Chapter Text

Women Who Wait for Men

There really are no limits to the selfish, spoilt whims of aristocracy. The most powerful heirs in the country, all twisted around themselves in childish games and competitions to distract themselves from their disgusting true selves.

And who does that Maria Campbell think she is? Does she truly believe that her smile, her kind words, can heal the cold, broken souls of the monsters around her? She’s got everyone wound around her finger as well, the egotistical little bitch.

She deserves to be punished. They all deserve to be punished.

Show her. Show her all that her so-called love can really accomplish.

I

It was a calm, beautiful morning for her life to end on.

Seagull cries mingled with the sound of waves against the harbour. Grey early morning settled like a muffler around a forlorn pair. Distantly, Maria reflected that his cape would be fluttering quite dramatically in the sharp breeze had he still been wearing it.

It’s a useless thought. But useless thoughts are all she was left now, a raw, fragile shell of herself as reality refuses to set in even as she fails to come up with anything to say. She has pleaded, cried, argued, showed such ugly desperation that in more peaceful times she never would have risked displaying before him, her hope.

She put everything on her on the line, sure that she would get through to him, but nothing had worked. All she has to show for her efforts is the right to say goodbye just before he sails off. Better than most will get.

“Please don’t do this,” she carelessly says one last time, more to reassure herself that she tried until the end than any true expectation of him being moved so late in the game. “You don’t have to go.” Her voice is pathetically weak and hoarse. She wouldn’t listen to her either.

“I do.” His, in contrast, is smooth and resolute; strength that had brought her solace before now a blow buckling her knees from the force. Tears prick painfully anew in her red-raw eyes. “I wish I didn’t. But you know I do.”

“We could figure it out. There are – there are other options.” There’s no point bothering with this paltry re-enactment of earlier passionate moments. This insipid tiredness just reinforces the hopelessness.

Perhaps he feels the same, as he doesn’t bother to make the same points he’s made before again. Instead, he turns towards with a gentle, bitterly pained smile on his face, the weak sunlight enough to light up his golden hair. His hand cards with excruciating sweetness through her hair, coming to rest behind her ear.

“You truly are a wonderful person,” he murmurs. His smooth voice is starting to shake now. “There are no words to express how sorry I am for how everything ended. All the same, the peaceful time we shared, brief though it was, was the happiest I have ever been. Thank you.”

She sobs deliriously and throws herself into his chest. Sweet words, loving praises – that isn’t what she wants right now. If that’s how you feel, why are you leaving me? Why did you wait until now to tell me? His arms brace around her and the answer comes to her like a brand twisted in her chest. “Take me with you.”

“I – what?”

“Take me with you!” It’s hard to push the words through the knots in her chest and throat, but she forces them through. Force of feeling sends tremors through every nerve in her body, looking into his wide-eyed expression. In her heart, she prays her ardent emotions get through. They always have before, so he has to –

“I can’t do that.” He whispers, shock heavy in his voice. She won’t give up that easily, even if it’s hard to see him through the tears.

“At graduation, I said I wanted to be by your side. I meant that no matter what.” Confidence builds with her declaration. This feels right. The two of them leaving everything behind together - this was always how their story was meant to begin. “You don’t have to face this alone.”

It would be impossible to face this alone. Not just to her – surely he can’t do this to himself. If he loves her, this will be hurting him too, enough for him to sweep her away with him, to not bear to let them part during the time he needs her most. They need each other.

They need each other, but -

“I must do this alone.”

His open expression closes. Whatever he is feeling is no longer privy to her. Her heart cracks in two.

What about her? After all this time, after everything that has happened between them, all they have weathered – he’s going to tear them apart no matter what. That’s so –

The word coats her tongue with bitter film. It’s only years of living diplomatically that keeps her from speaking, from hurting him unnecessarily. Hard to think around the claxons in her collapsing mind as it is, she struggles through the haze to express herself.

