BITTERSWEET

HER POV

"Our young master has changed," the young maid murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, carrying the weight of rumor and unease that permeated the palace's corridors like a shroud.

How could she not have noticed?

- 

The whispers had spread like wildfire, tales of the ambush during the Imperial hunt echoing through every chamber. The crown prince's limp body dragged from the icy embrace of the river, had become the centerpiece of a macabre spectacle. 

The pallor of his skin, once warm and vibrant, now resembled the ghostly hue of moonlight on a foggy night. His lips, once flushed with life, now bore the ominous stain of impending death. She stood at a distance, an unwilling spectator.

As the crowd surged forward like a tide drawn to a doomed vessel, she swept along, helpless in its relentless grip. She watched with bated breath as the royal physician pounded his fists against the lifeless chest of the fallen prince, each compression echoing through the tense air like a solemn drumbeat. Beads of sweat glistened on the physician's furrowed brow, mingling with the intensity of his efforts. 

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as she stood rooted to the spot, her heart hammering in her chest, as she watched the unfolding drama.

With each futile attempt to coax life back into the prince's still form, a surge of panic coursed through her veins, threatening to overwhelm her fragile composure. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to flee, to escape the looming sense of guilt that hung heavy in the air like a shroud. Yet, as she prepared to turn and run, a faint cough pierced through the suffocating silence, shattering her resolve like fragile glass.

-

The memory faded like a fleeting dream, vanishing into the recesses of her mind.

"Maybe he should have drowned," a young maid whispered amid the shadows of the corridor. She moved swiftly, her hand covering the child's mouth, a gesture of protection and urgency. The girl met her gaze with wide, questioning innocent eyes.

"You'd get us killed," she murmured, her words a hushed warning. Reluctantly, she withdrew her hand, the faintest echo of warmth lingering on her palm. 

Her gaze drifted downward, drawn inexorably to the burns that marred the young girl's skin. The crown prince accidentally spilled scalding-hot medicine onto the young maid. There were no tears or screams; she simply cleaned the mess. Of course, it was an accident.

The crown prince wore irritation like a cloak, a constant companion ever since the drowning incident. Drinking, breaking things, sleepless nights—his discontent was palpable.

She approached, placing a soothing ointment beside the young maid before retrieving a fresh bowl of medicine for the prince's chamber.

"It will be over soon," she whispered to herself, a mantra woven from equal parts hope and resignation.

HIS POV

In the dim confines of the prince's chamber, silence reigned like a shroud, suffocating and absolute. He stood at the window.

"When does it all end?" his thoughts echoed, a lament whispered to the void.

He heard her footsteps approaching. She sets down the medicine bowl with a delicate bow, but he remains fixated on the abyss above, where stars ought to have twinkled but didn't, as if the universe itself conspired to mirror the bleakness within him. The sky was a vast expanse of emptiness, much like the void he felt enveloping his soul.

The silence between them lingered, pregnant with unspoken words and unacknowledged truths. 

"Your Majesty, you've been distant since the accident," her voice breaks the silence, tentative and laden with unspoken tension.

His lips curl into a cynical smirk. "An accident?" His gaze flickers to the intercepted note crumpled in his hand. 

The words scrawled upon it like venomous whispers in the dar.

'Make sure to finish the job this time.'

The flickering flame casts an eerie glow as he faces her. Her hands tremble, fingers clenched tightly together as if grasping at straws of innocence. But her eyes betrayed her, pools of obsidian hiding secrets too dark to fathom. How had he failed to see the deceit beneath her facade?

He strides to the window, the flickering light casting eerie shadows across his face as he feeds the note to the flames, its edges curling and blackening until only ash remains. 

"Did I do something wrong, your Majesty?" Her inquiry was a subtle challenge to his unraveling composure.

Despite the turmoil within him, he forces a smile, a facade of calm masking the storm raging beneath. With measured steps, he crosses the room.

"I was betrayed," he confesses, the words heavy upon his tongue. "Maybe I'm being paranoid. I mean it was only an accident."

The air crackled with tension as he reached for her hands, seeking solace in the warmth of her touch, only to find them recoil from his grasp, a subtle yet unmistakable rejection. 

"When I was under the water," his voice wavers slightly, carrying the weight of submerged memories, "I saw you." His gaze lingers on her face, searching for the smallest ripple of emotion amidst the stillness of her expression.

"Amidst the agony," he continues, his words like tendrils reaching out to grasp the truth, "the throne, a burden you know I had never desired, faded into insignificance." 

Memories, both bitter and sweet, flood his mind, each one a testament to the bond they had once shared.

She avoids his piercing gaze. "I'm happy to hear you are not upset with me, Your Majesty." 

"Why would I be? It's not like you betrayed me?" 

The subtle way her legs shift imperceptibly, and the slight quiver of her lips betrayed the turmoil within. Yet, like a skilled performer, she masks her discomfort with a practiced smile. "Why would I betray you?" she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

"Why indeed," he mused. He picked up the medicine bowl and raised it to his lips. "For you, I can drink a bowl of poison," he murmured.

She accepts the empty bowl with a smile, but he has already seen through her lies.

As she quietly retreats, his smile twists into a snarl, a storm brewing behind his eyes. The weight of betrayal settles upon him like a leaden cloak, suffocating him with its grip. It's a bitter realization, one that cuts deeper than any blade.

How foolish he had been to believe in the illusion of safety within these walls, to think that friendship could withstand the treacherous currents of palace intrigue. The only woman he had ever trusted is revealed as nothing more than a pawn in a deadly game of power and deceit.

As he contemplates the depths of her betrayal, a tumult of emotions swirls within him, each one a conflicting tide of anger, regret, and a bitter longing for the innocence he had lost.

But beneath the veneer of rage lies a gnawing ache, a desperate yearning for closure, for the truth behind her deception. He craves her confession, her admission of guilt as if it could somehow mend the shattered pieces of his broken heart.

With a clenched fist, he fights the urge to strike out. Could it be possible that she, too, was a victim of manipulation, a pawn in a game she never wished to play?

Before he can act, before he can exact his revenge, he knows he must uncover the truth and unravel the web of lies that entangle them both. Only then can he find the closure he seeks, the justice he craves, and perhaps, in time, the forgiveness he never thought possible.

"Although you were once all I cared about, the reason I lived, but with this new betrayal, your destruction is my only motivation to live."