Prince Tristan walked through the halls in a foul mood. He wasn't always upset or angry. And no, the lines in his forehead weren't carved in stone. It was because he came back to the corner of the palace he despised.

Tristan came this way, past his half-sister's room, all the way to the back end of the palace every morning. The Queen's old quarters waited for him at the end of the hallway.

Standing in the doorway now, all that remained was packed furniture, cobwebs, darkness, and spiders. Dust layered the floor. No one was allowed inside. No cleaning. No moving. No spying or scheming. Tristan would know immediately if someone had been present. The only footprints outlined in the dust were his own, and they never ventured past the doorway.

His feet always carried him here every day since he was a child. That never changed.

The early sun peaking through the stained windows painted Tristan's shadow across the umber floorboards. His brows furrowed deeper as he remembered hearing his name on his mother's lips. Her soft hand pinched his cheek. A shining white smile.

The Queen's words echoed through time.

"You are the oldest, Tristan. Make sure you set an example."

"Get along with your siblings. Play nice with little Annie."

"Stand up for them. Protect your brother and sisters."

"I love you."

There was no outward reaction as Tristan recalled the past. It had been a handful of years and the fading memories weren't enough to make him crack. This room and the belongings inside sealed the past in place.

Vex Lionel passed naturally in her sleep. It was peaceful and painless. No poison. No conspiracy. A peaceful death for an amazing mother. Too soon did she leave her children. They hadn't fully grown and were left to flounder under the thumb of an unavailable father. They only had each other—the three of them.

Tristan closed the doors. Turning a key in the lock, he replaced it in his coat pocket. Pivoting on a foot, he walked away to attend to his duties.

The hallways were silent. A servant or two could be observed ducking around corners, hastily going about their early morning prep. Food needed to be cooked, breakfast prepared, and esteemed individuals to tend to.

It wasn't long before he passed by another familiar room. His scowl returned. Having to walk by every day was grating on his nerves. Gritting his teeth, he hurried his steps, not slowing down or stopping for someone irrelevant and helpless.

Another maid or two, and he was nearing his own quarters when he encountered someone new.

"Annie. Why are you up?"

"Tristan! I was looking for you."

Anne was already dressed and embellished, the picture of a princess. She must have woken up halfway into the night to prepare.

"Is it urgent business? Whatever it is, it could have waited until lunch and tea."

Tristan checked his magical watch. It kept the time and cycled the date for him. It was a complicated piece of magical engineering that took full advantage of every millimeter of space. Anne gifted it to him on his 20th birthday.

Anne beamed as she saw her brother using her gift. Then the smile faded.

"Did you come from mother's again?"

Tristan flinched. His hand found comfort on his sword handle. Anne looked at him, worriedly. She stopped visiting their mother's room after the first few months along with Kly. The king never visited, and the staff was ordered to stay away, leaving Tristan with the only key.

The metal felt cold in his pocket.

"You know I visit every morning."

"Don't be like that, Tristan. I miss her too. I just can't look at that room anymore. It hurt too much. I cant tell it is hurting you too. I hope you will see that one day."

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Tristan didn't react. Maybe he would remember Anne's words one day, but for now, he remained closed off to outside opinions.

Anne held her arm, looking pained. Biting her lip, she asked the questions on her mind.

"Did you confront Lecil? Do you know why she refused to choose one of the Dukes? She's always acting cold and distant, but now she suddenly wants to stay home. Does she think she has the right to stay despite never doing anything and only leeching off her status? I don't want her here anymore."

Tristan vaguely recalled being asked to approach Lecil. He was upset that Lecil stayed. He, too, worked hard to convince the King to finally marry her off. She was a waste of space and a drain on the royal family. Keeping her held no benefits.

Tristan marched into her room already seeing red. The half-sister who was never a part of the family. They are a family of three! Lecil never tried to fit in before; why did she suddenly want to now?

"KILL ME!"

"You and Kly. The staff. The King. Anne."

"You all drove me to this. You all made me."

The look in Lecil's eyes was so broken. Someone at the end of her rope. They'd always been rough when trying to get her to listen. Tristan would admit he went too far by drawing his sword. He couldn't kill his sister. No matter the circumstances. But for her to want to die by his hand?

"Lets cut her some slack."

The answer shocked Anne.

