushy reminiscing?"
"You only make wooden stakes when you're stressed. So tell me—what's stressing you?"
"It's this mission. It feels... fishy. I don't know if you've noticed, but the duke and the king haven't exactly been on good terms lately. Now, all of a sudden, he's sending us to find evidence against someone in his circle. It just doesn't feel right."
"I understand, but you shouldn't worry too much. I think it's just a case of using one enemy to uproot another. If we're careful, it shouldn't backfire."
She still looked unconvinced. "I don't know."
"What am I going to do with you?" Walter ruffled his hair in mock frustration. "How about this—I'll stay behind and handle things here."
"And sit out of the mission? You love going on missions."
"Then would you rather stay?"
She shook her head. She couldn't, even if she wanted to. She was going, not just for herself, but for Ethera, too.
"Exactly. I'm capable enough to take care of things here."
"Why are you doing this?"
"Because I know you won't be at peace otherwise. I'm doing this for you."
---
A Week Later
"He was doing it for me…"
Melinda returned from her mission to find her home in ruins. The once bright, flourishing dukedom of Chastivy now reeked of carnage.
"Mother? Father? Lord Chastivy? Lady?" Her voice cracked as she covered her mouth, trying not to retch at the sight. Her parents and masters had been slaughtered like livestock—no, worse than livestock.
She rushed into the compound, her sword unsheathed. "I will lop off the head of whoever did this!"
Before she could move further, someone dragged her into a corner.
"Who are you—Walter? Walter, you're bleeding!"
Walter managed a small smile. "I lied... I wasn't capable enough. But I managed to hold the fort until you returned." He winced, blood pouring from half a dozen stab wounds.
Melinda burst into tears, her hands trembling. She didn't know what to do.
"What's going on? Everyone is dead. Why? Who did this?"
"I don't have much time," he coughed, spitting blood. "Their forces were far stronger. They were prepared. I failed to protect the duke and duchess... but you must save Ethera. Please... save yourself."
"I'll... I'll save you, too!" Melinda cried, her voice breaking. She tried to lift him, but he was too heavy. "Please stand up! We don't have much time!"
Walter slumped back, his strength gone. Melinda broke down, mourning her dear friend. But she quickly steeled herself. There was no time for despair.
"I won't let Walter's sacrifice be in vain. I must save Ethera, even if it costs me my life."
She searched the ruins until she found Ethera in the pantry.
"Ethera?"
"Linda!"
They hugged tightly, sobbing in each other's arms.
"How did you know to find me?"
"This was your favorite hiding spot when we were kids," Melinda said, allowing herself a brief moment of nostalgia. Then she noticed Ethera's legs.
"You're standing!"
Ethera gave a weak smile. "I was planning to surprise you when you got back... sur... prise?"
Melinda shook her head, shocked that Ethera could joke in such a situation. "I'll get you out of here. We can take refuge with the king, and—"
Her voice trailed off as she met Ethera's sad, defeated gaze.
"I guess you haven't realized what's going on yet," Ethera said softly. "It's the king's men who attacked us."
"Frak!" Melinda punched a sack in fury. Part of her had suspected it, but to know the king had gone this far—wiping out an entire dukedom—was beyond vile.
Quickly composing herself, she took charge. Ethera was her master, and she had sworn to protect her.
"There's a secret passage at the end of the corridor. It's risky, but—"
Swip!
An arrow flew through the air, piercing Ethera's leg. A group of burly men, led by a smaller, more refined man, entered the room.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are," the refined man called.
To be continued..
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