"Tell me. Please, I’m going crazy. Tell me," Elian held Lysandra’s hand, his eyes begging.
They were standing in the quiet hallway to Lysandra’s room, and Elian had specifically come for her the next morning after he barely slept.
He couldn’t bear it any longer, and everything in him craved to know what had turned Lucien so dark and unresponsive to love.
"Please..." he whispered, "Something... anything."
Lysandra sighed, placing her hand on Elian’s shoulder, "Elian, ignoring what I told you about Lucien, do you think that will make him love you back? Or would that make him angry and permanently withdraw from you?" she asked softly, cupping his chin.
"We all have secrets and demons, Elian. How would you feel if I told everyone about what you can do? Would you still like me?" she questioned.
Elian leaned his face tiredly into her palm, shutting his eyes, "No," he replied quietly.
Lysandra was right; Lucien’s secret was only his to share. Forcing it out from someone else would not yield a good result.
"But, like I said, he was just a boy who saw what he should never have seen. It broke him, shaped him, and took away his warmth, leaving behind the cold, unfeeling man you know today," she whispered, glancing around the quiet hallway.
"Give him time, Elian... I mean, a very long time. I believe he will heal," she told him.
Elian exhaled deeply, slowly nodding his head, "Okay... alright," he murmured, stepping away from Lysandra and straightening his back, "I understand, thank you."
Lysandra smiled, "You poor child... did you have to go and fall in love?" she chuckled, shaking her head.
Elian scoffed quietly, "I still can’t believe it. Or, perhaps it’s not love? Could this be another form of hate that just wants me to be so close to him so I can finally hurt him?" he mumbled.
Lysandra laughed softly, "Hate does not care. You care, you worry, you want, you cry, you beg... that’s not hate, Elian; that is complete, wholesome love. You love him, Elian," she said with a smile.
Elian was quiet for a while, Lucien’s handsome face appearing in his mind. "Unfortunately, I do love him," he chuckled bitterly at himself.
He suddenly recalled how scared and empty Lucien’s eyes had turned last night when Lucien was grabbing his wrists. It almost looked like something was triggered inside Lucien, something that temporarily took him to a place.
Elian wondered if anything he had said last night was linked to Lucien’s trauma. Everything was just getting puzzled up with each new dawn, and Elian believed he might go crazy if he got no true hint at the truth in the few days.
"Lysandra," Rowena’s voice cut through the solace of the hallway.
Elian immediately snapped out of his thoughts, clearing his throat and stepping further away from Lysandra.
"Your Majesty, good morning," Lysandra bowed.
"What is he doing here? His room is in the other hallway," Rowena pointed her thumb over her shoulder.
Lysandra was about to speak when Elian suddenly slid past Rowena.
"It’s none of your business," he murmured as he slid past her, balling his fists at the smug smile on her face.
He took two steps and paused, snapping his head back to her. Rowena had engaged in a conversation with Lysandra, but Elian could not shake off the odd feeling he felt as he passed her.
As if she could see him staring at her, Rowena turned her head, lifting her lips the slightest in a mocking smirk.
Frowning, Elian turned away and left.
Something was not right.
And this time, he sensed something far darker than Rowena’s usual malicious acts.
He had just stepped into the busy grand hall when he heard a painful, piercing cry of a woman outside.
"Help! My child is dying!"
His body froze, his pulse spiking low before it drummed in his ears.
He recognized that voice... Lynda’s mother.
And Lynda’s mother had only one child... Lynda.
"No," Elian gasped.
He glanced back toward the hallway where he knew Rowena was, and then he looked out the door, right where Lynda needed him beside her.
Cursing under his breath, he ran out of the manor.
Coming from behind the stables was Lynda’s mother, carrying her unmoving child toward the manor.
Elian ran toward her, not minding the pain and discomfort in his chest. Fear was gripping him from within, and the closer he got, the harder the claws of fear clamped into his skin.
"Rosalie, what happened?" he asked shakily, taking the wet, unconscious girl from her mother.
He was heading straight to Soren, his jaws clenched in determination.
"S-she drowned... in a well. A man found her," Rosalie stammered.
Before they even reached the infirmary, Soren was already at the door, waiting for them. He gently took Lynda from Elian, carrying her inside.
"How long was she in the well?" Soren asked, starting compressions on Lynda’s chest.
Rosalie fell to her knees beside Lynda’s bed, her lips trembling as she cried, "I-I don’t know. She said she was going to look for her papa, and the next thing I hear is a man shouting for help behind the stables," she sobbed, taking her daughter’s limp hand.
"When I got there, she was already like this, drenched and unconscious. Will my daughter be okay, Doctor?" she cried, her chest heaving.
Soren sighed, staring at the unresponsive girl, "You need to let me work, Rosalie. Please, be calm," he told her, rushing over to grab a towel.
