Malcolm teases me when I come back from my dance with Prince Caelinus. He stands by the tables heaped with food, a glass of dark red wine between his slender fingers.

"Your cheeks are so pink! Swept off your feet already?" He laughs, dark eyes twinkling with humour.

"No! I only accepted the dance in order to gain his trust." I protest quietly.

Malcolm raises an eyebrow, a smirk on his face.

"It's true!" I insist. "Don't look at me like that."

"If you say so..." he trails off, still smirking. He reaches for another glass of wine and hands it to me. "Try this. You won't find anything like it in Eoria."

A couple looks over at us, eyebrows furrowed. A man with spiked black hair and a woman with a silver Afro.

Malcolm leans towards them, as if confiding a secret. "Eoria has nothing good, from what I hear. They get stupid-drunk on their cheap wine and think they're drinking delicacies." He scoffs, his acting flawless.

The couple nods in agreement, all looks of concern dissipating from their faces.

"They laugh and laugh and laugh and get nothing done." The woman criticizes, pulling an olive off a toothpick with her perfect, white teeth.

"I heard the oldest daughter of the king was murdered." The man whispers, looking around furtively. "I know I should feel bad, but they deserve it! That should get them off their high horses!" He guffaws.

I can feel my blood start to boil, anger simmering in my veins. I blindly open my mouth to retort, but stop short when Malcolm covertly digs his nails into my forearm.

"Really, they do think quite highly of themselves. How blindly self absorbed can someone be?" Malcolm says, frowning for good measure. He shoots me a sharp look.

"What do you think, sweetheart?" The woman asks, tapping her nails against her arm as she looks at me expectantly.

"Oh, I agree. Their hedonism is going to be their downfall." I comment, trying to put as much sincerity into it as possible, even with my jaw clenched.

The two of them nod approvingly before moving on to talk with someone else.

"How can they say that?" I whisper fervently to Malcolm when they're out of earshot. "How could they possibly joke about her death?"

"I know. I know it's hard, but you have to tune them out. It's important that you don't let your emotions overtake you." Malcolm whispers back, wrinkling his upturned nose in pity. "But no matter what you do, never, ever speak in favour of the Eorians. Even if they talk about Genevive, okay? That was too close."

Don't let your emotions cloud your judgement. TBD's words ring through my head.

I blow out a breath and turn away, the anger that overtook me ebbing away. "I know, I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, love. In all their innovative glory, Xeorians are awfully fond of bad mouthing. Even on their own people." He remarks.

                                  ☾ ☼ ☽

I lean against the wall, watching people twirl around the dance floor on my own. The drink that Malcolm gave me weighs heavy in my hand. I tried it a little bit ago, the bitter flavour washing over my palette, but I didn't much enjoy it. I'm used to Eoria's sweet wine, almost as if it's liquid sugar, but instead of putting the glass down, I choose to hold it in my hand. It gives me something to hold on to as I try to collect my thoughts.

The marble wall is cold against my back, and I lean my head against the wall as I let my eyelids flutter closed for a moment. Malcolm disappeared when the huge ornate clock hanging above the dais hit three in the morning, claiming that he'd be back in a moment. He left, leaving me alone in swarms of Xeorian people, and instead of risking doing something stupid, I decided to hide in a more secluded corner of the ballroom.

"Bored already?" A voice snaps me out of my thoughts. My eyes fly open to find Celio leaning against the wall next to me. He smiles down at me.

"No, no. Just....collecting my thoughts." I answer, shaking my head. He speaks easily, as if we've known each other our entire lives.

"I don't believe you." He teases. "Remember how we already established that you're a liar?"

How could I forget? I think bitterly. Maybe in another universe, the irony would have been funny.

"Why, are you bored?" I retort. For some reason, the formality that comes with talking to a prince disappears between us.

"Oh, no, not at all." He shakes his head exaggeratedly.

"I don't believe you. Remember how we already established that you're a liar?"

The corners of his mouth twist up into a grin. "Touché, my fair lady." He holds out a hand. "Since we've established that we're both liars and that we're both bored, would you come on an adventure with me?"

