Adelaide sat in the carriage, a wide-brimmed hat shadowing her closed eyes, while she fought the bile in her throat and drew long, careful breaths.

She was on the road to the Douglas Family’s convalescent manor. The coach felt like a lidded steamer with iron bars, part prison, part stove. Her head swam. The wheels jounced. The goose-down cushions were pebbles beneath her, jabbing as she fought not to retch.

Anisa watched her lady, worry etched like faint ink she didn’t dare read aloud. Adelaide knew she looked wretched. She forced a smile, trying to wear her usual mask. Pain bit her wrist. The corner of her mouth twitched, and the doubt in Anisa’s eyes deepened.

“My lady, there’s a lovely little flower market nearby,” Anisa ventured, soft as a breeze. “It’s camellia season. Maybe we could… get some fresh air?”

Camellias. The word brushed her mind like a petal. Adelaide blinked, took a moment, then gave a small nod.

Anisa, relieved, lifted a hand to ring the little bell overhead. Before her fingers found it, the carriage braked hard.

If Anisa hadn’t grabbed her, Adelaide would’ve slid off the seat with the inertia. The jolt was anything but pleasant. Adelaide lifted her head to ask what happened—then a smell drifted in and stopped her breath.

Blood.

It was faint, a thin rusted thread. Only someone like Adelaide, too sensitive to the scent, would catch the hint of rot it carried. She turned to the side window with its little grille. A convoy was rolling past ahead.

Not a trader’s train. Never mind the costly blackwood paneling on every coach. The sheer number dwarfed anything a merchant could field.

Through the barred slit, she couldn’t see the end of it. Only the middle showed a massive carriage not meant for passengers. A whole squad of Royal Knights rode escort at its flanks.

The royal family. But what were they bringing into Balad?

Adelaide glanced at her maid, a question in her eyes. Anisa looked away.

Voices drifted from outside, light as dust.

“Tsk, tsk. Even moving wedding furniture, they put on a parade. The royals really want to slap the Supreme Tribunal and the Red Orchid Society with this marriage,” a young man drawled. “So what d’you think—was that underground lab real?”

“Of course not. ‘They shipped more than a hundred thousand corpses under our feet. Decades of human experiments without a peep.’ You believe that?”

The second man sped up. He only earned a snort.

“Ha. Touchy much? Sounds like you’re just grieving over that batch of crude coagulant serum you couldn’t sell.”

The man stomped. “Look who’s talking. If His Highness Samir were engaged to the Douglas Family’s eldest, would you still back the Supreme Tribunal?”

“What, you like Princess Belior?”

He spat. “Don’t make me sick. Who’d like a woman who keeps pushing her luck, day after day—”

The voice cut off as Anisa shut the little window. She looked, rattled, at Adelaide. The brim hid Adelaide’s face. Her expression sank into shadow.

“L-let’s go to the flower market now, my lady…”

“No need.”

Her tone was mild, but Anisa saw her hand knotted tight.

“I… want to rest a while.”

Adelaide closed her eyes. Until they reached their stop, she didn’t say another word to her anxious maid. She looked asleep, as if the road itself had lulled her under.

The Douglas Family’s sanatorium stood in a small town half a day from Balad. The city’s evening bell couldn’t touch it. The crowd’s roar didn’t live here. Only birds stitched the air and frogs plucked strings by the ditch. In the green thickets, a purple orchid would sometimes lift its head. Dew beaded on its petals. The carriage’s passing shook a drop loose, and it slid like a tear.

Their coach stopped before a mansion larger than the main house. Anisa handed their luggage to the butler. She turned to wake her lady—and froze. Adelaide already sat in a waiting wheelchair.

Her color was steady. The same gentle smile curved her lips. She looked composed, as if she’d folded her heart and put it away.

“What is it, my good Anisa?”

That familiar cadence smoothed Anisa’s fear like a cool palm.

“It’s nothing. I just think this town is beautiful,” Anisa said, pushing her into the garden. She pointed. “Those are Tam flowers, famous for their heady bloom. You can’t grow them in the city heat. This place is perfect for summer…”

“Ah?”

A comical yelp broke her words. They turned from the flowerbed and saw a woman half-slumped in a wheelchair. She pointed at Adelaide. Her face moved in slow motion, blankness dilating into surprise.

Anisa was struck dumb. She hadn’t placed the woman. Adelaide had. She dipped her chin.

“It’s been a while, Aunt Emily.”

“Good afternoon, Lady Adelaide,” answered the maid behind the chair. Emily herself pulled her lips up, slow and awkward. Saliva leaked from her half-open mouth. Her maid wiped her collar without fuss. A slight ripple crossed Adelaide’s crimson eyes and vanished.

