A long forgotten thorn (Part II)

"This girl...had the most beautiful smile that can put even the most beautiful rose in the empire into shame. What a smile it was - bursting forth like the first rays of sun in the middle of a cloudy day - yet that's all I can recount. Not a trace of memory about her face."

-Sebastian Verde, Route 3

***

The third time he was reborn, Leo was convinced that the world wanted him to get it right.

Now with two lifetimes' worth of memories, Leo can no longer pretend that he was the same sickly kid that Viola picked up in the alleyways. He could refuse the help of the Adelais if he wanted to. There were many ways to change his own future, especially now that he'd witnessed his demise twice.

But he couldn't.

His stomach churned at the thought of leaving his lady to her own devices. She needed him now more than ever — even if she hadn't the slightest idea about it.

The evil star of their lives, Rosanna Castus, has always been destined to foil his lady at every turn. If his lady's enmity against Rosanna Castus cannot be resolved, he thought, then perhaps he should simply strike the problem at its roots.

And so one night, Leonardo Cassius attempted Rosanna's life.

He waited for her in the rose gardens of the academy, flowers in hand. Earlier, he had written her a letter pretending to be Sebastian Verde, the eccentric genius whom Rosanna fancied in this lifetime. His plan was simple: lure her out, get close, and get a fatal strike in before anyone saw it. If he was lucky, he could get out in time and feign innocence once the news broke out.

But if he was not, well, at least Rosanna would be dead with him.

"Hello?" A voice asked. Rosanna stood a few feet away from him, bathed in the moonlight. For a moment, Leo almost forgot what he came here to do. Even in her nightgown, there was no denying that Rosanna Castus was indeed beautiful — from the snow-white hair that flowed down her back, those clear blue eyes, and the blush forming in her cheeks.

"Are those for me?" She pointed at the roses in his hand. He had plucked them straight out of the Headmaster's collection down the restricted part of the rose gardens, which meant that they were the best-kept and freshest batch the school had to offer. It was only meant to be props, but all of a sudden he was glad he went out of his way to pick them.

This was already a fitting send-off, was it not?

A gust of wind took off his hood before he could hand her the roses, revealing his face.

Rosanna's eyes widened.

"You—!" she never got to finish her sentence, as the flowers dropped to the ground. The last thing Leo glimpsed was the gleam of a knife protruding straight from his belly.

Whether Rosanna planned to double-cross him all along, the work of a third party, or fate playing tricks on him — Leo never had the chance to know. From that point onwards, he had spent the remaining decades reliving the same life, doing everything he could to support his lady and beat Rosanna Castus in her own game. So far, he had lived more than 20 lives and saw various outcomes, including a lifetime where a different person was crowned.

This time will be different.

***

Rumpia, Adelais Estate:

A month after the examinations, Leonardo Cassius received his letter of acceptance along with his mistress.

"Thank heavens!" His lady clasped his hands, jumping around in joy. "We made it! We're going to the Academy! We'll get to study at the same school as His Highness!"

The servant struggled to keep the smile on his face. Of course, the Crown Prince came first. Never mind that a mere servant managed to pass the entrance exam to the most prestigious Academy in the empire. Nevermind that he'd be willing to risk his neck for his lady in ways the Crown Prince never would—

"Congratulations," his lady planted a small kiss on his cheek. "You've done well, Leo."

…nevermind whatever he had been thinking. Thank heavens, indeed.

***

Capital City, Imperial Palace:

The young boy stared at his own acceptance letter with a forlorn expression, with lips jutted out and eyes shining as if he were about to cry. His hands shook as he read on, giving his servants the impression that he had received bad news instead of his examination results.

"Is there something wrong, Your Highness?" One of the scholars asked. "Are the results not to your liking?"

The Crown Prince grit his teeth. "Are you suggesting it can be changed, then?"

The scholar dropped to his knees. "I-please pardon my impudence, Your Highness! As a graduate of Cyrilla Academy, I only worry about the state of the examinations. I know firsthand that the Headmasters have a cruel streak—"

"I passed," the Crown Prince moaned, slumping on his seat. His purple eyes fixated on the scholar, quite at odds with the dignified prince that hung in the portrait, with a smile as sweet as honey and hair spun of gold. He gripped the scholar by the shoulder as if shaking him would produce answers.