“I can’t be alone.”

It’s the most vulnerable she’s felt yet. She’d do anything for him, and now – she begs with everything in her being as she looks up at him. She needs him to do this for her.

“Please. Take me with you.”

Suddenly he embraces her in a vice-like grip, choking a sob out of her. His hands squeeze with desperate strength around her head and shoulders and she knows – knows that he is suffering just as she is. “P – please, Geordo. I don’t – I won’t ask for anything else. Just…”

The one and only thing she would ask of him.

It is an unanswered plea.

In the end all she can do is watch.

She receives one last utterance – a whispered goodbye. Then the sight of his back as he boards his vessel and disappears from her view. The boat detaching from the harbour and slowly moving away from her.

She watches until the horizon has swallowed him.

She has ruined everything.

It seemed like just moments ago she was living immersed in a beautiful fantasy; at long last, the hardship she had remised on gained meaning in the pure joy love at long last bought.

Pure hatred in the wild, animalistic expression on her face, darkness pressing in on all corners, frozen by the piercing reflection of light on a clean blade –

He was at first breathe the embodiment of a perfect prince, breaking noble norms only in the respect he showed to one who should be below him.

“This is all your fault – if it wasn’t for you - !”

It seemed like a dream come true. Even when she was disheartened to learn that she was an outsider no matter where she was, he was able to become her sanctuary.

Terror fills her blood with ice. She can’t possible understand it, the scene before her – primal hatred distorting usual elegant disdain, raw fury in her broken voice.

Falling in love with a beautiful prince was far beyond even her most idealistic expectations. He played his role perfectly, yet was unlike other nobles with their harsh, superior attitudes. Though not perfect, he was kind, and perfect for her. Just a little, she began to believe in a fairy-tale ending.

“Stay back.” Too distraught to do anything but obey, she steps behind his strong back, feet light and head spinning from the pitch black crowding around her vision.

He had many burdens he had been shouldering all alone, not least the fiancée who was for him a political match only, but was always causing him problems and making him weary. Lady Katarina Claes – a name that would soon become a haunting refrain in her days.

She should have done something. Said something. Anything. Yet once more, all she did was watch as he protected her.

A scream of anguish, fear, horror, pain – it rends Maria’s mind in two, has her flinching backwards with hands over her ears.

She does not see the strike.

She sees blood on the floor.

She feels cold black, a sickening lump in her stomach.

She hears wretched sobs.

Stood by passively as he defended her from harassment. Stood by passively as Lady Claes attacked her with killing intent.

Stood by passively as Prince Geordo killed Lady Claes to save her.

Stood by passively as he ran away and left her.

Her foreboding figure collapsed bloodied and crumpled.

“Why… why… why… Geordo… why…”

His back is shaking. His breath is ragged. She cannot see his face.

“Don’t worry, Maria. You’re safe now.”

She has never heard him sound so broken.

Those feverish moments extend to eternity in the four walls of her room – her prison, where she is condemned to a sentence of remembrance of her crimes.

A dead lady and a fled prince. An engaged couple – before she came along.

“If it wasn’t for you –“

Her final chance to do some right in this mad tragedy slipped through her fingers as his ship sailed from the harbour. Perhaps if she’d thought to do something other than beg he wouldn’t be out there right now, alone and suffering.

It was her fault.

Though comforts were not something she deserved, she had one anyway – Lady Sophia Ascart.

Her (slightly insensitive but who on earth would Maria be to complain) gift of romance novels sit untouched on the desk.

Today as well as she has come to visit. At intervals she will hold her, stroke her hair, murmur comforts… or simply sit as silent company in the room, bringing fresh brewed tea.

Shakily, Maria finds her gaze falling on the petite girl, currently sipping her own cup. It is one of the occasions where Sophia feels most solid; often, the web of memories and emotions is too dense for Maria to really even register her.

She is a terrible friend.