I bite back a grin, fully aware that we're flirting. "Don't you have some royal duties to attend to?"

"I always have royal duties to attend to. But that doesn't mean I actually attend to them."

"Malcolm will worry if he gets back and finds me missing." I protest.

"Malcolm's your brother, not your father. Plus, we won't be gone for long."

I'm running out of excuses, and I must admit, I'm intrigued "Fine. Let's go."

I let him take my hand and drag me towards one of the hallways. When we reach the entrance into the rest of the palace, a line of guards block our path. They begin to part when they see Celio, but stop abruptly when they notice me.

"She's with me."  Celio says, and we run through the guards into the hallway. He turns around and winks at me. "An exclusive tour."

I follow him as he guides me through a long, winding hallway. As we slide through the halls, maids and servants stop to stare at us. After an eternity of turns and twists, Celio skids to a stop in front of a massive glass sliding door. He goes to one side and starts to push, but the door doesn't seem to want to budge. He beckons for me.

"A little help?"

I slide the long sleeves of my dress up and start to help him push. After a few seconds, the door starts to slide forward, leaving enough room for us to slip out onto the terrace.

The cold night air hits me as I walk outside, Celio behind me. I lean over the balcony, my breath catching in my throat. The view is beautiful, all of Xeoria visible from the terrace on the palace's main turret. Lights twinkle like a sea of stars, enough to rival the real stars in the sky.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Celio whispers.

I nod, too busy gazing at the beautiful sight to say more. When I twist my head to the side, I can faintly see the outline of the Eorian palace, all of itslights turned off. I start to wonder what Caspian, Sapphira, Falkor, Father and Eleanor are doing. Probably sleeping, I realise. I ache for the familiarity of my family, my room, my books and herbs. This entire night has been a whirlwind of new experiences, places and people, and it's only just begun. The novelty of it all makes my head hurt. I'm suddenly thankful for the peace and quiet of the terrace.

I guess my thoughts show on my face, because Celio looks at me, concerned.

"Is everything okay, Etharen? If you want, we can go back down..."

I shake my head. "No, no, I'm fine. This is good, actually. Calming." I try to suppress my umpteenth anxiety attack tonight.

"Not lying?" he asks

"Not lying." I confirm.

"Good. Here, sit." He pulls out two metal chairs and positions them so that they face the view, holding one out for me before taking the other one himself. Before he sits, he takes off his tail coat and loosens the cuffs on his starched, black dress shirt. He heaves a sigh of relief, and finally takes his seat.

"I hate these clothes so much." he mutters as he throws the tail coat to the side. When it lands, the sound of brass buttons hitting the marble floor rings out.

I crack a small smile. "That uncomfortable?"

"You have no idea. If it was up to me, I wouldn't be within thirty feet of a breastplate."

We fall silent. Birds faintly chirp in the background, along with the sound of music and laughter. I can hear his breathing, a ragged in and out. It occurs to me that I might not be the only one who wanted to escape the revel. It was his idea to leave after all.

"Why'd you want to leave?" I ask quietly. For some reason, speaking loudly feels wrong.

"Who said I wanted to leave?" His eyes flash with stubborn humour. "What if I just wanted to show you this?"

"We've only just met." I point out.

"In case you haven't noticed, there aren't many people our age in there." he nods his head backwards, indicating the revel.

"There was that boy...Triton. And I saw a bunch of other boys that looked like they were our age."

"Those other boys are jerks. And Triton's already seen all of this. A million times over, in fact."

"So you come out here a lot? To leave the gala?"

He blows out a breath, and looks at me with a playful eyebrow raised. "You really won't let this go, will you?"

I shake my head.

"Well, it's the same thing every time. Food, drink, dance, talk to people I don't know, wear ridiculous clothes, and get absolutely nothing accomplished. It gets boring after a while, and I've learned that leaving is better than sticking around and waiting for someone to drag me into a conversation I don't care about." He stares off into the distance as he speaks, fiddling with a silver banded ring on his left hand.

The atmosphere changes quickly, suddenly a somber, serious feeling.

I so badly want to tell him that I understand, that I feel the exact same way at the revels in Eoria, but instead I swallow those words and nod numbly.

