Chapter 9: 'I'm not good with trees'
Amelia's eyes followed the duke past the entrance to the adjoining room through the mirror.
"Not even a good night," Amelia said in a low voice
"What was it, Duchess?" Laila, who was braiding her hair, leaned closer.
"Ah, it's nothing. I'm just… thinking is all." Amelia faintly smiled at her youngest lady-in-waiting through the mirror and let her finish her work.
Of all her ladies-in-waiting, Laila Tull was a fresh bud in a bush of blooming roses. She came from a family of scholars that Amelia's ancestors have recognized and gifted a small portion of the duchy to rule over. They specialized in research regarding agriculture and farming, which was Osmea's greatest strength.
Laila was but thirteen when they were introduced. She was shy but immediately brightened up when the topics interested her. Over the years, with Arabella's influence, she has gotten a little brazen with time—something that she should foster to stay by her side.
After the duchess' hair was braided and placed in a bun, Constance and the others helped her undress. She ordered that they let her bathe in private so she could have a moment with her own thoughts, and though their brows furrowed, the three ladies stepped aside and closed the door behind her.
Alone, Amelia slowly eased her way into the essence-filled tub as the water slowly crept up to her arms. The calming scent of lavender made her eyes close, and when she did, the scenes of her engagement to the duke played in her mind in slow motion. The kiss that they shared, the feel of his body against her. His voice, his warm touch; the way he kissed her on the forehead, and the way he looked at her after their kiss. It was all new to her, yet she felt somewhat nostalgic.
She hasn't told anyone about the duke's proposal and that she accepted it—there was not a good moment—not until everything's been resolved.
"Haa…" she sighed and slid deeper into the tub.
When she's had her fill, she went out and washed off the oil and dried herself. Amelia went out in an intricately embroidered satin robe; by then, she let her ladies-in-waiting assist her.
Amelia permitted them to leave when they were done, but Constance insisted they stayed with her; she understood the worry, but it was unnecessary, so the ladies-in-waiting could do nothing but leave her.
When the door closed behind them, the duchess stood up and went towards her dresser, staring at herself in the mirror. She wasn't sure why she did so, but she felt like she had to. Not long after, she sighed again and went back to bed. She glanced at the clock and saw that it was already past nine in the evening.
She didn't want to sleep; she wanted to think and ponder about things, to decide on the next course of action she should take—but her body thought otherwise.
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A cabin in the forest on that same day seven years ago.
The ground splashed and sounded as the horse's hooves stepped on it. Amelia held onto the boy in front of her like it was her life; his beating heart lulled her. His cape was over her head to shield her from the cold. A little while ago, the rain died, and her Uncle Vance entrusted her to a boy who came to see how things were progressing. He panted as he lowered himself to meet her—and equally wet.
She clearly remembered how they were approached by a man with a beard connected to his sideburns. He introduced himself as a knight commander who was a friend of her then-late father. He told the young Amelia that he would do everything in his power to find the people responsible for destroying her house. Still, Amelia only heard obligatory words of sympathy for the only living heir of the empire's oldest duchy. And she wasn't the only one feeling it as Vance Thomson's hand tightened around hers.
When he seemed satisfied with his speech, he called his men over and commanded them what to do next.
"Are you okay?" the boy asked as he cupped her face with his cold hands that broke her thoughts. She didn't notice that they'd arrived, and he already unmounted. But Amelia stared blankly.
She felt nothing—empty, blank, hollow—like a doll.
She couldn't believe that everyone she loved left her. Her father was supposed to teach her how to ride the horse by herself, but he was so busy with work that it kept being postponed. Amelia embroidered fabrics for her sibling to use. She had wished for a boy so her father would give him the title, or maybe a girl so she wouldn't be so lonely.
But everything's gone.
"Are you okay?" the boy's faint voice and furrowed brows were her undoing.
Something hot streamed down her cold face, and a barrel of emotion stirred her up inside.
Suddenly, her throat tightened. Amelia gasped for air. She held onto the collar of her wet dress, but it wasn't helpful. She heaved and gasped and choked on her own saliva, but nothing appeased her. Her mind wanted her to scream as loud as she could, but she couldn't get the voice out of her mouth.
