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Chapter Text

Elia was five when she recollected a piece of herself, neglected, forgotten, it wasn’t pretty, nor was it something she needed. If anything, it had made her feel even more miserable.

Time passed by quickly, and the first five years of her life progressed as well as the transition of her strawberry blonde to complete rhodonite, a slow, gradual thing. Her eyes were fuchsia quartz before she noticed a thing.

She should’ve, really, noticed the pattern. Truly. Her name was a dead giveaway. Eliyanah de Alger Obelia. She thought she just lived in a big house, a mansion.

It was a palace, an abandoned one, but also not, because there were still servants, clean and neat and devoted.

Odd, right? Devoted, very much so, very questionable. Elia wasn’t favoured, she didn’t even think that the emperor knew she existed, and it was fine just like that, she had a comfortable life, she didn’t need the not-buried-now memories, it was an unfounded thing that she would like to throw away if possible.

Athanasia’s gold spun hair was very pretty, and her big, bejewelled eyes, and pink, chubby cheeks were very cute as well, she looked like a doll, but Elia really wished that they had never met. Sniffling, and wiping her transparent teardrops away.

A novel— manhwa, one that she didn’t even finish reading. It would have been all fine and dandy if they weren’t where they were, and Athanasia wasn’t doing what she was doing. Her bite was well-defined on the golden angel statue. Just how strong were her teeth?

Running away— she heard footsteps approaching, and promptly stopped a few meters away— was no longer an option, but she wasn’t totally screwed yet, not yet. She didn’t own any of the shared features of the two beautiful people surrounding her, but maybe it was bad— because that meant that she had trespassed into the royal palace.

Bad. Screwed. Elia hadn’t even stood up from when she had made a spectacular show of herself when she first saw Athanasia, perhaps this time, she wouldn’t be wiping just a transparent tear. It was already forming— she could feel it clinging to her lashes.

Her half-sister looked flushed and pale at the same time; Elia couldn’t even begin to fathom how Athanasia even managed to achieve that complexion, and for what reason was unknown to her.

Pale because of her possible murderer, Elia deducted that much, but flushed? Because of how beautiful Elia was, maybe?

She let out a quiet whimper, willing her tears back, no use crying over spilt milk. That didn’t stop the warrant flinch from her when Claude spoke, though, “What are those bugs doing, crawling around in my palace?” cold, so cold, minus zero, there was a sharp edge, cutting and daring.

Frozen, her brain short-circuited, Felix's voice defaulted as her white noises, she wasn’t a coward, she wasn’t, but neither was she a daredevil, Elia didn’t like tempting fate, never went well, and she wouldn’t poke a sleeping dog either.

There was no telling of what would happen to her, unlike Athanasia, who was— would be, interesting enough for Claude to keep her. Elia wasn’t like that, she was shameless, but she wasn’t sure if she would be able to pull the cutesy act like her half-sister.

The footsteps came closer, closer, too close, Claude would reach her first since she was right in front of Athanasia, but he would sidestep her and he would lift up Athanasia like in the manhwa— he would, he had to.

He would ignore Elia like she didn’t exist, and he would pick her sister up and walk away with Felix in tow— yeah, she was coping really hard, but a girl could hope and cope.

Trice cursed her damned hair, long, wispy, and most definitely conspicuous, damned her dress, too, for being so out there.

Elia appreciated her servants’ effort of making her as darling as she was— where did they even get the budget for half the clothes she wore; Elia didn’t know— a bunch of face-cons they were— but they may or may not have damned Elia her downfall.

When he didn’t walk past her, and instead stopped just behind her, her little fists were banging on the inside of her head.

Elia shook like a withered leave in a tornado, her blood was drained from her face, and she felt dizzy— either the shock was too much, or she had been under the sun for too long— when his large hands wrapped around her waist, taking the comfort of balance away from her, turning her around to face his blank visage.

Blatantly uninterest, but a shine of something hinting in his eyes of jewels.

He was handsome, she would give him that, she had never seen something like him before, curved like a statue, yet his lovely eyes, thin lips, defined cheekbones, fine brows, and straight nose were making her regret her entire existence.

Athanasia looked like him a lot, could really see the resemblance. Elia gave him a smile, mellow, modest, ambiguous to a degree. Ah, she wanted out.

They stared at each other for something that felt like an infinity before she was cast aside to the knight’s not-waiting arms, Felix’s eyes widened, surprised, unprepared, but he caught her, nonetheless.

Queasy, dizzying. She felt that her body was weak this time around, so weak. Fragile, yet alluring, appealing to her nymph-like appearance, or so her servants said, face-cons.

She wanted to slap them, she was suffering from her weak body, and all they thought about was that?

Elia rested her eyes, leaning her head on the crook of his neck, positioned on Felix’s arm, using it as seating, while his other one was draped on her back. She could hear the panic in the air when it was Athanasia’s turn to suffer through the same fate as her and felt the humiliation and fear as her supposed crime was pointed out.

“Could she have mistaken it as a toy?” Felix’s voice reverberated to her, hard for it not to when she was plastered all over him— she would be letting go the moment he made any motion of putting her down.

Too high on excitement and agitation and many other equally-there feelings, “She must’ve wandered off during playtime. Felix,” Claude stopped, and she could feel his gaze on the back of her head— they would let her go now, right?

There wasn’t any reason to take her with them, just let her go and she’d be on her merry way, and he wouldn’t have to ever see her face ever again. A fair trade, yes? She squinted her eyes shut and hoped, and-

“Give her to me, and take this one,” and she wanted to burst into tears, her grips on Felix tightened for a second, before she relaxed and let go, unburying her face from the knight, and it was so, so bright, yet everything was washed bleak.

Elia twisted her body and reached out for Claude— struggling wouldn’t get her anywhere, and maybe he would find her boring if she was compliant— he handed Athanasia to Felix, and his hands were on her again.

They felt not right, erroneous, and intruding, but she still hooked her arms around his neck as they walked away from that accursed place.

She didn’t like it at all and tried to brush off her quivering, holding tighter onto him— if it was tight enough, he may feel light-headed and call it for a day.

Of course, that didn’t happen— she didn’t dare to block the sun away like she had done with Felix, so she stilled, stiffened, with a sense of wrongness the whole way there.

Elia looked up and met greys of metal and blues of jewel that tracked hers, she loosened her grip and waved, a smile painted her face. Felix looked worried but his lips curved, and he nodded. Athanasia was very eager to wave back, her smile filled with flowers— another face-con.

A hand pushed down on her back, making her lose her balance, her grasp tighter and bodied the much-envied muscles underneath the slouchy clothing. She wanted to put some distance between them again, put the hand laid firm. Elia feared that she might not be able to hold back the tears this time.

They had now relocated into the— drawing room— palace. Anyway, shade and personal space had returned to her again. Great. It would be greater, fantastic even if she could excuse herself from here, erased her existence, all the good stuff.

Elia collected her breath, steadily did it, and block the urge to squirm away with the sweets in front of her, small bites once in the middle of her inner panic.

"Did someone cut your tongue off?" choking, she placed the fork down and reached for her cup of tea, herbal, gulping the warm liquid, it tickled down and cleared her throat. Claude's stare was heavy as tiny coughs slipped out.

Athanasia looked as though doom had arrived early, which was probably what she was feeling, blue and pale, she was so pitiable. She would be feeling like this for the first couple of months in their father-daughter bonding time, but it got better the further along the road, promise.

No matter how much Elia wanted to reassure her, it would simply make her out to be a mad child in front of the man draped on the luxurious couch, clad in something that looked like an ancient Greek tunic— he might as well walk around topless with how little coverage it offered.

"Well, this is boring," you could do it, Athanasia, Elia believed in her heart, she cheered, and when she shifted her gaze straight ahead, she ought to not have.

Terrifying, absolutely, utterly terrifying, his eyes were like that of a preying jaguar, "What? Can't talk?" he leaned back, refocused on Athanasia again, cheek rested on his knuckle.

The child beside her seemed to make up her mind, "Athy can talk," spluttering out, but Elia was no longer paying her attention, lowering her eyes she said, "Blessings and glories upon the sun of Obelia," as much as she wanted— needed— craved— to get out, she did still very much need her head attached to her neck like any other human to stay alive.

She couldn't afford to be like Athanasia, having two of the same kind wouldn’t work, and she had no plans to stick around long enough for it to be in effect. Be polite, endured this and never see them again. Claude had no reason to keep her around.

Elia wasn’t a daughter of Diana, neither did she possessed gold-spun hair nor the eyes of the royals' jewels. She had nothing, and she was dreadfully boring— to him, all formal, proper, superficial, he couldn’t truly think her any different from those he saw day to day basis— and it would remain that way until she was out.

Though, her appearance was fascinating— Elia thought of herself as beautiful. Because she was.

Never in her new life had she seen someone of the same calibre as her, except today, and having her servants supplying to the belief to the point of unhealthy, that would have been poisonous to a normal child— it wouldn't have the same appeal to him as it did to Athanasia.

If he saw himself in the mirror every day, then there would not be a lot of things that phase him.