"That must be awful."

He shrugs. "You get used to it. "

A beat of silence passes, but soon he pipes up again.

"But we didn't come here to talk about depressing things. What's your story, Lady Etharen?"

I'm the princess of Eoria,  your sworn enemy,  and I'm actually half Eorian and half Xeorian since my father had a child with a very prestigious member of your court and then murdered her after she gave birth to me so he can ensure his place in the throne. Then he found out that I have black blood and devoted his life to keeping me locked up and unable to do anything except brew petty draughts and read books. Oh and did I forget to mention the part where I'm being blackmailed by that very same father to come here, gain your absolute trust, then betray you in the worst possible way and murder you since your parents decided to send an assassin to murder my oldest sister, which you had literally nothing to do with, otherwise he'll tell the world about my blood and I'll be killed or exiled? Oh and my brother is not actually my brother, that's all an act. Basically everything about me is an act. What about you?

"I don't really have one." I say, shrugging my shoulders. "I was born in a small village, I went to school everyday, then came home and helped my mother with stuff around the house. Then Malcolm got his position in the court of shadows, and I realized that I would like to learn politics and such too, so when I turned of-age, he brought me here so I could do just that."

This story is so different than the real one, but it's the one I was taught to say. It's designed so as not to raise any suspicions, and it also lines up with the story Malcolm feeds everyone about his life.

Celio contemplates for a second. "You're the genius child with potential that's never discovered because she's always busy helping her family and being all altruistic, but then she gets her chance and starts to spend all her time trying to prove herself." He beams proudly. "See? Everyone has a story."

I shake my head in defeat. "Okay, okay, how did you get genius from goes to school and wants to learn politics."

He quirks an eyebrow, as if it's obvious. "Who in their right mind genuinely wants to study politics?"

I scoff incredulously, to try and really sell the point of "passionate about politics".

"Umm... basically everyone who's in the court of shadows and works at the palace?"

He rolls his eyes in mock exasperation.

"Except you, it seems." I add with an eye roll of my own.

"Please. Politics is not my thing. There's no beauty in it. It's all ugly and corrupt. It doesn't bring any value to life. The entire premise of politics is to fix the problems that it created in the first place."

"But without politics, who would govern? Who would set the rules and enforce them? A world without rules and a leader is one that's gone to flames. People need structure, order. A nation without order is inclined towards panic, and panic ensues chaos. Our natural instinct is based upon the need for rules and role models. Without them, people will run amok. What do you think would happen if everyone decided to take matters into their own hands, based upon what they themselves think is right? Whether or not people consciously acknowledge it, they need a figure to look to when problems arise. "

"Even if that figure is no more qualified to make decisions than the people themselves? Even if that figure is full of bullshit? Rulers are all power hungry. All they want is power and influence for themselves, not peace or whatever is right for the people. All of Xeoria, all of Faewell even, is based upon royal families. The next king or queen isn't determined by who's the most capable, or shows the best leadership qualities. It's all hereditary. Even if you are the stupidest of the stupidest, and will completely and utterly massacre the nation you are ruling, you're going to be crowned into power just because you happened to be born into the right bloodline at the right time. And let's assume for a moment that you aren't yearning for a position of power. You don't get a say in it! There are no options for you! You're going to be king or queen whether or not you like it. Look, I'm not against having rules and order; in fact, I think it's important. But I don't believe in rulers being chosen thanks to their place in a family. The people of a nation should have a say in who their leader is, and what rules they implement." Caelinus's eyes glint as he speaks, hands waving about in vigour. A pink flush comes up to his cheeks, and although what he's speaking of is quite serious, traces of a smile still rest on his face, letting me know that we arent arguing, just debating.

As he speaks, I feel an unfamiliar excitement bubble up in me. I bite my tongue to stop myself from interrupting him, words coming to my mouth and waiting to be spit out. A fiery burn starts in my stomach, and I become restless. I lean forward eagerly, waiting for my turn to rebuttal. I realize that I've been waiting my entire life to have someone to debate with, to have a real, meaningful discussion with someone. Not just about what I thought of dinner, or which dress I like best. The feeling of having an intellectual conversation  is refreshing.

