47: Snakes in the bushes

Snakes in the bushes

0Anastasia had just finished tying the other two ends of her handkerchief together when she heard Prince Dante's question. Even though most people weren't aware of her relationship with her sister, the first prince was the only royal who knew of it, and she turned to meet his gaze on her. 

"After serving Princess Emily, I went to her room to tidy it…" Anastasia answered him, because that was where she had gone. 

"And," Dante pressed the maid. 

Knowing the maid was in a delicate state right now made it easier to confirm a few things. They had both lost one of their family members, and he wasn't planning to rest until he found out who was behind the deaths. 

Anastasia felt like she could barely breathe because the stress in her was piling up to the point that it was going to crumble down soon. She explained to him, "I didn't kill King William. I swear on my sister's ashes; I never thought about it, and neither did she." As Marianne wasn't alive, she defended her sister by saying, "She was a gentle woman, and she would panic over the slightest things. She wasn't coura—"

"I asked you where you were, Anastasia. Not if you killed the king or not," Dante's eyes pierced through hers, which only made her nervous. 

Bracing herself, Anastasia answered, "I—I was out of the palace. At the Bazaar."

"I don't remember my sister mentioning anything about sending you to the Bazaar. Nor did Norrix send any maids to the Bazaar. What were you doing there?" Dante continued interrogating her, his gaze on her getting heavier, and she tried to breathe through her lips.

Anastasia looked away as guilt filled her chest. She replied, "It was my own decision. Mary was supposed to come to the Bazaar too."

Dante's eyes narrowed at Anastasia, and she stepped backwards in fear. Marianne was his brother Maxwell's concubine. He would have disciplined her, but she and her sister had punished themselves all on their own.

He said, "Maybe if she stayed put, she wouldn't have been killed or questioned about her intentions. No one saw her for more than an hour before her death." 

His words were nothing less than a stab in her heart, but they held a pinch of truth. And then her eyebrows furrowed before she asked him, 

"You believe that she didn't kill the king?" 

Dante turned to look at the red coals that continued to burn brightly inside the furnace. "The one who killed my father is also the one who killed your sister."

Anastasia's heart clenched, and she asked, "How do you know?" 

"Your sister had multiple stab wounds on her back, and the dagger length and cuts were the same on both victims," Dante explained. "There are two possibilities. One where the murderer killed your sister first because that person didn't like her, and my father, who witnessed this, was the next person to die. Because the murderer wanted to avoid being punished. That's just one possibility. One."

"What is the second possibility?" Anastasia asked him. 

"That my father died first, and your sister stumbled upon the scene when it took place. She knew who killed my father. The murderer noticed her presence, and to silence her, she was stabbed in the back and then in the front. There was a wound on the side of her head," Dante's eyes were hollow and void of emotion as he separated his emotions from his responsibilities. 

Anastasia's eyes watered again. In either case, the murderer had mercilessly killed her sister. She said, 

"When I saw her earlier, her back seemed fine, and there were no wounds on her head…"

"I had the maids bathe her and change her clothes yesterday. The wounds were stitched early in the morning," Dante responded. He had to check for any other wounds inflicted on her before she would be burned. 

Even though Dante's words were as sharp as a sword, his gestures towards her dead sister were humane, and Anastasia was thankful towards the prince's actions. She bowed, holding the handkerchief closely to her chest and said, "Thank you. Thank you for not dismissing her or throwing her into the sea." 

Servants, concubines, and courtesans didn't have tombs like the people of high status. They were either burned or bound and cast into the sea. Unless the Blackthorn King and Queen deemed the person of the palace worthy enough to deserve burial in the cemetery, this practice had been followed for centuries. 

Bowing again, Anastasia said, "Thank you for allowing me to see my sister."

When she began to walk backwards to leave the dungeon and return to the servants' quarters, Dante remarked, 

"Before you leave, let me offer you a piece of advice not many are fortunate to receive," he paused, and Anastasia stopped moving her feet. "Don't try to escape the palace. Especially not with a prince's concubine, or a prince."

He knew about Prince Aiden too… Anastasia said to herself. Of course he would know, as Prince Aiden must have also been interrogated about where he was last evening. 

"Yes, Prince Dante," Anastasia replied, and she left the dungeon. 

Dante stared in the direction the maid had gone, feeling the back of his hand tickle, making him rub it. His family was the first to be interrogated, and the investigation had then moved on to the guests. Though some of the guests wanted to leave after hearing the bad news, they weren't allowed. The servants would be questioned today to learn what they were doing during the hour of his father's death. 

Last evening, when Aiden stepped inside the room with the maid, Dante knew they had been together. His sister, Emily, had told him she had sent the maid away to rest. He had also inquired with Norrix and the others in charge, men and women, about the ones under their care.

Dante was about to leave when he heard something snap inside the furnace. His gaze fell on a lump of coal that glowed dimly. But instead of exhausting itself, the redness increased, and it caught his attention. 

Pulling off one of his gloves, he opened the small gate of the furnace and picked up the hot coal with his bare hand. The surface of his palm sizzled, and he felt the coal slowly turning cold. Hearing footsteps echoing from the stairs, he wrapped his fingers around the coal, crushed it, and put his glove back on. 

The person who appeared there was his brother Maxwell, who had been in shock since last evening. Maxwell walked over to where Dante stood, and his eyes briefly moved to the furnace. He said with a condescending smile, 

"I see that you have already burned my concubine." 

"Did you want me to wait for you? Considering you didn't bother to see her until now," Dante replied as they stared at each other. He said, "I wouldn't blame me if I were you, as your attention is on Lady Evin and our father." 