“Lady Ascart… I’m grateful, but you don’t need to stay here.” Her voice is hoarse from disuse and sorrow.

Sophia just smiles gently in response. “You’ve done so much for me. It’s the least I can do.”

“No… I have done little to deserve… such kindness…”

Frowning, the girl puffs her cheeks and reaches out to pet her head where it’s half buried in pillows. “Stop that. I never had a friend before you, Lady Maria. You were by my side when I thought I’d always be alone… there’s no way I’d leave you now!”

How could such a lovely girl have been so alone…? Maria wishes she had the energy to puzzle over it now. Instead, she simply smiles back in response. “Thank you.” I’ll make it up to you.

On another evening, Sophia mentions that, according to Lord Nicol, the first Prince of Sorcier has been looking for her. There’s a wary, guarded tone as she speaks, watching Maria as one would a traumatised dog.

“I said you wouldn’t be available of course…”

“If it wasn’t for you-“

“You’re safe now.”

“No…” Maria drags herself to a sitting position on her bed, rubbing sore eyes. Her punishment is not something she should fear. “I’ll see him.”

“No, no, you should rest!” Sophia declares, rushing forward to block Maria’s standing. She’s gotten braver of late… “Really, it was only three days ago that… everything…”

Gleaming silver turned red. Brown hair splayed over marble flooring. Dark mist in every corner of her vision.

Maria grasps her friend’s small hands to interrupt before more scared sadness enters her face. “It’s fine. I… want to talk about it.”

“You can talk to me about it.”

“Thank you… but that’s not quite what I mean.”

Sophia sighs. “I know… can I at least come with you?”

Perhaps she was scared after all. Down the long hallways of the academy late at night, flanked by the heavy footfalls of guards, Sophia’s light steps are a solitary safeness.

Really, she should have learnt her lesson about seeking comforts from others.

When the news came that Maria Campbell was set for the Magic Academy, spread around their small town despite futile efforts at keeping it below board, her neighbours had much to say. There were of course the expected snide comments that this confirmed she was no commoner – what commoner went to an institution established for nobles? Those rare ‘exceptions’ must have all been mislabelled illegitimate offspring.

And then there were the other, more insidious comments.

“Like Mother like daughter.”

“How many rich men do you think she’ll snag?”

“Thinks she’s so smart… she should learn a lesson from her mother if she thinks gold digging will get her far.”

“No need to be jealous… she’s just going to become some noble’s side piece.”

Whore mother, whore daughter. So went the town’s new favourite joke.

Then, she boiled with hurt and buried indignation. Yet she pushed it away – at the Academy, surrounded by those like her, such cruel things would not be whispered. She would have friends who had faith in her character. And all in town would be proved wrong.

She was no whore.

Being marched now before the royalty of the country to be tried for the death wrought of her adultery, her past self-righteousness would be laughable if it wasn’t soul-crushing.

Finally they reach the closed ornate doors of the staff room temporarily turned office for the visiting first prince, as Sophia informed her. Despite Sophia’s shy protests, Maria is to go in alone; a fate she accepts with a final smile.

She’s been able to accept everything passively until now. One last trial.

Candlelight casts atmospheric lighting over the transformed interior of the room. Once, it had been a perfectly plain area for the adults to meet and research in private. Now it looks like the cozy personal lounge of royalty – dark oak furniture with lush tablecloth, ornate candleholders and stacks of worn-looking books, scrolls and pens layered over the back desk. Seated there, hair an uncomfortably clean gleaming silver in the flickering fire, is Geoffrey Stuart himself.

Maria swallows, her remaining feather of a backbone trembling as the door is closed softly behind her.

For the long moments he spends scribbling across the pages below him, her heartbeat rises to a pounding crescendo in her ears. After the pregnant moment passes and he deems it time to acknowledge her presence, the noise comes to a halt all at once as his gazes comes to rest with familiar deliberate, searching weight on her.

Eyes just like his.