She heard the boy call for her several times, even shaking her to get her attention, but her ears rang. She flailed her arms, kicked her legs, and clawed herself free, not until tight arms cradled her and they both fell on the ground. She kept on crying 'no' as the boy's heartbeat calmed her despite the forest's growing sounds.
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"Jyver," Alexander called as soon as he opened the glass balcony door when he arrived at the guest room Ancel brought him into.
The leaves ruffled, and out came Jyver looking like a black cat.
"Duke Clement, your grace," he bowed and was startled when he raised his head only to see the scrutinizing eyes of Sir Ancel Whitt. He bowed his head again and greeted, "I am Jyver, my lord. I came from one of Felfords' branch families."
"Ah," Ancel nodded his head lightly and waved his hand. "You may raise your head. But I must say, my sister would ridicule you persistently if she saw you just now. The leaves made too much noise."
"I'm bad with trees," he answered with his hand on his nape.
It was the first time Alexander saw his knight flustered. Was it because he recognized the knight as one from the main family? Or did he sense that Ancel's stronger? In any case, it's a matter that could wait in the future.
"I shall take my leave then, your grace. I will have someone bring you a proper meal and draw the bath." Alexander simply nodded and thanked the knight for his services.
Alone, Alexander fished out the decanter of liquor he shoved in the satchel Ancel gave him. He sniffed it once before the hot liquid made his eyes close as it drew a fine line to his insides.
"What have you got so far?"
"The root has the rat. I heard that he brought it in one of the palace's dungeons, but I haven't found the exact location yet."
"Hmm…" he sounded. He stretched his legs on the wooden center table as he leaned back on the couch.
He's famished, tired, and sticky—but he's looking forward to meeting the face that tried to kill him, so maybe the bath could wait a little longer.
"Look for Arabella Whitt," he demanded with his eyes fixed on the carved ceiling with golden trimmings. "If anyone should know where the dungeon is in this palace, it's the Whitt siblings. Ancel has to go for rounds, so the sister is the only chance we have."
Like where he came in, Jyver was out through the balcony in quick seconds.
Alone, Alexander contemplated on how he should go around the matter of his, or their, assassination once they've caught the man. What kind of manner of interrogating should he use? There's a lot he could think of, but his mind had… other things to think about.
Like Amelia's gentle scent, her firm muscles beneath her soft skin; the lips that he took—he wanted to take them longer—deeper—but the duke didn't want to overwhelm the duchess, and though it was so hard for him, he tried to control himself.
Him controlling himself when it comes to topics of the flesh was an effort worthy to be praised for eternity, as this trait was never his best trait. But Amelia's different from the women he's been with. Her favor and her comfort were at the top of his list.
Yet, his mind wandered still. Her lips were soft, sweet, and full. The moment she permitted him entry, his very core rocked. He wanted to sweep her off her feet and onto the bed. He was prepared to get slapped and beaten and cursed at. He's prepared to put his head on a stake for taking her, but no. He realized he cherish her too much. He cherished her to a point a that, he, Alexander Clement, a man who is by nature never without a woman for prolonged periods of time, is willing to dedicate his life and leave his worldly desire just to honor the duchess.
He wanted to take things slow. Woe her until he's all she thinks about when she wakes up until she falls asleep. He wanted to take it slow to earn her trust again—to make her remember. Because since that night at the banquet, he's never been himself again.
Alexander sighed and shook his head. He must be enchanted or some sort. He'd never been like this. Taking slow wasn't even in his vocabulary. Women always flocked to his feet for a taste, and he was never one to disappoint.
He groaned. He stretched his hands upward, and he was halfway through his yawn when the door opened hastily, and a small lady covered in black leather breeches and body-fitting tunic of the same color that closed up to her neck appeared like a raging bull.
"What the fuck is this about now?" Arabella demanded with her hands on her hips.
**********
Amelia woke up.
She looked from side to side and found herself alone; she thought that at least Arabella would've been stubborn enough to stay with her.
"Did she go somewhere?" she murmured as she navigated herself out of her mountain of pillows.
Amelia grabbed her matching silk robe from the couch and sat by one of her windows' settee. She was about to open her light when she stopped herself; the people who tried to kill her might still be on the move, so the duchess thought it best to pretend that she's still unwell.