“My apologies. We still have luggage to see to. We won’t keep Aunt company today.”

She put her palms to the rims, ready to roll away. Emily spoke, halting.

“You… also… in a wheelchair?”

Her hand trembled as she pointed at Adelaide’s grip. Then she laughed.

“Live… here… with me!”

The words were slurred, bright with a child’s joy. Adelaide stopped.

“Only to escape the heat. I won’t be staying,” she said without turning. “Good night, Aunt Emily.”

The warmth had gone from her voice, like the carriage ride all over again. Anisa’s eased heart climbed back into her throat.

So her lady still…

Adelaide sat at a new desk. Letter paper, quill, and ink lay before her. The long-empty room carried a fine dust smell.

She took one slow breath, dipped the quill, and wrote the opening line.

—Dear His Highness Samir,

Ridiculous. Did her useless parents truly think that dumping her in the Douglas Family’s “sanatorium” for castoffs would make her sit and rot? That she’d fester here with her disabled aunt?

Don’t joke. She wouldn’t stop here. She’d woven her network for years. The Douglas Family couldn’t soft-lock her. She only had to write to Samir. He would pull strings and take her out of this grave.

That was why she’d courted him—so her backer would tower over her inept parents. She had him now. All she had to do was finish the letter.

Yes. Complain a little about how poorly she was treated. Add a few tender, suggestive lines. That’s it. That simple. Just that simple.

She reached to go on and looked down. The paper was punctured.

Right through the name “Samir.”

She stared at the tear, as if she didn’t know how it happened. She did know. The sting in her wrist. Bile surging up. The voice that wouldn’t stop in her skull. Everything roared one wild thought at her.

Mira… cannot marry this man!

Adelaide crushed the paper in her fist.

You’ve lost it, Adelaide. What is that even supposed to be? Because you found out Mira’s been trying to seize the Sacred Heart for you, you’re moved? Now you want to be a good sister?

Give it a rest. Too late for that. And even if she wanted it, you wouldn’t do it. You’re Adelaide, the vilest little thing. You hug people only to drive a knife home.

That’s right. You’ll let Mira marry Samir, so she can help you steal the Sacred Heart the royals guard. You risk nothing. You never wanted a princess’s title. You wanted the goodwill you’ve been stacking. Remember what you heard this morning? That was applause for your perfect act. The more they love you, the more they hate Mira. Exactly what you want. Get a fresh sheet and pen. You’ve set the board. The betrothal moved up and the script drifted, but it’s fine. Play your hand steady. Execute, step by step. You’ll be the last one standing.

Yes. You must be the last one standing.

A voice just like hers danced and jeered in her head. Her nails pierced her palm. She lurched up. The bracelet’s sting couldn’t cage the ripping in her soul. She clutched her head and let out a ragged breath. Her legs buckled. The bed was right there.

She fell face-first and curled small.

She could stand. She didn’t want to. If she stood, she’d have to finish the letter. So she wouldn’t stand.

She let herself dissolve into an airless dark, drifting a deep sea whose floor she could never touch.

Again, she thought of the time she was unconscious. It had hurt, and she still looked forward—to that thread of camellia scent, the warmth of a human palm.

If it woke her again, maybe she could decide.

But the warmth didn’t come. Noise in the room woke her instead. She opened her eyes and thought she was dreaming.

Anisa stood at the desk, holding the crumpled letter she’d made yesterday. She stared at the ink, lost.

The scene repeated. Every time Adelaide woke from a nightmare, she found the petite maid there, mouth half-open, words caught.

Because it was familiar, Adelaide caught the new difference in the room. She sighed in feigned regret.

“Ah. My good Anisa no longer trusts her lady. You think I can’t handle a summer breeze?”

“Eh?”

At her blank look, Adelaide rose and went to the window. She pushed it open. Damp grass sighed into the room. She glanced back and smiled.

“When I’m ill, you always open the windows at dawn, don’t you?”

“Th-that…”

Anisa squirmed under the meaning in her smile. Teasing like this had long been their ritual. Adelaide was used to steering her maid’s heart away with small jokes.

Today felt different. After the tease, Adelaide kept her gaze on Anisa, as if the one being distracted was herself.

She watched Anisa; she watched that drifting, lost gaze, like a leaf circling in a slow current.

She watched her small hands knotting the maid’s skirt, like little sparrows clutching a branch.

Those hands weren’t tofu-white, yet they weren’t paved with the dry bark of calluses like other maids.

That was natural; as her personal maid, she did no rough work that bites the skin, like thorns snagging cloth.

Yet this obvious thing, Adelaide noticed for the first time, like a coin gleaming in dust.