Tuning back into the conversation, "—girls around this age tend to be quite shy," Elia heard Felix say, and she knew, then, freedom was near. Claude hummed, leaning back into the cushions, looking straight at them, piercing, sharp-edged, and cutting, he seemed contemplative.

"Felix."

"Yes, Your Majesty?" The knight answered, unknowing of the fate he would leave Athanasia.

"Leave us," and she was freed— would be, she would have hopped down from the couch, then she would have curtseyed prettily and trailed after Felix.

But she did precisely none of the mentioned because she, simply, wasn't dismissed. Why? Why didn't he do it? Did he want her to leave quietly? Or did he expect her to follow behind Felix, picking up his not-there social cue?

Her feet touched the ground, screw this, her fingers clammy around her dress, Elia bowed, "May the sun forever shine upon you, Your Majesty— Princess," she greeted, and would have been taking her leave.

"With whose permission?" he questioned, harsh, blithe, she hadn't even left her curtsey yet, "My apologies, I had been under the assumption that your Majesty wishes to converse with the Princess privately," a string of words formal enough to choke, she dipped even further.

The silence was so loud, so, so loud, heavy, and freezing, "Are you saying you are not one yourself? A princess," Ah. He knew.

Feigning ignorance wasn’t going to work now. Did he remember her mother's face? Or did he know hers? But that wouldn't have been possible, she had never seen him before. Ever.

And he wouldn’t go out of his way to find out, and if he knew she wouldn't be standing here, very much alive and breathing, "Sit— and don't do it again," she wouldn't, not without wanting her head rolling on the ground.

Her stomach curled at the thought, "Thank you for your benevolence,” Elia straightened herself, returning to where she was before. His staring, it was— uncomfortable, squeamish, and painful.

Wrong— a lot of things, mostly bad, wholly bad. Ugh. She wanted to throw up from how tensed she was.

The conversation rolling in the background didn’t quite register in her head, but she could feel the stiff air, dense, a tiny hand placed on hers, snapping her back again, “Yes?” she queried.

Name, Athanasia mouthed, desperate, hurried, and when Elia met Claude’s eyes, she broke out in cold sweat, a glint of something eluded her, all she felt was wrong, it was wrong, something was, always was— “My mother had given me the name Eliyanah, your Majesty,” smile, come on, she could do it, all flowers and candied, she did it before.

He looked bored. Was he expecting something like Athanasia? She was happy to say that her mother cherished her enough to not spell doom in her name.

She laughed, light, airy, and pretty, laughed like a bell chime, one that was all pretence, fake, shallow, but not too much, not too obvious, but someone like Claude should pick it up— he hated those, right? Please hurry up and throw her out.

He didn’t.

He ignored her pitiful attempt and turned his attention back to Athanasia. Elia sipped her tea— if she was, to be honest, she had always preferred coffee, but that would stunt her growth, so she placed a ban on herself.

It was crazily addicting, coffee. It would do her no good to be reliant on it.

The tea was sweet, not cloying, and floral, tasted a bit like chamomile tea, but it wasn’t.

The sun sure was working hard today, the beams of light cascaded through the windows, making everything look deceivingly peaceful. Claude’s eyes looked mad like he was about the behead someone, so she ought to help Athanasia out as she did her.

Elia stifled a yawn, picking up the plate with shortcake, plucking the strawberry atop, big, round, and red, coated with cream, “Would you like to have the strawberry, Princess?” a smile in her voice.

“A- Athy loves strawberries!” Athanasia nodded, a little forced, a little frantic, ponytail oscillating in her feign-excitement, her lips stretched into a grimace disguised grin. Elia’s fingers pinched the green stem, holding it towards the beaming mouth, gently pushing it in— the pointer smeared— before pulling away, leaves in hand.

“Is it good?” she asked, mirthful and cheery, Athanasia looked as though she was about to combust.

Tittering, Elia licked the cream away from her finger, her sister was overheating, and crimson crept up her neck, cheeks, and ears— Athanasia began, mutely, stuttering, “I- yes! It’s very yummy!”

Handing her the plate, “Try the cake this time,” the cakes tasted very good, as expected of a royal chef, but Athanasia was too tensed to taste anything if Elia remembered correctly. That simply wouldn’t do, she was missing out.

Elia knew that her half-sister would be getting an unlimited supply of these delicacies, but it would be a while until then.

Glancing at the clock, it was past noon, her puppies missed lunch. She hummed— that wasn’t healthy, she supposed she just have to give them extras when dinner arrived.

Speaking of which, her servants were, unlike Athanasia’s, not running around like headless chickens, as Elia tended to be unfounded from time to time.

Oh, “—aware of who I am?” she was spacing out a lot, since they entered the palace, this wasn’t like her at all. It was hard. To concentrate. To be there, not drifting off, even in the face of the danger across from her, she worried her lips, no good.

Elia wasn’t used to paying so much attention to something now, infant, and forth, there wasn’t a need to.

Something was wrong with her. She shivered. It was oddly cold despite the beaming sun.

Slow and languid, she blinked, “Father.”

“Papa!” echoed beside her.

He looked oddly pleased with the titles.

There was something wrong. The moment she returned, Elia was smothered by her puppies, and servants, feeling lightheaded and queasy— she wasn’t on her feet for too long but was cushioned before making acquaintance with the floor.

Her bed became her world for the next few days.

Haaah.

The high-stress situation wasn’t good for this weak body of hers.

The study— quiet, so quiet, empty, sunlit— was a place of comfort, the smell of books fumed the air, a hint of lingering afternoon tea, and glazed blooms.

Books sprawled messily on the floor, littering surfaces, and Elia lounged, snuggly on the white loveseat by the bay window, draped over one of its armrests.

Rhodonite tresses fell, twisted, tangled— her fluorescent dress, sheer, chiffon, layers upon layers, creased and bunched, adorned flowers and gems.

She often found herself wondering where such lovely dresses came from, the materials— because she knew her servants made them, but the coast couldn’t have been something so inexpensive for them to be able to make countless.

Sugar candies, small and star-shaped, melted on the tip of her tongue.

It was cute.

Elia was bored, with nothing to do, and no one to bother. Speaking of which, she yawned, she had not been called to the royal palace again, the sense of euphoria the day after was tremendous, inexplicable joy filled her. Of course, she felt sorry for Athanasia, but there was nothing she could do about it.

And. The girl was destined for something.

There was a whole novel centred around her, for goodness’ sake.

A measly side character like her wouldn’t be able to change anything, she wasn’t even supposed to exist— tapping on the window brought her out of her thought, “Oh, you’re back, Hemi,” the window rattled, Elia unlatched the lock, a bohemian waxwing perched on the windowsill.

He chirped, thwonk, and something small fell out of his mouth. It was a rounded, smooth thing, a glass marble, like ruby and pomegranate— she held it up, and the light shone through, refracting, and assembling, a kaleidoscope, it was a rather pretty, little thing.

Delight in her laugh, and a smile in her eyes, “Thank you, Hemi, I love it,” Elia gave him a light peck, “How was your trip?” she asked, busying herself with the marble, “Oh! I should you something in return, yes— is there anything you want?”

She stood up, her dress billowing out in a wave, and her hair fell in the right places, “How about a dance? Or maybe a song?”

Bare feet shuffled, her fingers gripped around the hems— spun around in cadence along the nonsensical libretti that belled out from her throat, but her voice was a beautiful thing, and so were her movements, her puppies hardly paid attention to what she was singing, too captivated.

They were, like she said, a bunch of face-cons after all.

Elia felt like she had gone a bit insane if she was honest.

Hemi picked up, wings expanding, and he was in the air, flying about her. Just like that, she was no longer bored. That was good. It could have been terrible if that kept up, she could do questionable things in the name of ennui.

Knock, it was a soft sound, unseeing, but somehow, for whatever reason, it was menacing. Her hair stood on end, and Elia had a bad feeling about this, “Come in,” the door opened, and Dominique walked in, trouble was spelt out on his pleasing visage, and that laid heavy in her heart.

She worried her lips, “What is it?”

Dominique started.

“Blessings and glories upon the sun of Obelia,” her good mood went down the drain, Elia curtseyed, her dress remained unchanged, tied around her neck, floral scented, hair twisted into a complicated hairdo, and a smile danced her lips, “Good day to you, Sir Felix,” she couldn’t see Athanasia anywhere.

That handsome bastard hadn’t dismissed her yet, so she was stuck bowing her head down, she wasn’t sure for how long she would be able to hold this position. Claude made a throaty sound, and she fixed her grimace, standing up straight, she made sure she wore her prettiest smile, one that she would etch onto her face her entire stay here.

They were outside— the leaves and grass were viridian and lush, the willow trees swayed in the wind, the sun was bright, and light sparkled and reflected from the clear, blue lake, glittering like crystal, and gems and all the fine stones. And then there was a port, a boat, and Claude, whose hair, and eyes shimmered, too, and Athanasia who would probably join them, and all the picturesque landscape suddenly made Elia want to end herself.

Although all that she felt was murky gloominess, her quartz eyes still lit up like this was her dream came true, and she was stuck in this awkward staring contest, too. Someone, please, rescue her from this miserable situation, she cried mutely.

The strained atmosphere was killing her, adding to her psych more and more, her mental fortitude was normally something formidable, but something about the man in front of her just negated it altogether. Help. Let her go, she begged silently, pleading— of course, nothing happened, and she was left to drown, in distress, and maybe, in the lake right beside them.

“Hello, papa! Sorry Athy’s a bit late,” her rescuer grinned bashfully.

Athanasia was as cute as last— “Hello, Princess,” Elia greeted.

The girl froze for a good second, before rebooting again, “Lily, look! It’s the pretty fairy!” tugging on her attendant’s dress, she exclaimed.

Hm? Well, that was flattering, though, she already knew. She smiled a bit brighter, and put more warmth into it, cranked up the prettiness, just to prove Athanasia’s point. Elia was pleased with her face, and she believed that those things needed to be shown when the right time presented itself, and only that.

Athanasia gaped for a moment, before making an oh-oh face, “Of course, you’re pretty, too, papa!” that was true, the emperor was indeed very pretty, enough to make anyone envious— everyone here was, actually— “And you got even chubbier,” was Claude’s ever-so-sophisticated reply.

Elia could have sworn she saw Athanasia’s eye twitch, mostly feeling indignant inside, cursing a storm, and she couldn’t wait for the two of them to have an even better relationship— which also mean a slightly more reasonable Claude and a slightly more reasonable Claude also mean an increasing percentage of her mortality rate if he didn’t decide to kill her before then.

But— why was she here? Frankly, she couldn’t think of any plausible reason as to why she was called, it wasn’t because of the emperor, no way it was him, so that left— she turned her head, Athanasia stood, cheeks flushed, gawking, “Please forgive my imprudence, your Majesty, but is there a reason as to why I was summoned?”

Claude’s eyes, ever so slightly, shifted towards the golden-haired princess, and that was all the answers Elia needed. Did her half-sister miss her so much, to drag her along this hell? Ah, she wanted to cry— as much as she adored Athanasia, she wasn’t her ride or die, no one was.

“—get ready to join me,” before she knew it, she was already seated on the boat, right beside Athanasia and in front of the emperor, there was a sense of déjà vu, the same scene she lived through a few weeks prior, Elia bit back a sigh.

Hemi was no longer here, probably already left the palace’s ground and wouldn’t be back for a while, like always. He was a free-spirited bird.

Ignoring the presence of maybe death, the view was pleasing to the eyes, in many ways— was she being degenerated thinking that about her supposed father like that? — the gold-spun strands sparkled like the purest of gold under the sunbath, sharp, feline eyes, diamonds and mesmerizing, she just wanted to pluck them out to see if they would still gleam so beautifully— bad thoughts, bad thoughts— she pushed that notion back.

The exposed muscles were well-defined, she wanted to smack them once or a thousand times, until he bruised and her hands aching, his clothing askew for his posture, and he caught her eyes. Her breath withdrew a millisecond, mellow smile unmoving, she held his gaze, then he looked away, “What is it that you’re thinking about?” he asked, lackadaisically and nonchalantly, but still manage to put Athanasia straight into a panic.

Crystal, blue, and unchanging, the lake was a relaxing sight to bear, she could almost laze to it, almost. If only. The breeze was light, and the cacophony of quiet was delightful, she would probably return here again on a good day.

“About how handsome you are, father,” brazen, but was what she was, that was what she was thinking about, there was no need to lie, was there? also— “And how breathtaking the view is,” Athanasia looked at her as though Elia had just sentenced herself to death.

Still— father, such a strange word on her tongue, her vocal formed such an unfamiliar, and it lolled off so awkwardly.

Aggressive niceness, did that count as one? She hoped it did, lest the plants under the lake got new nutrients to nature even more of the disgusting clumps, she didn’t want to swim with the fish. Drowning didn’t sound all that pleasant either— she tugged onto the hem of Athanasia’s sleeve when the silence persevered for longer than she would’ve liked, peering at her from underneath her lashes.

Athanasia seemed like she was about to implode, “Ah— Athy thinks that papa’s hair is very pretty and sparkly!” she giggled, “Athy loves sparkly things,” good going, Athanasia, distracting, diverting, reflecting, she knew she was the one who said it unprompted, but she wasn’t sure of the consequences, so having a shield right beside her was fantastic.

Elia was sorry, though, she was, because the moment she lifted her gaze, Claud’s astute quirk of his lips made her look away even before she met his eyes, her hold tightened for a moment, and then she let go.

Princess, would it be alright if we hold hands? such a simple sentence, it would be easy to ask, Athanasia would no doubt agree, but— where was the fun in that? Elia liked seeing people turned scarlet because of her, it was cute, a good entertainment. And— she was doing it with her sister’s well-being in mind.

Her eyes curved a little more, glistened a little brighter, her body shift a little closer, and she laced their fingers together— the reaction she wanted was an instant thing, and she nearly tittered. Athanasia stiffened and used every ounce of her power to relax. Eyes never leaving their connected hands— good, focus on that.

The accursed blue lotus was closer with every second passing, and it was pretty, real pretty, she could see why Athanasia wanted it, but Elia wasn’t going to let her drown for something so hideous, she could see it lurking under, slithering amidst the disgusting clumps. Thinking about it made her teeth clattered, ugh.

She hoped that this would be enough to stop Athanasia from nearly drowning, she knew that something like that could be traumatizing even though it didn’t seem to have any effect on her in the novel-manhwa. Elia wasn’t sure if she could jump in without hesitation, she wasn’t even sure if she could jump in— for Athanasia, for anyone, really.

Turned out, she could, in fact, jump in— not without hesitation, though. There were lots of it, prolonged and delayed. It was a last-ditch effort kind of thing, she got desperate. Claude would have saved Athanasia, he would, he did— but what if, what if he didn’t? it was so long and agonizing, she was certain seconds had passed, and no more, but she couldn't help it.

Watching Athanasia begging, pleading, her hands reached out and such hopelessness in her eyes, fear and terror. Elia grasped her hands as she did, leaning, slanting and nearly fell over because of the weight. She was weak, with no muscles to speak of, she was a child, and the lake-soaked dress was so heavy, pilling on top of the girl’s own person.

But she was sinking, and their hands were slipping, but she couldn’t just let her. She couldn’t. So, she sank too, after much time, and Athanasia was no longer anything but the gold-spun hair surfacing. Never once did Elia beg Claude, asked anything of him, because that wouldn’t do, nothing would come out of that, and she would only be wasting the breath she needed.

She plunged in, and the water was cold and biting, and she would definitely get sick again. Athanasia wasn’t conscious, her eyes were closed and her face pale, and something in her pricked at the sight— her feet kicked, and her arms swung, her hair was sprawled over, blocking her. She brushed it away. Sinking deeper, deeper, and it grew colder.

Her lungs constricted, about to combust and collapse, and her body groaned, that thing wouldn’t let Athanasia go, it won’t, and Elia was out of breath— she wondered if she would be saved too, or if she was to sink— ruined. Sink to the bottom of the abyss, but that would only happen if she let it. She won’t. Never. Not a chance.

Something warmed in her underbelly, something hot and something cold, it was prickly, and it was soft, unbiddenly taking over her other senses— magic. Oh lord, she felt as though she was slapped across her face. So stupid. Elia concentrated, mustering up the pool of something, moulding it into shapes.

She yanked it outward.

The air she breathed out couldn’t be louder than anything at that moment, resurfacing together with Athanasia in her arms, her grip tight around whatever part she had managed to grab off the boat. She was heaving, quick and shallow, trying to inhale the missing air into her crumbled lungs.

Red bubbling upward, tainting the clear blue— something warm wrapped around her arm, tugging her up, and suddenly she felt all the weights attached to her, whether it was her dress or Athanasia, and it was heavy— Elia was unceremoniously dumped onboard.

She breathed in again, “Thank you, father,” she chirped, fully intended for the sarcasm, turning towards Athanasia, shaking her, when that didn’t work, her hands were on the stilled chest. Praying she was doing it right, and not screwing things up even more, wake up— wake up— wake up— the Athanasia began convulsing,

Coughing out the lingering water, the blue eyes fluttered open, Elia was looming over her, eyes wet, and cheeks flushed, “Can you breathe?” her hands patting Athanasia’s pale cheeks, pushing back the tendrils of hair clouding her face, her ashen lips quivered.

“—angel…”

"??"

What delusional image had her mind concocted? Elia’s worry waned, and her stiff fingers brushed the soppy, rhodonite strands away. Heavens. It was cold. At least the princess was fine. Well, she would have been fine either, with or without Elia’s involvement.

Her handkerchief was soddened too, when she pulled it out, she wrung it, squeezing the water out, and used it to wipe her face. It was uncomfortable, but it was also better than nothing.

“That was surprising. Not bad.”

The headache was piercing, and she wanted to throw up from overexertion.

Elia looked at the bored face of the emperor, how hateful.

She smiled.

“Princess!” Lily was rightfully alarmed, pallid, and scared, she had her arms around Athanasia before the girl could even stand up, not minding the fact that she was as wet as a drowned rat— ah, maybe Elia shouldn’t be using that kind of metaphor, it sounded quite disrespectful, didn’t it?

The man who played bystander didn’t look to be in a lick of guilt.

