Hours Earlier…
"I beg your pardon, Your Highness?" Darian asked, turning his head as the carriage rumbled beneath them.
"You heard me, Sir Darian," Princess Sylteena said, her tone firm. "We must detour to the deeper parts of the Domestic Forest. We need to find the Vairlinthas flower."
Philip blinked, carefully steadying the swirling black potion bottle in his lap.
The carriage jolted over a crooked stone path, its gold-trimmed interior glowing dimly beneath the overhead lantern. Thick red curtains bounced lightly against the sliver of the open window, letting in the cool breath of evening.
"But… Why?" Philip asked slowly.
"Because," Sylteena began, "This is the only time of year the Vairlinthas blooms — a rare flower. I found a note about it in a forgotten corner of the royal archives. It was barely mentioned. But it's the same flower the Queen had in her wedding bouquet. Sentimental, rare, beautiful. If I show up with it, she'll be touched. She likely won't question why I left."
Darian's brow creased. "So this whole flower trip is a cover story."
She nodded. "Exactly. I cannot have her suspecting the real reason I'm leaving the palace."
"To meet the Black Witch," Philip murmured, eyes on the potion.
"Which is also illegal," Darian added dryly.
"Which is why we need to be cautious," Sylteena agreed, glancing between them. "The Queen is my only real concern. If she gets suspicious. If she notices any shift in my behavior, she'll restrict my movement. I can't let that happen."
Philip hesitated. "What about Prince Anthony? Won't he question where you've gone?"
Sylteena gave a short, sharp laugh. "Prince Anthony doesn't care where I go. If I disappeared forever, he'd probably celebrate."
The carriage fell silent. Only the wheels and the wind filled the air.
Philip looked away, a muscle ticking in his jaw. Darian's gaze dropped.
Sylteena quickly cut through the moment before it softened.
"That's not the point right now," she said briskly. "What matters is that no one suspects anything. Once I excuse this little adventure as a sentimental gesture for the Queen, we move to stage two. I'll need to leave the palace again. Tonight. To meet the Sliqruki."
Another unpleasant silence crept in.
Darian finally nodded. "Understood, Your Highness."
Sylteena smiled.
Philip glanced at her one last time, as if trying to read between cracks she wouldn't show. But she was already done with the conversation, her gaze fixed on the research documents in her lap — mind far ahead of the road they traveled.
His jaw clenched as he looked down again.
Just how far gone is she with this obsession of hers…?
• • •
Presently…
Princess Sylteena stood quietly in the grand corridor, the evening light casting a soft gold hue across her face from the towering windows.
In her hands bloomed the bouquet — wild, rare, beautiful. Its scent floated into the air like the ghost of a forgotten spring.
Queen Rebecca stood opposite her, eyes wide, lips parted. No words nor breath escaped. She stilled in stunned silence.
The flower had frozen her — anchored her in place, memories swimming in her gaze. She looked both dazed and… Moved.
"Where were you?" Prince Wilhelm's voice sliced through the moment, snapping the Queen from her trance.
Sylteena turned to him, dipping into a gentle bow, her face a portrait of serenity.
"I went to the Domestic Forest outside the city, Your Highness," she said softly. "I once read about these flowers… And I believed they'd bloom this season. I thought… It might be worth the trip."
She smiled, beaming with disarming warmth — like a gesture blooming straight from the heart.
Anthony, standing near one of the tall windows, didn't say a word with crossed arms and tight jaws— His displeasure was loud without a sound.
Queen Rebecca blinked, her composure slowly stitching itself back together. She stepped forward, reaching out with trembling fingers toward the bouquet, as if afraid it would vanish on contact.
"I haven't…" She whispered. "…I haven't seen these flowers in decades. Where did you find them? What made you…?" Her voice faltered. "Why now?"
"It's the least I could do, Your Majesty," Sylteena murmured, offering the bouquet. "A token of gratitude… For accepting me into your home."
She didn't wait to see Rebecca's face change. She bowed again, low and respectful — Saying no more than necessary.
But yet, it was enough.
For a family that resented her very existence, the royal matriarch wavered quickly in the face of flattery.
Sylteena straightened just in time to catch Anthony's glare — sharp, cold, poisonous. His blue eyes fixed on the flowers like they might infect the room.
He hated that she pleased his mother.
Worse, he hated that the gesture looked genuine.
His fingers curled tightly into his sleeves.
Wilhelm, on the other hand, was all contrast. His expression softened, his usual mischief traded for curiosity and quiet praise. He smiled, clearly impressed.
Queen Rebecca remained still with the bouquet now cradled in her arms like a relic from her youth. Her fingers brushed the petals reverently, lips twitching at the corners.
It took her a moment to remember herself.
She then cleared her throat, straightening her shoulders.
"Y–Yes, well," she said, tone regaining its edge. "While your thoughts were… Unnecessary. They were considerate. But do not leave the palace without my permission again. Understood?"
"I understand, Your Majesty. I apologize," Sylteena replied. "I only didn't want to spoil the surprise."
But the Queen wasn't listening anymore. Her eyes were back on the bouquet — and the muttered words that followed gave her away.
"They're still as beautiful," she murmured. "Just as I remember…"
Queen Rebecca turned slowly, clutching the flowers closer like someone might change their mind and take them back.
"Take care of yourselves," she said passively, waving off her sons. Then, without another word, she began ascending the staircase toward her chambers.
Anthony didn't say a thing. Not to Sylteena nor to anyone else. He turned sharply and stormed off toward the opposite end of the hall, disappearing without a backward glance.
Wilhelm — the last man standing — chuckled softly.
"Not bad," he said with a nod, then followed the same staircase his mother took.
Sylteena remained alone in the corridor, save for Darian and Philip behind her — both visibly relieved.
The scent of the bouquet still lingered, sweet and surreal.
And so did the satisfaction that their plan… was working.
Almost too well.