"So you're a democrat?" I say, more a statement than a question. "But royal children are trained and taught their entire lives on how to become good rulers. It's in their blood. Their entire livelihood is based upon them ruling. And they don't make decisions themselves. They have courts to help them make the best possible choice, and those courts are made up of the best, smartest townsfolk, with diverse opinions, experiences and backgrounds. Don't you feel that they adequately represent the majority of our population? Do you really feel that a person who hasn't spent their entire lives training to rule could be able to govern an entire nation?"

"I guess you're right about the training and courts, but I still don't believe it's fair to force someone into ruling. It should be a choice, not obligatory."

I get the feeling that the conversation has taken a personal turn, from the way real frustration lines Celio's face.

"I know. I think you're right. There's certain parts of ruling that you can't teach someone. It has to be a part of them to begin with, and all you can do is hone those instincts. Someone without those instincts shouldn't be crowned as a ruler, nor should someone who doesn't want to." I think back to Falkor, who definitely doesn't have those ruling qualities. His brash rudeness and thirst for influence will be the downfall of Eoria. I can only hope that he never takes the throne, although he most likely will at some point.

"You know an awful lot about politics." Celio says, the trademark smile returning now that the heat of our debate has ended.

I tuck a strand of midnight hair behind my ear. "Malcolm used to tell me stories when he came home for a visit. And I read a lot." I explain. I lightly scold myself for giving away too much, but luckily, it was something that could be easily explained away.

"You just confirmed the "genius" part of my prediction." Celio states.

I laugh and shake my head, "Reading a few books and listening to stories from my brother hardly counts as genius."

Celio opens his mouth to say something back, but he's cut short by the faint sound of someone screaming his name. He snaps up straight, eyes wild and panicked. He jumps out of his seat and immediately runs towards the sound, which seems to be coming from the opposite side of the palace. I'm taken by surprise, but quickly get out of my own seat to follow him.

He struggles with the glass doors again, desperately trying to get it open again, but once i join him, the doors slide open, and Celio bursts through them. It takes me a moment to get through them myself since the hem of my dress gets caught in the hinges, and once I pry myself free, he's a good distance ahead of me, skidding around corners as fast as possible. Thankfully, the hallways are large and empty, causing his footsteps to echo loudly and create a breadcrumb trail for me to follow.

Finally, I catch up with Prince Caelinus, although he doesn't stop running. I follow him as he darts through the palace, trying to reach the source of the scream. Unfortunately, the haunting yell of his name seems to have come from the opposite side of the palace, a good distance away from us and the revel. Although it's hardly even been three minutes yet, I'm starting to get winded, my breaths becoming heavier and my feet starting to ache in their tall, uncomfortable heels. At first, i had admired the Xeorian palace's massive size, but now i'm starting to realize that it's quite inconvenient.

As we run through a particularly labyrinth-esque corridor, a sort of intersection with a variety of different hallways stemming from it, I spot a familiar figure emerging from one of the dark entryways, the sounds of his footsteps against the descending staircase irregular and intermittent. I skid to a stop, looking curiously at the haggard figure and as the sound of my own footsteps fades, Caelinus twist his head around, giving me a fleeting glance as he continues running. A wave of my hand tells him that i'll catch up later. There's something about the figure that is familiar yet unsettling at the same time, something off-kilter.

When the figure emerges from the shadows of the entryway, my suspicions are confirmed. Malcolm, still dressed in his formal clothes, hair still perfectly coiffed, stumbles into the hallway, looking tired, gaunt and sallow. In the dim light, his skin looks yellow and pallid, dark bags under his eyes. The difference from the lively, witty Malcolm I last saw two hours ago is incredible, but he doesn't yet notice me, walking back towards the revel in staggering steps. He pauses midway, and passes a hand over his face while heaving a sigh, trying to collect himself again.

I run to him and grab him by his shoulders as I exclaim his name, peering worridly at his face. He startles, putting his hands up defensively in a fighting position, but relaxes once he reconizes me. He breathes another sigh of relief, and tries to compose himself, drawing back up to his full height and blinking quickly to get rid of the drowsiness in his eyes.