Pathetically enough, she feels she could cry just from that.

A flippant smile at odds with his intense stare breaks the illusion. “Maria Campbell. You came at last.”

Oh. She needs to respond. Panic zapping her, she shoves herself into action, frantically bowing. “It – it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, your H-Highness.”

“Oh, please – dispense the formalities. Those close as we shouldn’t waste important time so.”

Close?

Unsure of his game, she slowly lifts her head as submissively as possible; swallows down the urge to question. “I understand you wanted to speak with me.”

“Yes. It’s about my brother.” All lightness drops as his jaw tenses into a serious expression. “The second youngest one currently in self-exile. I was under the impression you knew him.”

Sweat breaks out cold on the back of her neck. “Yes.” It is all she can say.

“In fact, you were there during the incident that led to… his unfortunate absence as of late. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Glad to hear it.” The first prince is all smiles once more, standing and crossing slowly to the small, rounded table where he pulls out a chair for her, gesturing to it forcefully. “Care to discuss the details?”

Thus followed the most terrifying ‘casual’ conversation of her life thus far. He prodded her to recount, in full vivid detail, all those gregarious moments that led them to here.

How Lady Claes confronted her in the hallway. How Prince Geordo found them. How he tried to have Lady Claes leave them be. How the tense moment rapidly devolved to weaponised assault.

How Prince Geordo stepped forward to protect her. How his defensive strike led to Lady Claes bleeding on the ground. How she was gone shortly thereafter.

Shaking hands clutched desperately at her skirts beneath the table as she tried to hide the despair washing over her. Thankfully it had been replayed enough in her own mind that she was numb enough to the raw pain of it to allow the words to keep falling in dry, empty sheets.

Perhaps foolishly, she kept a couple of things to herself. Like the prevailing sense of darkness that would sound ridiculous to explain. Or that she had in fact seen him after the chaos; the harbourside farewell she bought her attendance to with her promise of secrecy. The last act of service she could do him was make good on it.

She keeps her lips pressed tight even as Prince Geoffrey’s intimidating manner threatens to wring it from her.

“That is all I can say…” Maria says at last, forcing herself to look him in his dreadfully familiar eyes. “So please determine my sentence with that much.”

He blinks slowly. Comes forward from the back of his chair across from her to lean into her space. “Sentence, my dear? What for?”

He’s playing with her. Squaring her shoulders, she lets the sour truth spill before them both. “I seduced Prince Geordo knowing he had a fiancée. I provoked Lady Claes to violence, and then, selfishly had Prince Geordo protect me, incriminating himself to the point he could no longer live in this country and had to leave his life behind. I… am the reason he is gone, and, and I am the reason… that Lady Katarina Claes is dead!”

The last declaration leaves her as a shout, reverberations from the explosive release of the truth ringing in her ears. Dead. She’s dead because of me.

Laughter interrupts her grief. Shocked, she jerks her head up to the snickering face of Prince Geoffrey.

“Nobles can be petty, but for you yourself to act as though you’ve done some crime… you’re pretty interesting. I can see why my little brother liked you.”

What?

“You can cease repenting – you’re in no trouble. Not with me, anyway, and no one else so long as I will it not to be. This matter has been kept well under wraps anyway.”

…

“Seduce huh… as if Geordo could be seduced. No, I’m sure he genuinely fell for you… ah, I wish I could have seen it…”

Right now, the correct emotion is relief. He says she is not in trouble. He doesn’t even seem disapproving. Just amused.

As if her heart-breaking feelings of guilt and loss are something quaint.

“Could you please take this seriously?”

The steel in her voice makes him freeze mid-mumble. Yet the stiff indignation rising in her refuses to back down.

“We are dealing with a horrible tragedy. I am trying my best to reckon with it.” Her back straightens as she glares at him. “If you have suggestions for how best we approach this matter, I’d like to hear it straight-on.”

