The Lady Knight

11 October, Year 1 of King Alfonso XI of Vantauge's reign

Granada Castle, Madriga

Vantauge

Dearest Julia,

Of course I will aid you in your cause. I will have my late Uncle Ferdinand's chambers to be searched for the letters of the sort you described to me, and I will conduct discreet inquiries among my other relatives as well, as soon as possible.

However, you should know that my Uncle Ferdinand was very possessive over the royal seal when he lived. If you say that the late Lord Lucas of Anchorvale had received coded letters bearing the royal seal of Vantauge, then they must have been sent by my Uncle Ferdinand only, for he allowed no one else to use that seal. Not even me, when I had been a Crown Prince at that time.

Fear not, my friend. I will make sure that every truth my Uncle has tried hard to conceal regarding this case is revealed to you, and I will take especial care to remain discreet about it. In the meanwhile, I would humbly suggest that you try and decode the messages that you already have in your hands at the present. They may be helpful in telling us where Uncle Ferdinand has hidden the rest of the letters he received from this Lord Lucas, and could also speed up your investigations.

You may trust me that I will remain loyal to you and uphold the promise I made you. All the best, and I will write to you as soon as I find out anything. Keep faith, and God go with you.

Your most loyal friend and humble servant,

King Alfonso XI of Vantauge

That was what Lieutenant Raleigh had also told me. Decode the letters, decode the letters, decode the letters.

I groaned loudly, snapping the huge, fat book shut, extremely annoyed. Truly, I was this close to giving up and leaving everything up to fate to solve for me.

There were only so much letters and numbers I could tolerate at a stretch, and I had already exceeded the duration of my attention span long ago.

Thick books, similarly sized to the one I was currently holding, if not bigger, surrounded me endlessly. Numerous, crushed pieces of parchment lay about all over the marble floor, as well as empty bottles of ink I had used during the last three days I had lived in this room.

Three days. I had spent close to 72 hours bent over these books, night and day, eating the bare minimum and hardly sleeping at all in the meanwhile.

I was very desperately trying to crack the code, and as both my friend King Alfonso and Lieutenant Raleigh had advised me, I was well aware that we were at a stalemate until we did so.

At the moment, there was nothing we could do but try and decode the messages and hope with all our hearts that those coded letters carry something of import.

That was why I had borrowed the whole mystery section of the bookshelf in Camille's library. In truth, I had no idea why she had books of such rare genres. Ladies these days hardly read at all, and even when they did, they preferred romance novels to books of non-fiction genre.

But then again, Camille read anything that was made from parchment.

Locking myself up in my study on the very morning after we had pranked Andrew, I had forbidden everyone from approaching me unless it was an emergency.

I even cooked my own meals and brought it to my study at dawn each day to last me for the entire day, so that I would not have to go outside during mealtimes and disturb my thought process.

Under such circumstances, I had read those books very closely, and tried out each and every code they listed, desperately hoping one of them could help me interpret Lucien's message.

The result of my hard work? Nothing. Nothing at all.

Nothing resulted from this except for a carriage full of used parchment and a lot more of worn out quills and empty ink bottles.

None of them, not even a single one of the codes, helped me decode Lucien's message. What kind of code did he use that did not even exist in all of these books, and how had he come to know of it?

Had he invented it?

I banged my head against the mahogany table, completely and utterly exhausted. What did you wish to say to me, Lucien? I screamed in my mind, why could you not have merely told me whatever it was when you still lived? If you had time to write that message, surely you had time to speak with me as well?

My eyelids felt like lead, as these questions bombarded my mind. A deep yawn escaped my lips and despite my feeble attempts to fight off sleep, a dense cloud descended upon my mind, effectively stopping my flow of thoughts.

***

Prince Nicholas

Everyone was chattering to their heart's content around me, oblivious as I was to my surroundings. My eyes kept riveting to the empty seat on my right, as I played with my food, absent-mindedly wondering what Julie would be doing at the moment.

A few days ago, she had commanded everyone not to come even inches near her chambers. I had assumed she was only going to work for about a few hours.

Not for three days, twelve hours and six minutes.

For that matter, I had not been counting. That would be inane.

The Manor truly felt much emptier without her around, especially since she had disappeared into her chambers almost immediately after we had pranked Andrew. None of us had even celebrated our victory properly, as she had left for work before we could do so.

To say the least, I was very annoyed. What work was it that was so important that she had to sit at it for three days straight?