"Etharen. What..what are you doing here? Why aren't you in the ballroom?" he asks worridly. His breath reeks of sage, ginger and some unfamiliar, sickly sweet scent. I ignore his question, choosing instead to study his face. Suddenly, a thought occurs to me.

"Did you have anything to do with that scream?"

Malcolm looks at me with confused, cloudy eyes. "Scream? No, no, of course not. What are you talki-"

He's cut off by a fit of coughing, loud, racking sounds that make him huch over and echo through the chamber. He presses a black handkerchief against his mouth, and when he pulls it away, it's stained with spots of milky blood. He swiftly covers the piece of cloth, folding it and tucking it into his breast pocket in an attempt to conceal it from me, but to no avail. I know what I saw.

Suddenly, his physical state makes sense, the smell of his breath accompanied by the bloody coughs telling me everything I need to know.  Even the unfamiliar sweet scent starts to make sense.

The madman's draught. A brew that, when ingested, can change the biological nature of a person. Through it, you can change your appearance, your personality, and even your physical capabilities. Coined after the man who invented it, the madman's draught's backstory is an unsettling one, unsettling enough to defer many from using the brew. A homeless, weak man, living on the streets among stray dogs and scraps of food, created it in the hopes of improving his physical strength and appearance, to make him better suited to become a knight. Elated by it's success, the man who was now a knight, grew hungry for more power. Being a knight was not enough for him. He wanted to be commander, then a member of the court, then regent, seneschal, and finally king. One dose turned into two, then three, four, five, six, seven, eight, all the way up to hundreds. Before he could become king, the effects of the draught started to take it's toll on him, making him crippled and slowly insane. He yelled and spit, screaming at things that weren't there and smashing everything in his way. Thrown out of the palace, he died alone, cold and right back where he started, among the stray dogs and scraps of food.

The potion has no fixed ingredients, other than two things. The brewer must choose herbs and ingredients that correspond with what they wish to change. For example, If they want to change their sleeping habits to stay awake longer, they would use sage and ginger root, which both promote energy. The only two fixed ingredients are a scrap of paper inscribed with what you want to change and a single petal of bleeding heart, plucked on the fifty-third day of the year. The petal is the reason for slow insanity, and it smells of sickly sweet perfume.The flower of a bleeding heart plant is mildly poisonous, but when taken in large amounts, it can cause insanity, lethargy, dizziness, respiratory problems, weakness. Everything that Malcolm seems to be displaying right now.

"The madman's draught." I whisper, shaking my head slowly. "For how long?"

He looks up at me with huge, surprised eyes. Everything about his cool, calm demeanor has disappeared and he runs a hand through his dark brown hair in defeat.

"How did you know?" he parries, ignoring my question.

"Your breath, the blood, the way you look like absolute shit." I respond, a weird feeling in my stomach. "How long have you been taking it?"

He looks away uncomfortably. "Twenty years."

I sputter out a choking cough, absolute shock washing over me, head to toe. "Twenty years?!"

"I can't keep up with them, Etharen. My eyesight is not good enough, and I need sleep. When everyone else is lively and full of energy under the moon, I'm fighting to stop from falling asleep on the spot. Don't you think that they'd get at least a little suspicious if I was acting like an Eorian? I needed a solution, and this was it." he says, lowering his voice to prevent someone from overhearing. His accent adds an urgency to his words.

"Im not stupid, Etharen." he continues when he sees the worried look on my face. "I'm careful. I only take  one dose a year, and my body is starting to get used to staying awake so long. I'm adapting, surviving. It's a small price to pay."

"You'll go insane. You'll tear at your own skin, start seeing things. The poison in it will kill you slowly and painfully, Malcolm."

He tries to crack a small smile, but it looks more like a grimace. "I haven't gone insane yet though, have I?"

"I'm not so sure about that." I mutter. "You seem pretty insane to me"

He ignores my last remark. "But do you see why they sent you? It's an opportunity that's too good to pass up. You're just like them. The impeccable eyesight, the black blood, the cunning, observant demeanor. What more could they ask for? You have no hassles, unlike the rest of us."

