Ophelia wanted to reply. She couldn’t.

Vera’s features scrunched up as if she were in pain. But she wasn’t, Ophelia knew, that it was anger which had taken over her mind—although the origin of Vera’s rage was a mystery to her.

“Get dressed,” Vera told her again, while pointing to Ophelia’s clothes this time, which had been left hanging on a nearby chair. “You shouldn’t walk amongst our ranks. It’s wrong.”

I know, Ophelia wanted to say.

It is wrong, but what can I do about it? What can I do, when I have nothing else but here?

“Didn’t you hear me?” Vera’s breaths had hitched. The calm and collected young woman Ophelia first met when she’d arrived was gone. Her face was red, her lips made of trembles, and her hands fisted in the cream-colored collar of Ophelia’s nightgown, which she now held as if her life depended on it. “I told you to leave!”

There was a creak in the corridor. Vera turned her head towards the half-opened door. A gasp escaped her. The strands of hair that were neatly tucked behind her ears fell before her eyes. It was too late for her to turn back from what she had set in motion, because Elian was now gazing at them both. And in his glare there was confusion, worry, unspoken questions all at once. It took him a moment, before he finally said, “I would like an explanation, but we have more pressing matters at hand. Vera.” His attention shot towards her. “Release Ophelia. You shouldn’t be here.”

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It was a strange thing, Ophelia thought, to be hearing Vera’s reproaches coming out from Elian’s mouth.

Vera complied. Her head hung low. By now, sunlight had begun to filter in through the round window out of their reaches, as newly hatched bluebirds sung their songs in the rooftop’s dents. “Elian,” she said, “I only wanted to protect you before this”—her finger found itself inches away from Ophelia’s nose—“consumes you again.”

Elian parted his lips. They moved, once, twice, thrice, yet, no sound came out. He sighed. He said, “It won’t be like last time.”

Last time?

What does he mean by last time?

“You’re a bad liar, Elian.” Judging from Elian’s expression, it surprised him—just as much as it had Ophelia—that Vera used such a condescending tone on the Prince of her country. “You’re going to get hurt again; except this time—” Vera stepped away from Ophelia. She walked past Elian, and came to a halt only once her long, black velvet cape was covered in his shadow. “This time,” she said, “Not me, nor anybody else will be there to protect you.”

She dashed out the doorway.