A bloodcurdling scream had torn through the silence of the night. It was long after sunset, the moon already shining at its zenith, and I was burrowed far into the depths of the palace library. A book was nestled in my lap and my head was bowed as I absorbed the words on the page, with the faint sound of crickets chirping in the background.

When I first heard it, my head snapped up and I jumped to my feet, book tumbling to the ground. I ran towards the source of the noise, the sound of my feet hitting the marble floors of the winding palace hallways echoing against the walls. The screaming had stopped, but I already had an idea of where it was coming from, and the thought of it made my stomach jump to my throat.

I made my way towards the bed chambers, a long hallway lined with doors that each led to the bedroom of my siblings. I skidded to a stop before the door to Genevive's chambers, my heart pounding. In hindsight, it would've been smarter to wake up my father, the king, but adrenaline and fear had clouded my judgement, and instead I threw open the door.

Before me was a man dressed in all black, leaning over my eldest sister's body with a gleaming knife that dripped with white blood. I stood frozen with fear. The only thing I could look at was Genevive's body, and the blooming white stain that tainted her clothes. Her dark blue eyes that were once filled with mystery and wisdom were now glassy and lifeless. I could tell already that she was gone, past the point of no return. Her blue lips were slightly parted, as if ready to scream again.

The man started to move towards the window, which stood ajar. I did the only thing I could to prevent him from leaving: I screamed. The man turned around, startled. In the moonlight, I could see him better. He had dark eyes and black hair, closely cropped to his head. A Xeorian. His nose curved over like a hawks and his lips curled into a sneer. He pulled his arm back, ready to throw the knife at me and ensure his safe escape, but he was cut short when a knife hurtled from behind me and pierced him right in the chest. He fell back with a grunt, and black blood started to bloom around the hilt of the knife. I whirled around to find the owner of the knife that was now lodged into the chest of Genevive's murderer. My eldest brother stood there, dressed in his night clothes, but there was not a trace of sleep in his eyes. Caspian quickly ran his gaze over me to make sure I was not hurt, and ran towards Genevive's body.

Two fingers to Genevive's wrist told Caspian what I already knew. Genevive was gone. 27 years down the drain in a single blink of an eye. Caspian straightened and looked at me. His face was pale but emotionless, his eyes void of any feelings.

"Etharen. Go get Father." he demanded urgently.

I started to turn and leave the room when clamouring and voices were heard. My father, Sapphira, and Falkor burst into the room, still in their nightclothes and their faces filled with worry and confusion.

I watched as realization dawned on them, as they took in Genevive's body, the dark haired man slumped in the corner, and Caspian's dagger lodged in his chest. Sapphira understood first, her delicate hands flying to her mouth and a little shriek escaping. She immediately ran towards Genevive, crouching next to her body. I watched as tears streamed down her face and her body shook with sobs. Although Sapphira was two years older than me, her heart was much softer. She stroked Genevive's white hair out of her face and slid two trembling fingers over her eyelids, letting them close gently.

My father wasn't far behind, slowly walking towards his first born daughter's corpse. He stared down at her, and I saw the emotions pass through him. Shock, then grief, and finally, a settling anger, a quiet, cold fury.

He spoke cutting, calculated words. "Falkor, go get Roman. Sapphira, wake Eleanor, but be quiet of it. Etharen, Caspian, come with me." He walked out the door without looking back.

Caspian retrieved both his dagger and the Xeorians knife and strode after him, and Falkor exited too. Sapphira and I looked at each other. My older sister's face was streaked with tears, but she managed a small, watery smile. She pulled me into a hug, burying her face into my shoulder while I rubbed her back in small circles. We rested that way for a moment before I leaned back and gripped her by her shoulders.

"Everything's going to be okay." I tried to steady my voice, to sound confident for her, but in reality, my head was churning with anxious thoughts and worries. I patted her back and pulled away. "Go. Go get Eleanor. She'll know what to do."

With that, I left the room, turning into the hallway and following Caspian's and Fathers voices to the map room. I pushed open the huge wooden doors, and stepped inside. The two of them were standing before a circular mahogany table, murmuring in urgent voices. Their talking hushed as soon as I arrived. Father stopped pacing and gestured for me.

"Etharen. Come here.'' I walked over to them, glancing worridly at Caspian. Genevive was his best friend, his confidant, his partner in crime. There was not a moment they were not together, scheming, planning, fantasizing about Eoria when it was under their rule. Although Caspian was naturally a logical and reserved person, it concerned me to see him so blank, so steeled. But I was grateful for his quick fingers and perfect aim, even moments after waking up. I shuddered to think what would have happened if he hadn't shown up. I would most likely be lying dead in a pool of my own black blood, next to Genevive. Everyone would see the colour of it, and my secrets would be revealed, although it would be the least of my worries then. But if anyone were to find out now while I was still alive... I shook my head to get rid of the thought. It was too scary to even think about.

Instead, I swallowed hard and stared back at them. "What do you need me for?"

