ARELLIA

First, they sound the horns.

A low, mournful sound overtakes the soft plucking of harps and gentle violins playing from the corner of the ballroom. All the chatter and laughter fade. The dancing halts.

Then, the gong rings.

My smile fades, my heart speeds. The alarm is full and deep, making shivers travel down the curve of my spine. All at once, panic washes over everyone in the room. Murmurs erupt. Men and women shuffle nervously.

"What is happening?" I turn to Enka, who was, a mere moment ago, standing by the wall, serving wine and small platters of food on silver trays alongside other servants. She runs up to me and shakes her head, eyes wide. All at once, the guards by the wall storm out in a single-file line. Their rhythmic footfalls match the beat of my thunderous heart.

"Brother-" I call to Vasilis but he has already made way to the crowd of worried nobles. Flanked by his personal guard, my brother’s gait is unhurried and lazy. The great Houses look to him for guidance and reassurance. I grit my teeth and scan for a tall man with golden hair and blue eyes, but he is nowhere to be seen. In fact, I had been looking all night, but I could not find him. Perhaps, I had been a fool to think that our encounter had warmed him up to me. A potential friend in this Court of lies and deceit. But, I am not so sure. I think of his lips on my knuckles, light as feathers and shivers crawl down the slope of my hand. I shake the memory off, this is not the time to daydream.

"I must find father, I must know what is going on." Enka doesn't stop me, instead, she nods. I grasp my dress with sweaty palms and weave through the crowd of aristocrats. My brother is many things, but patient is not one of them. I cannot trust Vasilis to calm and reassure our guests so I must find my father. As I weave through the dense crowd of fabric and perfume, I feel a hand on my arm pulling me back.

"Your Highness, it is dangerous, we must stay put!" Lady Liwet spins me around. Dark brown eyes peer back into mine. Her face glistens with sweat. In the corners of her eyes, dark purple eyeshadow is smudged between her wrinkles and the powder clumps from sweat. I swallow dryly as I try to yank my arm from her hand.

"Lady Liwet, please, I do not know where my father is-" I say, but her grip is firm and her palms are moist with sweat. The fear in her eyes cast fear into me.

Suddenly, Vasilis clears his throat from the centre of the room, "Ladies, gentleman, please, do not fear!" He bellows. "Our imperial guards are currently investigating this issue and to ensure everyone's safety, you must remain in this room!" But his speech does not calm them, instead, murmurs erupt. Men and women throw questions. It is a never-ending wave of disorienting noise.

I watch him with wide eyes as he stands tall, hands clasped behind his back. He looks as though he is prepared for this debacle. I feel Lady Liwet’s sweaty hand leave my arm. Goosebumps form on my skin when she turns from me to speak to another. One of the guards jogs over and whispers into Vasilis' ear. Sweat drips from his curly black hair, his eyes are ablaze in a fury. I watch my brother’s face contort in anger. My anxiety grows deeper every second that passes.

"Vasilis-" I call him again but suddenly, I am interrupted by the sound of ballroom doors as it slams open. I whirl my head toward the noise and my breath catches at the sight. My heart sinks.

Flanked by six guards, Dillon is dragged through the doors by his arms— one of the guards' hands is clutched tight to a lock of his light hair, holding up his head. He is thrown onto the floor and all in the room back away and gasp as if he is some sort of diseased vermin. My heart thunders in my chest. He is injured. Blood drips from his face and hair. My stomach churns and I step forward instinctively but Vasilis' arm brings me to a halt.

"Hold him up!" Vasilis bellows. Dillon’s suit is torn as if a wild dog had attacked him.

"What is the meaning of this?!" I ask, but my voice falters. Vasilis doesn't reply.

"Your Highness, this is him." The guard points his sword at Dillon's neck, inching closer to his jugular.

"This is the assassin!" A guard shouts, and all in the room gasp. "We saw him leave the guest chamber! The King…"

"The King is dead! This traitor poisoned him!"