Aside from her Brother Ayland, Duke Mulford and his sons, her ladies-in-waiting, and Mr. Vance, there's probably no one in the empire that knew her immunity to poison. It was conducted at one of the mountain villas that Vernon Mulford owned near the northern territory. There were unique kinds of plants with highly poisonous properties that could only be found in the north's icy mountains. But she didn't stay there for long. She stayed from one villa to another in Aclador, and finally, she came home to Osmea. The thick forest was also a treasure trove of diverse kinds of poisonous plants.
Amelia closed her eyes and tried to remember her dream. It was the first time in a long while that she didn't reminisce about the horrific scene of that monster that engulfed her home. It was the first time in a long while that she wasn't out of breath when she opened her eyes.
'What could be the reason?' she asked herself.
A few moments passed; Amelia still couldn't find it in her to fall asleep again. She felt somewhat refreshed and energized despite the earlier ordeal. But just when she decided to lay in bed and wait for sleep to succumb to her, she heard a faint rattle from a distance.
Amelia stiffened and a tingle ran from her feet to the ends of her hair. Immediately, she turned around in the Western Garden's direction and peeked at the far side of her thick drapes.
Amidst the flickering flame that danced with the wind, Amelia's eyes widened as a swift shadow moved quickly across the shadowed part of the garden. It's a movement she was not familiar with. The only assassins in the palace were the Whitt siblings, unless—there were assassins out to get her!
Amelia's hand tightened on the drape as her eyes narrowed to look for whoever or whatever that was.
It wasn't seven years ago. Amelia wasn't the same naïve, sheltered, helpless young lady she used to be. She didn't go through hell and back to repeat the same mistakes again.
Trying to calm herself, Amelia quickly undressed and rummaged through her dresser for a dark-colored pair of tailored trousers and fitted tunic. She grabbed her sword belt and fastened two daggers on each side; the daggers were quicker and lighter. As soon as the clasp of the belt clicked, Amelia slid on a pair of leather boots before heading towards the door.
Carefully, the duchess turned the knob and looked around. When she saw that there were no knights guarding her room, her breathing became ragged. Typically, there would be two to three knights stationed outside, but now, not a soul in the hallway. Amelia didn't want to think of the worst, but given the opportunity, the duchess took small quick steps out to the hallway and traced the shadows below hers.
She peeked through one of the windows in the hallway, and it struck her odd that none was in her line of sight. Assassins were good at camouflaging themselves, and they're light on their feet—but she's neither. What she had were a pair of excellent eyes and ears. Maybe an above-than-average agility and moderate flexibility.
Amelia sighed. Everything would've been more accessible if she was a tad shorter and slimmer. She had to crouch at every window she passed by. Her late mother loved the outdoors, so she specifically ordered that the windows were big enough to see the landscape.
A sigh of relief came out of her mouth when she finally reached the vast garden through one of the doors the servants use near the stables. It's near the kitchen, so she was confident that no one would be there—who would be in the kitchen in the wee hours of the night?
Just when she thought it was clear, laughter was heard from inside the stables. Amelia grunted. Of course, they have an esteemed guest. There's no way no one would be awake at the stables, drinking.
"Fuck," she murmured as she turned back with her head as low as her body permitted her. She quickly went to one of the greenhouses halfway towards the east wing. It's near the training grounds but far enough that the lights didn't reach it. It's a good place for her to gather her thoughts and devise a more solid plan than she initially thought.
Amelia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She tightened her sword belt and brushed her hand against the cold metal handles of her daggers.
The Western Garden was her mother's favorite because the West wing was where the duke's wife and family resided. The maze-like rows of seasonal flowers were always a sight to see. However, since the late duchess passed away, Vance had much trouble keeping it because of his busy schedule, and with Amelia's busy schedule, she couldn't keep it either, so they were exchanged with green shrubs that needed little care and seldom trimming.
It's a vast garden, but the duchess could navigate through it even with her eyes closed.
When she found her resolution, her eyes darted to the nearby fruit trees that her mother ordered to be planted when she was born. Amelia needed to get into higher ground to see well. But as she was making her way there, there was a faint sound of grass being stepped on. She looked back but saw no one. She shook her head thinking that it might be one of the duke's knights out to relieve themselves, so she continued.
Time was of the essence, and the darkness won't be forever.
Amelia took another deep breath before sprinting. When she reached her destination, she hastily climbed the nearest to her.
First branch.
Second branch.
Third bra—
Gifts
-- Gift
received Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone