Path to Retribution [1]

Arabella wasted no time in gathering her bearings as best she could. Sat at her vanity, pen poised over her blank journal pages, she began noting every detail she could remember, no matter how small or insignificant. The only logical starting point would be her debut season, four years in the future. The year she turned 18, the same year King Julius passed, and the same year Alistair made his bid for the throne.

Her departure to the capital for the social season had been under less than favourable circumstances. Her half-brother, Layton, hadn't joined her as her escort. Despite the circumstances, she had braved the whispers and insults, made do with what few society events she could secure invitations to, keeping her eye on her one goal.

'Make me one of your people.'

She'd avowed those words that fateful night. Wide-eyed, determined... Desperate. That night, standing alone with the prince in the quiet hallway of the palace that she had tracked him to, with the sounds of a waltz muffled behind the gilded doors leading to the ballroom, she had brazenly acquainted herself with the only prince of the Aurumian Kingdom. He already had trusted aides and loyal nobles with much more influence than she had at his side, but she did everything she could to grab his attention. One of the few benefits of being a social pariah was that you remained otherwise invisible when people weren't busy gossiping about you, and gossip only lasted so long. Even if all she had to offer were overheard whispers, any leverage was enough for her to cling to.

She remembered desperate rambling, gloved fingers tightly gripping her gown.

'Anything you need of me... I swear on my life I will accomplish, Your Highness. I will be of use to you no matter what.'

She had come in with no expectations, prepared herself for rejection, but once the words left Cecil's lips with a kind smile, she was invigorated.

'Do not waste the opportunity, then.'

Dutifully, she'd spent the season following every given order, gathering any information asked of her; each task was completed like she was being asked to lay down her life, no matter how dull. It was a duty she took in stride—the perfect aide for the perfect prince.

And with each smile aimed her way, each ounce of trust that was placed upon her, she could ignore every whisper behind her back.

Until Alistair had 'risen from the dead'.

'An insane opportunist with a death wish, ' they called him. Simply a pretender, stealing the identity of a child, long presumed dead.

But no matter the accusations levelled his way, no one could deny those eyes. Brilliant, proud and violet. The mark of Royal lineage.

The late king had not named Cecil his official heir; as such, the succession would be left to the royal council to decide.

The situation seemed cut and dry to Arabella and anyone with a clear view. Cecil was the only viable choice. It was a waste of time to pretend that Alistair stood a chance; the mere consideration by the council was nought but formality in her eyes. Regardless, Cecil had tasked her with keeping tabs from afar, and she obeyed.

Until the night she had finally met Alistair.

___________________________________________________________

"You seem weary."

The guest bedroom was doused in a soft glow of candlelight and a peaceful quiet that had only been broken by the abrupt statement from Aubrey. Arabella's tired gaze shifted from focusing on her lap to glancing over her shoulder, brows furrowing. Aubrey had not stopped her movements; her fingers continued to delicately braid Arabella's long hair for the night as was their nightly routine. The soothing motion did nothing to stop the clipped tone from Arabella's lips, "...I need to sleep. I'll be fine come morning."

Arabella met her gaze in the vanity mirror and drew her knees up to her chest, fingers toying with the hem of her nightgown. From the moment she stepped foot in the palace, sleep had rarely come easily; it didn't seem like tonight would be any different. She was not foolish enough to think that her current position at Cecil's side was anything more than a careful tightrope act; the moment she became more trouble than he deemed her worth, she would topple. Knowing this was her strength.

With all the murmurs floating around the capital about 'the ghost prince that returned from the dead', she had begrudgingly begun to take it quite literally. Like a ghost, there was nothing she could find on Alistair before his sudden arrival. No one could speak of him, where he had disappeared to, or what he had been doing until now. Nothing. For a man with white hair that may as well have been a glowing sign stating 'Nyotarian' foreigner and violet eyes only belonging to royalty, it was more than an impressive feat- it was a miracle. Or rather, it was a conundrum that made less sense the more Arabella tried to look into it. It helped even less that, despite his seeming lack of prospects, a handful of low-ranked nobles had become endeared to him.

