'I’m not particularly good with people'

The sun was on its way to rest when Amelia got back to her room while Constance and Laila excused themselves to prepare her supper since Vance was still out of the duchy to overlook the duchess' personal meals. If rules were strict before, it's even more so now.

Amelia felt suffocated. She became a duchess to rule her people and gain her freedom from the shackles of being the sad, fragile, and pitiful daughter of the late duke that everybody thought she was. Seeing how things turned a few weeks ago, Amelia's back to being the same old girl all over again—to be caged and kept away from harm's way.

'That's no way to live,' Amelia thought as she sat down on the chair by her desk, staring at the letter and small box she brought with her from her office when she came to pick up some documents.

The letter was already read and over with, but the box? Amelia hesitated to open it. Then a question popped in her head: When would she ever be ready?

In a few minutes or hours? Tomorrow? The next day? Next week or a few more weeks after that?

A deep sigh came from the duchess. She stared a few moments more at the black box with a yellow ribbon and a small ornament of an eagle. Her hands slowly reached out to it and unwrapped it as if it were some kind of infectious thing, and with one deep inhale, Amelia pushed back the top cover.

Instantly, Amelia's jaw dropped. The stunning round-cut deep red diamond—as deep as her favorite wine—was set in a simple gold band with three small oval-cut clear diamonds on both sides that looked like leaves. Looking back a month ago, the black iron rapier was already a rare thing to possess, but to gift a red diamond was of another entirely different level. It's like saying that House Clement's wealth ran as deep as the ocean. Even Sybil could quickly appraise it; it could be as much as half of her duchy's income on agriculture alone in a year—and agriculture's massive in Osmea.

Swallowing nothing but air, Amelia opened the bottom drawer of her desk and placed the letter and box inside, securing it with a key that she hid on one of the marble paperweights that doubled as a secret box. The day's not over yet, but she felt like she already worked for two days straight. She'd love not to talk to anyone in the meantime, but Madame Camelia scheduled a visit tomorrow for another set of fittings.

Amelia stood up and dragged herself to bed where she laid face-down on the mattress. When she couldn't breathe properly, she turned to her side, but her eyes couldn't stop wandering back to her desk. Irritated, she turned her back and forced her eyes to close, and as if an uninvited guest just before supper, sleep came in as her mountain of pillows gathered around her for an embrace.

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Young Amelia's scream echoed through the eerie empty forest. The animals and critters living nearby might have been scared for their dear life as the intense glow the fire emitted started to dim in the far distance. The strong arms that caged her went around even tighter, burying her sobs into his chest. When she seemed to calm down, Amelia slowly lifted her gaze. She peeked through her wet lashes just to be surprised by the fine stream coming from the boy's closed eyes.

The droplets of water that she thought came from her wet hair were actually from him. The sobs weren't hers alone, too, as she became aware of the same reverberating feeling against her. And as if her tears were plugged shut, she felt the boy flinch as she started patting his back with her cold, wrinkly hands. Her mother always did the same when she was feeling down.

"It's okay… it's okay…" young Amelia chanted like a broken record, and as soon it finished, she felt warm lips on her forehead.

"It's okay, it's okay…" the boy repeated with blurry eyes. But unlike earlier, her emotions stayed inside.

With one swift move and a short grunt, the young boy stood up and held his hand out to help Amelia onto her feet. His equally cold and wrinkly fingers brushed across her cheeks to wipe away the tiny dirt. After doing so, he held Amelia at arm's length to inspect what little he could see with the waning darkness. Satisfied after one last sweeping look from her head to toe and back, he turned his back to the young lady with his hand and reached out for her to grab.

Looking at the hand that kept her close, a small uncertain smile drew on Amelia's face as her trembling hands struggled to reach out. But as soon as she managed to grab him, everything went dim.

The whistling wind slipped through the cracks of the stoned wall room, and in her trembling hands was the cold metal dagger warmed by the blood of the freshly killed boy whose name she wasn't even able to ask. Looking around, her eyes spotted a shadow in one corner of the room. He just stood there, but his stance and build was all Amelia needed to see to know who it was.

"What are you just standing there?" her throat ached with every word uttered, but nothing.

No response.

She asked again—still nothing.

Warm blood now covered the duchess' hand, but she had no idea where it came from. Amelia kept calling and asking the man with her, but the more she reached for him, her bloodied hand became bloodier.