"Again, not so sure about that."

"Ok, now your turn. You said something about a scream."

"Oh, right! I need to go. I'll explain in a bit." I say, starting to jog in the direction Caelinus went. In my shock at finding Malcolm like this, I had completely forgotten what I was going to do.

"Go, go. Just don't get yourself killed." Malcolm remarks, waving his hand dismissively.

"I won't." I say, and take off at full speed.

***
It takes me a while to find Caelinus, and I get lost a couple times, but soon I find myself outdoors, behind the palace. Caelinus is crouching in front of a dark-skinned girl in a wheelchair, tending to her leg, which is red and blistered, the skin peeling away from an angry looking wound. The girl is beautiful and slender with huge, tearful eyes and pink, cupid-bow lips. She's still a child, looking around twelve years old, and I immediately recognize her as Rhea Lunabriar, Celio's adoptive sister. When she notices me, her eyes fill with anxiety and she taps Celio on the shoulder, pointing in my direction. Celio twists his head around quickly, opening his mouth to shout, but when he sees that it's just me, he relaxes and gestures for me to come closer.

Before I come closer, he leans up and whispers something into the little girl's ear, and she nods, looking at me with shining, curious eyes. I approach them carefully, wondering what could have possibly resulted in such a serious-looking burn. Behind us is a small, dark forest of sequoia trees, which makes up the right hand side of the palace gardens, which are considerably smaller than the Eorian one. I look around, but there doesn't seem to be any sign of fire, or anything that could cause a burn. We're all alone, no one else except the wheelchair-bound girl, Celio and i.

"What happened?" I breathe out, crouching down next to Celio and looking at Rhea's leg. Up close, the wound looks even worse than before, blistering, raw and red. I shift my gaze to look at her other leg, but where her shin would be is a small, uneven stump, starting right at her knee. I grab the hem of her skirt and hold it up a little, looking at her for permission. When she doesn't object, I push the fabric back to her thigh, where I see the scars of what seem to be old burns littered across the ebony skin.

Celio inhales sharply before looking up at his adoptive sister with questioning eyes. Rhea nods almost imperceptibly, giving him permission to tell me the story. The translucent tear tracks streaking across her face shine in the moonlight, opalescent, sorrowful and emotional.

"They burned her with lighters again." he says, his face set in stone. Anger lines his face, making him look much older than he actually is.

"What?" I breathe out incredulously. "Who?"  I can't even begin to fathom why anyone would do that to a little girl, much less the princess.

"Those boys. The jerks we were talking about." he responds tensly. He pulls out a first aid kit from the compartment under the girl's wheelchair and begins to pull things out. "It's their idea of a sick joke, since she can't feel anything. Rhea was born with only one leg, and her parents abandoned her in an alleyway as a baby. She had a stroke from the heat, and now she's paralyzed from the waist down."

"Oh my god." I whisper, shocked at the cruelty of the world. I had known she was wheelchair-bound, and was aware of her physical limitations, but i had no idea how they had occurred.

"I've gotten used to it." Rhea says quietly, staring defiantly into the forest. It's the first time ive heard her speak, and her voice surprises me. It's soft and sweet, but with a certain vigour behind it. I can tell that she's not a soft-spoken person. Her voice is one that belongs to someone who's strong willed and brazen.

"You shouldn't be getting used to something like this." Celio mutters tensly as he pulls out an icepad and carefully presses it against the burn. After a few moments, he takes out a long bandage and wraps it around the wound. His fingers work nimbly and with ease, moving through the motions with a swiftness that comes only with experience.

    I look around the palace gardens, and try to make out the shapes in the flower beds, an idea occurring to me. When I spot the herbs I was lookingfor, I get up from my crouched position and clear my throat.
Caelinus and Rhea snap their heads up, looking at me expectantly.

"Am i allowed to go there?" I ask, pointing to the gardens.

"Yes, of course." he answers. He furrows his eyebrows. "But..why?"

"I think I may be able to help." I answer as I step out of the little pool of light and into the shadows of the garden.

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