"Father… please don't leave me…"
Reports lay scattered across the marble floor like fallen soldiers on a battlefield.
The documents Baroness Pinatelli had delivered now decorated every corner of the chamber—casualties of the Queen Mother's explosive rage.
"Stealing from the palace coffers to line your own pockets? You dare lay hands on what belongs to Medea? The woman is utterly deranged!"
"Indeed, Your Majesty," Baroness Pinatelli replied, her voice measured and precise. "Personal items intended for Her Highness were systematically replaced with inferior substitutes. Financial records were falsified to conceal the theft."
She paused, allowing her next words to land with surgical precision.
"The maids who were previously disciplined—those who leveled accusations against the Princess—were accomplices. They participated in the embezzlement scheme under Madame Quiggin's direct orders."
The dead tell no tales—and had been conveniently transformed into perfect scapegoats.
Not every detail was fabricated. Baroness Pinatelli had woven truth and falsehood together with such artistry that the narrative carried the weight of undeniable authenticity.
"The audacity! The sheer, unmitigated audacity of that woman!"
"The Princess's Palace has long been the most neglected residence in the entire complex. Madame Quiggin assumed—correctly, until now—that no one would take notice."
"How did such a duplicitous serpent ever rise to the position of Head Maid?"
Yet what ignited the Queen Mother's fury beyond all else was a singular, unbearable truth—
"She manipulated me—used my own hand to strike down my granddaughter? Has she taken complete leave of her senses?!"
However distant she might have been, would she truly have cast aside her own flesh and blood with such cruelty?
The Queen Mother trembled with indignation—conveniently forgetting the bitter words she herself had hurled at Medea.
The traitor testified that the Prince Regent had Quiggin removed from her position...
Did Quiggin truly orchestrate all of this alone?
At that moment, the chamber doors burst open.
A maid stumbled in, face drained of color, gasping for breath.
"Your Majesty! The Princess—Her Highness has collapsed!"
The Queen Mother rushed to her side.
When she arrived, her unconscious granddaughter was already being lifted from the cold chapel floor.
"She was already in this state when we found her."
The Princess, hastily carried from the chapel, appeared utterly bloodless—as though life itself had begun retreating from her body.
"Why was this discovered so late? Did no one think to check on her condition?"
"Your Majesty... you commanded that no one approach..."
The Queen Mother felt a sharp pang of mortification. Her granddaughter's condition was far worse than any report had suggested.
Five days. Wearing nothing but a thin dress. How had she survived at all?
"Look at her lips—cracked and bleeding! Why wasn't medicine applied?"
"B-but Your Majesty... you ordered that she receive not even a sip of water..."
"Since when do my words require such literal interpretation?! Can none of you exercise the slightest judgment?!"
The Queen Mother seemed determined to direct her fury at everything within reach. Her attendants stood frozen, paralyzed by confusion.
Her gaze fell upon Medea's slack, pallid face.
> "Stubborn child," she murmured. "Are you trying to torment this old woman?"
"Pardon? Ah... yes, Your Majesty..."
"What are you agreeing to?! How dare you!"
Her attendants exchanged bewildered glances, utterly lost. Baroness Pinatelli—who might have decoded the Queen Mother's erratic behavior—was momentarily absent.
"What are you standing there gaping for? The Princess has collapsed—do you intend to leave her lying on this frozen floor all night?"
"Your Majesty... then...?"
"Move her to the palace immediately! And someone—summon the physician. NOW!"
"Yes, Your Majesty!"
Hadn't she just been condemning the fallen Princess moments ago?
The maids felt hopelessly adrift, unable to predict her next command. Nevertheless, they lifted the Princess with trembling care, though she remained lost to consciousness.
"To the Princess's Palace!"
As they lifted the stretcher, a pale hand slipped free, dangling lifelessly over the edge.
The Queen Mother's face drained of color.
For one terrible instant, she saw another hand—
cold, heavy, utterly still—
the day she had touched her son's lifeless body.
That devastating morning when all warmth had fled, leaving only cold, rigid parchment where her child had once been.
"Medea!"
She rushed forward, turning the girl over with desperate hands. Only after confirming the faint, fragile rhythm of breath did she allow the maids to continue.
The Princess's wing erupted into chaos.
First, because the Princess who had been kneeling in punishment before the chapel had been carried away unconscious. But more significantly—because the Queen Mother, who rarely stirred from her own chambers, had come herself.
"To behold Her Majesty the Queen Mother! Infinite glory be unto Valdina's eternal light—"
"Enough. Focus on serving your mistress properly."
The Queen Mother's frown deepened as she surveyed her surroundings.
The Princess's Palace was saturated with cold emptiness. Despite the evening hour, it carried an oppressive desolation—as though no one truly inhabited these walls. She noted with displeasure the abundance of young, inexperienced faces unfamiliar with proper court protocol.
Why are so many incompetents surrounding the Princess?
"The former Head Maid systematically dismissed the experienced staff, claiming they caused problems. They were replaced with girls newly arrived at the palace—untrained and easily controlled."
