May 4, 1789.
Today's the date before the Revolution.
My speech had spread throughout the lands, the message travelling from whispering mouths to listening ears, from tiny villages to bustling towns, from an awakened spirit to another. Each and every Grandee had become one rising force, a force marching and stomping towards one sole destination—the Palace of Grand.
They grew and grew and grew...until the soldiers of their stations couldn't even stop them. Moreover, there were actually a few of them that gave up and cut off their puppet strings, volunteering to join the band of angry folk. They, too, must've been treated like filth.
All it took was a little push, a little encouragement, a little leap of faith.
And the people became powerful.
The only thing left to do now was wait. Based on my memory of what was written in history books (and the affirmative statement of Prince Nathaniel's calculations), our army will be arriving tomorrow at dusk.
I'll try not to let that recurring nightmare happen for real by then. No more running in the woods and dying. Why else would I travel to the past besides preventing myself from death? So no more of that.
...But will this decision take me back to my timeline?
Slowly and painfully, the melody of the piano in my reveries played. Slowly and painfully, I painted a pretty picture to completion.
Taking a deep breath, I finished my last painting with a single, dramatic stroke of the brush. The dips of nostalgic colors filled the canvas with a peculiar tenderness that I cannot easily define. I put my brush down and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. It probably slid off my clumsily tied bun. There was someone who would've done these braids perfectly, someone I knew very well.
“Why am I recalling him out of all times...?” I mumbled softly, shaking my head.
My focus shifted to the painting. It was supposedly my final masterpiece. I wanted to touch it but it wasn't dry yet. Art had always been my passion, although I never imagined that I would be such a professional at this. Maybe Khaleesi's hands were more practiced, more gifted. Three months here and I still remind myself that this body isn't mine. How funny of me.
Maybe because I got so used to living here as Briar Rosette.
I stared at the painted young man playing a painted piano, and then at the painted young woman watching him just several steps from behind. I stared at the painted background fading at the corners as though the two individuals were immersed in their own little world. I smiled.
Now I know why I cried when I saw this painting back at the museum.
This is the most unforgettable scene of my past life pulled out from my most cherished scenarios. I wholeheartedly recreated it through a painting, which is also the painting prior to my fated fall.
Another memory, huh.
The most important one.
Tomorrow, all four questions of mine will be answered with a final conclusion. The identities of the Musician and my murderer, the promise, and my reason to travel in time... They will all be answered.
“Miss Rosette?” an old, raspy voice sought for me at the doorway. “Must you really leave tomorrow?”
Tomorrow...might be my last day.
So today will be the day of goodbyes.
I looked over to Gertrude.
I had never been fond of farewells. My mother and my father were always busy with cramped schedules, thus the times spent with them were very rare. The moment they step out the threshold, I then hear that sickening phrase that they repeat on and on despite not truly meaning it.
We'll be back soon.
Although...
“For the kingdom, I must.” I answered. “You have helped me a lot for these three months, Gertrude. I thank you sincerely. I might not be confident of my return, but I vow that I will fight and keep fighting.”
In spite of my parents’ lies, as long as I wait inside the empty house for a day, for a few weeks, for a month... I will get to see them again. It requires patience, and I know I may not be returning anytime after the battle tomorrow. However...
“I'll be back soon.” I mustered a smile.
We will meet again.
Maybe it will take years. Maybe decades. Maybe as Khaleesi. Maybe as me in the next life. None of that matters now.
I'll be back soon. Who would've thought this phrase was so sickening yet so full of peace?
Gertrude's wrinkled eyes lit up with understanding when she grinned. “My granddaughter would be around your age of today, I believe. So I began to see her in you. She also had such a lovely smile like you, young miss.”
“She sounds marvelous.” I said, tidying my workspace myself. The canvas was the only object left on the standing easel. I let it remain in the center of my room. “Is she in your hometown?”
At this, the old woman shook her head in conservative motions. “She is smiling in the heavens.”
I froze.