"I need you to tell me everything that happened, from beginning to end." Father's voice was strained, and the bags under his eyes were more prominent than ever. Caspian stared at me intently, leaning over the table with his hands placed firmly upon it. In front of him lay the knife, still wet with Genevive's blood.

"Well, I was in the library, reading, when I heard her scream. I got up and followed the noise to Genevive's room, where I saw the Xeorian standing over her dead body."

No one questioned why I was awake so late at night. They had grown used to my late night endeavors, and left me to my books while the rest of the palace slept. They found it odd, but no one other than Father and I knew the real reason why I slept so little. My Xeorian blood prevented me from getting tired easily, a trait that paired well with my ability to see without much light.

"He was about to escape through the window, but I screamed. So he turned around to throw his knife at me, but Caspian got there first and killed him."

Father's face darkened, and he wheeled around to face Caspian.

"Why did you kill him?" he thundered. "We could have interrogated him, got answers!"

Caspian didn't flinch. "Would you have rathered two of your daughters killed in one night?"

If it had been any other who spoke to the king like that, their head would have been cut off. But Caspian was Father's golden son, and held more leeway. Besides, the event of having your sister murdered constituted some emotional duress.

Father sighed in defeat and ran a hand over his wrinkled face. "What do we know so far?"

Caspian held up the knife in his slender fingers. He pointed at the hilt of the sword. Engraved into the silver hilt was an elaborate crest depicting a falcon sitting atop an anvil.

"This crest belongs to the-"

"The Lunabriars" I finished the sentence for him.

He looked at me incredulously. "How did you know that?"

I shrugged. "Just because Falkor and Sapphira don't concern themselves with knowledge and politics doesn't mean I don't either."

He furrowed his eyebrows and squinted, as if seeing me for the first time. But it only lasted for a fleeting moment, and soon the calm and collected Caspian returned.

"The crest means that this was the work of the royal family, not just some Xeorian who thinks he's doing his people a favour."

"But why would they start now? I know we're at war but there's always been limits. What would make them go so far as to murder the daughter of the king?"

Again Caspian looked at me oddly, like it had never occured to him that his youngest sibling could have intelligible thoughts.

"A good question, but one we do not know the answer to. It could very well be that they felt threatened by Genevive. She was next in line to the throne, after all. Once in power, she would be a huge threat to them."

"But why would they kill Genevive if that would leave you next in line? You pose just as much a threat to them as Genevive." Father argued.

"That's not true. I may be astute but I do not have the same ambition and drive as Genevive did. She knew what she wanted and she would always get it." Caspian countered.

"Or maybe they were going for Caspian next." I voice the simplest alternative. "I doubt they expected anyone to be awake, and it would be hitting two birds with one stone."

Caspian and Father glanced at each other, but before they could say anything, a knock was heard. Roman, the Eorian palace's seneschal walked in, with Falkor trailing behind him. Roman was still rubbing sleep from his eyes, looking bewildered and confused.

"What's happening, your majesty?" he asked while bowing. I can see his scalp through his sparse white hair as he leans forward, and he teeters on his feet. He's not as young as he used to be, but Father has refused to replace him for someone more lively and youthful.

"Genevive has just been murdered. I need you to lock all the doors and double the number of guards outside. The murderer has been killed but we must make sure that no one else can get inside, or out. Search all the rooms too, and make sure Eleanor has everything that she needs." Father demanded in his booming voice. Any trace of drowsiness disappeared from Roman's face, and he stood stick straight.

"Of course, your majesty."

Father dismissed him and motioned to Caspian and i.

"Go, get some rest. There's nothing for us to do anymore. We'll discuss this in the morning when we can think clearer."

Caspian nodded reluctantly, obviously wanting to stay and work through this. But instead he turned and left without a word.

After saying goodnight, I walked back towards the bedchambers. I caught Caspian pushing open the door to his room, but before he could disappear behind the walls, I called out.

"Caspian, wait."

He turned around, startled.

"Is everything alright, Etharen?"

"If you can't fall asleep, call for lavender and valerian root."

For the first time all night, the hard look in his eyes softened, and was replaced with sadness. He gave me a small smile.

"I will. Thank you." he turned and disappeared into his room, gently closing the door behind him and leaving me alone in the grand hallway, with an aching feeling in my heart.

☾ ☼ ☽

I watched as a procession carried genevive's body in a glass casket down the aisle, towards an outdoor altar. The sun beat down on us, and the air was still, not a single breeze, as if mother nature was grieving with us. The song of birds that was normally heard in the palace gardens was gone, and only suppressed sobs of grief could be heard.

Even in death, Genevive was beautiful. She lay on a bed of lilac pansies, her white hair fanned above her shoulders. Her pale skin, smattered with freckles, seemed to take on an ethereal glow, as if she was already moving on to the afterlife. She wore a white dress, adorned with golden embroidery across the hem and cuffs, and her hands were placed on her stomach. Thanks to Eleanor's and Sapphira's skilled hands, you could hardly even tell that she had been brutally stabbed the night before.

