Lacrimosa Regalis.
The room fell silent for a moment, the gravity of the conversation weighing heavily on everyone present. Elara shifted slightly, the ache in her back a dull reminder of her predicament. Her sharp gaze darted between Riven and the Marquis, trying to make sense of the situation.
"Cursed," she thought bitterly, her lips pressing into a thin line. How fitting. From the moment she'd arrived in this world, it seemed like everything had conspired against her—injured, poisoned, and now cursed. Was this her punishment for existing in a body that wasn't her own? For being a stranger in someone else's life?
Riven's voice broke through her spiraling thoughts. "But how is that possible?" he asked, his tone sharp, almost demanding. "The Lacrimosa Regalis is said to repel anyone who tries to approach it. The air around it is toxic, and even its shadow is said to bring death. How could someone have harvested it?"
The Marquis sighed deeply, pinching his nose under the glasses that rested on the bridge of his nose elegantly. "That's precisely the question, Your Grace. If the poison in Lady Elara's wound is indeed derived from the Lacrimosa Regalis, it means someone has found a way to not only approach the flower but also weaponize it. That kind of knowledge hasn't existed since the flower was cursed, at least not in any official records."
Elara felt a chill run down her spine. The word curse hung in the air like a storm cloud, its implications far more unsettling than poison alone.
"So, what does this mean for her?" Riven asked, his voice softer this time, but no less intense. His eyes flicked to Elara, and for a brief moment, she thought she saw something there—guilt? Worry? Fear? She couldn't tell.
The Marquis hesitated, his gaze turning toward Elara as if weighing whether to speak in her presence. Finally, he straightened his posture and addressed them both. "It means her wound isn't just physical. It's tied to the flower's curse, which complicates everything. Ordinary methods won't work to heal her completely, and…" He trailed off, as if reluctant to continue.
"And what?" Elara pressed, her tone sharp despite her exhaustion. She wasn't in the mood for half-truths or vague warnings.
The Marquis met her gaze, his expression grim. "And if we don't find a way to neutralize the curse soon, the poison will eventually overtake your body. The Lacrimosa Regalis doesn't just kill—it consumes."
Elara's chest tightened at the ominous declaration, but she refused to let her fear show. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, her voice steady. "Then tell me what needs to be done."
The Marquis opened his mouth to respond but stopped short, glancing at Riven. There was an unspoken tension between the two men, as if the answer wasn't something they could decide alone. Finally, Riven spoke, his voice low and resolute.
"We'll figure it out." His eyes locked onto hers, unwavering. "I promise."
Elara said nothing, but she held his gaze, searching for any hint of deceit. For now, she would have to trust them—whether she liked it or not.
As if on cue to break the tension in the room, a knock echoed through the heavy door.
Riven, his tone sharp and commanding, called out, "Who is it?"
The muffled voice of the head maid replied from the other side, "Your Grace, we've brought the young miss's meal."
Riven glanced at Elara briefly before responding, "Enter."
The door opened with practiced ease, revealing the head maid carrying a tray laden with an assortment of food. She stepped inside, her posture stiff with respect as she bowed deeply to Riven.
Riven gave a slight nod, gesturing toward Elara. "Take it to her."
The head maid obeyed, but as she approached, the Marquis stepped forward, blocking her path. The tray wobbled slightly in her hands as she stopped abruptly, her head still bowed. Without a word, she waited as the Marquis began inspecting the contents of the tray.
His movements were deliberate and precise, his critical eye scanning each item. He picked up the small plate with dates, narrowing his eyes before setting it aside with a soft clink. Finally satisfied, he motioned for the maid to proceed.
The head maid exhaled softly, though her composure never wavered, and advanced to Elara's bedside. She placed the tray down with care, the faint aroma of fresh fruit wafting upward. Elara's eyes fell on the contents: slices of various fruits, a jug of orange juice, and a steaming bowl of what appeared to be oatmeal.
Her stomach growled audibly at the sight, a traitorous reminder of how long it had been since she'd last eaten. She sighed inwardly, the tension in her shoulders refusing to ease.
The maid stepped back, her hands folded neatly in front of her, her gaze lingering on Elara as if to ensure she ate. Elara hesitated. Trust was a luxury she couldn't afford, and every fiber of her being warned her to be cautious. She didn't know these people, nor their intentions toward her—or the girl whose body she inhabited. Could she trust the food? Could she trust them?
But as the tantalizing aroma of the warm oatmeal and fresh fruit reached her, her resolve wavered. Hunger clawed at her insides, and the persistent growl of her stomach betrayed her hesitation. Reluctantly, she picked up a spoon, glancing at the head maid, whose expectant gaze only added to the pressure.
