'A boy. I killed a boy'

Amelia nodded lightly, considering everything that her lady-in-waiting said. She wanted to probe further, to assess her story, but the duchess already knew she's lying. Arabella, with a straight and cold voice, was not the honest Arabella. She watched everyone a lot, even the little habits, to know the difference.

Amelia took a long deep breath and pulled her blanket off her.

"How long are you going to kneel? I need to bathe before everyone makes a fuss about me." The duchess smiled, and her lady-in-waiting responded with an awkward smile. Arabella's a great assassin, but her facial expressions were not.

A giggle left her throat.

"What's funny?" the lady asked, pouting.

"Nothing," Amelia waved her hand and covered her mouth, "You're just too cute to be an assassin."

Arabella's cheeks warmed up to her ears; there was no point in hiding it.

The cloth that kept her arm from moving was for when she's sleeping, so painful as it was, the duchess braved through her bath alone while Arabella looked for a long-sleeved dress light enough for what seemed to be a sunny day ahead.

When she finished drying herself, her lady-in-waiting helped her with her hair and dress. Amelia's face twisted every time the special salve of herbs and flowers gifted to her by House Robina's youngest prince touched her cuts. Amelia chose to let her hair down and gathered about her swollen cheek to hide it.

"I really thought you tripped somewhere on something—how dare that Ancel to keep it a secret from me. I should've been the one to wait for you, but I had—other pressing family matters to attend to that I had to leave it to Ancel. So much for a personal knight," Arabella scorned, her eyes darted at the number of knights gathered about the gazebo. "If I had known, I would've come back sooner. He only told me that you had a cut on your lip, so I brought the usual salve—that good for nothing, brother," she continued with a low voice and clicked her tongue.

Amelia shook her head lightly. Even she agreed that if only Arabella had known earlier, she would've been in a better state than she was—but then again, her lady-in-waiting's temper was something that came with the tide. Who knew what she would've done if she really did know sooner?

'Maybe it was for the better.' The duchess settled her thoughts once Arabella was finished with her.

An embroidered lace dress in pale rose with cuffed sleeves loosely fitted around her arms was the best Arabella could choose for her. The slightly ruffled collar that went up her neck wasn't something that the duchess wanted to wear, it suffocated her, but she agreed with her lady-in-waiting's choice. Amelia thought she should call for the seamstress once her body's healed as she realized that her closet lacked more loosely fitted outfits—and ones that didn't show much of her neck.

When she was dressed, Arabella left her by her dresser to prepare the tea and light morning snacks in the adjoining room. As the smell of freshly brewed tea wafted across the room, the duchess saw her secret fiancé and his men riding their horses to the palace gates through the window.

"Bella?" she called, not taking her eyes off the striking yellow—almost golden—cloak with an equally remarkable handiwork of an eagle.

"Yes?" Arabella couldn't help but look out the window where her duchess' eyes fixated.

"Is he leaving? Even without coming to see me? Wasn't he informed that I've woken up already?" Amelia was bewildered—or was the feeling one of disappointment? She expected that he'd come to her and offer some words of comfort, or at least sweet-talk his way out to make her feel better—or wait for her to wake up.

But no.

The Duke of House Clement just decided to escape back to his duchy.

Amelia suddenly felt dizzy. She shook her head lightly and slowly turned to face her vanity as she massaged her temples. But her lady-in-waiting clicked her tongue and cursed.

"He's really leaving. What the fu—"

"Arabella, language!"

The lady-in-waiting glared at the back of the unsuspecting duke as his party waited for the gates to fully open. He didn't even dare to look back.

"Call Uncle Vance once you're done setting up the tea," Amelia demanded, and Arabella puffed some air. She told her duchess that the duke would never be a good candidate for her partner, but little did she know that the man she kept insulting was the same man she already promised her future with.

Not a moment longer, Amelia heard the door open and then closed. She let out some air and slowly propped herself to stand. The swelling from her ankle was almost gone thanks to some oil that Ancel brought with him that night; he said it's something his family always had because they're bound to sprain an ankle or two during missions or just patrols.

But the pain's still there.

Another heavy sigh left the duchess as she trailed her way to the other side of the room. When she was at the entrance, she smiled at the laid-out cookies and fruit tarts partnered with her favorite tea and teacup set.

As she was halfway through the tea table, the knob turned, and the duchess' advisor came in sight. She almost cried, but her tears quickly dried as soon as they welled at the corner of her eyes. Amelia sniffed instead and rubbed her eyes with her index finger. Her advisor's brow furrowed and forced a worried smile as he slowly went towards her with open arms.

"My dear…" Vance whispered, his comforting pats on Amelia's back almost undid her emotions, but just like her tears, her thoughts simmered down quickly.

When the duchess distanced herself from her advisor, a small smile grew on her face, and she shrugged her shoulders. In response, Vance gave her an understanding smile. He reached out his hands to examine her cheek, her shoulders, and her arms. After, he looked to check at the duchess' feet.

"You knew?" she asked in a low voice.

"Ancel told me the moment you passed out. The doctor said you didn't initially feel any pain because of the adrenaline you must have had, and the moment your body completely relaxed, you felt the extent of your injuries and fainted. I've been coming here every morning, but today, I just knew you'd come around. And I know you wouldn't want me to see you so early in your state, so I waited and had Arabella bring you some of your favorites."