Don’t look down on me.

“…” For a moment she thinks he’ll laugh again. Then, that he’ll yell. In the end serene calmness smooths over. “Very well. I won’t beat around the bush.”

“First of all, in the interest of transparency – Lady Katarina Claes is not dead.”

“What?” Every train of thought careens wildly off track. Not – dead. Not dead. “No – what are you – I saw…”

“You saw her die,” he states brusquely. “She did not stay that way.”

“You’re not… joking around, are you?”

“No, no. All serious now. She's kept from death by a method you should be familiar with – Light Magic.”

Not dead. Lives by Light Magic. Not dead.

Prince Geoffrey taps his finger against the table absent-mindedly. “Of course, ‘alive’ would be a bit of a stretch right now… but the labour of top-class light magic has been enough to keep her in limbo at least. You’re familiar with Doctor Chauternay, yes? Wielders of light, on the vanishing occasions they appear at the academy, should enter the tutelage of the stationed Light Doctor.”

“Yes, I – had some talks with him,” Maria murmurs weakly. He acts as the top medical professional at the academy, understandably a hotbed for severe magical incidents. She was meant to spend more time with him in second year.

“Noble deaths are quite a major incident, with a lot of political annoyance, so they’re avoided where possible. Lady Claes was immediately carted to his office to see what he could do. He was able to restart her heart and hold her life suspended from death, however… that is about the limits of his power right now, especially given how exhausting ressucitation is.”

Not dead. Energy surges through the girl with volcanic strength, rocketing her up to slam her palms on the wooden table. “Why didn’t anyone tell me!?”

You’re special.

Light magic – a burden, a curse, she’d felt. That ‘special’ trait that estranged her.

For what reason did she have this power?

“You were locked in your room…” He answers as though she is the unsensible one.

“Then drag me out! Had I known that Lady Claes… did no one think I’d want to know this? That it was my business?”

“Please, you were already distressed. Besides, she will be gone shortly regardless.”

She grits her teeth. It’s hard to argue – lately she’s done nothing but weep and regret. Hardly someone anyone could think could be relied on, or entrusted with hard topics. A passive, fragile maiden too occupied with her own feelings.

No more.

“Please, don’t coddle me.” Hesitancy sheds, layer by layer, from her. In its place comes dedication and anger. “Lady Claes’ life being on the line should be the priority, not protecting me. I am a light mage. An awe-inspiringly powerful one, I’m told. Am I to be admired, or am I to be of use?”

Prince Geoffrey clicks his tongue. Mystery is clouding over his thoughts more opaquely once more, yet she cannot bring herself to be bothered by it. “This is complex magic, you know. Power needs skill to be fruitful.”

Perhaps. Yet this man knows little of how hard she’s studied. Regardless of the chances, what callousness is it to not even try?

“Take me to her.”

***

Death looks wrong on Katarina Claes.

On anyone it would – Maria knows this. Yet, as incomprehensible and unbearable as she’d been oftentimes for Maria, she couldn’t help but admire her undeniable boldness. Fierce, desperate, prideful energy in every way she moved. At times cruel, at times passionate, at times cold – never, ever, still.

Maria had sneakily wondered, under her frightened dislike, what it was that drove her. Why did she live like each day was her last? Just a little, Maria wanted to taste that willpower.

It is a disturbing, warped image then to see her so empty of all that vivacity. The Lady Claes Maria remembers best was at the most heightened version of her intensity – feelings too huge to be pretty tearing her voice and distorting her features. Utter vividness while all else was blanketed in faraway dark.

A small bed houses the not-quite-corpse of Prince Geordo’s infamous fiancé. Her white face with its slack, closed expression strikes like a blasphemous lie against the destructively alive woman she was.

Is.

Maria takes a deep breath and swallows down the nausea of her resurfacing memories. “May I have a moment with her?”

