Two Days Ago
Royal Palace of House Valentino
Early Morning
The grand corridors of the Royal Palace lay bathed in soft morning light. The silence was only broken by the gentle echo of footsteps measured, graceful.
A young maid, dressed impeccably in the traditional black and white uniform of the Valentino household, moved with quiet elegance. Her dark hair was neatly pinned back, and her expression, though naturally sharp, was softened by a gentle, composed smile. In her hands, she carried a silver tray upon which rested a porcelain cup filled with freshly brewed coffee, delicate steam curling upwards.
As she approached a corner near the east wing, a familiar voice called out.
“Lady Lillian,” said another maid, stepping forward with a bundle of freshly pressed garments in her arms. “Good morning.”
Lillian paused, offering a polite nod. “Good morning to you, Klara.”
Klara glanced around briefly before lowering her voice. “How fares His Highness? I’ve not seen him since the Starline Manor affair.”
Lillian’s expression remained calm, though a flicker of emotion passed through her eyes. “He is recovering. These things take time. It was a… difficult setback. Understandably so. Any young man, even a prince, would struggle after such disappointment. But he is strong of spirit.”
Klara nodded, a trace of worry still on her brow. “I heard he has refused all audiences. Even with Her Majesty, the Queen.”
Lillian smiled faintly, lowering her eyes with humility. “Yes, it is true. His Highness has chosen solitude for now. I am… permitted to attend to him. Only me, for the time being.”
“How curious,” Klara murmured with a subtle, knowing smile. “Take care with him, Lady Lillian. He may not say it, but your presence is likely of more comfort than he lets on.”
Lillian gave a modest bow. “Thank you. If you’ll excuse me, the Prince will be awaiting his morning coffee.”
With that, she continued down the corridor, tray in hand, each step purposeful, silent, and dignified like any royal maid in service to the crown should be.
Moments Later
After a few quiet minutes of walking, Lillian finally arrived at the Prince’s chamber. She paused at the door, glancing around the empty corridor, ensuring no eyes were watching.
Then, without knocking, she slipped inside and shut the door behind her with a soft click.
She exhaled deeply, pressing her back to the door.
Hahh…
The silence inside was heavier than the one outside. Morning light filtered through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the richly adorned room. Her eyes settled on the grand bed where Prince Arthur lay. His head was tilted to the side, turned away, the thick white blanket covering him from feet to neck.
She didn’t look at his body only his face.
Calm. Still. As if he were asleep.
She approached quietly and placed the silver tray on the bedside table with a gentle clink.
Then, with her back to him, she climbed onto the edge of the bed and sat down, legs crossed, staring at the ceiling.
Her formal facade faded, and her voice grew casual familiar.
“Alright, don’t think too much, idiot. It was just a little rejection… why are you acting like you lost your whole life?”
The warmth in her tone gave way to quiet frustration as she spoke, not really expecting an answer.
“I know you’re embarrassed. Being turned down in front of everyone… it must’ve stung.” Her fingers tightened slightly on the edge of her skirt. “But that’s just like you, huh? Always pretending you’re fine until you break alone.”
Still, Arthur didn’t move.
Lillian sighed and leaned her head back.
“Arthur, it’s alright. Your dream of becoming king won’t shatter just because of one small setback. You can’t force everything to follow your plans. Life doesn’t work that way.”
She turned to glance at him, her expression softening. “You know… Her Majesty, the Queen, has asked about you three times. She’s worried, even if you keep shutting her out.”
Her voice grew quieter, laced with tension.
“She told me to ask you: how long will you keep refusing to see her?”
There was no reply. Not a single stir.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Still pretending to sleep?” she whispered. “You’re such an idiot. No one else would know this, but you’re a light sleeper you wake up even at the sound of footsteps.”
She turned toward him, her voice barely a whisper now.
“At least don’t do this to me… Love.”
The word slipped out like a secret sin soft, fragile, and forbidden.
If anyone had heard it, even the Queen… it would’ve shaken the palace. It would’ve exposed what they had so carefully kept hidden.
Lillian looked away again, blinking back the emotion rising in her chest.
“It’s not just you who’s hurting, Arthur,” she murmured. “You think you’re alone in this, but do you even know how hard it is… to stand beside the one you love, and watch him prepare to marry someone else just because I can’t offer him what the world demands?”
Her voice cracked ever so slightly.
“You didn’t even love her. That proposal was for the throne, not your heart.”
She brought her knees to her chest and hugged them gently, her chin resting atop.