The ceremony was small and short. We watched as they lowered her casket into the grave, next to generations of deceased Lucerbriars. Father, Caspian, Falkor, Sapphira and I stood next to her grave as people came up one by one to set flowers next to her headstone and give out their condolences. All the while, Genevive's mother, Lady Isadora, weeped loudly and threw herself upon Father's shoulders. Even at her daughter's funeral, Lady Isadora always required the spotlight to be on her, and this time, she posed as a grieving mother who despaired at her daughter's death.

Father looked at her with contempt and disgust. Many years ago, he had loved her, stroked her hair and showered her in flamboyant dresses and jewels, but it soon became clear that she only stayed for the riches and the attention. Father had dropped her like a hot coal, but not before Genevive was born. Although Lady Isadora had been kicked out of the palace like a scorned dog, Father cared for Genevive. She had grown to possess all of the good qualities of a leader, and I could tell that Father anticipated watching her rule over Eoria one day.

Lady Isadora scowled as Father pushed her off his shoulder and hissed at her to compose herself. There was an uneasy tension in the air. Although it had not been formally announced that Genevive had been murdered, word travelled fast among the maids and hobs, which in turn spread to all of the citizens of Eoria. People looked covertly over their shoulders as if someone could leap out from behind the chyrsanthemums and attack them. I couldn't blame them though. Even with Faewell's dark past, assassinations were not common, and Eorians and Xeorians preferred to employ more discreet methods to harm one another. The history books I read depicted crops ruined by a horde of ravenous pixies, all the militia's weapons stolen, the market square destroyed, a disease let loose upon the people and the likes. Murders were things that took place in the mortal world, not here in Faewell.

After Father and Caspian gave their speeches, people started to disperse. Eorians are not fond of despondent events, and mourning for long amounts of time makes them uncomfortable. I watch as members of the Court of Light and the gentry file out one by one, their heads bowed down. Past the garden's gates, townsfolk had congregated, hands gripping the metal bars and faces peering eagerly into the gardens. They had obviously been watching on, curiosity getting the best of them. When they saw that the funeral was over, they too started to disappear, leaving only Father, Sapphira, Caspian, Falkor and i while the maids cleaned away any evidence of Genevive's funeral.

Sapphira was still crying quietly, tears streaming down her face, and Caspian looked on solemnly. Part of me felt guilty that I wasn't crying too, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't make myself feel anything. Genevive and I hadn't been very close. We kept to ourselves, hardly acknowledging each other's existence, but I could tell that she didn't like me very much. None of my half-siblings did. While they were off attending their mandatory combat and swordsfighting classes, I was curled up comfortably in the library. While they were forced to clear away the dishes after dinner for "character building", I was kept safely away from the glasses and knives. While they weren't allowed to read certain books, I was given free range. Even when we were young, they looked at me with bitterness in their eyes when I sat on Father's knee so he could whisper stories to me. They hated me when Father praised me for completing a difficult puzzle, or finding my way out of a theoretical scenario. I'll never forget the way Falkor used to viciously pull my hair as i walked out of Father's chambers, the way Genevive used to taunt me in front of everyone, or the way Caspian used to place crushed borage petals in my food before i slept, so i wouldn't wake up in time for our classes. Even Sapphira, sweet tempered and gentle, used to look at me with hints of jealousy in her eyes. As a child, they loathed me for being Father's favourite, but they'll never understand that Father's gentle hands and words weren't rewards for my character, but to save his own skin, that my liberty in the palace library was not because i was most liked, but to keep me pacified and occupied. They'll never understand that the tales Father used to tell me were not legends of bravery and courage, but rather stories about the things that would happen to me if anyone found out about my blood, stories of the sacrifices Father had made for me, stories about the way he had murdered my mother to protect us. They were stories designed to terrify me, to prevent me from rebelling against my constraints.

Back then, I had fought back against their torment, punched and squirmed and kicked, only to realize that it made things worse. I learned the hard way that blatantly countering didn't work, and instead resorted to subtle tricks and slights. I observed and gathered knowledge about them. The exact time they went to sleep and woke up, where they placed their swords and knives, whether or not they drank from their cups or ate from their plate first. The knowledge from my books came in handy too. I brewed draughts with St. John's Wort, griffonia bean and sage and poured them into their drinks. I listened with satisfaction as they tossed and turned all night, plagued by nightmares. I placed drops of honey in their soaps and fought back laughter when hummingbirds attacked their heads. I trusted no one and needed no one, but eventually they caught on, and left me alone once they realized that I was not some helpless little girl who couldn't save her own skin.

But we are older now, and their attention has drifted from me, allowing me to fade into the background. They have grown used to our predicament, and leave me to my books and puzzles, my herbs and brews and slights of hand. We tolerate each other, sometimes even laugh together. Falkor, in all his bitterness, allows me to watch him hurtle knives at target dolls and oak trunks, Caspian occasionally shows me an intricately drawn map, Sapphira braids my hair and brings me flowers from the fields, and Genevive used to cover for me when i snuck out at night, tired of roaming the same hollow halls everyday.

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