Oh.
Before I could apologize, Gertrude raised a hand for me to discontinue. “It is a better place for her rather than staying in bed with a hollow stomach. She was taken by death at a very early childhood, graced upon the mercy of angels. If she lived, she might be just as youthful and beautiful as you.”
My assistant handed me a small limning that had distinct paint lines depicting a face of a little girl. It was the ancient version of modern photographs. Gertrude's veiny hands, splashed with blue streaks and calloused with rough palms, were shaking ever so slightly. I quickly took it, cupping it with my fingers at utmost care.
“Her name was Bethany.”
“Hello, Bethany.” I greeted the child in the picture.
This girl died of malnourishment, and this limning is the old woman's only physical memory left of her. I held my tears as I smiled, kissing the upper frame.
I will fight for you as well, Bethany.
“I am proud of you, young miss. May your soul be blessed with happiness in your next life.” Gertrude stated with tender affection.
I put down one knee and pressed my forehead onto the back of her hand—a gesture of honor and respect. This room, the thief incident of our first meeting, our little chitchats in the morning, and the fun of picking cute dresses...
Goodbye.
Third Person's POV
Prince Jacque Darryl stared at the painting that the maiden carried all the way to the atelier. It was a painting of another memory. He knew it was, because it's what she did with her previous canvas, too.
But he also knew that this was the most important one.
“I entrust this to you.” The painter said to him while stroking the paint that was already dry. There was a reminiscent shine in her green irises. The prince grasped that it was priceless, containing a value unattainable to any other man. Finally, she looked up at him. “Keep it safe for me, will you? I want to see this painting again once I return to my timeline.”
“I will protect it with my life, Rosie.” He replied seriously.
His statement made her blink profusely. After soundless three seconds, she giggled. This had him flustered on the spot.
“W-What?! I m-mean it!” he flailed his arms around like ears of an agitated lagomorph. Seeing someone who doesn't stutter on a regular basis like her was refreshing. Briar Rosette was frequently and brutally honest, yet that's solely because she can't lie without being obvious.
“I know.” She nodded curtly. “Thank you. I truly don't deserve you, Jack.”
Accurate to her prediction, he responded, “Because you deserve—”
“Someone better?” the maiden cut him off, hands on her waist as though she was ready to lecture him about that habit of his. But then the prince shook his head, surprising her.
“You deserve him.” He finished, eyeing the painting beside them, specifically at the man playing the piano. “And he deserves you. I wish you both a happy ending.”
There was a brief silence.
Rosette's face contorted to a tearful expression. Without warning, she pulled the prince into a tight embrace. He stiffened. Eventually, his hands reached her back and he allowed her to nestle her nose onto his chest.
She could smell the fragrant scent of soap. She could smell home. She could also smell a trace of banana milk. A smile was drawn to her lips.
“I appreciate your well wishes.” She mumbled. “I genuinely do. Thank you.”
“Let's also be best of friends in the next life, okay?” Prince Jacque ran his fingertips along her blonde hair. “Jungcook is waiting for you there. Treat him kindly.”
“I already plan to. Don't worry.”
“And...this might be our final art session...so...”
She detached herself from him, brows furrowed bitterly.
“Do you want to paint with me, Rosie?” he showed her his adorable bunny front teeth.
In an instant, a memory of their first time at the atelier was replayed in her mind.
Do you want to paint with me, dear prince?
If it's alright with you... I would love to.
A gentle laugh escaped her. Looks like their roles had been reversed. “If it's alright with you... I would love to.”
“Good! I will be painting carrots today! You?”
“To match your theme, I think I'll do white rabbits.”
“Oh? How thoughtful. I presumed that you would paint my brother again.”
She bashfully smacked him on the shoulder, making him burst into a fit of laughter. It was contagious apparently, for a little later she was releasing kookie chuckles with him as they tried to find the correct paintbrushes.
“Are you sure we'll spend my last day doing training—ouch!”