"Your Royal Highness? Your Royal Highness?" I felt someone tap my shoulder insistently.

I jerked, snapping out of my trance. My vision focused on Lady Cavarriere, who was looking at me in concern.

"I hope dinner is to your satisfaction, Sire? I made sure to include Marzipan in the dessert, as you wished," she seemed anxious, wringing her hands.

All chatter around the dining table stopped at once, and all eyes were on me.

My eyes, however, fell on the empty seat on my right, and that uncomfortable knot twisted in my stomach again, as it had throughout the three days.

Truth be told, I was much too restless these days. I had not been able to concentrate on what Lord Cavarriere had been saying when he had brought me to all the earldoms in Cavarriere, and I had not been able to listen to the people there as attentively as I should have had.

Most importantly, I was I was not even able to enjoy these sumptuous Marzipan blocks as well as I would have liked to.

"Is everything all right, son?" Lord Cavarriere queried, worried, "you have been distracted all week."

"Are you missing Jules, Your Royal Highness?" Lady Frances giggled, wagging her eyebrows suggestively.

The other Cavarriere Ladies burst out laughing at the absurdity of the notion. There was a knowing glint in Lady Camille's eyes as she smiled at me, almost as if she could sense my conflicting thoughts.

Mayhap I had become too accustomed to Julie's presence in these two weeks of the Potential Quest?

"Girls!" Lady Cavarriere burst out, appalled, "you do not speak to a Prince in such a manner! Do apologise at once." This only earned her more laughter.

"I apologise on their behalf, Your Royal Highness," she shook her head, huffing, "I know not what has gotten into them these few days. First, pranking poor Andrew and now this..." she rambled on.

A chuckle escaped my lips despite myself at the memory, as I remembered how Julie and the rest of us had so thoroughly planned out the prank, and put it into action with great success -

By the Lord, there I was again! Why did I keep coming back to thinking about her?

"That is quite all right, Lady Cavarriere - and I do enjoy the dinner. Your cooking skills are unrivalled," I flashed her a charming smile, "I fear I am a little out of sorts today, that is all."

In the meanwhile, Lady Camille smiled at me, as if she knew exactly what I was thinking.

"I would suggest," she chose her words carefully, "that you take a pot of coffee, and two Marzipan blocks from this dining table, and rescue the damsel from her prison. It will make you feel better."

Upon hearing her words, euphoria shot through me in a burst of energy I had not experienced since the prank day.

"Thank you, Lady Camille," I grinned at her, as I grabbed a tray, and placed a pot of coffee, two cups and two Marzipan blocks on it.

Lady Cavarriere and the rest watched me, silently surprised.

Shooting everyone an apologetic smile, I excused myself and fled upstairs towards Julie's study with astonishing speed I had not believed I possessed. I skidded to a stop at her door, and made sure everything was on my tray, before I knocked thrice on the door.

"Julie?"

No answer. I tried knocking again.

"Julie?"

I banged on the door even more loudly.

"Julie?"

Again, no answer.

Truly worried now, I attempted to open the door, only to find it locked. My brows furrowed, as my mind raced.

How would I enter?

"Your Royal Highness," a deep voice spoke behind me, amused, "the duplicate key to this room is under the carpet."

I almost jumped, startled, as I turned around to face the Lord Cavarriere.

"Have you finished dining, Lord Cavarriere?" my forehead creased, "I should not like your dinner disrupted on my account."

"Nay, son," he smiled briefly, "I was already finishing when you took off, worry not. Please...please make sure she is all right, will you not? She has always been the one to overwork, even as a child." He gestured to the door, sighing.

"I will let you know, my Lord, when I am certain of it myself," I frowned, as I bent down to reach for the duplicate key under the carpet below my feet, "if you will kindly excuse me..."

He nodded, understanding, and he walked off towards his own study. Jamming the key into the key hole, I gently opened the door, knowing that she hated it when the others flung the doors open.

In all honesty, I hated it too. Loud noises had never failed to grate on my nerves and push me into a state of irritation that could last throughout the day.

I entered the room, and was shocked, nay, horrified, by its state of disarray.

The floors were covered completely with crushed balls of parchment, to the extent that I could no longer see the marble flooring. Quills and empty ink bottles littered the floor, as did melted wax. The study table, however, was a whole different story.

A lot of thick books, thicker than English and French dictionaries put together, were stacked up on the table like fortresses, and some of them were open to various pages, scattered across the table.