A doctor glares at her. “Unsupervised? Our patient is a greatly important noblewoman – as if we’d let a commoner be alone with her, no matter how special she is.”

Others in attendance around Lady Claes clamour in agreement, though with the hushed whispers of churchgoers in a chapel – as if profane to disturb the haunting lady all but dead. Perhaps Doctor Chauternay would have been more sympathetic, but he's resting she's been told.

“Miss Campbell is my lady’s last chance.”

Maria had been tolerating with clenched fists, expecting to wait out the jeers and flateringly argue her right. The maid whose presence she hadn’t noticed before surprises her with her stoic, yet fierce interjection.

“Doctor Chauternay has already exhausted his magic. Even this – pitiful state he’s kept her in might not last long enough for her to come to,” the maid says, her understated surety capturing the room. “Please, let Miss Campbell do… whatever she needs to do to save my lady.”

Maria gasps as they make eye contact. “Please.” This time, it was said directly to her.

“Well!” Prince Geoffrey claps his hands. “You heard her. Let’s give our new doctor some space to do her work, yes?”

At his bequest, the abashed men mumbles their apologies and quickly file out. If he could have commanded them so right away… does he think they have all the time in the world?

Pushing aside the pointless complaint, she waits just long enough until everyone, including the prince and the maid, have left. With a light click the door closes.

For the first time in forever, she is alone with Katarina Claes.

Slowly, reverently, she walks over to her bedside and lifts a hand to her cheek. She’s so cold.

Never would she have imagined, in those moments when Lady Claes would corner and berate her, that they would be in these positions. Complex emotion surges up anew, tears pricking at her eyes.

I’m sorry, Katarina. We never could resolve our differences, but this is the last thing I ever wanted. You may not believe it… Still, I swear to you, I will make this right. I will save you.

Gently she lowers her head until she can touch her forehead to her’s. Thousands of words from endless texts, popular and obscure, rifle through her mind, instructing her how to channel magic, how to connect with another. No spell for exactly what she's attempting here conveniently comes to mind, yet she valiently draws on every scrap of knowledge, training and instinct she has as her power bubbles up turbulently.

Lady Katarina Claes. Live!

Every nerve seems to come to life under the glowing upsurgence of her magic – sheer buckling white filling every corner of her vision, of her body. She imagines it flowing between the two of them, connecting them.

Bliss transforms to burn, all else disappearing as more, more, more magic than she’s ever used is dragged from the deepest pits of her being. Even as some corporeal part of her complains, she clings onto that open channel with everything she has, forcing it out under her mantra: Live! Live! Live!

She pours it out until the white vanishes before her eyes and black fills its place.

II

There are two types of people – those that fight, and those that break.

Katarina Claes was a fighter. Since her girlhood naivety was replaced by a painful, crushing understanding of the nihilistic cruelty of her world, she had thrown herself forward with all the more fierce, desperate passion. It was a little messy when she was small, sure, but she did not regret it. Why be ashamed that when push came to shove, she shoved back?

Shame is the death pin for a noble lady. Once she doubts herself, the court of public opinion shall have her swiftly and decisively plucked apart, thread by thread.

If it is that she will be thrust constantly into the jaws of the most detestable, then she simply had to be strong enough to survive any shark. Witty enough, wary enough, fearsome enough – above all, she had to be resilient and never, ever, let herself falter.

Until the very end, she fought. Even when her vision was clouded, her thoughts and actions no longer her own – even as her heart split and her body bled –

She knew that she was fighting.

It is not, therefore, with a frail tender delicacy that Katarina Claes come back to life.

She comes back screaming.

Light rushes and fills her vision like explosions, raw pain ripping through her chest –

Choking, she flings herself backwards, got to get away, got to survive, not minding the hard slam that rushes up to meet her body. Flips wrong to crawl on hands and knees as far as possible from –

From –

Prince Jeordo isn’t there.

No one is there.