Finally, she took a bite. The warm oatmeal was surprisingly comforting, the sweetness just enough to mask her doubts. She wolfed it down quickly, barely pausing between bites to sip the orange juice.
As she ate, she could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on her. The head maid's gaze was unwavering, the Marquis's analytical, and Riven's—something else entirely. She chose to ignore them, focusing instead on the food in front of her. For now, it was enough to fill the gnawing void in her stomach and silence the noise in her mind.
Elara sat back, feeling the warmth of the meal settle in her stomach. She noticed the others had remained silent, their focus on her as though waiting for something. She shifted uncomfortably under their scrutiny. The Marquis cleared his throat, breaking the quiet.
"Now that you're fed and rested, should we continue our discussion?" he asked, his tone measured.
Elara froze. Her eyes darted toward him. Conversation? What conversation? But as she met his steady gaze, it dawned on her—he was referring to the discussion they'd been having before Riven entered the room. Her throat tightened. The Marquis had not forgotten. Of course, he hadn't.
So much had shifted in just a short span. Riven was here, alive, and Kaelion was too—both occupying spaces that felt too close to her memories and yet alien at the same time.
Kael. Kaelion. The names were so similar. Yet, her Kael had been her only sibling, the brother who had disappeared. And Riven—he had been Kael's friend, someone she had never trusted. Here, Riven was her brother. It was uncanny how this world's Elara mirrored her in some ways, yet diverged in others.
The little girl in her visions had adored her eldest brother, Kaelion. This Elara had a relationship with him that seemed similarly close. But her Kael had been her only anchor. Was it possible the memories she clung to so fiercely weren't real? Or was this place, this existence, some strange illusion?
The Marquis did not wait for her to gather her thoughts. "I assume you remember at least some things," he said, his piercing gaze locking onto hers. "After all, you instantly recognized the Grand Duke—your brother—when he entered the room."
Elara's head snapped toward Riven, her breath catching. Her supposed brother. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but no words came out. Riven, noticing her reaction, furrowed his brows, his confusion evident.
The Marquis continued, clearly intending to press the matter. "And I couldn't help but overhear the maids talking." He adjusted his glasses slightly, his tone almost too casual. "They said you were calling out for Lord Kaelion. Your eldest brother."
Elara inhaled deeply, her mask slipping only slightly. She had no reason to hide her supposed memory loss any longer. If anything, the situation worked in her favor. It was her shield against questions she couldn't answer.
She lifted her gaze to the Marquis and spoke with deliberate calm. "I... remember pieces," she began, her voice measured. "Riven, the name, and his face—they feel familiar. But I don't remember him being my brother."
Riven's expression tightened, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face. She avoided looking at him for too long, focusing instead on the Marquis.
"As for Kaelion... Kael... " she hesitated, carefully crafting her next words. "I remember... this constant feeling, this nagging thought, telling me I need to find someone with that name. Other than that... there's nothing."
The room fell silent. Elara felt their eyes on her, weighing her every word. She exhaled, hoping her explanation would suffice.
Internally, her thoughts churned. Why had she been brought to this place? Why did the people here share faces and names with those from her world, yet carry different roles? And why did she feel as though her presence here was no accident?
Riven's gaze burned into her, his silence unnerving. She had no way of knowing what he was thinking, but it was clear he wasn't satisfied.
The Marquis's gaze lingered on Elara, his tone measured but probing. "Why did you feign having your memories and play along, when in truth, you remember nothing?"
Before Elara could respond, Riven spoke, his voice calm but sharp. "How would you feel, Uncle, if you lost your memories and were surrounded by strangers who treated you with respect and courtesy? Would you not play along, unsure who to trust or what they might do if they discovered your ignorance?"
The room fell silent as the Marquis considered Riven's words, his thoughtful expression betraying a hint of guilt. Elara glanced at her supposed brother, surprise flickering in her eyes. Of all people, Riven was the last she expected to empathize with her plight.
The Marquis broke the silence, bowing his head slightly toward Elara. "Forgive me. I've been discourteous. You acted as wisely as anyone might in your situation. Still, I advise you not to reveal any ignorance of your memories. House Aeternum has many enemies who would exploit any perceived weakness."
Elara gave a small nod, relief washing over her. For now, her secret was safe. No one could know that she might not be the Elara they believed her to be—or worse, that she didn't belong to this world at all.
But even as she sought to maintain her cover, the question gnawed at her: which life was her reality? The one she remembered so vividly, filled with loss and longing—or this one, where the threads of power and mystery wove a story she couldn't yet unravel?