The time Rose spent sleeping was short, but she was thankful for it, it was the first time since the previous night that her tired mind had managed to get a moment of rest.

  She woke up when the carriage had already stopped, the rain sounding outside of it far louder than when she had stepped inside. She looked to a side and saw, just beyond the open door, the man who had brought her there, struggling to hold his umbrella against the heavy wind while handing her another one.

  Rose stepped out of the carriage, silent, and looked around, realizing in a brief panic that she wasn’t back at the townhouse but had been brought to an entirely different location. One that, to her surprise, she recognized.

  It was a large house, a fair bit smaller than the usual manors the nobility had in this area, but a lot more secluded. The walls were of soft ochre rustication, a tall tower with a pyramidal black roof and gargoyles rose from one of the corners, the entire building was on a small hill, surrounded by a porch of white imperial columns. The entrance was almost hidden from view, only accessible from a curving staircase that went down the gentle slope of the hill and ended in two statues of deer-headed sphinxes. On the edge of her sight, to the left, beyond a fountain decorated by a statue of a mermaid, she could see a second building, a much smaller one, made of white brick that seemingly only had round windows that were on its roof and from where two thin black brick towers rose to the skies before ending in tall copper-colored antennae. She had been here just a handful of times, but all of them were good memories. This was the prince’s private villa. Far away from the palace and the court, a place in which he went to relax and do his experiments.

  Rose glanced towards the servant, wanting to ask what was happening, but he grabbed her arm, with some care not to hurt her, and dragged her up the stairs into the porch, in which he politely apologized for it, but of course, he couldn’t have just left her standing absentminded under so much rain. He opened the door and motioned for her to go inside and sit down on the parlor, while he informs of her arrival.

  She walked over to the room, it was just as she remembered it; a calming forest green wallpaper, paintings of gorgeous if dramatic landscapes, of ice breaking and enormous lush jungles, a small white marble fireplace, heavy curtains, the ticking of an old clock decorated with images of cherry trees in bloom standing in one of the corners, the coffee table in which they drank that tea that he hated, the comfortable armchairs full of cushions. Her heart shrunk as if someone had grabbed it, all her sweet memories of the place becoming bitter.

  A few steps could be heard above her, but outside of that and the clock, the entire house seemed to be completely still. A silence that had been present in her happy days, one that in her mind, was a manifestation of the calm of that place, however under the new context, it seemed almost threatening.

  Rose glanced at a mirror and flinched. Her auburn hair was a disaster, her styling having completely collapsed under the rain. Her dress, of the same blue as a spring’s early morning, at least according to the tailor, was rumpled and wet. She became painfully conscious of her appearance, her noble sensibilities screaming at her in a way that was anchoring her in a much needed way to reality. She let herself fall into one of the armchairs, sighing.

  A door on one of the parlor’s sides opened, letting someone in that Rose didn’t recognize at first. She no longer was in anything even similar to the pink dress, having exchanged it for a white blouse and a light gray skirt. Her blond hair now styled in a simpler manner. She moved in a dignified way, but completely different to the way the noble ladies of the capital moved, and moving an armchair so it stood in front of Rose, she sat down.

  The blonde hadn’t so much uttered a single word, but in the brief glance she gave Rose before sitting, she saw pity in her eyes.

  “Lady Wynthart. This may not be the best moment, but I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.” Her voice was soft, controlled and professional. “My name is Maran Rabineau, we have seen each other at a couple of events but unfortunately, circumstance has made it so this is our first proper meeting.”

  Rose was stunned, her lower lip trembled momentarily before the automatic response came out. “I am also pleased to meet you, Lady Rabineau.” Her voice was trembling just as much, not only due to her less than great mental state, but because she had, for just a moment, expected to find in this girl some kind of mockery of her situation, some kind of smugness that confirmed her delusions about what had actually happened the previous night. Yet she saw compassion in her eyes.

  “Not ‘Lady’” Maran corrected, leaning in slightly, picking up a small porcelain bell, one to call servants, and sounding it. “I do not belong to any noble house, I’m afraid. It is my father who has a title, I am merely another student in the class.”

  She smiled, it was a sad one, full of pity. Rose didn’t want to be pitied, didn’t want to feel pitiful, but didn’t have much in the way of being able to refuse that position.

  “My apologies.” Rose replied, clasping her hands to hide her shaking. “I am unfortunately not very familiarized with much of the court life at the capital, being from the provinces.” She had uttered that same sentence many times in the past, in nearly every event, it made her feel even smaller than she was already feeling. Something at the back of her mind was roaring at her to have more pride, but she didn’t have the energy to do so.

  Maran tilted her head, “Lady Wynthart, I am not entirely sure of how to even say what I have to tell you, but…” She paused, bringing a hand to her throat as if it hurt. “I am so sorry about what happened last night.”

  Rose was about to let out a reassurance, her manners being in a fine state despite her current appearance, when a maid came in and left a silver tray with two smoking mugs. Maran made a gesture of invitation, and Rose picked up one, bringing it to her lips.

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  It was chocolate, sweet, with hints of lemon and mint, just the way he liked it. She had never been a fan of the drink; while she appreciated its warmth, she much strongly preferred the bitterness of tea. Plus, as far as she was aware, importing the thing was awfully costly, the countries it came from, at the other side of the world, didn’t have airship ports, so it could only feasibly come by boat, and those places often considered it a sacred drink, much like how lightwater was there, so very little of it was sold to merchants. Even in the capital, this drink, prepared in such a way too, was quite the luxury.