Rosette clutched onto her stomach, dropping her bow in the process once her mentor jabbed her abruptly with a hilt of his backup weapon, which was a standard sword. Now she can understand what the former and frequent victim, Prince Nathaniel, felt. As expected from the Captain of the Guards, the High Constable, and the First Field Marksman. Damn, he has so many titles! Who wouldn't be intimidated by him?! she concluded in her thoughts.
“Your slow defense proves that we indisputably should. Tomorrow...” Prince Jacob Erhart hesitated. He chided himself to perdure his assertion. “Tomorrow, the most dangerous and dreadful night of your life awaits you. You have to prepare your body for every attack. Do not disappoint me.”
Is it just me or is he atypically super strict today? The maiden wondered. Mentally noting this, she did a salute that was practically as awkward as the day she was accepted as his student. “Sir yes sir!”
He couldn't help but smile at her silly character, remembering the first month she stood on the Training Field.
Teach me the art of the bow and arrow! was what she had told him that time. Odd, it still feels like it happened yesterday. The image of determination in her gleaming eyes remained its vividness.
“And do not mention that it is your last day.” He added, hiding the sadness on his expression, though the tone of his voice betrayed him when he spoke. “A coward like me cannot handle it.”
The maiden refrained from frowning. She forced her words to stay firm. “Understood, Jay.”
He was taken aback by the nickname, but hearing her say it aside from his siblings had a nice ring to it. He chuckled.
“Enough of the melodramatic conversation.” The mentor cleared his throat. Once he looked at her again, he was beaming like the impassioned sun above them. It was a fine morning to get pumped up. “I'll charge with the blade and you fire the arrows. Now envision your flesh as steel and clash with the iron heading towards you!”
She grinned with Aculeus in her grip, the thrill building inside of her. “Got it!”
Prince Eugene Brancen gazed at the painting of him and his brothers on the walls of a corridor—thinking, concentrating, rehashing. His brain was systematic, going over the areas where they would instigate their onslaught, the soldiers and their amount in where they were stationed around the palace grounds, the hour where the king would be and where he would go when the guards ensure his protection, and even how this will all end either smoothly or chaotically. It may most likely be the latter.
However, his heart would speak. Trepidation would start to drive him in a corner. Panic and uncertainty would have him lost. He then frets about his people, about his brothers, about the maiden...
“Heya, Eugene!”
The Heir flinched at the sudden volume that shattered his contemplations as if they had become mere shards of glass.
He drew a lopsided grin, and Rosette immediately knew he wasn't feeling good at present. “Heya...”
“Someone told me that you're similar to a maudlin brandy-face whenever you look like this.” The maiden innocently shared.
Prince Eugene's right eye almost twitched at the blunt insult. “And who told you that?”
“Nathan.”
He sighed. “Of course. Do you even know what that means?”
“Nope.” She honestly answered. “What's a maudlin brandy-face?”
The Heir didn't feel like responding to that earnest inquiry, so he chose to change the topic. “Should we talk somewhere other than here?”
Rosette smiled, almost making him believe she had been waiting for him to say that. “I desire to walk around your future palace one last time.”
There were a million of options rushing in his mind at that single, simple request. He wanted to tell her that it was too brash to claim the palace as his own at the moment, that his current state was middling, that he was scared of what might happen in the professedly anticipated future. He wanted to ask her about her ambiguous sentence, whether she meant it as her preparation for possible death or a sentimental trip before going home. Perhaps she meant it for both.
Tomorrow...she might be gone either way.
But all that came out of the prince's mouth was a meek okay.
They went to the Royal Gardens, walked past the fountain that covered the underground entrance where the Heir and his members of the Assemblage gather and have secret meetings, and then stopped at an unforgettable space.
The rose bushes.
Rosette crouched down and plucked a fully bloomed flower, careful not to prick herself with its thorns. The Heir was unspeaking as she did so, recalling events of the earlier month and the proposal he cancelled for a spy that he once thought to be a splendid queen of his kingdom.
