At the dungeon, the prince was faced with an unprecedented scenario. He’d seen the woman once, at the trial, when he played the role of the judge and she constantly averted his gaze, fearful of even being acknowledged by someone with a higher standing. Yet, as Blake sat on a wooden bench right in front of her locked cell, her gaze shifted straight at him, almost as if posing a challenge.
“Do you remember me?” He questioned the prisoner, but she continued in the corner of the cell, simply glaring at him from afar. “If you value your life, you don’t want to make me mad.”
With some struggle, she got up and approached the bars, sinking her body the moment her fingers touched the coldness of the iron. Her mind clouded by a single question: Why is he here?
“Good. Now, I will ask you some questions and you will reply by nodding, do you understand?” His cold deep blue eyes made Millicia feel a shiver run through her spine. From the pressure coming from his stance, she knew better than to piss off the man in front of her, thus, her head waved up and down. “Did you poison Lady Ophelia’s tea?”
Remembering the advice given beforehand, by the second daughter of the Criswell’s, she shook her head. If the Crown Prince was investigating this matter further it meant her execution would be delayed, maybe even cancelled.
“Did you saw someone else poison the tea?” As the prisoner denied all the questions made by the prince, Aldrich’s brows furrowed down, clearly not believing her so claimed innocence. “Did Duke Criswell ask you to poison his daughter’s tea?”
Millicia’s body froze, cold sweat dripped through her spine. She was well aware of what had come to pass, of the agreement made between the two of them in complete secrecy and how much that man had betrayed her trust, like most nobles often do. At this moment, she could easily nod and put the blame on the Duke, but would that truly change anything? Would anyone but Ophelia believe her? She was no one, a mere commoner without a home, without a family, with a dying brother. What power did she have except faith in mercy?
“Girl, I’ll ask one more time, did Duke Alvin Criswell ask you to poison Ophelia’s tea?”
The girl shook her head, knowing nothing good would come out of accusing her previous master, again. Blake’s fists clenched on the base of his trousers. It was clear the girl was lying out of fear, doubt or horror of what the future upheld, becoming a useless tool to be used further down the line.
“Alright. Then at least tell me this, do you know of someone, whoever it might be, who wants Ophelia Criswell dead?”
Strangely, Millicia smiled, displaying the void inside her mouth, the tongue which had been cut off and burnt in the most gruesome of ways, before passing out cold on the ground. Her cheeks had become completely red as her lungs struggled to gather the cold air surrounding her being, hoping to release some of the intense sweat dripping from her body.
“Call for the doctor.” Blake said, getting up from the bench. “We won’t be able to get more answers from her in this state.”
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The interrogation continued for a handful of days just like the investigation, however they both reached a point where it became impossible to distinguish deceit from the truth. The stories slowly lost their grip of reality, beginning to accuse people who had not been considered suspects or individuals who didn’t even attend the party. Some even went missing, as if someone kept on tying the loose ends of the greedy or good hearts around. Eventually, Blake had no choice but to comply to Ophelia’s request and free the prisoner from her incarceration, knowing there wasn’t enough proof to continue with the planned execution.
“I’m opening the cell.” A guard stated, pushing the heavy iron door to the side. Millicia coughed with the dust flowing through the air. “Get out.”
Slowly and gathering all her remaining strength, the woman leaned against the wall and headed outside, reaching the long set of stairs at the entrance. Impatient, one of the guards pushed her, yet she stood her ground which made the man click his tongue displeased. Even though words were unable to be formed in her mouth, Millicia’s eyes cursed the man, wishing him things humans shouldn’t even think of.
Almost an hour later, the commoner reached the center of the palace, noticing Ophelia and a handsome young man next to her, someone she’d never seen before. Behind her was the prince’s aide, whose stern expression reflected the thoughts in his mind.
“Milly!” Reactively, the noble girl ran towards her and wrapped her arm around the woman’s waist, feeling all the bones threatening to break. When her eyes noticed the deep bruise in her back, courtesy of the guards, she shot them a furious glance. Surely, the girl would’ve had their heads if fate had been kinder, providing her with a different bloodline.
“Lady Ophelia!?” Aldrich looked at the scene completely dumbfounded, not believing what his own eyes were seeing. How could a noble help a commoner like that? Especially one that had been living in their own sweat, blood, tears and excrements for almost a month?
“Let’s go home, Milly.” The girl whispered in her ear, causing the woman to completely collapse on top of her small figure. “Jade...!”
The platinum-haired man dashed towards her and grabbed the woman in a single swoop as Ophelia hand cupped hers. Slowly they walked to the entrance, where their carriage awaited, leaving the aide, the guards and the handful of nobles visiting the palace completely confused. When her hands removed the cloak surrounding her body and placed it on top of the sickly woman, audible gasps were heard.
“Are you sure you should be doing that, milady? You might grow ill if...” Aldrich followed the young maiden, hoping to understand the reasoning behind her unorthodox actions. Could the naive, humble girl act truly be her real personality?
“So?” Ophelia frowned, making the aide swallow down the remaining of his questions. Her attention then shifted to her companion. “Put her inside the carriage, we’re going back. Sir Aldrich, once again, thank you very much for your help.”
“It was my honor, milady.” He asserted, still dazed with the events passing through his eyes.
From that moment on, rumors spread like wildfire. High society couldn’t decide if Ophelia was a curse, like the servants of the Criswell’s so proudly stated, or a blessing in disguise, a naive young maiden ready to be plucked and shaped as they wished. On the other hand, the commoners talked among each other, praising the existence of a Saintess with coal-colored hair, the sole woman who had gone against the tyrant monarchy to save an innocent soul.
At the end of the day, none of them truly knew all of this had been part of the girl’s mischievous plan, a concept that had been put into motion the moment an assassin had appeared in her domain. Yet, they couldn’t help but wonder, who was Ophelia Criswell, The Black Rose of high society, and what was she going to do next.