"Tell me, can you make it so that my results fail? I don't want to go! I can't purposely put wrong answers, but if there was a way to manipulate the scores somehow…"

The scholars looked at each other. On the outside, they all fought to maintain their composures, but deep within their hearts, they can only curse this obnoxious prince. This was an insult to everyone who's ever had to work their asses off to get even a fraction of the prince's score and an even bigger insult to the scholars who sold their souls to the devil just to pass.

The scholar in the Crown Prince's grasp forced a smile. "I'm afraid that's impossible, Your Highness."

As if Her Majesty will permit such a blunder.

***

Capital City, Mirande Estate:

Somewhere around the capital city, a young boy had crumpled his own letter into a makeshift ball.

"Young Master Oz!" One of his attendants chastised. "You mustn't—

The young boy aimed for the hearth and threw the paper straight into the flames. He grinned at the attendant. "Did you see that, Miss Christina? That was a perfect shot!"

The young boy, despite having already come of age, held a childish streak that made him look younger than he actually was. With his tousled hair and the band-aid at his cheek, no one would've thought that this was the heir to the empire's largest supplier of confectioneries.

"Oswald," A man's voice boomed. "When will you act befitting of a Mirande?"

The head of the household, Vicenzo Mirande, fixed his son with an icy glare. "I heard you passed the examinations to Cyrilla. You should know better than to fool around!"

"But father! It's exactly because I know better than I fool around!"

His attendant sighed. Soon, the Mirandes would toss their own to the flames by themselves.

***

Port City, Verde Estate:

"You've passed," the lady of the house murmured, unable to keep the look of disdain on her face. She folded the letter and returned it to its envelope, going as far as resealing it.

The young boy she was talking to had barely acknowledged her, too engrossed in his work. "Of course."

"I've heard His Highness and that boy from the Mirandes also passed," the lady continued. Her dark eyes narrowed.

"Of course," the boy murmured absentmindedly. He was too busy in his brushwork to pay the lady any mind, with long, slender fingers gliding across the canvas with practiced ease.

This didn't sit right with the lady, who happened to be the boy's mother. Without a doubt, the two shared the same olive-green eyes and hair as dark as night — except the young boy burned with a strange fire that the lady did not.

A manic almost possessed fire that drives him to finish his work to perfection: a faceless girl holding a white rose. It was no different from the countless portraits that hung all over the mansion — all failed attempts of recapturing a memory long gone. It was always missing the face.

He didn't even notice that his mother had walked over and stood right in front of him, incensed. "Take this more seriously, Sebastian! The future of our family depends on you!"

The young boy regarded his mother with a bored expression. "Of course."

***

On the same day, a royal blue envelope arrived at the gates of the Maure Estate.

"For Lady Rosanna Castus," the messenger said, looking around. In front of him stood the mistress of the house herself, Viscountess Felicia Maure. There was no Rosanna Castus to be found.

"I'll take that letter for her," she held out her hand.

The messenger squirmed where he stood, no doubt considering the ramifications of declining a noble's request. Naturally, the best course of action was simply to obey, and relay to his master that he had no choice but to comply.

Unfortunately, between his master and the Viscountess, it was an obvious choice who delivered harsher consequences.

"My apologies, my Lady," He bowed his head. "This one is under strict order by Headmaster Pryor to personally deliver the letter to Lady Rosanna. May I know when she'll be back?"

Felicia Maure clenched her fist. Then, with a sneer, she had the maids immediately call in the person in question. Rosanna Castus came rushing outside wearing a servant's clothes — with bandages around her fingers and a nasty bruise forming at her cheek.

Rosanna Castus smiled. "Greetings, sir. My name is Rosanna Castus. What do you have for me?"

A chill crept down the messenger's spine. What a cruel household, he thought, to resort to physical abuse. Many nobles have outgrown this, abiding by the new empire's flair for decorum, etiquette and finery, but he supposed old habits die hard.

Especially ones as rotten as this.

The messenger handed her the royal blue envelope…and another package wrapped in a box. "Personal delivery from Headmaster Pryor of Cyrilla Academy. He extends his deepest congratulations after you passed the entrance examinations."

He hoped at least, with this, this poor girl can finally escape this hell.