There was no velvet box in his hand, but he balled into fists as though the memory of the item had solidified.
“Rosette, am I doing this right?”
The maiden glimpsed at him.
She stood up and spun to confront the prince.
“I do not have the privilege to judge what is right and what is wrong, nor have the mind of an analyst who can weigh consequential choices with a scale.” She started. The Heir noticed that she had picked out the petals from the flower and gathered them in her dainty hands. “But...”
She tossed the rose petals high up in the air at his direction. They scattered and hovered along his frame, and Prince Eugene watched them fall in delicate twirls.
You'll make a great king of Grand. He remembered her words. They echoed in his heart, rising towards his brain. It was from the day they shook hands in agreement, the day their partnership became official, the day he uttered her name: Rosette.
“You are destined to be the King of Grand.” The maiden grinned.
He quickly wiped his tears, cheeks and ears burning due to the flattery and the gratitude.
“Thank you.” Prince Eugene smiled.
Like magic, his worries washed away.
“Escapee!” the voice of another prince called out from the archway. Both the Heir and the maiden whirled their heads. “Rule Five! I'm going to the village downhill. Care to join me?”
“Why would you bother asking when you already shouted Rule Five at the start of your supposed invitation?” Rosette rolled her eyes in a frolicsome manner as she teased.
She then looked back at the Heir.
“Well, I'm off.” She said, giggling.
The maiden was about to take a step forward when Prince Eugene stopped her by grabbing her wrist. She blinked at him in surprise.
He kissed the back of her hand.
Rosette smiled.
And bowed.
When Mr. Gudmund bowed, Prince Vante Osburne was reminded of his royalty. He was wearing commoner clothes, but it felt as though he wore robes of feather and silk with a golden circlet on top of his pixie-blonde hair.
“What's with that frown, Os?” the man stood straight and scratched his scruffy beard of murky brown. “I told you I hated the wealthy bastards so I will never bow to them even if they are the last man on earth. My bow was an apology for being a bastard myself. And if I become wealthy, well, I'll be the complete package of what I despise.”
The prince's almond eyes widened.
“So...you don't hate me?” he timidly questioned.
“You and your brothers are an exception!” the innkeeper laughed in big booms, huffing with knuckles onto his hips. “Now I know why the little lady made an argument with me during that time at the gallows.”
Those royals think they can get away with everything. They are the real villains. I despise them. The words Mr. Gudmund once said ran through the prince's recollection.
They protected the kingdom from the invaders, at least be thankful your village isn't infested by brutes. Rosette had said right after.
Prince Vante chuckled. “I remember that.”
The maiden beside him blushed in embarrassment.
“We will fight for our village, Osburne.” The innkeeper slapped hard against his hairy chest. “Thanks to you and the little lady, we have opened our eyes to see the truth. We are grateful for everything you did, our self-proclaimed wizard.”
With overjoyed eyes, the prince nodded.
“Count me in.”
They all turned and gawked at the woman who was gradually approaching them alongside a limping man with a stick. It was Mrs. and Mr. Giocondo—Mona's parents.
“I will fight bravely. I will follow my daughter's example and fight for the kingdom.” Mrs. Sephine decided, which made Rosette worry.
“T-Then me as well.” Her husband joined, making Rosette worry even more.
“No, please let me handle this, Fernando.” The woman objected, gripping onto his shoulder. “You can't make it out there with your leg. I want you alive. You're the only loved one I have left.”
“And what about you?” Mr. Fernando was tearing up. He had always disliked being held back because of his leg, because of his useless and deadweight leg. Now that his wife will be going away, he was afraid that he'll truly be left alone. “I want you alive, too! You're the only loved one I have left, too!"
Rosette stifled a cry from escaping, placing both hands onto her mouth.
Mrs. Sephine kissed her husband's forehead affectionately and wiped the tears from his eyes. “I will come back to you, my dear. Please wait for me.”
“I will. I will. Please do come back. Please don't leave me alone.” Mr. Fernando hiccuped through sobs.