Baroness Pinatelli, having returned, supplied this information with quiet precision.
"Quiggin—that scheming creature wrought chaos until the very end."
The Queen Mother continued her inspection, disgust evident in every glance.
"We offer humble thanks for Your Majesty's boundless generosity. Her Royal Highness will never forget this kindness."
"Silence. Do you imagine I cannot see through your transparent flattery?"
The Queen Mother snapped at Baroness Pinatelli—fully aware that the constant stream of messages from the Princess had been orchestrated through this very woman.
"Your Majesty, please forgive me. Age must be dulling my faculties."
At that moment, a maid emerged carrying a damp cloth. Upon spotting the Queen Mother, she hastily stepped aside and lowered herself in a deep bow.
"I greet Her Majesty the Queen Mother."
Beyond the partially opened door, the bedroom curtain was visible. Baroness Pinatelli noted how the Queen Mother's attention remained fixed on the chamber where Medea lay.
Quietly, Pinatelli approached and pushed the door wider.
The Queen Mother entered as though drawn by invisible threads.
Baroness Pinatelli lowered her eyes, concealing her satisfied smile.
The Princess's bedroom held a thick, oppressive warmth.
Not from any fire in the hearth, but from the fever radiating off the patient in waves, accompanying each labored breath.
"The cold compresses have been applied, Your Majesty."
A maid standing beside the bed noticed the Queen Mother and moved to wake the Princess.
The Queen Mother raised a hand in dismissal.
The gesture was unmistakable: everyone was to leave. Baroness Pinatelli quietly ushered the attendants out. The door closed with a soft creak.
The Queen Mother surveyed the chamber in silence.
This was her first time visiting the Princess's Palace—her first time seeing Medea's private quarters. Paint peeled in numerous places. The decorations were crude, the furniture worn and faded.
> "Despite everything, you are the King's only daughter... the sole Princess of this nation..."
How could her chamber be so utterly shabby?
Even the sheets upon which Medea lay were coarse—not the lowest quality perhaps, but certainly unworthy of royalty.
"Ngh..."
"You're conscious?"
Medea's eyes fluttered open, glazed and burning with fever. Upon seeing the figure beside her bed, she murmured vaguely.
"Ah..."
Then she extended a trembling arm and seized the Queen Mother's sleeve with surprising strength.
Despite her weakened state, she gripped so tightly that veins stood out across the back of her hand—refusing absolutely to let go.
"I look exactly like your father. Whenever you miss him, you can look at me instead."
The Queen Mother and Medea's father had been nearly identical in appearance. Her late husband had often complained that their son favored only his mother's features.
It was not unreasonable for a delirious child to mistake one for the other.
"Father…"
"Please don't leave me…"
"What... what nonsense is this..."
The Queen Mother felt a flush of embarrassment and attempted to extricate herself from the grip—then froze abruptly.
She had spotted an old locket resting on the bedside table. Its shape struck her as strangely familiar.
🔗 Inside the open locket—a portrait.
Of her eldest son. King John.
The colors had faded where a thumb had traced the image countless times.
The Queen Mother gazed down at the locket and her feverish granddaughter for a long, silent moment.
Then she turned away and rose to her feet.
"Your Majesty."
When the Queen Mother emerged, everyone rose as though they had been waiting.
"Your Highness's fever refuses to subside. What should we do?"
The maids' anxious murmuring reached her ears. The Queen Mother's frown deepened.
"Has the physician not yet arrived? What could possibly be taking so long?"
"Well, that is... Ah, someone approaches now!"
The maid who had been dispatched to summon the court physician returned—empty-handed and alone.
"Your Majesty the Queen Mother. May Valdina's infinite light shine upon you."
"Enough formalities. Where is the physician? Why have you returned alone?"
The Queen Mother dismissed the greeting curtly, demanding an immediate explanation.
The royal physician's quarters were not far from the Princess's Palace. This delay made no sense.
"He said he is presently occupied and will come once he has finished attending to his current patient. He instructed me to return ahead."
"And you found this acceptable? Did you not explain the Princess's condition properly?"
"I did, Your Majesty! I told him Her Highness Princess Medea had collapsed, that her fever burned like fire, that he must come at once..."
The maid protested as though unjustly accused.
"But he insisted he could not come immediately because he is treating Lady Birna's injury..."
"Birna?"
The Queen Mother's voice sharpened.
"Where and how was she injured?"
Concern flickered across her features at the mention of her beloved younger granddaughter—though surely the injury couldn't be severe enough to justify delaying treatment for a collapsed Princess.
"That is..."
The maid hesitated, as though uncertain whether she should speak at all.
"She... cut her hand while opening an invitation."
"What did you say?"
The Queen Mother asked again, as though unable to believe what she had just heard.
### A dying Princess
Ignored
### A paper cut
Prioritized
The Queen Mother stared at the maid in absolute silence.
And in that silence, she finally understood.
End of Chapter
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