Only the sound of her heavy breathing fills the room. Slowly but surely the sights before her settle as she becomes aware of the pounding of her own heart. There’s no pain from his sword.

Was it… a dream?

Oh. She laughs hysterically, leaning forward to cradle her head in her palms. Anne always did say she had an overactive imagination, but to think she would have a nightmare where her fiancé would kill her to protect his commoner wench… Her anxieties really have been getting the best of her.

Perhaps everything else was a nightmare too. His private, stiff rejection of her in favour of a naïve, manipulative girl low as dirt. It had felt surreal. It had felt surreal – because it wasn’t real!

Relief rocks her so strong she cannot find any strength to lift herself off the floor, broken laughter shaking her frame. It’s fine! Everything is still fine! She hasn’t failed! All of that, all of it, was just a horrible, horrible nightmare… Maybe she hasn’t even started school yet and has just been in a coma! It’s possible!

A door across from herself swings open suddenly, followed by heavy footfalls of official-looking men charging into her bizarrely plain chambers. What – oh gods, is it because she made so much noise from her night terrors? And she’s still lying on the floor!

Swiftly, she shoves those ‘memories’ away with the reminder of her role, rising off her bruised-feeling knees to proper standing, ready to reprimand their rudeness in entering uninvited as a noble lady should.

“She’s alive!”

“Lady Katarina! Oh thank goodness!”

Before she can get out a word, she’s surrounded by clamouring bodies sobbing in relief. Too close! The fear from her dreams still lingers in cold sweat that makes their pressing around her claustrophobic (though she will not back away). She must have really been in some type of coma… her head does feel incredibly heavy, like she’s swam out of an eternally cold and dark lake.

“How long was I out…?”

“Days, my lady! We feared we might never…” Oh, Anne. Anne is among these people. For some reason, her heart clenches at the sight of her faithful maid – as though she could easily have never seen her again.

A small voice reminds her of her station, but loses to impulse as she flings herself into Anne’s arms. Ever-capable, she’s startled for but a moment before wrapping her arms tightly around Katarina and murmuring gentle comforts. Humiliatingly, Katarina feels like she’s about to cry.

Acting fast, she temporarily extracts herself from Anne’s arms. “I request that all these busybodies be removed from my room post-haste! I am quite well, so they needn’t remain in a lady’s room at night!”

Although, this doesn’t really look like her room? Actually, isn’t this the medical room? Well… it’s her room for the time-being, so the point stands.

“Lady Katarina, we need to keep a close eye on your condition… this may just be temporary.”

“Yes, what if you need to be revived again?”

“Revived?” Is that some sort of trendy way of referring to coming out of a coma? Speaking of which, she really needs to press Anne on more details on that. She honestly hasn’t the faintest when she might have fallen into one. Oh, Anne did say it was only a few days though just now, did she not? In that case, they are far too panicked… But why did such a thing happen? She doesn’t recall any injury…

The image of a familiar, ornate sword swinging down on her rises in her mind’s eye before she shakes her head to clear it. That was fiction of her unconscious mind! Not the real injury which was… uh.

No, she knows she’s forgetful, but it’s definitely bad if she can’t remember this much…

No one can know.

A delicious aroma tickles her nose. Looking down, she sees her hands curled around a cup of tea. When did…?

Anne is looking at her gently. Katarina grins. “Thank you, Anne! There is no one better when it comes to anticipating my needs.”

Truly, she herself hadn’t realised she needed this, but the sweet flavour is a balm that soothes her frantic thoughts instantly.

So absorbed is she in enjoying that it’s not until she’s drained the cup that her wandering eye lands on a most curious sight.

Maria Campbell laid on the bed across from her with the first Prince standing over her.

What the hell!?

…Or so she should like to exclaim, but she is a noblewoman and knows how to conduct herself – a truly skilled lady such as herself maintains manners even when horribly underdressed (who on earth allowed so many to be around her in her nightwear?) and recently resurfaced from a coma. A prince deserves his dues.

