The palace was too quiet, even for nighttime, which contrasted sharply with the voices of the servants talking and the noise of their work, which echoed through the palace with striking loudness during the day.

  Now, when the only sounds in the entire palace were Airena's clumsy footsteps and Arenor's labored breathing, the contrast was even more striking.

  Approaching the door to Airena's new bedroom, the Prince, without waiting for the guards to help him, opened it himself to help Airena enter, but she suddenly pushed him away—very weakly, but very unexpectedly, causing Arenor to step back in shock, allowing her to enter on her own and slam the door right in front of him. Again.

  As soon as the door closed, Arenor heard a muffled thud, as if something or someone had fallen to the floor.

  "Airena?" he called out, concerned. "Are you okay?"

  Then he heard a loud, raucous cough. Followed by a strange sound, as if something had spilled onto the floor.

  Vomit.

  "Airena, please—"

  Then he heard a piercing scream.

  A scream that pierced not only his ears, but also his heart, which threatened to break at any second.

  "Airena, my dear—"

  Then he heard a sharp crack, as if something had broken into pieces.

  He would have preferred it to be his heart.

  "Airena?" the Prince called again.

  Then he heard... nothing.

  And then his body shook.

  "Come on, Airena, say something," Arenor asked. "Airena, please don't be silent," his voice slipped, sounding like a plea.

  But the only answer was silence.

  Although silence was usually associated with calm and peace, Arenor knew that true silence was always characteristic only of that which could no longer make sounds; that which was already dead.

  All living things always made sounds, and even though this often irritated Arenor, it also gave him the understanding that he was surrounded by life.

  The living were and would always be loud, but the dead... they always remained silent.

  He slowly opened the door, and a violent shiver ran through his body.

  "Airena?" he called to her once more, but all he heard in response was the frantic beating of his own heart. "Airena, I'm coming in."

  He took a deep breath and stepped inside.

  Then another.

  And another.

  The room was pitch black, and he had no oil lamp in his hands.

  Arenor called Airena's name again, but there was still no answer, causing his panic to instantly grow like a flower watered with water.

  He sighed again, trying to dispel his panic, when suddenly he smelled iron.

  A smell he would recognize from a thousand others.

  The smell of blood.

  "Airena," his voice filled with wild terror, which helped his vision sharpen and clear. "Airena, are you—"

  And suddenly, his foot stumbled upon something soft.

  He looked down...

  "No... it can't be..."

  ...and screamed.

  Airena lay in the middle of the room, a bloody lotus flower sticking out of her stomach — the very one he had placed in a vase in her new room as a decoration the day before the excursion.

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  He fell to his knees, crawling toward her motionless body.

  "Airena, what have you done?" he asked in horror. "What have you done, Airena?!"

  The guards rushed in at the sound of his cries. They carried oil lamps, allowing them to see everything at once. Quickly realizing what was happening, the twins rushed forward: Nasir grabbed Arenor, who was trembling with shock, and literally dragged him away from Airena; Zafir crouched down next to her body and pressed his fingers to her neck, checking her pulse.

  Nasir looked at his brother's face expectantly, preparing for the worst, but Zafir suddenly nodded.

  "She's still alive."

  With one swift movement, he tore a piece of cloth from his loincloth and, carefully wrapping it around the dagger sticking out of Airena, pressed it against her wound, applying slight pressure to stop the bleeding.

  "We need to call—" Zafir didn't have time to finish before he was interrupted by Arenor's heart-rending scream.

  "Airena!"

  It was so loud that it brought the servants running, most of whom had been asleep but were awakened by his piercing cry. Seeing what was happening, some of them also screamed, others, unable to bear the sight, ran out into the corridor, and still others simply froze in place.

  But Zafir knew there was no time for panic; every second counted, and if they failed, they risked losing not only Airena, but also the heir to the throne, who clearly would not survive her death.

  "Everyone calm down!" shouted Zafir, instantly silencing everyone except Arenor. "You," he pointed at the young maid, "quickly call the Silent Healer. And you," he pointed at several people at once, "come here and help me with her. And you," this time he pointed at Nasir, "take him out of here immediately."