Something touched her shoulders, and her head tilted, “Yes, Sir Felix?” there was a slight shiver in her voice, and he looked concerned, “Are you alright, princess?” how kind of him. He was kneeling beside her, looking every bit guilty that he shouldn’t be.

Elia nodded, squeezing the last of the water from her hair, it was hard standing as she was now— her dress was heavier than necessary, and she was so drowsy, “I am, though I must admit I need an aide to bring me back to my abode,” those words sounded so ridiculous with the pitchy voice of hers.

“Excuse me,” his clothes were going to get wet, she thought, looking at him through the veil of her eyelashes, but she let him do it anyway. He carried her like he did before, and she sensed no discomfort from him, but he was a knight, she thought, it was a given.

Wasn’t it an honour?

God, she sounded so stuck-up. Elia laughed.

She, as predicted, came down with a cold this time, too. It was a high, high fever that left her useless, yet again, in the comfort of her bed. Her limbs ached to hell and back. Even a turn of her head made her wince, never mind walking around. It made it an extremely painful experience.

Meeting with the main cast was truly nothing bad luck, nothing but misery to her by the end of the day, she thought, coughing and teary-eyed. The maids serving her at the time were fawning over her worriedly by the bedside, carefully wiping away perspiration and tears.

No more, please, she would really die the next time. Just thinking about it made her stomach churn.

“Mary…” she croaked out.

“Yes, Princess?” Mary was soft-spoken, her voice had a soothing quality that matched her well-tempered appearance, but the hand that was rubbing Elia’s slackened one was calloused.

“I want something sweet—” Elia´s words trailed off into a violent coughing fit.

“Certainly, Princess. Yul,” she called.

Elia heard shuffling, and the sound of the bedroom door opening, then closing.

“—die. Dying, my head is spinning, Mary,” she whined pitifully, “It feels as though I’m about to die.”

“Would you like for me to call Nox over?” her tone wavered, and the grip tightened.

Elia shook her head, and an intense stabbing pain found itself within her head.

“Mary…” Elia cried again. Stop looking at me like that, she wanted to say, I feel like I’m dying over here and you’re there with bright eyes amidst your worried countenance.

“…truly, you are the most beautiful thing that I have ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes upon, Princess!” at this point, no words could convey Elia’s explicit urge to smack her with the law book she had found in her study that was thick enough to be mistaken for a brick. Everyone presented in the room, actually.

Yeah, she heard all the agreements echoed. Just wait until she recovered— how could they be enjoying the sight of her in anguish? She knew she was beautiful even in sickness, but this was just cruel of them.

There were a million she wanted to say, “I know,” she settled, vehemently, for this simple one. Coughing a lung not even a second after.

I hope I don’t get sick again this time, Elia thought warily, or rather, she hoped she never had to see the faces of these two ruthless people in front of her again. Why did they keep summoning her to this tyrant’s palace? To have tea? No, it was clearly a ploy to torment her. Clearly.

Maybe it was she who started the fire, but it was them that kept fanning it. Elia hadn’t meant to be there when that meeting took place, but she hadn’t even known, then, that she shouldn’t have.

It was only after it had played out that she was into the knows. It was her rotten luck. She thought she was plenty lucky before this, she did, but apparently, she thought wrong.

How did they even know when to summon her? If they had sent an ‘invite’ a day earlier, then she would have had an excuse to refuse the reason that she was still sick and bedridden.

There was a sense of irritability as she gritted out with a brand of bitterness in her heart, “Blessings and glories upon the sun of Obelia.”

“You may rise.”

Her smile was still painfully bright, though.

Felix, as always, was standing a few steps behind Claude, and his mouth curved softly as he met her eyes, it did wonder to his appearance.

Handsome as always.

But no matter how blinding the two men were, she was still irate and scared witless when she saw their faces. Why, oh, why did she keep running into them? What was wrong with her luck? Not only did she have to sit through teatime with him, but she also had to spend more time with him by walking together.

This was no good.

Unacceptable.

No way.

The realization was really biting.

If only she could lock herself away in the cornered palace like she had been doing for the last years, since her birth really, that’d be great.

The third time was the charm, no? Hopefully, this would be the last time she would ever step foot into this place.

Over the years, Elia had grown used to all of the starrings she was subjected to. After all, who wouldn’t want to stare at her when she looked like a national treasure? It was only natural.

But his staring was really…uncomfortable.

“What are you waiting for?”

It made her skin crawl.

She didn’t know if he killed children or not, but she knew he had massacred the whole inhibitors of the ruby palace the day Athanasia was born, and that was enough for her to be on guard.

What if he suddenly snapped and just— crack, yeah.

Elia was certainly too beautiful to die.

And she also didn’t like how he acted. He clearly wasn’t falling for the act Athanasia was putting on, was he?

He was the emperor.

So, she could only conclude that he liked Athanasia enough to want her alive but didn’t want to admit it, but that didn’t make any sense either because he killed her before.

He sentenced his daughter to death for an unjustified accusation in ‘Lovely Princess’. Neither did he mourn nor felt guilty when the truth came out.

Elia shook her head.

“Nothing, your majesty, apologies for the holdup.”

If he wanted to go, then go.

Why must she apologize for this?

Oh, right. It was because she wanted to keep her head from rolling where it didn’t belong.

She walked on ahead to hide the slant of her brows.

The drawing room looked the same as last, it was still simultaneously furnished and bare and extravagant. Even the sun beamed the same way as it did last. The assortment of sweets laid readily out. She sat where she did as well, as did Claude, now the only thing missing was Athanasia, and all would be complete.

Speaking of her, where was she?

Elia didn’t really like the prospect of her being alone in the same room as the emperor. Her gaze trailed after the red-haired knight, standing ever-faithfully behind her supposed father. Yeah, Felix was there, but she knew whose side he’d choose if it really came down to it.

Meeting eyes with Felix, she smiled. The teacup clicked, “It is a pleasant afternoon, wouldn’t you say so, your majesty?”

And it was. A pleasant afternoon. One that she could’ve spent napping by the bay window, or by the lake.

There wasn’t any answer given, of course, there wasn’t. They continued to mull in the silence, and it was semi-awkward. She could do awkward, but she was a child, and she was bored. When was Athanasia going to come? There was no way it would just be the two, well, three of them, right?

They couldn’t do that. She swallowed down her boredom with her tea. Normally, she would be doing the minimum required and just lazing around, but it was under the quietness of her own choosing and the company of the people she welcomed. Not this.

And why were they staring at her like she was some exhibition? Her usual answer would be to think that it was because of how cute she was, as her servants did the same things occasionally, but there was no way that was the case with them. Were they waiting for her to mess up? Did he want her to do something interesting, like suddenly calling him ‘papa’?

Hah, sorry to disappoint, but that was never going to happen— whether it would be her etiquette or anything else, there would not be any slip-up from her side unless it was warranted.

She sat, and she ate, and that was all.

There were the briefest of moments where she had all but pondered within her own head as to what she did to deserve, and a part of her that was boundlessly vainglorious and proud and prideful really lead her to believe that it was indeed her face and mannerism.

Crazy. That was it. She was going crazy. Not soon after that Elia had concluded. And she mourned haplessly for the loss of her sanity sacrificed to keep her sane. It was contradictory, she knew, but she couldn’t find a better way to describe what was happening to her.

Her brain was trying to rationalize the situation so badly, it’d ended up creating an even more irrational reason. If she had glistening blonde hair, and teasing eyes and lips, she’d understand a bit. But that was the thing. She didn’t. Her hair was glistening, but it wasn’t blonde. While she had her charms, they weren’t that of a teasing kind.

In conclusion, there wasn’t anything of hers that could garner any kind of attention from this crazy, unstable, dog-blooded emperor of this novel-manhwa who was sitting in front of her. She stifled a yawn behind her hand. This was getting tiresome. And scary. Horribly so. Elia looked up and locked eyes with the terribly cold, sundry blue.

He had effectively caused her heart the stuttered, and breath a millisecond shorter. The fact that he didn’t look away for a long time had her throat dried and she swallowed her stumbling nervousness in favour of a false pretence of tranquillity, “Is there something wrong?”

…say something.

Please.

“Your majesty?”

“Let’s go,” finally came his clipped and terse reply that had no place of being classified as one. He stood up from his seat and waltzed leisurely to the door, Felix arrived in time to open it for him, glancing back at her as he did so. She took that as a sign to follow.

And as Elia was not suicidal, with her tea left forgotten, she moved obligatorily after them. Muttering a polite ‘thank you’ as she passed by Felix, who smiled softly at her. A quarter way through their walk had retired into the knight’s waiting arms.

She tried. She really did. But the difference between hers and Claude’s legs was making her miserable enough despite having a valid reason for them being years apart. Running after him was, of course, not an option if she wanted to retain the image of a mannered somebody in front of them.

Besides.

It wasn’t worth it, her mind told her, it would only serve to burn her energy much faster. Elia felt they had walked forever and ever. The thought remained unchanged, her being carried by Felix notwithstanding.

They arrived at his audience chamber, and she wondered why in the world they were there. Claude sauntered inside with little care to grace her with the little details as to why, but neither had she voiced a peep of her curiosity so considered them even.