They embraced.
Rosette prayed that it won't be for the last time.
After that, she and Prince Vante explored the forest and filled it with their laughter. The maiden wanted good memories. If she had to leave, then at least...she will leave them with good memories. The two youths danced under the thick branches, bodies moving to the song of chirping birds. Like corks set loose, they swayed with the breeze in crazy movements, swinging their arms and legs. They made funny faces.
Rosette could even feel Mona dancing with them by sensing the warm sunlight filtered through the canopies. Mona would always feel like a warm hug.
It was definitely a good memory.
By the time Rosette returned to the palace, the crescent moon of evening had already settled in the sky. She gazed at the stream of stars, recalling her first village date with the Wizard named Os.
But when she saw the balcony up ahead, a different memory possessed her.
A stupid, humiliating memory that had her cringe.
Juliet! If love be blind, it best agrees with night! She had once said to someone at that very same balcony. She had hoped to distract the prince with a quote by his Uncle William Shakespeare, but she failed.
“Juliet!” a shadow of a person blurted the memory of her thoughts out loud. The masculine voice befitted a Romeo, yet the lack of sweetness indicated otherwise. It was clearly sarcastic and mocking. “If love be blind, it best agrees with night!”
The maiden glared, face flushing.
Prince Nathaniel James let out a boyish laugh. He then showed himself by basking under the rays of the moon, leaning handsomely against the balustrades. “Does that sound familiar, Miss Stuttering Liar?”
“I was just thinking about it at the moment, Eavesdropping Spectacles.” She snorted.
Like the memory, the silver-tongued prince jumped off the balcony and slid down the vines. Rosette had been weirdly experiencing a series of deja vu today. How nostalgic. She kept commenting that the entire morning until the rest of the afternoon.
“It's strange that I won't be able to hear that nickname ever again once you go.” He folded his arms, walking forward. “Unfortunately, I might actually miss you.”
“Unfortunately, huh.” She smiled. Afterward, her gentle expression shifted to curiosity. “You're not wearing glasses. Why?”
Prince Nathaniel gulped. He was caught too soon. He faked a cough.
The maiden was struck with realization. She once had told him that he looked hotter without glasses. She didn't expect him to take it so seriously.
And yet seeing the way he gazed at her, she knew what he was about to say next.
“Doubt thou that the stars are fire. Doubt thou that the sun doth move.”
She nodded with patience.
“Doubt truth to be a liar...” Prince Nathaniel put his shaking hands behind him.
She stayed unresponsive.
“...But never doubt,” he squeezed out all the energy and courage he had left, “that I love.”
Their surroundings were quiet. The wind was soft against their skin. The night had let them be truthful with their emotions.
“I was stuck in the past. But because of you, I have been focusing on the present.” The taunting voice he had from earlier had faltered. The silver of his tongue was unused. He delivered with the pure language of sincerest sentences, far from flowery eloquence. “Thank you. I... I love you.”
She hitched breath.
“Just kidding!” the prince forced a chuckle. “I was simply testing it, you fool!”
“Nathan...” Rosette frowned in concern.
“Journeys end in lovers’ meeting, remember?” he smiled a boyish smile, tilting his head to the side. “I wanted to see if you would disappear after receiving a confession, if those words would send you home. What a shame. Now go. The trial is over.”
He shooed her away, pushing her inside the palace through the giant pillars.
When she was out of sight, he exhaled.
“I'm not your destined lover after all.”
“NATHAN!” a feminine yell made his muscles jolt in shock.
When he rotated, a running figure sprinted towards him. Rosette lunged.
And she wrapped her arms around him.
“Thank you. I'll absolutely miss you.”
Prince Nathaniel let her hug him. He was hesitant in hugging her back, but he ended up doing it. Her body was small compared to his, and she had the pleasant aroma of flowerbeds.
You are just like her, like those ephemeral dandelions. He thought to himself. She was right. It is pretter if you are set free.