"Cut her some slack? What are we supposed to do? She never listens to what others say and refuses to be useful. She isn't a true princess and refuses to act like one. Does Lecil understand the role I play in taking up her duties and obligations?"

Curling her fists, she wanted a baguette to break.

"Annie. She asked me to kill her."

Her fists unclenched. Anne's eyes became saucers. Her voice became breathy.

"She what?"

Tristan said it using Kly's matter-of-fact face.

"I drew my sword to threaten her, but she grabbed the blade and held it to her throat. When I wouldn't do it, she forced me to hold her off the balcony by her throat. There was madness in her eyes, Annie."

Anne's delicate face became white.

"She... She did all that?"

Tristan nodded once.

"She did."

Anne stumbled back.

This... This wasn't what Anne expected. She wanted Lecil to burst into a fit of anger or cry and beg to stay home. To get a reaction out of her. But this didn't fit the usual pattern either.

Anne's words. Her actions. Did all of her deeds lead to this? Was Anne the villain? Surely not. It was Lecil's fault. It was Lecil's fault for being useless. Her fault for being emotionless and uncaring. Lecil was only in the game for herself because she wanted live in luxury and eternal privileged.

But.

But Lecil, Anne's sister, the Ghost Princess, was supposed to be emotionless.

"Ah..."

Anne grabbed at her head. She felt nauseous all of a sudden. Tristan looked worried and moved to support her, but Anne swatted his hand away.

"I'm fine. I just... didn't expect her to be so desperate."

If she was so unhappy here, then why didn't she just leave? Take the chance and escape with a Duke as her husband. What was she planning? She definitely couldn't be suicidal. Anne's mind couldn't comprehend it. Despite any wishes others had, Lecil was a princess. She had the title. The money. The assets. The potential. Suitors. Everything.

What could she possibly want for?

She bit at her nail. There was only one thing left. It couldn't be. There was no way.

She can't be after it too.

Tristan's scowl was replaced with concern. Not many saw this side of him. The marvel went unnoticed as Anne contemplated.

"Kly."

It was a soft whisper. Then Anne's eyes brightened.

"Kly. He encountered Lecil recently as well, right? Is he awake yet? I need to talk to him."

"He should be. Kly is usually out in the training yard by now, setting an example for the recruits."

"I am going to see him. Now."

She turned to go. Tristan stopped her.

"Take an umbrella. It is snowing."

Anne gave Tristan a thankful look.

"I will. Can we still meet for tea?"

Tristan was about to say yes, but he recalled there was a business meeting with Duke Astor.

"I told you I don't skip tea on Tuesdays."

"Thanks. I'll see you later then."

"See you."

With that, Anne departed.

Tristan watched her go, unsure.

Thinking back on that day. White clouds backdropping twin burning purple embers. Distant snowdrops planted three stories below where he threatened an enraged girl. Dark lifeblood trickling down his formerly untarnished blade. Holding her up by her throat. There were signs of a previous attack that Tristan dismissed as makeup.

"Tristan?"

A voice came from behind him. He swiveled to see his sister. Hair dark as night, dressed in an umbral dress, accented with subdued blues.

"Lecil."

A vaguely familiar maid trailed behind his sister.

"Fancy meeting you so early! Are you well? Oh my, you look pale. Did something happen?"

Her concern was unwarranted. There was nothing wrong with him. It was Lecil that was acting strange.

Why are you acting like you are happy to see me? Why are you frowning as if you are worried about me?

His scowl returned in full force. His words were venomous as he turned.

"I don't have time for you."

Tristan marched away, a hand on his sword, remembering the madness swirling in Lecil's eyes.

How can you be so calm? Like nothing happened?

It enraged him to no end.

How can you still smile?

Soft snowflakes drifted down in front of Tristan's vision. His hand around her small throat. The air chilly. The birds absent. Time froze as he stared past the blood swimming down his blade and licking his fingers. Past her delicate hands that never held a weapon or tool.

Ignoring the dark hair that was frustratingly similar to his own. Into her eyes, he delved. The purple fire that raged at injustice. The furrowed brows. Her bottom lip quivering. The expression of absolute desperation, depression, and fear.

Did you even notice you were crying?

=

Lecil watched Tristan storm away. Baffled as to why the number above his head now read 7%.