Ascending the steps, the recognition deftly drew upon her in chilling horror. Elia remembered the little nap area hidden artfully behind the throne situated at the top. She liked it but wasn’t sure if it was appropriate for something like that to find itself here.

It was not, but she shushed that part of her brain down quickly. The napping area was as cosy, and quaint as nobility could be, and seemed exactly like the kind of place she would doze in, which was dreadful. Mostly because it would mean she would be gone and vulnerable the moment Felix made her comfortable on the bedding.

She knew Claude wouldn’t just end her in her sleep as she had yet to present him a reason to. Hopefully. What reassured her most was the thought that he wouldn’t want to ruin his napping spot by dirtying it with a dead body.

Right?

Negative thoughts begone, she chanted. As anticipated, Felix sat her down much too close to the other man, who had already made himself comfortable like a lazy, overgrown cat. To her barely-there surprise. His Greek wear was mussed, exposing even more of his enviable chiselled assets.

One day, Elia thought, her hand patting her stomach, one day.

She wondered how many had fallen into his mindless chasm. In her honest opinion, which many would agree on, the only thing that was stopping him from being most desirable was his glaring less-than-desirable personality. Well. No one was perfect, she defended. It would be too unfair for the rest of mere mortals such as her to go against someone such as him.

It would break the fragile balance of stability.

What should she do now? Hesitantly, she lowered herself until she was flat on the soft bedding with her fingers interlaces on her stomach. What now? Should she…should she sing him a lullaby? Had Athanasia even been here before? She had to. But that couldn’t possibly mean he wanted a lullaby out of her, too, could it?

Her eyes swirled at the possibility. No. Athanasia was just unlucky, careless, and stupid in an endearing way that may have played a big part in her survivability. Felix closed the drapes, and she found herself relaxing in spite of who was beside her.

It was dim and soft, and comfortable. There was a subtle waft of fragrance in the air, Elia didn’t know what kind of scent it was, but she thought it smelled nice enough for her to feel the drowsiness coming back two-folds and washing over her like a rush of steam with vengeance.

Before she could drift offshore, she turned her head to the side to spy on the emperor and promptly discovered that, even before her, he had already closed his eyes without even breathing. Dazedly, the thought that the emperor, her father, was so pretty to the point of unfair crossed her.

She yawned again, this time not fighting back the heaviness of her lids. His gene must have contributed to her appearance, but it was definitely her mother who won out in the end.

“Goodnight,” she mumbled, as though she was whispering out her secret to the wind. “Father.”

In the first place, was he even asleep?

When she opened her eyes, Elia felt that it was a bit too dark for the places she normally napped, that was a good nap, nonetheless. She stretched out her limbs, rolling onto her front then laid still as though she had shut down.

It was a really good nap, she reaffirmed. The bedding was certainly the kind of quality one would expect to be worthy of an emperor. Now this would be perfect if she opened her eyes, and there was only her occupying the space.

Slowly, Elia began counting down, deep breathing with every number. Wait. She stopped herself. Even if she was the only one here, was she allowed to leave without a dismissal? She absolutely didn’t want a repeat of the earlier incident. She thought her heart was going to stop at that time.

Would it just be better for her to go back to dreamland and hopefully wake up the second time in her own bed? Children needed a lot of sleep to grow, that was what Mary, as well as what she had read in a book. Elia’s dream was to grow tall and be healthy enough to have muscles like Dominique, and her father too.

Just imagining it was enough to make a silly grin bud, and her heart fluttered at the thought. Since Claude was tall and her mother was also tall, and they both were lined with thin muscles, by basic equation, she should end with the same results, right?

Her dearest mother was the coolest when she wielded her sword and her flaming hair whipped in the wind as she moved flawlessly out of the way of her sparring partner’s blade, Elia wanted to be like that as well. Just like her mother.

“Ah,” she heard Felix say. The curtains parted wide, and light spilt through, as well as the appearance of the good temperament knight. “You’re awake, princess.” he smiled lightly.

She nodded. “…Is the emperor here?”

“No, princess.” Felix looked puzzled, but he answered her anyway. “His Majesty went back to his office sometime after you fell asleep.”

“Alright.” Elia sighed.

It seemed that something about her expression gave Felix the impression that she was saddened as his steel-grey eyes widen and he asked, panicked, “Could it be that—” even without hearing the rest, the question had already come to her, and he was promptly cut off.

“No,” she said resolutely.

He blinked.

“No,” Elia repeated, looking up at him. “My heart might stop at this rate.”

It might seem weird to him. She had fallen easily asleep in Claude’s presence, but that was because she was a child and because she was feeling dozy. Elia’s heart was still beating crazy when they were in close proximity, which was only made worse by the lack of Athanasia.

Really. Sometimes, when they met eyes, she felt her heart slightly giving out more and more. The unstable percentage of mortality was stressing her more than she would like to admit.

“Ah. I see,” there was a sort of understanding in Felix’s tone, and then softly, he laughed. It was a pleasant sound. She looked confused at him, but he had only shaken his head, which only served to further her confusion. “Then, allow me to escort you back to your palace, princess.”

“??”

She felt that he had somehow misunderstood her words, even though there was nothing to be misunderstood?

There was no way he could be thinking that she was overly excited to meet her father, right?

“Are you sure princess?” Jean asked unsure, sitting just a few meters away from her, white canvas, and sharpened pencil in hand. A bucket of water and watercolours readied beside him. “I wouldn’t want to rob you of your free time.”

It was a scene much familiar to her, so she merely sent a glance his way and sat herself down at the stump of the willow tree, Yul and Mary came closer with arms full of bloomed flowers and began to rearrange them artistically around her.

All for the adolescent-like man in front of her. “Jean,” she called, her eyes trailing his untidy appearance and nervous feature that had hardly changed all the time she had known him. From his pale skin, smattering freckles, and wobbly eyes under the ragged mess he called hair.

She smiled when their line of sight connected. “Hush now.”

He squeaked, “Yes, princess.” nimble hands took the pencil, pressing it to the blank canvas.

“I find it hard to understand why you are always so nervous,” she commented. “as if it is your first time. Isn’t that right?”

It was he who asked for her assistance in the first place, with all his nerves bundled for her to see.

“You are correct, princess,” Mary affirmed, placing the last if the flowers in Elia’s hair, while Yul nodded docilely beside her with a fixed smile. “The room dedicated to his paintings, to the princess’ exquisiteness, is nearly filled up last I have checked.”

That did not come as a surprise to her. For as far as she remembered, he had always been with her, much like the servants in her sphere. The residents of the Amethyst Palace had been unchanged by time, untouched by anything that did not belong, and unmoved from her side.

But that may not be the case always. She was only five after all, should something happen, and all go to flame, there would hardly be anything she could do to prevent it. Although the road was long, she wouldn’t know if it was cut short by something.

Her greatest threat right now was her very own father, which was quite comical.

All she could do was hoped for a quiet, comfortable life.

Chapter Text

Elia stared intently into the water and only the blurry image of her own face and the canopy of the white blossomed petals overhead stared back, then she looked up, languidly, around the marble-constructed open bathroom.

Maybe a bathhouse would be more accurate. A swimming pool perhaps.

The structure itself seemed to be in line with the palace’s theme, with the same design choice and the unblemished white palette. The intricate details of carved and accented gold padding the tall pillars, vinelike flora slithering around and elegant petals descending featherlight from the ceiling,

It was something akin to a fairytale dream.

She couldn’t help but marvel silently at the sight, even the water seemed like it was rose-petal-dyed milk. Pink. It was only slightly lighter than her hair’s colour. The fragrant, mellow fragrance didn’t escape her notice either, perfuming the open space with the scent Elia had been smelling for the past weeks, but with no known origin.

Mary and the rest had kept their lips shut tight no matter the pestering they had gotten from her. Well. Not that she had cared all that much. They could have their secrets— one way or another, Elia would be in the known anyway if she was really desperate.

“So,” Elia started, her voice echoing in the open space, “exactly, what is this supposed to be?”

Dutifully, Mary was quick to answer, “Whatever you wish for it to be, princess.”

“…Oh, alright. Thank you.”

“It is within our utmost contentment to serve you, princess.”

No. Really. Was this built solely for Elia’s pleasure, or did it actually have some kind of purpose? There couldn’t be much else. It was an open space with water and flowers, pretty as a fairytale and magical as a fresh spring one accidentally stumbled upon while wandering deep in the forest.

Elia wasn’t exactly sure what she would deem this place as, but since the choice was given to her, and all the creative liberties were handed to her, it would not be something she was opposed to.

Whatever this was, it was something.

Elia picked the purple grape from its stem, holding it upward while simply admiring the lustre with passing interest before poking her teeth into it carelessly. Her book left forgotten, placed gently onto her chest so as not to crumple the delicate pages.

From the corner of her eyes was Nox, seated on the cushioned chair not too far away from her chaise, in all his glory, a book of his own in his bony hands. After a brief contemplation, she called him, pushing herself into a sitting position. The book fell. “Nox.”

He gave Elia his attention readily. Nox’s flaxen braid swayed with the slight turn he made, the round, rimless glasses perched on his high nose bridge reflected a glint from the midnoon’s light pouring through the window behind her. “Yes, dear princess?”