"I'm fine, Uncle."

"You want me to believe you?"

"Won't you?" Amelia gave another awkward smile, and Vance couldn't help but sigh. She smiled widely when the old advisor held her hand towards the tea table. She tried hard not to limp, but her face showed otherwise. When they're finally seated, Vance poured the duchess some tea which she was thankful for. What Amelia wanted wasn't another conversation about how worried she's made other people feel. At least her Uncle Vance knew that much about her.

"He left."

The duchess noted that her advisor's eyes shifted to a more serious one. He took a sip of tea and adjusted his glasses.

"Yes, he did. A messenger bird arrived earlier with a letter of an urgent matter. The news about the poisoning might've already spread across borders. You should also be prepared—though I already made some preparations."

Amelia's brow arched. She looked at her advisor's unfazed demeanor and was thankful that he's with her—she has yet to tell him about the marriage proposal she received from the duke. It felt like the time was off, so she kept her mouth shut and just enjoyed the company.

But it didn't last long—much to Amelia's disappointment—when Vance mentioned what happened to the dungeon. He inquired how and where she got hurt and if she remembered who attacked her.

No matter how the duchess racked her brain for information on the night of the attack, it was too dark to remember anything. It was challenging to remember anything when she's trying so hard to just survive another breath— and by the time she dealt with Jyver, who dragged her away, the man was already gone. She cursed mentally over and over again.

"Oh, I did manage to wound his cheek with my dagger—and his accent," Amelia tilted his head. There was something about his accent that she couldn't quite wrap her finger around. "I can't remember where I heard his accent from, but I know it." She murmured in a faint voice.

There was little to no point in remembering. The more Amelia thought about it, the more her head hurt—and the tea started to calm her, making her eyelids grow heavy again.

"The duke…" Mr. Vance brought down his cup and leaned back. His clasped hands were raised by his elbows on the arms of his chair. Seeing this, the duchess immediately shifted and wiped her mouth. She held her chin high, her back straight against the cushioned back of her seat with her hands, also clasped, resting on her lap. "He told me about what happened in the dungeon. How are you feeling?"

Amelia gulped some air. She didn't know what to say—how did she feel? She thought she had to feel sad about them and angry at the duke for doing such injustice, but since she came back from that hellhole, the feelings and the thoughts dissipated like the gathering fog when morning came.

"He made you kill a man."

"A boy. I killed a boy." The duchess stared blankly at her advisor, who returned her gaze just as equally.

"And?"

"And—I thought it was what he deserved." Amelia blinked. Confusion stamped on her face. Even she surprised herself that that came out of her mouth. She asked herself if she really thought of it like so.

"Well… did he really deserve it?" Vance asked low with an even firmer voice and a demanding tone.

"He tried to kill a duchess and a duke. It's a crime equal to harming the emperor; it's treason. No matter how it was dealt, he'd end up dead by another man's hands." Amelia plainly answered.

Vance's eyes narrowed at the duchess, who turned her gaze to look out the window.

Amelia felt her breath hitched as her heart pounded against her chest—her head did too. She wanted to separate from her body and take a good look. The words that came out of her mouth were unbelievable. The first ones were surprising enough, but she ended up continuing her train of thought.

Had she, somehow, picked up Alexander's principles? Had she become the thing she thought she'd never be? Someone who disregarded a fair trial—someone who disregarded life?

Amelia closed her eyes and shook her head. She looked back at Mr. Vance, whose gaze never left her, and smiled curtly as she brought the cup of tea back to her lips.

"The tea has gone cold, Uncle." She said, wiping her mouth with the nearby napkin. "I still feel a little groggy. I'd like to try and get some sleep again since the tea has calmed me down now."

"I shall take my leave then, my dear." Mr. Vance broke his gaze and clapped his hands lightly. "I'd have Arabella clear the table and tell Constance and Laila to stay here at your study if ever you needed something—you know, just precautions." He stood up and straightened his royal blue vest decorated with a small gold brooch of House Florence's crest. Vance wore loosely fitted long sleeves with golden cufflinks etched with a rose and black leather gloves like any other day.

The old advisor then helped his duchess to her bedroom. When they got there, he fluffed the pillows and even assisted Amelia with her shoes. She thanked him, and Vance lightly kissed her on the forehead, patting her head in the process. It was as if she was ten again.

"Oh, Uncle Vance," Amelia sounded just when Vance was almost at the entrance to her study, "Have someone fetch me all documents regarding Uncle George's charity programs, donations, and sponsorships. Also, maybe we can get someone from Count Whitt's family or Laila's to investigate his finances too, his current assets, and his last purchases. It's been a while since I last checked on him." Vance stood for a second longer but then bowed his head deeply before leaving.

It really has been a while since she last checked on her estranged—and unwelcomed—uncle. There had been reports here and there about his company, but there was so little evidence to back the claims, it's hard to pin him down. And just because there were rumors about him wanting to inherit Florence's seat—that's why he killed her father's sister in the process—didn't mean that he'd be brave enough to do the same to her. Surely, he wouldn't be so foolish as to try.