“Why, good evening, Prince Geoffrey.” She forces a doubtlessly natural-seeming elegant smile. “Apologies for the delay in greeting you. I… was a little distracted.”

He chuckles under his breath. Her throat tightens. A good response? “I’m sure. How are you feeling?”

“Quite well, thank you. Though I do wonder why there is so much company, including, as I’m sure you’ll take no offense to my wondering, your own esteemed presence for reasons I cannot claim to know…”

And her.

It’s a shame the light mage wasn’t also a fiction. Though it feels harder than usual to get mad at her, bothered by an itching feeling in the back of her head. Probably just the more pressing confusion of what she’s doing here.

Were they in some incident together? She cannot fathom what…

“I was awaiting to see if your treatment would be successful,” he hums absently in that infuriatingly vague manner of his. She always got so nervous around him; not being able to tell what he was thinking, if he approved of her… “It seems I underestimated Miss Campbell. Truly marvellous.”

Katarina wrinkles her nose. “Miss Campbell? What did she do?”

It’s Anne who answers. “She saved your life.”

…

“Aha, Anne, I never took you for a joker…” The tea cup suddenly feels very breakable in her hands, and she clumsily hands it away. Anne takes it solemnly, not a trace of mirth on her features.

“It’s no joke, my lady.”

“Took a lot out of her too,” Prince Geoffrey adds with a whistle, glancing down at the out-cold girl. Her prone form is shaking considerably. “And here I thought she could only put so much energy into saving you.”

She stares blankly at him. He grins. “Given your relationship. Especially its most recent, ah, developments.”

“Is this – is this some joke?” Anger rises slowly. Mother’s voice reminds her harshly that she is before the eldest prince right now, but it’s drowned out of the rising beat of her pulse. “You want to – take advantage of my confusion and, and, make some prank with my condition?”

“Lady Katarina – “

“Shut up!” The hurt on Anne’s face stabs at her, yet a frantic energy quelled for but a moment is clawing at her. She surges to her feet while he continues to regard her with lazy amusement. “What on earth is the matter with you!? Do you, too, think that Prince Jeordo should leave me for that – that impudent commoner!? So you’re trying to make me feel inferior to her…”

Horror clouds her mind at the realisation. Her fiance’s brother now conspiring to humiliate her – what cruel sadism is this!? If they think that such underhand tactics will be enough to make her give up –

No!

Revulsion shreds her resolve, a wave of dizzying sickness knocking astray all thoughts. Suddenly, her anger feels disgusting, something screaming at her to stop, stop, stop –

It’s all her fault.

I don’t want this.

Just a dream – it was just a dream. Not that far, she’d never – and he’d never –

Why can’t she just forget about it?

Sobs wrack her frame. Fuck, she’s humiliating herself without any help from Geoffrey!

“Anne, Anne…” Her hand rubs her back in solid circles. “I had – the most horrible dreams.”

“Oh, my lady..”

“I wasn’t aware dead people dreamed.”

Weakly, she attempts to glare. “I – wasn’t dead, you – “

“But you were.”

She sniffles firmly, lifting her head from her hunched position with pride as if tears weren’t still dripping down her face. She has her dignity, no matter what. “I’m not an idiot – if I died, why would I be here?”

“As your maid said – Miss Campbell saved your life.”

It makes too little sense. Honestly, she can’t keep up at all with what he’s playing at, and her head feels like it’s splitting open. Not that she’ll give him the satisfaction of admitting it.

“Come on, we’ll let Miss Campbell rest here for now.” He stands unhurriedly. “I’ll be going now. Someone else finish explaining it to her.”

With a wave of his hand, he’s gone.

“Anne, just what…”

Anne makes a long, pained sigh. “Let me get us some privacy, and we’ll go over everything, okay?”

Even counting her worst lectures from Mother, what follows is by many leagues the most terrifying conversation of her life.