Chapter 48

“I’m sorry…”  Elena winced, biting her lip and squeezing her eyes shut. She braced herself for Hazel’s inevitable explosion of fury, mentally preparing for the onslaught of insults and violence.

But only silence greeted her. A suffocating, heavy silence that stretched on for what felt like an eternity.

Then, a sound shattered the stillness. An unsettling, high-pitched laugh, utterly out of character for a noblewoman, erupted from Hazel’s throat. Elena snapped her eyes open in shock.

Tears streamed down Hazel’s face as she doubled over, clutching her stomach and rocking back and forth in a fit of manic laughter. Elena and Cura exchanged bewildered glances. Only Carmen remained composed, her expression a mask of cool indifference.

Finally, Hazel’s laughter subsided into gasping breaths. Wiping her eyes with trembling fingers, she looked at Elena, one eye narrowed suspiciously.

“You think very little of me, don’t you?” Hazel rasped, her voice laced with a newfound anger. “Do you take me for a fool?”

Elena’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?” she stammered, completely lost.

The laughter and tears were gone, replaced by a cold fury that burned in Hazel’s eyes. “The day that sound, a sound that felt like it could shatter my eardrums, echoed through the castle walls,” Hazel began, her voice low and dangerous. “The day the Grand Duke emerged from your room. Isn’t that right?”

Elena’s tongue felt thick and heavy. It was true – Kennard had visited her room and even attempted to play the flute, the shrill sound echoing through the halls. There was no way Hazel, confined within the castle walls, could have missed it.

“Were you caught stealing, or was this gifted by the Grand Duke himself?” Hazel sneered, the tip of the flute digging into Elena’s collarbone. “Either way, possessing this little trinket implies that His Grace has given you this, wouldn’t you agree?”

The chain slipped from Hazel’s grasp, dangling mockingly over Elena’s hand clasped protectively over her chest. The pain in her collarbone was a dull throb compared to the growing terror that clawed at her. This day, shrouded in an unsettling silence since dawn, had taken a horrifying turn.

Hazel’s grip tightened, scraping the flute tip roughly down Elena’s chest. “Ouch!” Elena cried out, recoiling as a thin red line blossomed across her skin, quickly welling with blood.

Cura’s scream was cut short by Carmen’s steely form blocking her way. Elena watched in horrified fascination as fat crimson droplets welled from the wound, staining the white fabric of her dress. When Carmen took the flute, a similar crimson bloom appeared on her neck, a mere scratch compared to the brutal gash on Elena’s chest.

As if reading Elena’s thoughts, Hazel jabbed the bloodstained tip at a faint scar peeking from beneath Elena’s collarbone, a mark of unknown origin. The daily ministrations of Cura’s ointments had softened the harsh lines, but under Hazel’s cruel ministrations, the memory of the injury flared anew.

“Does it sting? Or perhaps it’s the indignity of another wound? Compared to the battle scars that adorn your body, this is a mere pinprick.”

Hazel tossed the flute aside with a clatter, her gaze dropping to the pristine white gloves adorning her hands. A smear of Elena’s blood marred the immaculate surface. With a grimace of disgust, she peeled them off, letting them fall limply beside the discarded instrument.

A surge of anger, hot and unwelcome, threatened to boil over within Elena. If Hazel harbored such animosity towards her, why this charade of keeping her close? Why not cast her out, away from the suffocating confines of this castle? Elena hadn’t believed Hazel’s promises of help from the very beginning. Now, the bitter truth gnawed at her – her own foolishness had landed her in this gilded cage with a sadistic jailor.

“To bask in the Grand Duke’s favor, oblivious to your own lowly position,” Hazel spat, her voice dripping with venom. “While I, his supposed betrothed, am ostracized like a foreign pest. How very convenient for you, wouldn’t you say?”

“It wasn’t what I wanted,” Elena stammered, the anger in Hazel’s eyes a chilling counterpoint to her own growing fear.

“Convenient,” Hazel repeated, the word turning into a mantra. “That’s all you ever say. Convenient for you to be showered with luxuries while the rightful heir simmers in resentment.”

Her gaze darted around the room, landing on a hefty rock nestled amongst the saplings. Before Elena could register Hazel’s intent, the stone arced through the air, aimed squarely at the greenhouse’s inner door.

Elena whipped around, throwing her arms over her head in a desperate shield. A deafening crash erupted as the stone connected with its mark.

Peeking through her trembling fingers, Elena saw a gaping hole where the lock once resided, surrounded by a spiderweb of shattered glass. Disbelief washed over her. How fragile was this supposed barrier protecting them from the deadly plants within? She’d known glass doors weren’t fortresses, but the ease with which it had been breached sent shivers down her spine.