Cries and howls erupt, but I do not focus on them— I focus on the man at the far end of the room, pain and sorrow etched across his sharp features. Blue eyes peer intensely into my own. Then, he squeezes them shut, lashes trembling.

How strange a thing, to see the infamous mercenary who was, mere hours ago, celebrated for his strength and valour, crouched there beyond the dance floor on his knees beside my towering imperial guards.

When he once towered over me, his face handsome and scarred, smiling out there on that veranda. It seems like a lifetime ago. He now looks like a man defeated. So close yet so far, so human and frail. It feels like time has stopped. I feel a hand on my arm and another on my back, comforting me. All I feel is dread and a heaviness in my heart.

"Poison? Coward!" A man in the crowd spits.

"Traitor!"

"Hang him!"

Drinks are thrown and glasses smashed into the side of Dillon's head. I do not flinch at their malice, instead, I watch.

"No, you're wrong!" A dark-skinned young man screams over the crowd as he tries to defend the mercenary, his old comrade. "It's not true! Dillon, tell them!" His comrades hold back his lanky arms but his sadness and desperation hit me in the chest like an arrow. When a guard points a sword at his neck, the young man spits at the ground.

"Stand down, filthy dogs! Or I'll throw you in the dungeons along with him!"

It feels like I cannot breathe. Despite the noise and the tension in the air, Dillon's eyes are on me. Blood pours from the side of his face. There must be a mistake. This must be a dream.

I see dark, vicious anger in Dillon's eyes. Every second that goes by, the crowd grows increasingly rancorous. I am shaking so wildly that I am amazed I am currently still standing.

"Enough!" Vasilis barks. He takes long, graceful strides towards Dillon. The crowd part as he lowers to one knee and fixes his gaze on Dillon's face. Fear thunders into my chest as Vasilis follows his gaze back to me. I cannot avert my eyes, I have no strength in my body.

"Look at me, traitor!" Vasilis roars. Dillon doesn't budge. Defiance? Stupidity? I do not know what he is thinking. He does not know my brother as I do. With every second that passes, I feel the small window of hope closing. That this is some sort of sick act; a cruel, twisted joke.

Then, a loud howl of laughter echoes throughout the room. It is Dillon. The sound is ugly and menacing, forcing shivers to dance all over my skin. My face is wet, my hands are sore from clenching my fists. My stomach weaves into knots. Someone whispers in my ears, but the words do not register.

Vasilis punches Dillon in the throat, the laughter stops as he chokes and spits blood from his mouth. I hear a gasp. They search his pockets roughly and thoroughly. A small clear bottle hangs limply between his fingers when a guard pulls his hand from a pocket at Dillon's waist. A drop of unnatural green liquid sits at the base of the bottle.

They beat him until he laughs no more. The only sound in the room is the horrifying drawn-out wheezing that escapes his lips.

"Drag this beast to the dungeons! Justice will be served!"

When they drag his body away, the mercenary doesn't resist. He hangs limply in the arms of my imperial guards, head bobbing with every step. He leaves trails of wet, red streaks on the marble floor. They look like strokes of red paint on a white canvas; rushed and unfinished. My chest caves, breaths uneven. I feel cold marble against my knees and hands. Someone wails in the distance, their cries are ugly and mournful. Bodies move before me in a blur of disorienting colour.

My father's face appears before me in the crowd like a fading mirage. I feel his gentle hands; I see his fierce milky eyes. Eyes that saw my mother birth me. Eyes that used to look down at me with a tenderness he did not show anyone else. Even after his sight was lost, I saw it still, that love. Now he is lifeless, his body and soul made empty by an angry young man with a small bottle of poison.

I hear a scream. The sound is high-pitched and shrill, full of pain and devastation. I feel hands on my arms, my back, pulling me out of the room, away from the noise and chaos.

It is only when I am wrapped in a soft blanket, brought calming salts and was urged to breathe deep that I finally realise those screams were my own.