For some reason, the air held a nameless magic, like warm mist wrapping the room.

Even this trivial finding glowed with allure, like a lantern lit at dusk.

It tugged her gaze across her maid’s crimson face, fishing for any small, bright oddity, like minnows flicking in clear water.

The strange feeling lasted, like a stretched string, until Anisa shouted.

“That wasn’t me. It never was!”

The spell burst like glass; Adelaide was dragged back into a summer thick as damp wool.

She looked at Anisa and finally saw the flush burn with resolve, not shame, like embers under ash.

“…What?” The word dropped like a pebble into a well.

“Those are the traces Miss Mira left when she departed; when you were ill, she stayed by your side—last year’s fever, and eight years ago too—like a night lamp that never went out!”

Without any preface, Anisa spilled a near ten-year secret in one breath, like a dam giving way.

But her resolve got no answer, like an arrow sinking into sand.

Adelaide stood there blank, then turned to the window, where a big butterfly, after circling the flowerbed like a lazy kite, settled on a blooming Tamm flower.

“I know.” She watched the butterfly and answered, her voice thin as paper.

Her reaction was almost cold; Anisa froze, like frost on a blade.

“Really! I saw it myself, but Miss Mira… she wouldn’t let me tell you!” her words flurried like startled sparrows.

“Stop talking, Anisa.” The order fell like a lid.

“When you were trapped underground, Miss Mira went down to save you, but she refused to admit it… I—I just want to tell you, she must have some unspoken reason—”

“—I said, shut up!” The shout cracked like thunder under a low ceiling.

Adelaide spun and roared at Anisa, like a storm bursting from a clear sky.

It was the first time in years her mistress had scolded her; she stumbled back and hit the wall, like a moth thudding against stone.

“Eh? B-but…” Her voice fluttered like torn paper.

She shook, tears pooling like rain in a cup, but Adelaide didn’t relent; she slammed her palm into the wall by her head, cornering her like a hunter pinning prey.

“But what? But she climbs through windows to ‘care’ for her sister at death’s door, like a cat at midnight?

But she wants to use the Sacred Heart to ‘repay’ the scar she carved into my chest?

So what? Am I supposed to thank her? Thank her for wrecking my plans again and again, thank her for stealing everything from me, over and over, like waves eating a shore?!”

Adelaide tore off that young-lady mask; she couldn’t keep it on, like silk ripping at the seam.

Confusion, hatred, pain, hesitation, guilt—everything crowded in at once, like a flock of crows swarming a field.

Her head felt ready to split; the old wound in her chest pulsed off-beat, like a drum with a torn skin.

She had tried to wrench her mind away, to flee thoughts of Mira, but that name chased her, like a shadow stitched to her heels.

Everyone and everything kept reminding her, forcing Adelaide to face it, like road signs closing in from both sides.

So she snapped, like a bowstring breaking.

Adelaide lowered her head; at first her mouth bent in a small curve, then she laughed beyond control, like emptying her lungs into a cold wind.

It was a reckless laugh, mixing self-mock tremble and a painful moan, like glass and salt in the same cup.

It went on who knows how long, until she coughed and her fingertips tingled with lack of air; only then did it ebb, like a tide sliding back.

Then she bit down on her teeth and spoke, word by word, like nails driven into wood.

“I hate her… What she owes me, nothing can repay.” The words fell like stones.

That line was a summary; in her mind a string snapped, and all the clamor found its rails, like trains clicking onto track.

Everything suddenly made sense, and the soul-rending pain dissolved, like frost under sun.

Yes. Mira owes me, and she will never pay it back in this life, like a debt carved in bone.

When Adelaide lifted her face again, she wore that young-lady look; a gentle smile hung there, like spring light after rain.

As if nothing had happened—of course it only made Anisa more unsure, like a rabbit hearing a quiet forest creak.

With emotions swinging like a pendulum, she must look like a lunatic split by a cracked mirror.

Adelaide knew it, and didn’t care; she cupped her maid’s trembling cheeks and lifted her gaze, like a hand raising a fragile lamp.

“My good Anisa, we’re still friends, right?”

Anisa’s breath shook; she almost wanted to shake her head, but Adelaide looked so sincere.

In those crimson eyes lay a trace of softness and helplessness, like a petal caught in a stream.

It swayed Anisa’s heart, like wind moving a hanging bell.

So Anisa nodded at last, and Adelaide’s face lit with surprise, like a window catching dawn.

She took Anisa’s hand, just like the first time she pushed this mistress to school, and was asked to defy the Duke and Duchess of the Douglas Family, like stepping off a marked path.

“Great! Then, as a friend, I have a small request—”