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Gasping for air, a series of knocks in an unfamiliar rhythm forced the duchess to look back at the door, and when she took the courage to blink, the sun was almost done setting.

Amelia scanned the room and sat down to massage her temples. For her to dream about that time she had with Alexander was new and downright unsettling. Unlike her usual dreams about her childhood, the fire, and the boy who stayed with her, she considers herself a dreamless person. No amount of thinking would pressure her enough to even dream about it.

It just never occurred to her—until a few moments ago.

Knockknockknock—knockknock

The duchess flinched. She was quickly on her feet and immediately grabbed the closest and hardest ornament on her night table. Amelia soon felt ridiculous as she tiptoed her way to her balcony's door; no assassin would make such a huge mistake to make a noise—let alone knock. And though the sun's almost gone, it's still bright enough for the knights to see her room.

Knockknockknock—knockknock

As she came close, the duchess grabbed the long heavy drapes, and in a single flick of her wrist, she managed to catch whoever was outside in surprise. But it wasn't who stared right back at her—it was a what.

"Where did you come from?" the small statue sounded against the wooden table as Amelia placed it down to open her glass balcony door. As soon as she was out and held her arm up with her elbows bent, a bird made a quick trip from the balcony railing to her, and immediately she noticed the piece of parchment tied on its leg.

Carefully, Amelia walked over to her desk and urged the bird to stay on her chair's arm instead while she looked for a small dish to place water in and some leftover biscuits somewhere to feed the bird.

As the feathered friend eat and rest, the duchess slowly undid the ribbon and unfolded the small parchment. This time, Amelia didn't blush—and if she did, it wasn't like before—but a small, confused smile crossed her face as her eyes stretched too as far as the Western Garden forest.

"I heard you had a tea party. How was it? Lex." Turning the paper around, it was just the ten words sentence alone. She held the parchment near a light source, but no hidden messages as well.

"Just where is your master?" Amelia lightly brushed the bird's head, and it cooed.

She chuckled and continued, "I'd like for you not to carry anything back, but I'm not like your master, so let's get you something else, instead." The duchess rummaged through some of her drawers and later pulled out a short piece of red ribbon. She tied it around the bird's leg and brought it outside once it's done with its refreshments.

Amelia walked out of her room with the bird on her arm and onto the railing of her balcony. She raised her arm, and it signaled the bird to fly without a hitch. As Amelia watched its flapping wings from a distance, her eyes quickly darted at the tree a few feet to her right and called, "Arabella?"

By the time Constance and Laila came back, Arabella was already sitting on one of the couches in the adjoining room of the Duchess' private quarters. Laila almost dropped the napkins she was holding when the newly arrived lady-in-waiting ran to hug her.

"Bella, you're back!" Laila said at arm's length. "And you've gotten—skinnier!"

Before Arabella answered, she quickly went over to Constance and gave her a big hug too. She had been away for almost two months now, and the duchess couldn't be any happier now that she's back.

"In the flesh." The lady assassin said with a grin, and her hands spread to the sides.

She and Amelia already had their touching reunion when Arabella tried to sneak into the duchess' room only to be caught when she was just on the third branch of the tree she was climbing. All the cave training Duke Mulford made her go through for months paid off really well—but only if she's not distracted by anything else.

A knock disturbed their little get-together, and Laila hurried to take the set of plates and utensils she asked a knight to get from the kitchen. While the younger ones talked, Constance took the time to set the small table at one corner of the room. Amelia wanted a light dinner, so the palace cook prepared salad greens topped with cherry tomatoes, cheese, and some edible flowers for color. There were also sliced fruits from the orchard near the training grounds—it's for the knights to manage. There's some bread, roasted chicken rubbed with herbs, and some salad dressings. Wine should've been the drink of choice, but Vance's coming home tomorrow, so the water's simply fine.

"How was your trip overseas?" Constance asked. None of the other ladies knew that Arabella's family were famous assassins. Her father, Earl Whitt, owned a trading company with branches all over the empire—though the company was more of a façade than anything else. It's what they use to gather information from different places. People who manage the branches were all members of their clan too.

"It was—how do I say it? Educational?" Arabella shrugged and glanced at the duchess, who in return nodded discreetly.

"But I heard that the trip was over weeks ago?" Constance turned around after placing the salad bowl back.