“I wish I had a powerful family name. I wish I could be more than just your maid. Then maybe… maybe I could marry you, stand beside you proudly, and tell the world the truth.”
She laughed softly, bitterly. “Sometimes I wonder… is the throne even worth it, Arthur?”
Her gaze wandered back to his still form.
“We grew up together. I know you better than anyone. That obsession with the throne it’s not love. It’s just the idea of it that’s consumed you.”
She shook her head slowly.
“You don’t want power. You want peace. A quiet life, somewhere far away from this madness. You want freedom, not a crown.”
She blinked slowly, tears gathering in her eyes.
“If you gave all this up… if you let go of that dream, I know Her Majesty would accept us. She loves you. I’ve seen it. You’d still be a prince. You’d still be you.”
Her voice trembled.
“You could stop pretending you hate your sister. You don’t. You love her. But you push her away because of this stupid ambition, thinking it’ll make you stronger. It won’t.”
She turned toward him again, her face streaked with tears now.
“Sometimes… sometimes I think you love the Queen more than me,” she whispered, a hint of heartbreak in her voice. “You won’t admit it. But I see it. The way you talk about her. The way you argue with her. It’s not hatred. Not really.”
Her voice dropped lower, breaking.
“Please… stop lying to yourself.”
The tears finally fell, one by one, dripping onto her lap. She covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking.
“I’m scared, Arthur,” she confessed in a whisper. “I’m scared that this obsession will destroy you. You’re forcing yourself into a world that doesn’t fit who you really are. You’re doing things you hate… for what? A crown?”
She sobbed softly, muffling the sound into her palms.
“I don’t want to lose you.”
“Why aren’t you answering me… you idiot,” Lillian whispered, her voice irritated. “Stupid fool… look at me. Just just say something. Let’s clear everything out.”
She turned to face him, her heart aching for even the smallest movement. But Arthur remained still, just as he had been quiet, unmoved.
“Why are you so stubborn?” she murmured, trying to hold back the tears again.
Then she straightened up, wiping her face with her sleeve.
“Fine… I won’t talk about it anymore if you’re going to act like this,” she said quietly, trying to sound unaffected. “Your coffee’s getting cold.”
She glanced at the porcelain cup, steam barely rising now.
“Come on, just sit up and drink it,” she added, forcing a smile. “Forget everything I said. Let’s just start the morning like usual.”
Still nothing.
She reached out and placed her hand gently on his shoulder, shaking him lightly. “Arthur…”
No reaction.
“Alright then,” she huffed, a tiny smile flickering through her sadness. “Guess I’ll have to wake you up the usual way.”
With a soft laugh, she leaned over and slowly guided his body to face her, straightening his posture on the bed. His head rested gently against the pillows now, his sharp features peaceful, as if he truly was just lost in deep sleep.
“So cute…” she whispered, trying to lighten her own heavy heart. She leaned in closer, her fingers cradling his cheeks.
“Wakey, wakey, my panda,” she whispered playfully, before pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips.
Muchh.
She giggled quietly.
But he didn’t move.
Still.
Her fingers still on his face, her brow furrowed. Something felt… off.
“Why is your face so cold?” she muttered, her smile faltering. She pressed her palm to his forehead cold.
Cold face, cold head.
Her breath caught.
“Arthur?” she whispered.
Her voice turned shaky.
She gently patted his cheeks. Then a little harder.
“Come on. Stop playing. Wake up.”
Still nothing.
“Stop it… wake up now. I’m not in the mood.”
Panic began to creep into her chest like a silent scream. Her hands shook as she gripped the edge of the blanket.
She yanked it away.
Her heart stopped.
“Ah… A-Ah…”
Her voice broke as her eyes landed on the sight before her.
“No… no no no… NO!”
A ragged, broken scream tore from her throat.
There right where his heart should be was a dagger, its black hilt barely visible against the dried blood that had long since soaked into his nightshirt. The wound was cruel, silent… final.
Trembling hands reaching out as if trying to push the truth away.
“No… Arthur… Arthur…!” she sobbed, voice cracking in disbelief.
Her fingers hovered over the wound, too afraid to touch it, too horrified to look away.
“Y-You were just… I… I kissed you, and you… you didn’t…”
Tears poured down her cheeks.
“This isn’t fair,” she whispered, curling into herself as her sobs grew louder, “you promised you’d never leave me… you idiot…”
The coffee cup on the tray clinked softly as the morning sunlight filtered into the room warm and golden unaware of the cold, silent end that had come long before it rose.
—