Andreya had a sister named Kasarya and a brother named Eneder. Together, on the last day of every other week when they visited their home from the academy, the Radenbutans would be waiting in the backyard.

There were two Radenbutan brothers to two Marivatan sisters and an odd girl and boy to finish off each trio, respectively. Andreya was the youngest of the Marivatan household and Teline the youngest of the Radenbutans, so naturally, they had flocked to one another as if there were no other adolescent noble girls in the country and became but one sect of their larger six-person group. This way it stayed all through their academy days and until Kasarya and Kaudwik were to be wed on the eve of Kasarya's twenty-fifth birthday.

The incident had happened slightly before that, however. Two weeks and four days, to be exact, before the wedding, in the middle of the night.

Something had happened, and that was all Andreya remembered. Something, incidentally, that had led to the next morning in which she woke with dark bloodstains on her sheets and every other member of the Marivatan House dead. Andreya had seen blood before, having not neglected her childhood escapades, but she had never seen so horribly much of it. Neither had she ever seen a body of the dead, the experience being especially upsetting for the fact that the dead were the mother and father she had hugged goodnight and the brother she had played cards with, the sister whose wedding she had been so passionately anticipating.

After that, the relationship between the Marivatan and Radenbutan Houses was drastically altered. The eldest son was heartsick, the other son withdrawing from shock, and though the daughter reached out in consolation to Andreya, it was Andreya who did not respond. And that relationship alone was enough to end the families' ties, for everyone else who could have mended it was buried the following week on a mockingly bright afternoon.

"I demand you release me." Andreya pounded her fists, tied together with a ribbon so as not to chaff, on the lap of her dress. Kaudwik and Teline sat across from her with a regal posture and Hedemit occupied the box seat of their much-too-small jade coach.

Teline straightened her shawl with a small but deft hand, showing no reaction to Andreya's outburst. "Frankly, Andreya, I would say I don't know what's come over you, but I do. It has been eighteen years and you are still distraught over your family's passing."

"That is not my reasoning—"

"But for as much grief as it brings," Teline interrupted, "there is a point at which your life must continue, both for the peace of your soul and for those of the deceased. Eighteen years, dear friend, is long enough to have become an offense to them, especially given what your isolation has driven you to do."

Andreya scowled at the woman's accusatory words. "And how should you know? Your family still lives, your life still continues—"

"My husband and two of my sons died five years ago in a train accident," Teline clipped, "which you would know if you'd bothered to leave the house instead of wallowing in self-pity."

"Be quiet, the both of you." Kaudwik broke his gaze from the glass to cast both women a narrow-eyed frown. With the abrupt pause, the only sound prevailing was that of the horses on the stone street. City noises Andreya hadn't heard in years slipped through the carriage walls.

"Instead of rejoicing over your reunion," Kaudwik continued, "you bicker. Here I was afraid I'd be reminded of the old days."

"Imagine living in the house Kasarya died in, Kaudwik." Andreya glared. "Would that remind you of the old days?"

Teline's tone grew sharp. "Our lives continue, Andreya, because we allow them to, and because we do not chase eternal youth and reject every offer to rejoin society."

"I have never once chased—"

Andreya's refute died suddenly at the voice of a man from outside the coach. They had come to a stop without her noticing and she swiveled in her seat, expecting to see a prison. Instead, her mouth opened and in place of the second half of her sentence came a question sounding much to small to be from her voice. "Why... have you taken me to the palace?"

──── ❉ ❉ ❉ ────

As enforcers of the law, the Radenbutans played a vital role to the kingdom of Nasavte's survival. Even still, they were not of the rank to enter the royal palace without formal invitation; thus, Andreya stood before a magnificent door five times her height with two royal guards, the only people in sight, gripping each of her arms by the elbow. An entrance truly befitting of a criminal.

Unintelligible words echoed from behind the door and Andreya jumped when it cracked open with a massive groan to reveal a massively more impressive throne room. Brightly-colored banners joined golden accents on the walls and a long carpet ran the entire length of the room and right up to the throne.

Where sat King Diewel himself.

An announcer in a bright uniform unrolled a scroll at the front of the room. "The errant Duchess Andreya Katradiya Marivatan, heir to the Marivatan House, accused of the possession and use of anti-aging elixirs."

The guards did not relent their hold on Andreya, but she attempted a bow indicative of her status anyway, her navy dress seeming dull and ordinary as it brushed the sumptuous carpet. Her throat had closed several minutes ago and her knees were shaking nearly enough to show through her many skirts. She did not speak, eyes on the floor.

"Duchess Marivatan," the King said. "In what year were you born?"

"Year—year twenty-nine of the Tahkran Era, Your Highness, in the tenth month." Andreya stayed bowed.

Complete and deafening silence rung for several seconds, though to Andreya it seemed much longer. Finally, with intrigue, the King said, "The Tahkran Era, you say? So you are of forty years' age?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Come closer."

Andreya wanted anything but to come closer. Still, she battled her unwilling limbs and inched to the base of the throne stairs.

"Raise your head."

She wanted that even less. Andreya lifted her chin and attempted to hide the tremble in her hands.

The King was not spectacular in any way—the same dark hair and tan complexion and dull disposition every Nasavtite possessed—but he was a man granted the power to do anything he so desired, and that could not have terrified Andreya more.

He appraised her like a product—a doll to be judged by the curve of her nose or the point of her chin, the thickness of her hair, the curse of youth which was the cause of her presence before him. His gaze was green with insatiable hunger.

"Did you invent this elixir or is there an outside mind responsible for your appearance?"

Andreya's mouth opened and closed, but her voice would not comply. She would either tell him a lie that would fall to shambles the moment he asked her how the elixir had been made, or she would tell him the truth and be called a liar anyway.

Both options ended in lifetime imprisonment. Execution if he pictured her insolent.

"Well?"

"I haven't used any elixir, Sire." The truth.

The King raised a single brow and Andreya's chest constricted. "Are you denying me?"

"No, Sire, I speak the truth, I swear it."

"Then what did you use?"

"Nothing, Sire." She stared at the floor. "Young blood runs in my family—my mother was once mistaken for my sister and they were nigh twenty years apart."

When the echo of her prevarication died, silence returned. Not even so much as a footstep, so little as a breath. All waited upon the King's response and Andreya didn't dare look up. In truth, there was no explanation for her curse.

The King broke the quiet. "What do you require for the formula? Do you desire rank? Fortune?"

Andreya couldn't believe it, and yet she was not surprised at all. A wicked man on a wicked throne. No wonder every neighbor in the Alliance hated them. She swallowed her appalment. "I do not have any formula, Your Majesty. I know not the object of your desire."

"Then perhaps a better motive shall persuade you to divulge."

Andreya didn't have the chance to ask what he meant before the guards pulled her upright, arms behind back, to the sight of a blade inches from her face.

"Highness, I beg your understanding"—her words were as fast as her pounding heart—"I have nothing to divulge, upon my life I swear it."

"I pray you know there is only one way to test a swear on a life, Duchess."

Andreya did not thrash like she had against Hedemit Radenbutan. She did not even breathe. Instead, she was still as death—caught in a moment of frozen dread—as royal metal met alabaster skin.

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Konnichiwa, kiddos! Any thoughts on this most dramatic development? I know I have some thoughts. (You old fart of a king, you! *sticks tongue out*) And does anyone else listen to certain music depending on what they're writing? I listened to Shostakovich during some of this chapter and it really gave some hoity-toity monarchy vibes I gotta say, lol.

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