When I was able to look past the huge books, I noticed the tiny Julie almost buried under more parchment and used quills. She was slumped over the table, her arms wrapped around her head.

Her blonde curls, which were usually tucked neatly under a black beret in a bun, were now undone and lay in a mass of gold all about her shoulders, and down her back. The gentle heaving of her shoulders indicated that she was in deep sleep.

Sweeping her hair aside, I placed a hesitant hand on her shoulder and shook her gently. "Julie?"

She jerked, and slowly raised her head to look at me, blinking. Once again, I was startled to see how little she had cared for her well-being these three days.

Dark, deep set circles surrounded her reddened eyes, and her pale white cheeks were hollow, making her cheekbones stick out unnaturally. Her appearance truly frightened me.

When was the last time she had had a proper meal?

"Your Royal Highness?" she slurred, her voice still thick with sleep, "what in the world are you doing here?"

Good question. What in the world was I doing here?

In all honesty, even I had no idea why I had come. However, I did know that I was extremely worried to see her in such a state, and I decided to use that as an excuse.

"I merely came to check if you were all right," I hesitated, "you do realise you have not exited this room in almost three days?"

"I have exited it every day to make my food in the morning," she yawned, rubbing her eyes, "you just do not see me, that is all. You are never awake at dawn unless I force you to get up. You just sleep on and on and on...." she trailed off, her head dropping back against the table.

I chuckled, despite myself. She was much more amusing when she was half-asleep than she was when she was wide awake.

"Nay, do not return to your sleep yet," I shook her shoulders again, "here, I brought you your favourite Marzipan, coated with sugar syrup, and some coffee." Her head rolled, and she shot me a lazy, bleary-eyed smile.

"Truly? You have yet to eat them all?" she laughed sleepily, raising herself up with great effort, before she seemed to realise something.

"You would never willingly bring me Marzipan. You always eat them yourself. Are you pranking me?" She frowned, suspicious, sniffing them.

"Nay, Julie, I promise. Please eat them before you die of starvation."

She laughed again, her voice drowsily bitter this time. "I will not die. Papa always says that I am like the Iron Lady, too strong to ever die."

I frowned, bewildered. What was she talking about? By the Lord, she must be truly delirious with sleep if she was uttering such nonsense. I had a feeling she would remember nothing of this in the morning.

I pushed the tray towards her. "You are blabbering, Julie. Stop talking and eat."

"I knew you would not believe me. You never do. You are most vexing, Nick," she mumbled, gorging on the Marzipan.

Suddenly, time came to a standstill. I had my breath knocked out of me, as her last words repeated over and over again in my mind.

She had called me Nick. She had not addressed me as such in many years.

It felt nice to hear it again, truth be told. At last, that annoying nudging in the back of my mind whenever she called me 'Your Royal Highness' these days ceased.

"Did you just call me Nick?" I queried incredulously.

She shot me a bewildered frown at that, with her eyes half-closed, as if I were insane.

"That is your name, yes?"

"Aye..." I trailed off.

"Then what is the problem?" she rolled her eyes, as she finished the Marzipan blocks and gulped down the coffee in one motion.

"The problem is..." I stopped, and shook my head, my mind still in a turmoil.

In the meanwhile, she pushed her tray away, and sighed loudly. "Thank you for the Marzipan and coffee, Nick, but you need to leave now," she whined, "I have a lot of work to do."

With that, she pouted, rubbing her eyes again as she glared sleepily at her table.

"You can hardly keep your eyes open," I observed, amused, "you need to go to bed and sleep."

"Nay, I cannot..." she groaned, sounding almost hysterical, "I am a mess. I cannot find anything. For these three days, I kept thinking and reading and searching...but nothing. I know and I found nothing at all." She banged a fist against her table weakly, frustrated.

"It is all right. There is always tomorrow and the day after," I frowned, unable to comprehend her trouble, "what is it that is so urgent that takes precedence over your well-being?"

"You do not understand. I have been working on this even before we left Bordeux. The faster I find what I need to, the faster I can put an end to all of this. But I cannot. I keep trying and trying and trying.... but I cannot find it. Papa was correct. I am such a failure, Nick....such a failure...."

Her voice was filled with bewildered self-loathing, and she sounded close to tears.

Truth be told, I was very much disturbed by her tone. Julie was always the one filled with boundless energy - vexingly stubborn, and leeching herself onto even the most impossible tasks.