She asked him a question that had been on her mind for some time now. “Does the Fates dislike me? Perhaps even hate me?” there could not have been an explanation for all the sequential unfortunate events that she had been tasked to endure as of late.

Nox had blinked then, before gracing her with his, frankly of no use, view. A smile played gently on his thin lips. “How could anyone possibly hate you when you’re so beautiful, princess?"

“Thank you. Though that might predominantly be the case,” she sighed behind her fingers, “sadly, the Fates is far from common mortals like us, you see.” Elia fiddled with an accessory beaded within her hair mindlessly, letting it be after some time and leaning back into her original position— lounging across the chaise without care.

Her companion held a pensive look on his mien. “You do make a point,” Nox paused. “Why don’t we ask your dutiful painter over?” he gestured towards Jean.

She turned her head.

The painter across the centre table squeaked sharply, breaking the silence spell he had cast upon himself ever since they had situated themselves within the room. Quiet as a mouse, that one. Jean looked positively frightened out of his skin, shying away behind his canvas.

It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight.

He was pitiful as he was endearing. Like a small animal. “He’s quite busy at the moment,” Elia gave him a slip. Jean sighed audibly— relief evident in his tone and body language. Regrettably for Nox, she wasn’t going to relent him one. She looked upward at the marble ceiling with intricate lines and vibrant splashes. “Now, enough veering.”

Nox hummed lightly, his palm brushing against the white pantleg. “I think, if the Fates hate you, princess, then it must scorn others.”

Elia thought over his words.

“You do make a point,” she blew a quiet breath and repeated his words. “Thank you, Nox, for indulging me with an answer to my ridiculous inquiry.”

“It’s always an honour, princess.”

They sat in silence. The round, white table was a display of various dishes, rich sweets, and expensively cultivated teas in fine porcelains and silver cutlery. There was so much it would be quite impossible to consume everything, despite there being three of them present.

Two were children and one was a man who seemed to hardly enjoy eating, much less sweets. Elia glanced at Claude faintly. He had a faraway look in his eyes, nursing a cup of tea that was Diana’s favourite. She thought so at least.

She looked away again when it seemed he was about to turn her way, picking her teacup and holding it fast to her lips. Her tongue burned slightly, but she paid it no mind. A small sacrifice for an unwanted outcome. The wind raked through and—

“Flower…You smell really nice, Eli!” Athanasia exclaimed abruptly, cheeks bashfully red after realizing what she had just said, with no way to take it back. It had most likely come out of a desperate attempt at breaking the sombre air around them despite the rather good weather they had at hand.

Where the sun was shining, leaves vivid green, and birds singsong lilts.

Elia placed her teacup down, a smile already taking place on her plush lips, her eyes bent all flowery and pretty as she turned to look at Athanasia. “Ah, that is lovely to hear, sister dearest.” a dull response it had become, after hearing the same comment endlessly.

Walking down the hallway with bare feet and a light dress had awarded her with a series of honeyed words. All artistic and vibrant enough to be that of a sugary poet’s own soliloquy. Elia wondered how in the world these people, face-cons, were gathered in one place.

“S- sister dearest…” Athanasia mumbled, busting aflame and letting out weird giggles. Elia kindly ignored her while their other companion had simply observed them with cool eyes and keen interest, though amusement shone through in the glint of his eyes and the slight tilt of his eyebrows.

Claude looked to be contented just by quietly watching by the sideline, despite being the one dragging them here in the first place. It irked her, but Elia could do nought about it. He was the emperor after all, absolute power in the empire.

She clandestinely remained discontented, and if it had shown outwardly, no one had any say about it. Everybody was too busy within their own mind. Claude was back to the faraway look again, and the princess was occupied.

So it was just Elia— Felix smiled when their eyes met, and the knight, as it seemed. She smiled back, synthetic, and treacly, but warm enough still for it to appear somewhat real. As it was real, to a certain extent.

Let it be known that she didn’t want to be here.

Her fork pierced into the strawberry tart, barely just stopping before it hit the plate.

Why did she have to wake and see them first thing in the morning? Teatime at 10 in the morning. Wasn’t it normally in the afternoon? If Elia was to overlook a few things, then overall, it would be a pleasant outing. It would be.

But the cutthroat tension underlying in the air was horribly anxiety-inducing. Why must she be subject to such torture, she found herself wondering for the nth time since that…faithful day. To her consolidation, it seemed that things haven’t derailed much from the ‘script’.

To be honest, Elia couldn’t give less care for it if it did, as long as the end result was the same.

She needed for Athanasia to mellow out the cold king’s heart and violent tendencies. The latter was most important. Elia's mortality would decrease eminently when that happened, which it would. It had to.

“Athy wants to have the same tea as Papa!”

It was cute to watch Athanasia placated the unstable beast that was their father. And she felt bad as well.

“Would you like for me to sing you a lullaby, sister dearest?” Elia asked indulgently, worriedly, looking at Athanasia’s pallid countenance, as though she had just seen a ghost, and she had in fact just escaped the casual threat of torture a few moments prior. “You look quite faint, perhaps some rest would do you well.”

Elia wasn’t heartless like certain someone, she could be sympathized with Athanasia. The princess concealed her rage and terror and relief behind a shaky smile and twitchy eyes. “Athy’s fine…” she whispered as loudly as she could with a hushed tone, “But I’d love to listen to Eli’s lullaby! Your voice is super nice after all.”

She muttered out the last part shyly. It was a quick recovery. Elia smiled sweetly at her, reaching out the pat the soft bedding gently, gesturing for Athanasia to lie down. Her instruction was followed through readily, the fair-headed girl seemed excited, anticipating a glamorous show.

Though Elia wasn’t exactly quite sure how her musical talent was in the ears of others, it wouldn’t sit well to disappoint her, she thought, eyes unintentionally darted to the man not too far away as she cleared her throat.

Was he asleep?

She hoped he was.

“Close your eyes, Athanasia.”

Elia deemed her speaking voice to be suited for her appearance, and her singing one not too far off despite haven’t taken any classes. So, should it be grating enough, somehow, to wake him up from his ‘slumbering’, she would conclude that the world had something against her.

She opened her mouth and projected her voice clearly. Soft and demure. Enough to be heard, for the words to articulate properly.

An echo of her mother’s voice.

My dearest,

You are of dreams and hope.

A faraway place many dreamt of,

A warmth pressed into my chest,

A gentle tenderness by my side.

I believe,

Where my tide rises as you breathe,

And my stars blinked as you laugh.

My bliss and joy you are,

And you’ll know that I,

Am sincere when I tell you that I,

Adore you so.

May you rest well,

My dearest,

So your dreams be filled with

nothing but the sweetest of things.

My dearest.

Elia preened slightly to herself when the lullaby was rendered unerring in the way she liked for it to be, looking at the result of her work with a smile. “Sweet dreams, Athanasia.” then, she laid down softly, careful not to disturb the sleeping girl. “Rest well, father.”

Please don’t wake up cranky and blame it on my singing, she prayed to whatever being was above and fell soundly asleep.

She missed her mother dearly.

Flaming red hair tickled her face and copper-colored eyes regarded her warmly, with clumsy, calloused touches on her face. Elia babbled a wet laugh, hands balled around the red strands, despite that, her mother’s radiant smile was never a fading thing.

“What a strong thing you are, my dearest!” instead, she had exclaimed proudly, happily. “Momma can’t wait to see you all grown up!”

“Mn!” Elia tugged excitedly.

“Yes, yes. You’ll be the strongest, won’t you?” her mother cooed and nodded earnestly, as if Elia had spoken actual words, her delighted smile growing by seconds. “Maybe my little girl will be interested in swords in the future for her momma to teach her everything she knows to her dearest.”

“Guh!” clapping, Elia gurgled a response.

“That’s right, my dearest! Then, we’ll spar together, the two of us, when you’re big enough. It’ll be so much fun. Just thinking about it is enough to make momma’s heart happy! Can you hear it, my dearest?” she adjusted her hold on Elia, pressing her gently beside her beating heart.

Her mother’s musing continued in an almost childish wonder as Elia’s gibberish sounds were nothing but the kindling to her flames.

Everything about her was wonderful.

“You seem happy, princess,” Felix noted, looking at her with keen eyes and a pleasant smile.

Elia nodded, “I’ve dreamt well, Sir Felix.”

“Ah. That’s good to hear.”

He was a good person, she thought, as he shone as if to share her happiness. She blinked, a smile blooming within seconds. “Yes. Very. I hope you dream sweetly tonight as well, Sir Felix.”

Felix’s eyes widened slightly, as though not having been expecting that, then they curved with unhidden elation, and he laughed softly. “Thank you. I wish you a dream as sweet as you as well, princess.”

There were twinkles in her pellucid, sundry eyes, the sunlight bounced artfully around her, hazy gleams from her rhodonite tresses and blooming flowers appeared as her smile brightened wonderfully. Her laughs were dulcet cubes of honey.

Almost as sweet as Felix’s words, she felt.