Carmen pushed open the shattered doorway, stepping aside with a curt nod. Hazel, with a disdainful flick of her dress, strode into the greenhouse, the crunching of broken glass a chilling counterpoint to the tense silence.

Panic clawed at Elena’s throat as Cura dabbed at the wound with the handkerchief, the pristine white fabric rapidly turning crimson. “Elena, what do we do?” Cura whispered, her eyes flitting nervously between Elena’s wound and the retreating figures of Hazel and Carmen.

“Shouldn’t we call the knights?” They were supposed to be guarding her, but Hazel had cleverly maneuvered them away with a fabricated tea party invitation.

Elena considered Cura’s words. Would the distant crash of breaking glass be enough to rouse them from their enforced idleness? Cura, sensing her hesitation, resolutely wrapped the bloodied cloth around her hand and started towards the outer door.

“Don’t be foolish,” Hazel’s voice cut through the tense silence, laced with a chilling nonchalance. Despite her back being turned, she seemed to possess an unnerving awareness, her gaze sweeping the greenhouse as if she could see through walls. “Nothing here poses a real threat. As long as we avoid touching the poisonous plants, there’s no need for panic.”

Elena sighed, her gaze drawn to the shattered doorway. She could almost picture Serene’s fury if she were to witness this wanton destruction. 

With a resolute glint in her eye, Elena retrieved the discarded flute from the floor. She brushed the dirt and blood from her dress with practiced movements, then secured the instrument to her inner wrist, the knot hidden from sight. Displaying it around her neck would only invite another confrontation with the increasingly volatile Hazel. 

Joining Cura, they entered the greenhouse. Inside, Hazel stood before a towering plant, its vibrant blooms heavy in the humid air. Her posture was odd, her head tilted back at an impossible angle as if to admire the plant’s crown. The elaborate headpiece adorning Hazel seemed precariously balanced, its weight threatening to topple her over at any moment.

“Are all these plants poisonous?” Hazel asked curiously.

Cura’s response was a terse, “Yes.”

Disbelief colored Hazel’s tone. “Why cultivate so many of them?”

The greenhouse overflowed with more than just Vanaichi. A chilling array of flora lined the path, each species boasting its own deadly secret. Some caused a mere nuisance – itchy skin or an irritated rash – while others held the power to paralyze or steal a life within moments.

The thought of revealing Kennard’s potential immunity by consuming these toxins, even to Hazel, his betrothed, was unthinkable. “Exposure without proper training can be dangerous,” Elena warned cautiously. “Even pollen inhalation can be harmful. Perhaps it’s best if you stayed outside.”

Elena spoke in the softest tones possible, her every word carefully measured to avoid provoking Hazel. But her efforts seemed in vain. Hazel, with a dismissive wave of her hand, ventured deeper into the treacherous landscape.

“Elena!” A sense of urgency laced Cura’s voice as she followed Hazel’s trail.

They emerged into a clearing dominated by Vanaichi trees, their vibrant blooms a heady presence in the confined space. Hazel stood amidst them, a curious glint in her eye.

“What’s this flower?” she asked, gesturing towards a blossom. “I’ve seen it in the Grand Duke’s chambers.”

Elena hesitated, a prickle of unease crawling up her spine. Hazel’s presence in Kennard’s quarters wasn’t necessarily suspicious, yet a disquieting dissonance settled in her gut. Pushing down the unwelcome possessiveness, Elena offered a neutral response.

“It’s called Vanaichi.”

“Vanaichi, huh? And is it poisonous like these others?” Hazel swept a hand over the surrounding plants.

“Yes,” Elena confirmed.

“So the Grand Duke consumes poisonous plants as well?” Hazel’s voice held a sly edge.

Elena’s lips pressed into a thin line. Silence seemed the safest course of action.

Hazel’s amusement crackled through the tense atmosphere. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you, Elena?”

Elena forced a steady tone. “No, of course not.”

“Interesting,” Hazel mused. A low chuckle escaped her lips. “Cura, my dear, would you be so kind as to pick a few of these Vanaichi flowers?”

Cura’s face drained of color, her apprehension morphing into stark terror. “What?” Elena echoed, bewildered.

“You heard me perfectly,” Hazel retorted, her eyes flashing with a dangerous glint. “I said pick some of those Vanaichi flowers.”

“But they’re poisonous!” Elena exclaimed, incredulous.

“Exactly,” Hazel countered, her gaze unwavering. “You claim they’re poisonous, yet I’ve witnessed the Grand Duke consume tea brewed from these very flowers. How can I be sure you’re not lying?”