Aubrey's fingers had finished their intricate handiwork as she draped the finished plait over Arabella's shoulder. A silence settled in the room between them. Aubrey remained still, almost hesitant to turn on her heel, to continue their usual routine of a curtsey and a goodnight. The pause caused Arabella to peek over her shoulder and raise a curious brow, only for Aubrey to frown softly and concede with a careful tone, "It is not my place..." She began, her frown only deepening. "However, the atmosphere in the capital seems turbulent. Wouldn't it be best to return home...?"

Arabella shot her a warning glance, "Enough of that."

The silence returned with a vengeance, heavier than before, and Arabella's shoulders squared. However, the conviction in her tone seemed to have done the trick, and before long, Aubrey nodded softly and took a step backwards away from the vanity. Arabella waited for the curtsey and goodnight once more, only to be met with further silence. Before she could turn her head again, there was a quiet shuffle of movement and a hand shot out, holding something out to her.

"...Another letter from the Earl arrived this morning," Aubrey said with a subtle sternness.

Arabella's lips tugged downwards. She stood and padded to the bed across the room, lying atop the sheets and closing her eyes, "Use it for kindling."

Arabella was almost certain she heard a soft sigh of irritation leave Aubrey's lips.

Aubrey, sensing a stalemate, finally curtsied and picked up the oil lamp, blowing it out, "...Carol will be a ring away if you call for anything in the night. Good night."

Arabella turned on her side and kept her eyes squeezed shut, listening to the soft shuffle of footsteps on the carpet and the gentle closing of the door. Only when there was nothing but the stillness of the moonlit room did she open them. She stared blankly at the soft white sheets under her fingertips before turning on her back and draping her forearm over her eyes. She took a few deep breaths, only feeling further suffocated by the stuffiness of the unfamiliar room.

She'd worked hard to get here. She'd studied and memorised every book on history, etiquette, business and so on like the back of her hand to get here. She'd never had a governess to guide her like the other ladies at court; it was all her. Whatever this heavyweight in her chest was didn't matter.

"I deserve to be here."

Arabella whispered it with conviction into the quiet of the empty room to no one in particular. She wasn't quite sure who she was trying to convince.

Shifting her arm away from her eyes and onto her forehead, Arabella glanced to the side, sharp blue eyes landing on the cursed letter that Aubrey seemed to have 'forgotten' on the nightstand. With a scoff, she sat up and reached for the offending piece of paper, eyes narrowing. Such neat handwriting, addressed so properly, could only belong to Layton.

"He's still bothering with this..." Her jaw clenched, a bitter taste in her throat.

Arabella willed her fingers to crumple up the letter. A useless effort. Instead, she swallowed softly and tossed it aside carelessly, not bothering to see where it landed.

Before her mind could wander any further, Arabella forced herself out of bed, shrugged on her shawl and stepped into the first shoes she reached for in the closet. Her feet carried her through the palace's gilded halls aimlessly, surrounded by dimly lit passageways and portraits of royalty long passed. Each step deeper into the sprawling maze only seemed to weigh heavier on her heart; the luxury of it all was smothering. Her eyes shifted to the window beside her, landing on the view of the palace gardens doused in moonlight and without thinking further about the decision, she found herself outside.

Stepping out into the night, the crisp summer breeze danced across her brown skin like a warm hug. At last, she could breathe. Arabella ventured further, her footsteps soft on the dew-kissed grass and her gaze sweeping across the lawns and hedges. The faint sound of water running through a stream soothed her, and she knew she was drawing nearer to the large pond within the gardens, following the sound like a moth to a flame. Nothing could replace the distant sound of rolling sea waves lapping at the shore... but it was close enough to home as she would get.

The pond fell into sight, and Arabella walked halfway across the small bridge, eyes travelling over the railing to the moon reflected in the still water's depths. She swallowed tightly, brows knitting together as she stared down; the weight in her chest had faded but was replaced tenfold with a strange melancholy... the exact thing she had been trying to run from. A subtle shifting sound from her side drew her attention, and upon turning her head, Arabella froze.