God forgive me, but I had attempted many times in my childhood to extinguish that flame which was always alight inside of her.

Never had I seen her so defeated, so close to giving up.

I would speak to her regarding this tomorrow, but at the moment, she needed her rest. "You will feel better in the morning," I assured her, offering my hand, "now, come, get up. Go to bed."

She shook her head childishly. "Nay, I will not..." she mumbled, "go away, Nick, cease pestering me. I do not wish to sleep. I cannot afford to...sleep...not now...." With that, her head slowly descended upon the table again against her will.

I heaved a huge sigh, rolling my eyes. She was much too stubborn for her own good. If I let her be, this vicious cycle would repeat tomorrow, and on the days after.

Pulling back my sleeves, I bent down and slipped an arm under her knees and another under her back and lifted her up into my arms. I knew I was risking castration at the very least if she were to wake up now and find me carrying her, but I did not care.

By the Lord, she was so light. For someone who lived on, and only for Marzipan, this was rather astonishing.

She stirred for a moment, but she did not wake up, as her arms subconsciously encircled my neck and she snuggled into my chest. Smiling softly, I was about to walk away towards her bedchambers, when the words on one of the parchments on the table caught my eye.

Lord Pierre of Vareniol

Lord Louis of Marseille

Lord Francois of Avignon

Lord Lucas of Derelia

Lord Lucien of Derelia

Every one of their names had a strange symbol drawn beside them, a double helix structure of a pair of serpents entwined together, except Lucien's.

Lucien's name was circled and bolded, as if she had written over his name again and again with ferocity, and there was a word beside it.

Mistake.

There were quite a number of ink blots on that one particular word.

Below that, there were many small mind maps drawn around the names, and from what I could make out from her messy penmanship, they were her theories and hunches on the connections between the five murders.

I felt my eyes grow bigger and bigger as I read on. She truly meant her apology that day then, I thought with some surprise, she is working so hard to find the murderer for me, for Lucien, and for all the families that were broken because of the one evil man who had murdered the five of these Lords.

Warmth spread through me at that thought, and I looked down at the peacefully sleeping woman in my arms, feeling something close to tenderness for her.

At that moment, I knew and I realised something I should have had long ago. What happened at the Bordeux Dungeons with Lucien was merely that - a mishap.

An error that was not supposed to occur.

An image of her working together with her Captains to come up with a security plan for the Dungeons formed in my mind then. How she would have put forth her ideas, attentively listened to those of her Captains, poured over her books night and day to study security plans of the past. How she would have had perspired and slaved to ensure that every single aspect of it was accurate.

She was a perfectionist by nature.

The Lord President was mistaken about his daughter, and it seemed that his opinion had misled my thoughts as well. I well remembered the venom underlying his tone when he had first informed me that Lucien's murderer had been able to murder him, and escape scot-free, mainly due to her incompetency in designing the security plans.

They clearly had a misunderstanding between them, and somehow, he had dragged me into it.

I was wrong to have blamed her and tormented her about Lucien's murder, but I had been plunged too deep into my grief for Lucien and my dislike for her to see that. I had needed someone, anyone, to blame, and how conveniently the Lord President had found me one.

I felt disgusted with myself for the umpteenth time this month.

Tightening my grip on her, I carried her to her bedchamber, which was connected to her study by a wooden door. I weaved through the wooden trunks and boxes littered around the room, and lay her gently on the huge white bed, untangling her arms from my neck as carefully as I could without waking her.

Pulling the thick layers of blankets over her to protect her from the cold, I was about to walk away when I felt my hand being pulled.

"Nick?" she mumbled sleepily.

"You are awake again?" I turned around to smile at her in amusement, but it was wiped off my face at once when I noticed her hands grip her blankets until they turned white, and her whole body trembled.

I was at her side in a flash. "What is the matter? Are you ill?" I questioned urgently, worried.

Did she catch a cold from Anna? Was there an illness that was spreading around the duchy?

"Please do not leave," she whispered, "I am afraid to sleep. Every time I close my eyes, all I can see is them...stay here, s'il te plaît." Her eyes squeezed shut, holding on tight to my hand.

I felt my forehead crease in concern, as I knelt down on the ground, and smoothed my other hand over her forehead. "All right, I will stay," the soft words were out of my mouth even before my mind registered them, "sleep, Julie."

She nodded, inhaling sharply, as she pulled our entwined hands close to her cheek, and began to drift off into a deep sleep.

***