  Everyone obeyed without objection.

  Nasir, without delay, began to literally drag the Prince across the floor as he screamed loudly and resisted furiously, trying to break free, like a helpless little boy who had been deprived of the last person who was important to him.

  The person who was everything to him.

  "Your Highness," Nasir began when he finally managed to lead—or, more accurately, drag—Arenor out of the room, "you need to—"

  "No!" he screamed piercingly, interrupting his guard. "Airena! My Airena!"

  Tears streamed from Arenor's eyes, his face contorted with pain, and loud sobs escaped his mouth.

  "Your Highness, what's wrong?" asked Nasir, completely shocked by the Prince's behavior.

  It was the first time he had ever seen him look so pitiful; the face, whose beauty was whispered about throughout the kingdom, was contorted with wild horror, and his noble demeanor had disappeared, replaced by uncontrolled hysteria.

  "I lost—" he coughed. "I lost her—" another cough. "I lost her again!"

  Nasir frowned in confusion, but before he could ask what Arenor meant, the Prince began to choke, completely losing control of himself.

  His breathing became so rapid that he simply couldn't catch his breath. He choked on saliva, which dripped from his mouth in thin streams. Arenor screamed deafeningly loud, not stopping even when he started coughing. Tears flowed from his eyes without stopping and so strongly that it seemed as if a little more and they would simply push his eyeballs out. The Prince whimpered like a real animal in excruciating pain.

  "Your Highness," Nasir called to him, cupping his face in his hands, "please, pull yourself together!"

  But Arenor could no longer hear him; he could no longer hear anything at all.

  Before his eyes was the image of Airena lying motionless in the middle of the room, a dagger shaped like a lotus flower sticking out of her stomach, and the same thought echoed over and over in his head:

  'I lost her again.'

  Instead of screaming again, Arenor suddenly began to shake violently; his body convulsed, and his eyes rolled back harder and harder with each passing second.

  Watching what was happening, Nasir simply did not know what to do: the Prince did not respond to any of his words or movements; he did not respond to anything at all.

  He had never seen him in such a state — a state of complete lack of control.

  It was almost impossible to provoke Arenor; and if he did lose his temper, he did so within reason, without shouting or crying, and certainly without throwing a tantrum. Always, in absolutely any situation, he knew how to control himself. Not only Nasir, but everyone who knew the Prince was amazed by his remarkable self-control, which was rarely found even among the best soldiers of the Royal Guard — including Nasir himself and his brother, Zafir.

  This ability of Arenor always prompted the same question from those around him: where did the Prince, who had not undergone any physical or psychological training, get such remarkable self-control?

  And now, looking at Arenor—the Prince who had fallen into hysterics after witnessing the suicide attempt of a girl no one else knew—Nasir found the answer to that question.

  Arenor had already experienced something similar once before.

  And it traumatized him much more than all the training that royal soldiers underwent.

  Zafir arrived just in time, just as Arenor began to vomit, causing him to choke.

  "I don't know what to do," Nasir said fearfully.

  "Just hold him," said his brother, crouching down in front of the Prince, who was doubled over with both physical and psychological pain. "Arenor, pull yourself together," he said, slapping him hard across the cheek, leaving a red mark. "Right now."

  "I lost her— I lost her again!" he repeated like a madman, choking on the vomit that was coming up from his stomach.

  "You need to calm down," Zafir said, taking his face in his hands and gently pulling the skin under his eyes with his thumbs to check the color of his mucous membranes — they were unhealthily pale. "She's alive, you made it in time. Shafia has already begun—"

  "I couldn't save— I couldn't save her again!"

  "What should we do?" Nasir asked, horror in his voice, seeing Arenor getting worse and worse with every passing second.

  "We'll have to knock him out," Zafir said.

  "But—"

  "There is no other option," Zafir interrupted his brother's objections.

  "Airena—"

  The name of the girl, unknown to anyone but himself, was the last thing he uttered before one of his guards struck him on the back of the head, plunging him into darkness.