Elian was standing quietly, rage tearing through his veins as he finally realized why Rowena was giving him that smug look.
Heaven forgive him if his instinct dared to be right. Princess or not, Rowena was about to find out that not all souls are for toying.
Lynda was innocent!
Why did Rowena have to go for a child just to hurt him?
"Hey, it’s okay, Rosalie," he lowered himself beside Rosalie, rubbing her back gently, "She will be just fine," he muttered, gently taking Lynda’s hand from her mother’s.
"Oh, heavens, I pray my child lives. Please, baby, live," Rosalie wept, pressing her forehead on Elian’s shoulder.
Meanwhile, Elian’s eyes were already shut as he took hold of Lynda’s hand. His heart was racing; if he could see her memories, it meant she was alive, but if he didn’t... he gulped, shaking his head to concentrate.
Rosalie’s cry was distracting him, but he shut his eyes tightly, wrapping his hand tighter around Lynda’s.
The girl was fading away, and so were her memories. He could not see them clearly; they were blurry and unstable.
A tear rolled down his cheek. Lynda was fighting to live, fighting to cling to life, to open her eyes.
Pushing his emotions to the side, he tried again, focusing on the fleeting life force he sensed within her, and this time, he saw it.
Lynda was heading toward his room when Rowena intercepted her and asked her to walk with her. She led the little girl behind the stables and asked her to wait there. The image suddenly shifted to Rowena returning with a man; he seemed to work in the stables.
At first, the man seemed reluctant, but after a while, he nodded and Rowena walked away.
"No," Elian gasped, but he never let go of Lynda’s hand.
The next scene broke him to pieces. The man had lifted Lynda, tied a rope to her ankles, and despite her struggles, he threw her into the well.
It ended there. All he could see was how Lynda was struggling in there, dark, cold, and drowning.
He didn’t leave her hand; he tortured himself with that image, wishing he had felt it instead of her.
She had fought to live, but the water was nothing for a child like her to survive.
’I should have taught you how to swim that day,’ he gritted his teeth.
"Elian," Soren’s voice sounded beside him.
Elian slowly opened his eyes and lifted his face to Soren, his eyes red with anger.
"Are you okay? I really need to help her," Soren spoke gently.
"Make sure she lives... please," Elian muttered and stood.
Without any other words, he walked out of the infirmary, his steps slow, determined.
Outside, a few maids gathered around the courtyard, murmuring about the drowning incident. Even as he walked into the grand hall, everyone was whispering, talking.
He ignored everything and everyone; he only had one target... Rowena.
Marching into the hallway, he found Rowena still chatting with Lysandra.
"What did you do to her?" his voice rang low and dark behind Rowena.
Slowly, Rowena turned, her lips curled into a smile as she stared at Elian’s darkening face.
"What is he talking about?" Rowena shrugged at Lysandra.
"What are you talking about, Elian?" Lysandra asked, her voice worried.
"I’ll see you in the afternoon for tea, Lysandra –argh!" Rowena’s back was suddenly slammed against the wall, her neck caught in a tight, choking grip by Elian’s fingers.
"W-what, are...." Rowena couldn’t speak; she tapped Elian’s hand, her face turning bright red as she lost air to her lungs.
"What did you do to her?!" Elian screamed at her face, his fingers tightening around her neck as he breathed hard.
Lysandra suddenly came out of her shock and ran over to Elian, "Elian, please, stop this, she is dying–"
"Then let her die!" Elian screamed, "Tell me what you did, you bitch!" he demanded angrily, glaring at Rowena’s now paling face.
"I... Elian..." Rowena’s hand suddenly went limp and fell to her side, her eyes slowly rolling upward.
"Elian, stop!" Lucien’s voice boomed.
The next thing Elian felt was a harsh shove on his shoulder and his body hitting the floor hard.
He grunted, forcing himself onto his knees to absorb the pain that spread through his chest.
Rowena gasped loudly, falling into Lucien’s arms as he touched her red neck. "He... he tried to kill me, Lucien–"
"No, she tried to kill Lynda–"
"Enough!" Lucien growled, lifting Rowena into his arms, his eyes staring at Elian in disappointment and anger.
"This time, your actions will be duly punished, young Morel–"
"Well, fuck you, Your Grace," Elian murmured, slowly pinning his eyes on Rowena who was safely tucked under Lucien’s chin.
"Pray he kills me, Princess. If not, I’ll finish what I started," Elian smirked.
Lucien gritted his teeth as he turned away, carrying Rowena away.
"Take him to the dungeon," Lucien ordered the guards at the corner.
Elian heard it and suddenly started laughing, "Thank you, Your Grace! That is actually a sacred place compared to your manor!" he shouted, lowering his head as his tears streamed down his face.
Again, truth was being concealed by power.
Again, he felt useless.
This was the reason why he did not bother pursuing the truth so hard, because in the end, power was the new truth.
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