He cried under the moon when Rosette finally left.
Ah, he really did love her.
Prince Agustus Dane was playing the piano in his room when he heard a knock on his door. The melody was of his mother's lullaby, but while he was trying to figure out the notes, there came an interruption.
Annoyed, he stood up and trudged to the door, secretly unsheathing his black dagger to teach the outsider a lesson. “Come in.”
As fast as it creaked open, he hurled his weapon to the wall, purposely missing the target.
But then his feline-like eyes widened, coming in contact with round mouse ones. Their faces were only inches apart, lips that had already kissed only a breath away.
It was frighteningly tempting.
“Why look so surprised?” the oblivious Rosette smirked at him. “This isn't the first time you almost slit my gullet with knives.”
He backpedalled, tugging onto the collar of his suit. His heart was ferociously about to break its cage.
“This might be the last time though.” He reflexively scrunched his kitten nose at her in disdain, just as he always used to.
The maiden sighed at his reply. Indeed.
She entered the room, her cream skirt swimming across the floorboards like spilled milk. The tiny details were enough to be Agustus memorabilia. She remembered their first meeting here, remembered how they got riled up over the most trivial things, remembered his chatoyant irises fixated on her by flying curtains, remembered their fingers on the piano keys, remembered his gummy smile, remembered his forehead on hers, remembered them gliding on the dancefloor, and remembered the comfort.
It will forever be the tiny details. The important, tiny details.
She had to say goodbye to these memories, too.
Her heart ached. She clutched onto her chest.
No, not yet. Don't cry.
The maiden sat on the piano seat, temporarily staring at the rose kept safe in the glass vase. She transferred that attention onto the prince who then shyly sat beside her. She smiled at him and proceeded to lean on his shoulder. The old Rosette would've denied this gesture, persistently rejecting the idea of being weak when he was around. But now she was at peace. Her soul was at rest.
And the acceptance of weakness was true strength. He made her realize this.
In his dilated pupils, she used to see herself begging to be rescued. She hated it. She hated it because it was the truth.
She needed to be rescued.
So he saved her.
Tomorrow and the end. Today and farewell. These are connected words that are meant to never separate.
Hence, for at least a fragment of a moment, she wished to feel this warmth one last time.
“Do you still remember those two questions I asked you in this room?” she queried, breaking the silence.
“My memory fails me.” Prince Agustus said, although he actually couldn't concentrate since she was so close to him, since his heart was drumming to the tempo of euphonies.
The maiden softly laughed. “You lied that day. I will repeat those two questions, so can you please give me an honest answer now?”
With those perennial green irises staring up at him, how could he refuse?
“Alright.”
She suppressed obvious glee.
After a deep inhale, she began.
“Why is it that whenever you help me out, you keep it a secret? Why do you not want me to know?”
Heat seeped his cheeks.
At last, he remembered.
Why is it that whenever you help me out, you keep it a secret? Why do you not want me to know?
Because I don't want any more mice skittering outside my door saying they're thankful for my good deeds. Next time they pay gratitude, they might sneak through my bedroom window. Now shoo!
The honest answer?
Well...
“Because I know you don't want to think of yourself as someone weak, as someone who needs to be rescued. But I still wanted to keep helping you in every small step of your journey. We always crossed paths. We always met. And later on, I became attached to you.” Prince Agustus glanced up at the ceiling, heart beating faster and faster. “I was unfamiliar of romance, yet when you stepped foot inside this room for the first time while I played the piano...something I cannot comprehend suddenly felt so familiar. Foolish me misunderstood love to be loathing, and foolish me realized too late.”
“You realized too late?”
“Yes, for I know there is a person you already love.”
Rosette offered a bittersweet smile. “I realized too late as well. Tomorrow...”
Everything ends tomorrow.
Tomorrow night, what will become of her?
“You won't die, right?” He asked, wanting to reassure himself by listening to her confirmation.
“I won't, foolish you.” She maintained the smile on her lips, teasing him.