There, just a few feet away, was a stark figure she had failed to notice, staring at the pond's edge. He stuck out against the dark landscape. Unmistakable white hair shone almost luminescent against the backdrop of the night sky, crowned by moonlight, and vibrant violet eyes stared out into the vast night.

Those same eyes slid to meet hers.

Alistair Aurum de Villiers.

Arabella found herself in a rare predicament- Speechless.

It was one thing to learn about a person from the sidelines, watching their interactions, noting anything suspicious from afar. It was one thing to eavesdrop on murmurs and whispers, trying to dig out whatever secrets she could find. It was another thing entirely to be facing the man himself- Like meeting someone from a myth.

His expression was unreadable, rather plain as he stared back at her. Until a lazy smile crossed his lips, head tilting slightly at her with white brows raised in what she perceived to be mockery.

Quickly, she frowned and turned back to face the water. Leaving would only worsen the sting of her pride, so she remained firmly planted on the spot with a stubborn grimace despite her better judgment.

She picked up an almost silent huff of laughter from her left side.

Another rushed side-long glance confirmed that he was still staring at her with a smug self-satisfaction in his smile that pushed her further to agitation. He had settled quite comfortably in his spot on the bridge, forearms resting against the railing. A warm breeze ruffled the fabric of his worn-looking black shirt.

"Is the view to your linking?"

Arabella blinked once, taking a moment to register his mocking question. Quickly, she furrowed her brows at him, a harsh frown on her lips. He seemed to be looking for a reaction that she would not be giving him. Coldly, she spoke, "You've caused a stir here."

Alistair's eyes closed, that casual smile still present, "Really? I hadn't noticed."

Arabella's eyes narrowed. "...Why are you here?"

"It's a fine evening."

"You are well aware of my meaning."

Arabella eyes the prince with a cautious glare, turning to face him.

Her curt tone was nothing short of disrespectful. This game he was playing was dangerous and even worse, a waste of her time. Entering the palace was a privilege, a gift. His lax attitude did nothing but spit on the very idea.

However, Alistair only watched her quietly for a while before raising his brows in faux surprise, his smile slight. He let the silence stew for a while, quite purposefully, before saying plainly. "I'm here for the same reasons you are."

A gust of wind stirred the waters below.

Arabella's expression darkened. "And what, precisely, do you mean by that?"

Alistair's lips curled, his expression positively feline. "You are well aware of my meaning."

Arabella narrowed her eyes at the audacious response with a frustrated click of her tongue. They had found themselves at a standstill. Her mood had already been soured from earlier, and he was far from helping it improve.

Alistair's gaze softened, turning back to the gentle waves of water beneath the bridge as he spoke thoughtfully, "People like us don't gain anything from compliance." Arabella's glare faltered when he glanced back at her, violet eyes alarmingly earnest. "We must force ourselves where we're unwanted."

"People like 'us'..?" Arabella scoffed bitterly, ignoring the sudden sting of his words. Her lips drew themselves tightly together as she quickly avoided his gaze. "...How presumptuous."

Of course. If she'd heard the chatter about him, he'd surely heard the chatter about her: The bastard of the late Earl Lockhart consorting with Prince Cecil. 'Bastard' was their only commonality, but to high society, they may as well have been bosom buddies. She'd learned to dismiss it early into her childhood; she wouldn't have come this far if she broke down at mere mockery. Her 'bastard' title was not something she had any control over, nor did Alistair. So otherwise...

"There is no 'us'," she stated firmly.

"I won't deny that," Alistair chuckled to himself before shooting her a mischievous smile of brilliant white teeth. "But, it does seem others have decided that for us. If rumours are to be believed, we may as well be thick as thieves. Perhaps more-"

"Watch your tongue," Arabella sent him a blazing warning glare, her hands gripping the railing harder.

The warning did nothing to dissuade his relaxed demeanour. Alistair took a step back, arms crossed casually across his chest. His expression turned contemplative. "...What I mean to say," He began. "Is that if there's anyone within these walls that should understand my purpose here, it's you."

Arabella watched his profile, brows unfurrowing despite herself.