  “I thought you may need the warm, given how things are outside. I have also given order for a bath to be prepared for you along with a clean change of clothing.” Maran began, studying the expression in Rose’s face, grave looking. “Now I am quite sure that you do not wish to have a conversation with a stranger like me given what happened, and please believe me, if things had gone as I myself wished, we would not be having it, so that is another thing I should apologize for.”

  Rose nodded, and, looking down towards the cup, she bit her lip just a bit, nothing painful. “I…” She glanced to a side, sure that this small blonde woman was still looking at her as if she was looking at a bug. “I was told his Highness wished to speak with me.”

  Maran let out a soft sigh, closing her eyes.

  “That would be correct, yes.” She replied, before raising a hand in a sign for Rose to not have much hope. “He indeed wishes to speak with you, I am sure of that, but we cannot have that, I’m afraid.”

  “What do you mean, miss Rabineau?” Rose’s lower lip trembled again.

  “As things stand, Lady Wynthart you and him cannot meet.” Maran rose from the armchair, and began pacing around the room. “After such a public breakup, and you being at the eyes of the public a possible criminal, there is currently no scenario in which you could meet him in public.”

  She sat again, taking in a long sip of the chocolate before letting her tongue out momentarily in a gesture of disgust.

  “And, of course, you two are not to meet in private either.” Maran rose her hand again, signaling Rose to keep quiet just as she was about to ask the obvious question. “Because, let us be honest, he does not know how to talk to you about that, after that, and you would, deservedly, punch him for accusing you of such horrible crimes while being perfectly aware that you are innocent of all of them.”

  “My apologies but I would surely never…” Rose blinked. “’Being perfectly aware’ of me being innocent?”

  Maran breathed once, deep. “Yes. I am sorry that you have to know this way but I assume that the sooner this cat is out of the bag, the less pain there will be for you.”

  He knew it.

  Rose’s mind felt as if it was a broken wind-up toy, those three words repeating over and over and over inside her head before running out of power and dying down.

  He knew it. He knew of her innocence and still did it. He still accused her, in front of the whole court, of such horrible things. How could he?

  Tears appeared in her eyes as if they were coming out from long-unused plumbing, in thick drops that were wetting her cheeks. The corner of her lips twitched. She could hear a broken sound inside of her throat, that horrible laughter threatening to come back.

  “Why?” She whispered, “Why would he do that?”

  “If I told you, Lady Wynthart, you would think that both him and I are completely insane.” Maran rose from her armchair again, pulling out a white silk cloth from the pocket of her skirt, and offered it to Rose, who began wiping her tears with it. Horrible sounds were coming from her chest, it was as if she was about to break, physically.

  “We will explain in due time. I think he told you that he did not expect you to forgive him, and neither do I expect you to forgive me from my involvement on it. But as things stand, I must make some amends, and part of it is ensuring your safety and well being.”

  Rose looked down, closing her eyes, her face covered by Maran’s handkerchief. She could feel her small, delicate, cold hand on her back, trying to soothe her. Rose didn’t know how long she was like that, probably until she ran out of tears, but the moment she managed to regain the slightest bit of composure, she asked Maran, please, if they can get the carriage and bring her home. She just wanted to be there, even if she could not come out again, she needed solitude.

  “I am afraid that I cannot do that.” Maran answered, sounding strict yet earnest. “Your townhouse is compromised.”

  “Compromised?” Rose rose her face from the silk cloth, her eyes hollow and red, her voice barely audible. “It is my house. I want to go home.”

  Maran sighed and walked up to picking up a rolled up newspaper that was lying there. She unrolled it, opened it in one of the early pages, and put it on Rose’s hand. She pointed to a fairly generic headline and then an article right under it. It was an interview, one with Rose.

  Rose remembered the small woman in blue from the morning, and while the article was signed under a pseudonym, the conversation they had was there. And everything had, of course, been taken out of context. It described how the prince had gaslighted the poor Lady Wynthart, making her think that her whole life up to that point was a lie, just as a joke, and how she had probably been drugged to induce a state in which she believes everything is a dream and he hadn’t just thrown her away like trash. A despicable behaviour for which the writer claimed the prince should be stripped of his office and placed in jail.

  “If the author of that knows where you live, so do others.” Maran said, placing a hand on Rose’s shoulder. “Listen, right now you are not in the right state, mentally speaking, to be interviewed, or really face what you are going through currently. We don’t want anyone hurting you more than you have already been hurt.”

  She looked towards the blonde girl, not quite understanding any of what was happening anymore. “I… I am under house arrest, am I not? Beginning tomorrow.”

  “For now, yes. But nowhere in that order it is said where the arrest may be.” The clock on the corner chimed nine times. A soft groan left Maran’s lips. “That said, I can see that you are, understandably, exhausted. The bath must be ready, I will call a servant to bring you there, bring new clothes, and show you to your room. We will talk again tomorrow after break fast, when you have finally rested.”

  Maran walked towards the door, opening it and giving Rose a sign to stay there just for a moment more. “I hope you have a better evening tonight than the last one, honestly.”