“Then promise me.” He demanded desperately, gazing into her emerald eyes. "Promise me that we will meet again.”
“What a little meow meow.” Rosette beamed cheekily.
“Promise me, little mousey.”
She will miss being called little mousey.
“Sure.” The maiden's tone softened. She closed her eyes, placing a hand on his chest to feel his heartbeat as she pressed her forehead onto his.
She didn't cry.
Because for at least a fragment of a moment, she had felt this warmth one last time.
“I promise.”
Tayden.
Where's Tayden?
She yearned to find him, to talk to him, to spend the last day before tomorrow with him.
Rosette walked throughout the eerie hallways, determined to tell him her real feelings. She doesn't want to leave with regrets. Khaleesi Dulcina probably wanted that, too.
Holding a candlelight, she waded forward.
Why does she feel eyes observing her from the shadows?
She shuddered.
It's nothing. Don't mind it.
The maiden continued, her leather boots making noises against the marbled floor. Tap! Tap! Tap! But the creeping sensation that crawled up her spine was still there. Suddenly, she swore she could hear a different set of footsteps.
Her body urged her to run.
Aculeus was with her, so she shouldn't be afraid. She shouldn't be compelled by her enemies. She managed to stay composed, steadying her pace.
To her relief, she saw Prince Tayden Pharrell a few meters away. He was looking at the opposite direction, his back facing her.
“Tayden!” she caught her breath, smiling. She was aware that they weren't in good terms but she had to strike up a conversation with him. It was now or never. Besides, another attempt wouldn't hurt...right?
The prince spun his heels. Eventually, he was staring down at her.
She sheepishly grinned.
However, she then detected menace in the atmosphere. A sweat trickled along the nape of her neck. She felt gravely uncomfortable.
“Tayden?” she uttered his name once more.
No response.
There's something wrong, something terribly wrong.
But before she could get Aculeus, strong hands grabbed her from behind. She whipped her head to see two soldiers that won her over height and power. She struggled. She kicked. She yanked her arms off of their grip. None worked.
“Bring her to the dungeons.” Prince Tayden ordered. He didn't look at her, not even sparing a glance. “You are permitted to use force on her if she's being stubborn, but dare kill her and both of you will be stabbed with daggers until drained of blood.”
There was a heavy pause.
“Understood?” he glowered at them.
“Yes, Your Highness.” The soldiers said in flawless synchronization.
A sharp pain racked her body. The candlestick fell to the ground, its miniscule fire extinguished.
Her world dissipated into black.
The following night on the date of the Revolution, the people of Grand have banded together in the forest located at the back of the palace that was nearest to the Royal Gardens—all armed with torches, spiked hammers, and swords. They had been there since dusk. The seven royals have yet to make an appearance. They were waiting for Rosette to introduce them, to initiate the start of war.
The palace was unusually dimlit.
“Where's Rosette?” asked Prince Jacob after ushering the servants to escape and search for a temporary hideout while they still can.
“She should be here by now.” Prince Eugene said with an expecting voice, looking around. Although, he was also disturbed with the same question in his mind.
“W-What if something happened to her? I have not seen her the entire day.” Prince Jacque suggested in spite not wanting to think of morbid situations.
Prince Vante pursed his lips, sucked in troubled thoughts. “We were all with her yesterday, yes? Who saw her last?”
“I think it was me,” replied Prince Agustus, “but I assumed she went to sleep after that.”
Where are you, Rosette? He clenched his fists.
“Tayden's not here yet. Perhaps she's with him. We need to calm down.” Prince Nathaniel spoke up, adjusting the position of his glasses.
There was an apparent frown on the sixth-born's face. “Why would she be—”
Then...a whistle in the dark.
A high-pitched whistle reverberated throughout the palace walls like an ear-splitting scream within the devouring dark beyond them.
They all heard the sound. They all knew what it was, especially Prince Agustus. Especially him.
It was the silver whistle.
It was Rosette's cry for help.