“My dearest,” her mother called. “Did you know that momma was sent here, to the palace, as a concubine in a show of good faith? The nobles were very desperate after the usurp of the throat to get on the emperor’s good grace.” her laugh was bright, not in line with the content of her words, poking at Elia’s cheek with a silly, lovely smile. “What am I saying? Of course, you don’t.”

“Nh?”

“That’s why I’m telling you this, isn’t it?” she said whimsically. “At first, momma was really unhappy with the decision, but it is her duty as the oldest. I accepted it then. I moved here and there was an endless flow of beauties, almost like an unending garden of flowers.”

“Momma wasn’t special, and she didn’t want to be either. The king just seems like so angry all the time, so cold and so scary. Getting chummy with him isn’t a good idea, and it still isn’t. But I still did my marital duties. I hated it. My days passed by slower than the ticking clock and everything was so dull and so grey.”

“But then you arrived, my dearest!” her mother exclaimed joyously, bopping Elia’s nose with her own. “Like a gift sent from heaven. My most precious gift— my most wonderful, dearest daughter. It was like the gods had answer a prayer I didn’t know I had sung.”

“I felt empty. I was empty. The resentment had festered, unbeknownst to me, despite the fact that I had tried my best to never think about the unjust. And then I became your momma, my dearest!”

“Everything suddenly seems more vivid, the colours so bright and my beat began beating again! Blood rushed to my head, and I felt dizzy, and I knew I would love you from the very moment your heart began beating within me. I know so. And I did. And I do.”

She laughed, and it was so beautiful it ached. So fragile and unlike her mother, and nothing sounded more wonderful than the adoration in her tone. “I love you.” her voice was oh so soft and the warm love inundated everything.

“Some part of me never thought I could feel such strong emotions, but when I heard you for the first time, I knew I could never be more wrong.” it drowned her mother. It drowned her. Drippy in pink roses and red stained glass, and syrupy felt on her skin, nothing was more expensive, nothing was sweeter.

“I love you, my dearest.”

“I love you more than life itself, My dearest Eliyanah. You saved me from myself. I love you and my heart aches with the weight, my dearest.”

More than life itself.

“I love you.”

Her heart ached so.

“Mary,” she called.

“Yes, princess?” her nanny was before her in seconds, ramrod back and gaze tilted down. Her calloused hands visible for Elia to see, placed onto her lap as she kneed so that she was lowered than Elia.

Elia smiled, presenting her open palm in front of Mary. Waiting. Like the loyal servant that she was, Mary surrendered her hand swiftly. “My faithful Mary,” she held the hand close to her, pulling it upward and nuzzled into the warm hand. “Dearest Mary.”

“Has something magnificent happened, princess?” Mary’s voice was exceptionally soft, and, though her face was blank, there was irreplaceable, much discernable joy in her eyes. Reverence was there, and Mary seemed enchanted. Entranced.

“I am exceptionally happy.”

Her dream was as sweet as could be.

“I love you as well, Mother,” she said cheerfully as she placed the red rose down.

Elia wondered if her love could rival that of her mother.

She believed it could.

“More than life itself.”

She smiled slightly more cloying than usual, conversely, it was equally less spurious and more sincere than it ever was in the presence of the man in front of her. “Blessings and glories upon the never-setting sun of Obelia,” Elia recited quotidianly, voice sweet as a nightingale’s notes.

“Rise,” it was clipped and cold as usual, but that did nothing to deter her good mood.

At Claude’s dismissal, she moved out of her smooth courtesy, meeting the eyes of Felix behind the emperor. They continued their walk, and Elia fell in step with Felix. “An exceptionally good day to you, Sir Felix.”

Felix blinked. “Thank you, princess. An exceptional day to you as well.” it wound up sounding more like a question, but she didn’t mind. Though, did her enthusiasm brought about that surprise that much, she wondered. “You seem happy today, princess.”

The words were the same as it was yesterday, and so was hers. “I’ve dreamt well,” Elia conceded easily. “It must have been thanks to you, Sir Felix.”

He looked confused, “Me?”

“Yes,” she nodded earnestly. “It must have been thanks to the sweet words you gave me.”

“Oh,” a happy blush that came with the pale chuckle was very charming to his countenance. He scratched his cheek lightly. “It was hardly anything of note.”

“In my opinion, it is something of note.”

“…well then, I’m happy that I helped you, princess.”

“You’re chattier today,” Claude said, lazing like a giant cat over the cushioned seat and sharp eyes upon her. It was weird that he had deigned her with his voice unprompted, but she would be the last person to put a question onto that.

Especially not when she was stranded on a boat alone with him and nowhere to run and nobody to hide behind.

She looked away from the water, meeting his eyes with a demure smile, nevertheless, it was brighter than anything surrounding them. “I am happy today, your majesty.”

He raised his brow, drawling idly, “Today.”

“Yes,” understanding the implications of his word, she nodded, and elaborated for him, “not to say I am normally not happy, but it has proven to be more so today. I am much happier. It is quite exceptional for it to reach this level.”

Elia held her pretty shawl tighter as soft laughter spilt out, showing evidence of her truthful words.

Claude hummed. “How old are you?”

Despite him saying she was chattier; Elia thought the same could be said for him. Normally, when they spent time together, it was always Athanasia who was desperate to fill in the silence, dispelling the impending muteness.

When it was just the two of them— her and Claude— as rare as it was, the muteness prevailed throughout the tick of the clock, with none of them making an effort to start a conversation.

“I have recently filled my fifth birthday, your majesty.”

He gave her a hard stare, then looked away, head supported by the palm of his hand. The silver wind tousled his hair lightly and the sun shone just right. His sundry eyes were like a kaleidoscope, the same as Athanasia, they were very captivating.

Golden lashes long enough to be envied by many and fair skin lined with tight muscles. It irked her slightly that he was so pleasant, handsome, and beautiful and all those flattering words when he was so difficult a person.

The conversation fell into silence, and she looked away as well, observing the blue lake and vibrant lives. No longer were there those hideous clumps of disgust under the surface of the water and she was glade. Those things were disgusting.

By the shoreline, she could see the poor knight waiting dutifully. She reached up to wave her hand when she was sure he was looking their way.

“Sing for me.”

“?”

Elia blinked, befuddled, looking back at Claude, but he had no more words to offer, and she wondered if it was just an auditory hallucination. Her heart flinched when he slid his gaze her way, and she could see the rude words behind them as if to ask if she was deaf.

So, he was awake.

Right.

On the bright side, she could now understand what Athanasia felt…or maybe not. Elia was quite happy today after all.

“Certainly.”

She missed her mother.

And she loved her mother more than life itself.

Elia was happy.

Chapter Text

To commiserate her misery, after the tenth visit to the main palace, Elia had finally bullied Dominique into teaching her some very light swordsmanship, if only because her poor body was still too frail to do any of the proper thing. But that was alright as well, as she was satisfied with her winnings for now.  

Dominique’s cream-colored hair was even lighter under the sunlight, and the soft curls kept swaying back and forth as he troubled himself over unnecessary things, such as whether or not he should be doing this. She didn’t know why he bothered; it was by her request that he was doing this.  

His calloused hand clenched and loosened over the handle of the training sword as he looked at the sky, lamenting as it seemed.  

Elia glanced down at her own hand, gloved and never seen a day of hard work in this life (she didn’t know about the other one though), and thought that she wanted them to be just like her mother. It might not be possible, but she wanted to at the very least try to achieve her goal.  

That might be difficult. She cast a subtle glance to her side, Yul stood tall and quiet with a parasol in her hold, shading Elia from the sun.  

Withholding a sigh, she looked back at the boy in front of her.  

“Take your time, Dominique,” Elia said with a sweet smile. “We have all day after all.”  

He finally looked away from the sky and gulped when he saw the look on her face, before giving her a wary laugh.  

She smiled brighter.  

Even though they looked similar, they were very different from each other, Nox and Dominique. Even their area of interest didn’t collide in the slightest, and when looked at the Albrich family as a whole, they were a complete outlier. Although, their youngest had dutifully followed the path of their precedents, so they weren’t in too much of a shamble, as it was.  

A wizard and a knight in a family full of scholars, and both somehow wanted to be under her care. Elia was surrounded by many wonderful people, she thought, ones that were easily coerced for give in to her many flimsy whims.  

How wonderful.  

“Let’s have some tea after this, shall we?” Elia suggested lightly.  

“Alright, princess,” Dominique exhaled deeply.  “...Are you completely certain about this?”  

“But of course!” she answered with an airy laugh. “Since you prefer coffee, Mary will naturally have that prepared for you, Sir. Dominique, worry not.”  

He looked pained for a brief moment.   

“...We shall start, then.”  

Elia knew it from the moment she lifted her teacup, and, in hindsight, she should have probably known it from the very beginning. Silly her. “Oh dear,” she wound up uttering as the porcelain cup clattered loudly onto the table, the sweet pea tea seeping into the white tablecloth, soaking the blueberry scones like water to sponge. “How careless of me.”  

At once, there was commotion around her.  

“Ingrid, go fetch some cold towels,” came Mary’s collected order as she, Yul and few other maids effectively moved to clean the table after having inspected Elia carefully. “Faline, some burn relieving cream.”  

“Yes, right away, miss Mary-Ann,” the twins echoed before hurrying their ways.  