"Yeah, I got back sooner than I expected, but then when I got back, they were talking about successions and all that stuff. It took me a while to get out."

"Succession? But your father's still well, isn't he? Is he sick by any chance?"

"Nope. He's okay. But somehow, my grandfather wanted me to take over some things. I told him no, so he had me detained, and I had to be creative just to get out." Arabella rolled her eyes.

"You what?!" the other three in the room asked in unison, their forks hung midway to their mouths.

"Arabella!" Amelia said, placing her utensil on her plate and wiping the side of her mouth. "But why?"

"I mean, I'm not particularly good with people. Plus, I love my freedom more than anything else." The lady assassin waved her fork.

"Well, you are right," Laila said, nodding. "You also have a mean way of talking to others, though you seem so delicate."

Of course, what her grandfather wanted was a successor for the clan. Arabella might not be the most perfectly sociable lady in Osmea, but she's the pride of the Whitt's clan. Her abilities were second to none. As long as Amelia could remember, she's been the candidate for the position since she was introduced to her three years ago when Arabella was fourteen years old.

Just a few months younger than the duchess, Earl Whitt introduced his daughter and requested that she be accepted as a lady-in-waiting to assist the duchess and learn proper lady etiquette. Since Arabella was petite, Amelia thought she'd be slow on the uptake, but she was surprisingly sharp—and foul-mouthed too, which gave her father a ton of trouble. Vance then introduced her grandfather, Sir Berthold Whitt, a former knights' commander. The former knight commander trained Arabella himself and doted on her so much. It was then that Amelia learned about their clan.

Osmea's known for lacking military prowess, unlike the other two duchies, Aclador and Thuenia—House Robina answers to the empire as a direct descendant of the crown. Hence, their military powers were one with the emperor. Instead of focusing on fortifying Osmea's might, earlier rulers of House Florence invited prominent families known for their crafts to live in the duchy with a promise that a title would be given to them. Over time, some families' crafts died down, some didn't, and one of those families was the Whitt's.

The fifth duke, Duke Henrie, happened to meet Arabella's ancestors by chance, hiring them, thinking they were a group of mercenaries. They weren't a prominent family, though, just a normal one working in unusual ways. The deed then was to guard his wife on a trip to the capital. It was during the time when the empire's still young, and the duchies were still unstable that greedy nobles and aristocrats had the guts to target anyone.

When they came back, Duke Henrie's wife was so pleased about them that she asked the duke to employ them permanently. It took a few months before the duke knew about their actual work, that they're assassins and not mercenaries.

A binding contract was made between House Florence and Arabella's family. They were given the title of Count, and as thanks, the Whitt family head then honed every one of his members and became a formidable shadow of House Florence. And for anyone who had underground dealings, Arabella's family's on the top of the food chain and famously known as the Felfords, though only a handful has met the main family—Arabella's.

"Your older brothers should take over. They seem more responsible than you, Bella." Laila naively suggested.

"Ancel's taking over. Our older brothers and I have only one thing in mind—freedom. Ancel's a bit of a busybody, so he's perfect for the job."

"What?!" another question asked by the ladies in unison; still, Arabella played with her fruits like what she said was nothing out of the ordinary.

Ancel's a great knight. One of the very few that Amelia trusts her life with, but he's not really the authoritative type of person. He's perfect for the position of his father's but never for the clan's. The duchess couldn't imagine him being all ruthless and rough.

"Well, that's that. Ancel's taking over, and I get to have my freedom back. More freedom means more time with you," Arabella smiled wider than usual, and the other ladies-in-waiting gushed at the thought.

For the rest of the night, the ladies talked about Arabella's travel, who she met, and what she did overseas. She told the others that her mother would send the gifts she brought over tomorrow since she was in a hurry to come back to the palace. Arabella shared that she was on her family's ship for days with little access to water for bathing, so she rarely bathes. The other showed disgusted faces but soon laughed it off; the tan she got was from when they traveled by horseback to get into one of their companies overseas to cut some time.

As the moon rose higher and the night grew deeper, the three ladies-in-waiting bade Amelia a good night and left after making sure that their duchess was comfortable—and secured. Not that it mattered to Amelia that much; whoever planned that incident a few months ago would have to rethink his plans now that she's all well and healthy. But it put everybody's mind at ease, so she let her room be guarded at all times, and more knights than usual were stationed.