Crystal clear

Rowland stood with fierce determination on his face, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. Behind him, Sammy cowered on the ground with a black bag pulled over his head.

A group of bandits surrounded them. Rowland's sword was already bloodied from taking down several of their men.

He tightened his grip on the hilt and stood firmly between Sammy and the remaining attackers.

"No one is harming the real crown prince."

His grey eyes hardened.

"Not this time."

---

Sammy was five years old when he was playing with Rowland. Queen Natalie smiled at him as he ran through the fields of flowers, splashing water at Rowland whenever he got close enough.

Sammy laughed and raced around the corner of the castle. Then his foot caught on a rock, and he stumbled forward into a peach tree in the orchard.

A ripe peach dropped from one of the branches and landed against him. Within moments, Sammy's eyes turned red, his breath caught, and a rash began spreading across his skin.

Rowland screamed for help.

Several servants rushed over, and Queen Natalie hurried to Sammy's side before he was carried inside. The royal doctor examined him, asking everyone exactly what had happened.

For hours, the healers remained puzzled. Sammy was watched closely by several healers and potion makers until they finally discovered the cause.

The prince had an unusual allergy.

He was allergic to peach fuzz.

Every peach in the castle was promptly removed, and the peach trees at the summer residence were ordered cut down.

---

Zeena's rant about the Lulu blossoms had drained Harold of whatever energy he had left. He simply nodded and let her continue, knowing that intervening would only make her angrier.

His mind, however, was elsewhere.

Rowland had returned to Harold's room in search of the book he had left there during one of their many discussions about the importance of his political position and title. Harold had always been subtler than Zeena when speaking about the crown, but his expectations were still crystal clear.

Rowland searched beneath the chairs and around the table, growing increasingly irritated.

Where the hell did I put it?

Sybill had apparently done something terrible to his mind. Before meeting her, he would never have voluntarily searched this hard for a book.

Voices suddenly drifted in from the adjoining room.

Rowland froze.

Harold was speaking to someone.

Footsteps approached.

With nowhere else to go, Rowland slipped behind the thick curtains just as Harold entered the room with a hooded figure.

"There is something unusual about the lady who accompanies the princess this time," Harold said.

"Something odd. Like I have seen her somewhere before."

He paused.

"And that boy looks familiar too. Quite different, but familiar."

"Follow them."

"We need to know more about them."

Rowland remained completely still behind the curtains.

"The boy was talking to the gardener and is unusually close to the princess too."

"A servant boy who spends time in her room."

Harold's expression hardened.

"I want every detail. There is more here than meets the eye."

---

Late that night, Rowland lay awake in bed. Sleep refused to come.

Propped against the headboard, he idly toyed with a small rubber dagger, pressing its blunt tip with one finger and watching the blade bend, whip from side to side, then spring back into shape. He did it again and again, but his mind was elsewhere.

Unusually close with the princess, he thought.

The words lingered.

Then, almost without meaning to, Rowland began piecing together little things his mind had already noticed but never bothered to question.

There was the night Elena had suddenly asked him to leave after he mentioned the blooming nightshade. That had been strange. Elena never behaved like that.

Then the boy had appeared at the castle. He travelled with them, ate with them, and spent time with Miss Sybill and Elena as though he belonged among them rather than among the servants.

And then there was the creepy doll.

Rowland released the dagger and shuddered.

It's as if she is always watching me.

And what exactly was Miss Sybill's obsession with that thing? The endless outfits, carrying her everywhere, talking to her constantly.

Rowland frowned.

How can someone this gorgeous actually be this dumb?

His gaze drifted toward the mirror.

The universe, quite generously, provided him with an answer.

Rowland failed to comprehend it.

His mind was made up.

It was time for him to enter the world of espionage.

But—

Who should he follow?

Leo or Sammy?

That was a difficult decision, and one that demanded his immediate attention. His overworked brain, however, refused to cooperate any further.

Before he could reach a conclusion, Rowland fell into a deep slumber.