"Amen," A voice echoed.
The first thing Viviana was aware of was the low, droning voice cutting through the heavy fog of her exhaustion.
"In the name of the Father," the palace priest intoned.
Viviana's eyes jolted open. She was on her knees, her head bowed, in the small, austere private chapel of the West Wing. The cold stone floor seemed to seep into her bones. She had been so bone-weary after her return to the palace in the pre-dawn hours that she had simply changed, washed the last traces of General Vorlag from her skin, and then allowed herself to be guided here with Lilliana for the morning mass, operating on pure instinct. She must have dozed off while kneeling.
Seeing Lilliana gracefully making the sign of the cross beside her, Viviana quickly followed suit.
"…and of the Son," the priest continued, his voice echoing slightly in the small, vaulted space. Viviana's hand moved from her forehead to her chest.
"…and of the Holy Spirit," the priest concluded, his hands raised in blessing over the small congregation of the princess's retinue and the West Wing's senior staff.
"Amen," they all chorused, a soft, respectful murmur.
As others began to rise, Viviana remained with her eyes closed for a moment longer, a silent, chilling prayer forming in the depths of her mind opposite to the sacred words that had just been spoken.
"Lord, if you are truly there," she thought, a bitter irony touching her soul, " please continue to grant me the strength, the cunning, and the coldness of heart to slay all who have wronged me and my family. And forgive me nothing, for I regret nothing."
As they departed the chapel, stepping out into a cool, bright corridor, Viviana reached up and removed the fine lace veil she had worn for the service, letting her dark curls flow freely. Lilliana, still wearing her own veil, turned to her, her brow furrowed with genuine concern.
"Are you alright, Vi?" she asked, her voice soft. "You look terribly pale. And I saw you jolt awake in there. Did you not sleep well?"
Viviana forced a light, dismissive smile. "I am perfectly fine, Lily. I think it's just the Eldorian weather. It has a certain… chill in the air that I'm not yet accustomed to." It was a lie, of course.
Lilliana didn't look entirely convinced but decided not to press the issue. "Okay, if you say so. But you must promise to rest this afternoon." She then brightened. "The royal seamstress is coming to my chambers in a moment, as the Queen mentioned. I would very much like you to be present while she takes my measurements. I want you to help me pick out styles and fabrics. Your taste is so much more refined than mine."
"Of course, Lily," Viviana replied, her voice warm, the perfect lady-in-waiting once more. "I would be happy to."
———————————-
"If Your Highness could please raise your head just a little, so," the royal seamstress, a stern woman named Madame Elspeth, urged Lilliana as she meticulously drew a measuring tape across her shoulders. "And turn slightly to the left. Perfect."
Viviana sat on a plush armchair nearby, a book of poetry resting unread in her lap. The scene before her was one of tranquility – Lilliana standing patiently on a small dais, the seamstress and her assistants fluttering around her with tapes, pins, and swatches of luxurious fabric, while the maids, Elara and Lyra, quietly organized gowns in the wardrobe.
But Viviana's mind was far away, back in the grime and blood of House Of Desires, analyzing her own performance with a cold, detached professionalism.
"Five long hours," she thought, a flicker of annoyance passing through her. "From leaving the palace walls to returning. It was too long. I'm slacking off. The infiltration was clean, the takedown of the pleasure worker was efficient. But I let the sight of Vorlag get to me. I let the rage take over. The final act… it was messy, unprofessional. Too much time spent savoring the moment, too much physical evidence left behind in the sheer brutality of the kill. Talon would not be pleased with the lack of finesse".
She inwardly critiqued her work like a master artisan examining a flawed piece. But still, a darker part of her admitted, it felt… necessary. It felt right. For Mama Emma. The thought was a brief, humanizing crack in her cold assessment before she pushed it away.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the hushed whispers of Elara and Lyra, who were folding silks by the wardrobe, believing they were being discreet.
"Did you hear the news from the city guard this morning?" Elara whispered, her eyes wide. "About General Tiberius Vorlag?"
"I did!" Lyra whispered back, her voice a mixture of horror and morbid excitement. "They say he was found dead this morning in a private room at that dreadful pleasure house, House Of Desires. My cousin, who works in the palace kitchens, heard the steward talking about it. Said it was… a terrible sight. Just terrible."
Viviana felt a small, cold smile touch her lips, hidden behind her hand as she feigned a yawn. "News certainly flies fast in a city fueled by fear and gossip," she thought with a flicker of satisfaction.
Then she heard Lyra's next words, and her mind sharpened with interest. "It was said that whoever killed General Vorlag was no mere robber or jealous lover. The guards believe it was an experienced, professional killer. The way the door was bypassed, the way no one heard a thing until a maid discovered him hours later… they say it was the work of a ghost."
Experienced? Or just brutal? Viviana mused. They are mistaking rage for pure expertise. Good. Misdirection is always a useful tool.
Elara shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. "That's truly scary. First an assassin in the palace, now a General murdered in the city. It means Eldoria isn't safe anymore, not even for the most powerful men."
"Well, you needn't worry too much," Lyra said, her voice dropping to an important, conspiratorial whisper. "Because His Highness, the Crown Prince himself, has taken personal charge of the investigation."
Viviana's eyes shot wide open. Her carefully maintained composure fractured, and for a second, she forgot her role. Her head snapped up, her heart giving a hard, sudden lurch against her ribs.
"What?"