“Sterlla,” Serox whispered against her hair, his usually firm voice quivering.

Seradole’s hands framed her face as she looked into her daughter’s eyes. “My child… my precious girl.”

Sterlla returned their embraces, her arms wrapping around them in warmth, yet her mind was clouded. Why did they all look as though they had faced the edge of despair? Why were their voices heavy with the weight of something she could not yet see? The answers lingered just out of reach, hidden behind the veil of their relief.

EPISODE NINE
THE REASON UNVEILED

When Serox and Seradole finally withdrew, the room seemed to shrink, leaving only the children gathered near Sterlla’s bed. The maids stood respectfully along the far wall, their eyes lowered. They knew well enough that this was not a moment for their voices.

The air was taut with unspoken words. Orion sat beside Sterlla, his posture heavy, his gaze fixed on the floor. Though none in the household had dared to place blame upon him, he had claimed it for himself.

“I should have been faster… sharper,” he murmured at last, the words more to himself than to her. “Sterlla… I failed you.”

Her brows drew together, confusion breaking through the soft relief she’d felt moments before. “What do you mean?” she asked quietly, searching his face.

Before Orion could answer, Sigel stepped forward, her silk skirts whispering against the marble tiles. She lowered herself to one knee beside the bed. “Sister dear,” she said gently, “Prince Feifer shoulders a guilt he does not deserve. What happened that day… none of us foresaw it.”

Sterlla tilted her head, her lips parting to speak, but Sigel continued. “While you lay in rest, much has passed in these walls—more than you can yet imagine.” Her voice dropped to a murmur as she recounted the events of the past month and a half, each revelation sharp enough to draw breath from the others in the room, though they had heard it all before.

Sterlla listened without interruption, her hands still upon the coverlet, until the final detail left Sigel’s lips. Then her fingers slackened. Her gaze seemed to lose focus, drifting as though her mind sought solid ground in a storm.

“You cannot be serious…” she whispered. “All of that… truly happened?”

From her place at the foot of the bed, Lionella moved forward, seating herself between the sisters. Sigel yielded the space without a word, though her jaw tightened. Her hands curled against her gown, hiding the storm that brewed behind her calm expression.

Lionella reached for Sterlla’s hands, enclosing them warmly in her own. “We were all shaken, Sterlla. But none of that matters more than this—you are here. You speak, you smile, you breathe. Whatever strange horrors we have faced, they pale beside the relief of seeing you awake.”

Sterlla blinked at her, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. She squeezed Lionella’s hands, her voice trembling. “Oh, Lionella… I scarcely know how to put this into words. What astonishes me most… is that I was attacked at all. That someone could…” She stopped, swallowing hard. “That someone could end my life—if only for a moment. Who would do such a thing? And how did they achieve such?”

Lionella’s fingers tightened around Sterlla’s, as if to anchor her.

From the edge of the gathering, Linone cleared his throat. The quiet sound drew every eye to him. “I can answer that for you, Crown Princess Sterlla, if I may,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of something final.

Simore inclined her head. “You may speak.”

Linone stepped forward, the candlelight catching in his stern gaze. “You were poisoned.”

The word struck the air like a blade.

“Poisoned?” Orion’s voice surged, raw with fury. His eyes blazed, his jaw tight enough to ache. “Who would dare—”

“The royal physician confirmed it,” Linone cut in, though his tone remained respectful. “When I heard his findings, I dispatched my men to the site of your picnic. We found traces of the poison in the teacups.”

“That’s impossible!” Sigel’s voice wavered, her hands knotting together. “Prince Feifer and I drank from them as well.”

Linone’s expression softened a fraction. “You were spared because of the poison’s nature. On its own, it is harmless to most. But for one with a certain condition—” He glanced toward Sterlla. “—it becomes lethal.”

A cold realization passed over Simore’s features. “You mean…” His voice failed him, forcing him to swallow before continuing. “You mean they knew.”

“Yes,” Linone replied, his tone now edged with quiet steel. “The assassin was aware of the Crown Princess’s allergy to the golden flower. They infused it into the tea. It left no scent, no taste. Even the most cautious eye would see nothing amiss.”

For a moment, the room held its breath.

Sterlla’s lips parted, yet no words came; her eyes were wide, fixed on some distant point beyond the chamber. Orion’s fists were clenched so tightly the skin had gone bloodless. Beside him, Sigel’s trembling hands betrayed the fear she could not voice.

The silence pressed in, broken only by the faint crackle of the hearth, each of them knowing that the revelation had changed far more than the air in the room.

Sterlla sat in silence, her thoughts turning over Linone’s words like stones in a restless stream. Across the room, he had taken an armchair slightly apart from the others, his posture composed yet watchful.

They knew. Not just about her allergy, but about the picnic arranged only the night before — a plan whispered to the household that very morning. They had known the teapot she would choose, the cups she would bring. The precision of it chilled her to the bone.

Her fingers clenched around the sheets until her knuckles paled.

“Who could do something so vile?” Lionella burst out, her tone a storm of outrage and disbelief.

Sterlla drew a long breath before replying, forcing her shoulders to ease. “I’m alive. I’m well,” she said gently, the faintest smile touching her lips. “Let’s not dwell on shadows when the sun still shines.”

Her reassurance was enough to draw the conversation into lighter paths. Voices softened into casual chatter, and the air in the chamber, heavy only moments before, began to ease. One by one, they took their leave, until only Linone remained.

At the doorway, he turned back. “I am relieved you are unharmed,” he said quietly. “But we cannot pretend this is over. Whoever struck once will strike again.”

Sterlla met his gaze, saying nothing.

“You are the Crown Princess,” he went on, his voice taking on the unshakable tone of an oath. “There are those who would profit from your death. I speak not as commander of the demon army, but as a loyal disciple of House Xiones. I will find them. And they will answer for this.”

Her eyes softened with gratitude, though the worry beneath them did not fade. Linone inclined his head, then stepped out, the door closing behind him with a quiet finality.

The moment it latched, Sterlla exhaled — a slow, heavy release of the breath she had been holding. Her maids, sensing the tremor in her composure, hurried to her side.

“Your bath is prepared, Your Highness,” the head maid said softly.

They guided her to the great bathing chamber, where a pool of warm water, scattered with rose petals, shimmered in the lamplight. She eased into it without a word, her gaze fixed on the tiled wall as though it held the answers she sought.

Her hands lay still upon the water’s surface. She made no move for the soap.

The head maid lingered, reading her mistress’s silence. “Allow me, Your Highness,” she murmured, stepping forward.

Sterlla did not resist.

With quiet care, the maid bathed her, each movement deliberate, respectful — and tinged with an unspoken sorrow. She kept her own eyes lowered, unwilling to let her mistress see the weight in them.

In the scented warmth, some of the tension in Sterlla’s body eased, though her mind remained elsewhere — caught between the terror of the attempt on her life and the unspoken truth that this was far from its end.