Alistair's gaze travelled up at the night sky, the stars reflected in a sea of violet, a confident ease to his actions and a startling sincerity. "... I will be King."

Silence stretched out for another good while as she observed him.

Time had felt like it had stopped. The silence between them, filled only with the sounds of crickets and rippling water, all of it faded away. Be it that expression on his face or that tone in his voice or the way the stars seemed to shine brighter as if to emphasise his point...

She was almost convinced.

Arabella let out a soft breath of resignation and leaned comfortably against the bridge's railing with folded arms. Resting her cheek against her palm, she spoke quietly, "...I suppose I have no right to pass judgment. I'm no less audacious." She looked upon the stars herself, resolute. "I won't leave this palace empty-handed. I cannot. Something must come of all this."

She'd braced herself for more silence, only to be met with a teasing chuckle from him, "Spoken with such conviction..."

She side-eyed him in lazy, subdued annoyance, choosing to ignore the tease. Looking back at the water, her eyes half lidded, she tucked a loose curl behind her ear, "I will grant you this much- it takes no small measure of nerve to intrude upon the palace and declare yourself 'King.' Foolish, undoubtedly. But... You've come farther than I first anticipated." She paused, lips pursed in hesitation, before she nodded to herself decidedly. "...If circumstances were different, I think I could have even supported your cause. It's... Somewhat admirable."

A smile- small, uncertain and awkward- flickered briefly on her lips, unbidden and shockingly easy.

Then, she paused and sighed, quickly closing her eyes as delayed embarrassment crept up her spine from her sudden bout of raw honesty. Quickly, she cleared her throat and stood straight, pushing away from the railing and swiping away the expression with a cool hand.

'What the hell am I saying...?'

It was simple self-preservation. Avoiding Alistair altogether would be for the best, outside of her task of keeping tabs on Cecil. Her reputation could hardly take any more beating than it already had. Frankly, the conversation had gone on far longer than it should have.

She didn't dare turn her head to face Alistair after her emotional display, but the silence after the comment grew heavier with each passing moment. Bracing herself, she peeked to the side, preparing for another frustratingly mocking grin. Frankly, what she saw was worse. Alistair was staring, unashamed and blatant. His violet eyes widened ever so slightly, tanned face contorted in an unreadable emotion that she'd never seen him make before. When she blinked, it was gone faster than she had noticed it.

Alistair's face eased into an easy smile, and he pushed off the railing, facing her fully.

"Then, I suppose I'll have to change those circumstances, won't I, Arabella Lockhart?"

That was the first and last time she spoke to the elusive Alistair Aurum de Villiers.

____________________________________________________________________

She'd thought it harmless. She'd failed to realise that nothing could remain secret in the palace, where word travelled like oxygen through blood. An ecosystem of vipers in tall grass.

The initial rumours surrounding her and Alistair had been baseless and mocking, yet somehow, after that night, they had grown malicious. Spun tales of a 'love affair' and debasing insults to her integrity as a lady were whispered at every corner. Regardless, perhaps foolishly so, she'd thought nothing of the sudden shift in the rumour; it had never been in her nature to engage with them after all. All that mattered to her was that Cecil himself comforted her, told her to pay them no mind.

'I believe in your integrity. Is that not enough?' He'd told her.

She'd become increasingly blind to Cecil's subtle questioning, that look in his eyes that just never reached the smile on his lips. She'd been blind to Aubrey's increasing concern and unease. Like a frog in boiling water, the situation had deteriorated too far by the time she could react.

The night routine had been as usual between them. Aubrey delicately braided Arabella's hair in the dim lighting of the room. That same tense silence had surrounded them both as it had the moment they had left for the capital. But this time, Aubrey had broken it.

"The Earl would not fault you if you returned home..." Aubrey had paused before rephrasing, gravely.

'...I don't believe it is safe here for you. It is not my place... But Arabella, please consider abandoning this.'

Be it the sudden use of a casual address, the subtle tremor in Aubrey's fingers as she combed through her curls or the notion that something was being left unsaid, something in Aubrey's words that night had finally woken Arabella up as confirmation of the discomfort and fears that had been forced down in her gut.