Controlled, but a commotion, nonetheless.  

“How is your hand, Sir. Dominique?” Elia asked, her pink lips twisting into a worried curve, and thin brows knitting as she looked at the reddened patch of skin Dominique got from batting away the cup from her like the valiant, gentlemanly knight that he was. Although he was fast, in the end, the space spanned between her and him was a table width. Dominique’s arm was only so long after all.   

“It seems I am in need of more training,” Dominique answered grudgingly, almost too seriously, as he stared down at his hand like it wasn’t his own, as if it had betrayed him somehow. He shook his head and his seafoam green eyes flickered over to her. “More importantly, how are you, princess?”  

“Me?” she blinked, before lifting her hands up for him to see, smiling prettily as she reported, “I’m as well as could be thanks to you, Sir. Dominique.”  

“Princess,” he said slowly, frowning. “You’re shaking.”  

Elia only hummed softly, lacing her fingers together in an idle act.  

She didn’t know if it was because they were twins, but Ingrid and Faline were back with rushing steps, meeting each other halfway to the garden despite arrive from opposite ends, going to Dominique’s side and quickly began pressing the cold towel onto the back of his hand dripping with the water he had poured onto it himself.  

“Rightfully so, I’d say,” Elia laughed delicately behind her hands, her eyes curving crescents and her lashes brushing the delightfully pinking of the porcelain skin of her cheeks as they did so. “Although rather embarrassingly, I do admit that I had moved my body much more so than I normally would this morning, as you know, my dear instructor.”  

“There’s nothing embarrassing about that, princess...” he trailed off quietly, looking at her as he seemed to carefully select his word, then settled gently with, “In fact, waiting until you are with good health before doing something straining is fine as well...truly, I’m worry about you, princess.”  

“How kind you are, Sir Dominique,” she commended.  

Honestly, she was worried about herself as well.  

Funnily enough, the next few days, her variety of teas had been without fail accompanied with those long, elegant straws used to avoid staining the cup with rouges. Elia didn’t mind it much. Really, she didn’t. But the thing that bothered her most, the crook of the matter, was how frail and weak her body was. Although she had long came to term with the fact, it was unarguably pathetic; she couldn’t help lament.  

Could she really have claimed herself Mother Dearest’s daughter with this particular dearth of hers, was Elia found herself mussing on a sunbath afternoon by the riverside, looking down at the slightly reddened, blistered hands amidst the rumble of her dress.   

On one hand, she knew for a certain, like an intrinsic part of her, that her mother would never condemn her for something she couldn’t control, but still, Elia couldn’t help but doubt. Just sometimes.   

She couldn’t fault the world for that, she supposed, as she had been given everything else that one could wish for. Then again, the only way Elia would be able to see it with that angle was only if she was to first be blind and deaf and unlearn, as giving her everything but the one thing she desired couldn’t have come off as anything other than disdainful spite.  

“Isn’t that right, Hemi?” she voiced, eyeing at the object that had just been dropped onto the curl of her palms. Hemi gracefully landed with a small chirp, right into her lap where he would almost be lost within the bunches of fabrics if he wasn’t careful. His beady eyes peered at her, as curiously as she felt. “What have you brought with you today?”  

Gently, Elia pinched the object between her loose fingers, shakily lifting it up and up until it was held just above her line of sight. Seeing what it was, her eyes rounded as she blinked, surprised. “Oh. My, where have you been to, Hemi?” she asked him, smiling happily as she softly prodded him with the tip of her finger. “A seashell? You must have flown quite a way from here.”  

He cocked his little head to the side.  

“Fufu. You must tell me all about it, dear Hemi.”  

“ Chirp .”  

“One day, I, too, wish – nay, shall! Yes. One day, I, too, shall see the world that you do,” she told him excitedly, histrionically, heart pounding, reflecting the thought, and her smile bloomed bright as flowers after a rain shower.   

“ Oh , think of all the adventures we can experience together! Sailing the open seas, crossing the wide fields and forests with exotic creatures and plants, trekking up high mountains – ah, of course, helping our beloved citizens, too, and perhaps saving damsels in distress that turns out to be a noble lady seeking aid. How wonderful those sound!”   

She sighed dreamily, lost in her whimsy daydreams.   

“ Just like in the story books. ”  

Hemi pecked her finger, and she looked into his beady dark gaze. Her eyes glittering brilliantly like dozens of gems and stars under the day’s bright, warm light, and willow strands draped elegantly overhead drappled faint shadows as they danced in the scant wind.  

“It sounds delightfully wonderful, does it not?”   

Elia laughed, and it was a sweet, covetous sound.  

“One day, dear Hemi, one day.”  

“I’ve heard you’ve taken up sword lessons.”  

Once Claude lowered his cup of that flower tea (what a maudlin man–) from his thin lips, a pair of blue, gem-like eyes flickered towards her. Elia would have called them uninterested, but it wouldn’t have made sense for them to be, then for him to make such needless comment.  

No matter.  

With clammy palms and dry mouth, she forced a smile pleasantly. Goodness, she would really like to avoid communicating more than necessary with this man.  

“Quite right you are, Father. It has been an eye-opening experience so far, and I would dare say that it is one of my most interesting curriculum!”  

He was not...as bad, anymore, she supposed, but still, not in any way pleasant either.  

“Though, it would be an exaggeration to call them sword lessons.”  

Elia let out a sweet laugh.  

He exhaled softly through his nose, almost a laugh, but not quite. Instead of responding, he simply leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. Whether it was mockery, skepticism, or just mild interest, Elia couldn’t tell. And, frankly, she didn’t care to.

Amidst this, Athanasia, who had been keeping quiet with wide eyes and gaping mouth, finally spoke with a deeply questioning tone, “Sword? Eli?”  

The implied, disbelieving ‘you?’ was not missed as Athanasia began running her gaze openly around Elia’s features– from her hands to her wrists and her arms, before settling on her face.  

The eyes were the same, and the people were very different yet also not. Anyhow, they were both very rude and open about it, even if one hadn’t intended to be.  

Actually, Claude probably wasn’t intending to be the piece of work that was he either, it was just who he was, unfortunately.  

Her smile mellowed, as sweet as cubes of sugar and the finest nectar. “Of course it’s me, Athanasia dearest!”  

The little princess’ face promptly blazed aflame.  

“Nox is really impressive, isn’t he?”  

It was a fine evening in spring on a balcony to the far west of the Emerald Palace where the scent of blooming flowers was especially sweet, and the moon was especially round and white, that she held a rendezvous with Nox.   

Smiling softly, he placed a gloved hand onto his chest and lowered his head. “Thank you, princess,” Nox said pleasantly, the pale flower petals scattering like first snow had yet to descend brushed so sweetly-gentle on her skin.  

Humming, Elia continued, “I think the wind element really suits you. You chose well.”  

Nox shook his head, “I wouldn’t want to unfairly take the credit for something I bare had a hand in. Rather than choosing, it would be more fitting to say that I was chosen.”  

What an odd thing to hear , had been Elia’s first thought, only for her to be puzzled by that as well. She blinked.  

Why would that be odd to hear?  

Her gaze lingered on Nox ( silly child –?), the wind swirling gently around him, almost as if it were dancing with him. In that moment, she felt a faint pull in her chest, an unexplainable familiarity, like a distant echo of something faraway, a sea-mirage.  

“...”  

Filled with an inexplicable urge, Elia slowly opened her mouth and–  

"Magic is etched into the very core of who you are, woven into the soul itself, a song that plays over and over through the endless cycles of time. Whether in this life, the next, or in countless lives before and after, one thing remains unwavering, your magic. It is the thread that connects each existence, unchanging, forever bound to you, from the first moment to the last breath, until time itself fades."  

The more words left her, as if pulled by an invisible gravitas, spilling out like opaque marbles and tasteless candies, the deeper and bigger the puzzle became. Pursing her pink lips, she began to idly stirred around the long straw.  

Elia was still herself, there was no questioning that, but...  

“Hm,” she smiled at her swirling reflection in the teacup. “How curious.”  

“...Princess?” Nox spoke slowly, his sweet eyes peering at her inquisitively.  

It was very endearing.  

(A silly, cute child, indeed–)  

“Fufu,” her smile widened brightly as she gazed upward, with bell-like laughter in her eyes that slowly narrowed with it, glazed with an odd silverish sheen that resembled the round and white moon. The ambiguous reason of the captivating flush on her cheeks hard to place upon. “Wouldn’t you agree, my dear?”  

Magic was quite a convenient thing, much like a heart, and a brain, and limbs.  

Elia waved her lacy folding fan lightly and strings of small, rune-like lettering appeared, prettily gold like dollop of pure honey, constricting around a jug of water and an empty glass before it slowly faded away.  

The jug slowly lifted itself up from the table, none of its content spilling as it lowered its mouth to meet the glass that was similarly hovering in the air right beside it. It poured and poured, gently and elegantly, then stopped a quarter way until full, and the three-quarter full glass began hovering again, towards Elia.  

She reached out and wrapped her fingers around it.  

Very convenient, she thought blithely, happily munching on the apple that had magically peeled and cut itself neatly into pieces and sipping on the water all the while.