The Kingdom built by her father, destroyed by his daughter. The sword that she held, pointed at her. The puppet she played with, cut all its strings. Her ultimate strength becomes her very weakness. The beautiful chamber of the Princess, reduced to...
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^Cynthia Halvens, how do I look?
*****
"Leave the book on the table and you may leave, Louis."
"Yes, Your Highness. Please rest well. Should my lady find any inconvenience of any sort, please send a word, and I'll find Maria at once. I'll take my leave."
I bring the blanket closer to my face and turn away. The mild noise of the door closing behind Louis is heard and I wait for a few minutes. I get off from my bed and slowly collect myself from the poisoning incident. To think that I can never be careful enough and all I did was to smell the fragrance of a flower, and that would let me fall to the ground is hilarious. But it was fine too, now that I'm given the least attention.
Fifteen minures has passed. This should do. I get up and wrap a shawl (upon my night gown) around my shoulders, letting it drop till my thigh. I take the book and bring my hands under the shawl so that it isn't visible. Then, I open my door.
I place a finger on my lips to silence the two soldiers who silently exclaimed my presence. "B-but Your Highness, you must rest. Master Ryder told us not to--"
"If you tell anything about this to Louis, you will lose more than just your job."
"Understood. We saw nothing, we speak nothing," they say in unison as they look elsewhere, as if I suddenly became invisible.
"Good boys."
From my chamber, I walk towards the Northern dungeon in stealth, carefully escaping the castle guards. The only audience to my adventure is the moon, as it follows behind me wherever I go. It takes me a lot of time to reach the dungeon, but I'm relieved that no one spotted me. It would've been much better if only this feeling of giddiness will be lost. I find it hard to focus sometimes.
Nathorn sits in his desk, fortunately awake, as he looks into several papers in the candlelight. I walk up to Nathorn.
"Your Highness? Is it to meet 'him' again?"
I nod.
"I had a hunch when I heard that Your Highness fell sick. Never thought I was a good prophet," he makes a small talk as he searches for the keys.
"Did he talk?" I ask, looking ahead at the row of prisons.
"I must insist you not to believe that he'll ever talk again. At this rate, I'm afraid he even forgot how to talk and perhaps became a mute."
"That will be only said as a jest, Mr. Nathorn. 'He' of all people to go mute is asking the moon to change its colour, which will never happen," I smirk and head straight to his cell with Nathorn leading the way.