"Who you barely mourned for," Maxwell stated. "But I can understand that, because our father showed you less affection. Did Zion find out anything about who possibly killed our father and my concubine?" 

Dante stared at Maxwell, weighing the words uttered by his brother, before he replied, "I thought you already inquired with him twice. It is good to see you trying to find the culprit. It makes you appear less suspicious. Especially with clean hands now." 

"Sometimes I don't know if your words for me are said out of disappointment or appreciation," Maxwell smiled, which didn't reach his eyes. "You are the one who often deals with these things, so I was hoping you would have gotten somewhere." 

Dante's lips twisted into a slight smile, and he said, "I will let you know if I find something. And I hope for the same from you." 

"Of course," Maxwell responded, and Dante gave him a nod before starting to walk away from there. 

When Dante reached the end of the passage, he turned and noticed Maxwell standing in front of the furnace, staring at it. Leaving his brother there, he made his way out of the dungeon and over to one side of the palace. The servant who stood outside one of the rooms opened the door for him, and he stepped inside his mother's room. 

Hearing his mother cough, Dante questioned the maid, "Did you not give her the medicine?" 

He made his way towards where his mother was resting, sitting on a couch with a blanket spread over her lower body. 

"I did, Prince Dante," the maid replied. "She hasn't been able to eat or drink."

Dante frowned. Dismissing the maid from the room, he sat next to his mother, who stared at him. 

"You didn't sleep the entire night, did you?" Lady Lucretia placed her hand on her son's cheek, and the prince didn't shy away. 

"We should worry about you, and not me," Dante responded, and when his mother began to cough again, he poured a glass of water and offered it to her. 

His mother hadn't always been this sick and had fallen ill less than a year ago. What began as a fever and losing weight, which she never completely recovered from, had developed over time into coughing up blood. Her sickness hindered her already-reduced status, leaving her to spend most of her time in her room.

This was why Lady Lucretia had been the last family member to know about King William's death. She asked, 

"How is everyone holding up?" 

"The way they usually handle other things. Much more openly this time, however," Dante answered her, and she nodded. The family members began to mistrust each other and cast blame on whomever they found suspicious. When he noticed his mother's smile, while her eyes held sadness, he asked, "What is it?" 

"You care more about your father than you think you do. Trying to find out the truth about what happened to him," Lady Lucretia said, looking into her son's black eyes. 

"He wasn't the only one who died yesterday. Maxwell's concubine died too," Dante let her know, which had her purse her lips. He said, "If something like that happened to you and I wasn't there, I would want someone to find out the truth." 

Lady Lucretia gave an understanding nod. Because of who she was, her son held a soft spot towards the courtesans and concubines while equally despising their existence. 

"I still find it hard to comprehend that he's gone. He always knew what was going to come at him," she sighed. Even though she had been cast aside, she still loved King William the same as the first time they had met each other. "You have to be careful, Dante. So that no one blames you because the king didn't give you the throne. Have they already blamed you?" She asked him. 

Dante said to ease his mother's worries, "No, they haven't done it. I was out in the town and later with the guests."

But questions had already been raised, and so fingers were pointed at him. After all, out of all his male siblings, Aiden was the king's legally wedded wife's son, Maxwell had found his soulmate, and his father had decided to crown him as the next king, while his youngest brother Victor was only thirteen and wouldn't be able to sit on the throne any time soon, leaving him alone. 

He was the first prince without a Crux and had no right to the throne in the eyes of the king and his subjects. 

After spending all his spare time with his mother, it was time to return to work, which was piling up with the death and the upcoming war. Stepping out of the room, he began to head towards the court when he felt the back of his hands prickle, but didn't pay attention to it. 

On the way, one of the servants ran up to him with a terrified look on his face. 

"P—Prince Dante, th—there," the servant had difficulty forming words.0

Dante's jaws clenched, wondering if another death had occurred, and he snapped, "Speak clearly." 

The servant looked as if he saw a ghost, and he pointed his hand toward the abandoned side of the palace. He stuttered, "That, we—we were cleaning and we think there are snakes in the bushes!" 

Dante stared at the servant before asking with a sigh, "Where did you see them?" 

"In the garden," the servant answered with dread. 

Making their way to the abandoned side of the palace, Dante stepped into the garden and the servants stood back, watching him from afar.

While he looked around, he noticed something unusual about the Blackthorn rose. Though the rose was wilted, facing downwards, the stems near the ground caught his attention. They were no longer dead and dry, but had turned green.

But why was it changing suddenly without a trigger? He turned and questioned the servants, "Did anyone touch this plant?" 

"We haven't, Prince Dante! We wouldn't dare!" The servants replied. They never stepped into the garden because it was forbidden.

Soon the back of his hands felt like something was being sewn into them, and he removed his gloves. His eyes fell on the dark purple root-like veins that had turned black. The veins spread further, branching themselves outwards. 

At the same time, Dante saw the stems of the Blackthorn rose in the ground subtly curl. When he turned his hand, the burn he had received earlier from the coal had disappeared from his palm, as if it had never been there in the first place. This had never happened before. His stared at the plant, and he remarked, 

"Don't tell me that the Crux and the Blackthorn rose are connected."

It was as if the Blackthorn rose was magically drawing his blood to resuscitate itself, and he could only guess that it was trying to awaken his Crux, which didn't exist until now. 

The only thing that happened in the last few hours was his father's and the concubine's deaths, but that couldn't be the reason. His dark eyebrows furrowed. There was no way the plant had been awakened without a trigger. 

If it wasn't the servants, nor was it him, then it could only be one thing. 

When the thought crossed his mind, Dante's eyes narrowed, "That's not possible." 

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