There haven't been a lot of moments in Eleonora's generally mundane life where her mind had refused to create any thoughts and she had found herself at a total loss of words. In fact, she could count those moments on the fingers of her one hand and still have a finger or two to spare.
That afternoon where her family had fled the village was one of them.
That night where the sky had turned red with embers had been another.
And even then, in those moments, the shock had been momentary.
Eleonora prided herself in her ability to stay calm under pressure, to have quick thinking and an excellent decision making prowess — despite it often bringing her more harm than good. She knew and understood that if only she took a few deep breaths to ponder over all the facts present before her, and reflected back on everything that had led her to that moment in time, everything, every little thing, would start to fall in place and start making sense to her.
So that was what she did. She thought back to the meticulously planted injury on the man's chest. She thought back to the you will bring yourself a lot of trouble if I die at your hands tonight. Thought back to the nonchalance at committing treason by killing royal soldiers. To the sarcastic praise in the letter. And the emblem on the envelope.
Nevertheless, nothing made sense. However, one thing was clear: he really was going to snap her neck.
'Miss Eleonora?' said General Arthur when Eleonora kept staring at him in disbelief. 'Please follow me. His Highness does not have the whole day to idle.' His voice was polite and respectful, but the slight annoyance at her lack of movement was apparent on his face.
The mention of the title was a blow to her already deteriorating sense of being and Eleonora pondered over her options. One, she could simply follow the general and hope the prince was an angel incarnate who was misunderstood by everyone in the kingdom to be the one to murder the old king by the help of wraiths. Two, she could make a dash in the other direction and pray that the soldiers' athletic abilities would be enervated by some divine intervention. Or three, she could simply fall to her knees and ask the rude soldier named John to pull out his sword and make a quick slice across her neck, because a quick release from life would be a blessing to whatever the prince must have in plans for her.
'The Prince?' Talia whispered as she came to stand next to her. 'What could my cousin have done to be so honoured to be called upon by His Highness?' she asked the general.
'I believe he wrote you a letter.' The general's eyes fell on the corner of the sapphire envelope peeking out from the cloth wrapped around her medicine box.
As understanding dawned on Talia, she gasped loudly. Taking hold of the other arm of the vendor lady who was leaning on Eleonora for support, she whispered. 'I'll help her. You shouldn't keep the prince waiting.'
Eleonora snapped her head in Talia's direction, feeling betrayed. 'I thought you wanted to meet him too.'
Talia shook her head, visibly distressed, but trying to act casual. 'I'll wait for you at the bakery. I suddenly miss papa a lot.'
'I've been told to escort you, Miss Eleonora. Just you,' said the general in a tone that translated to: if you don't follow me this instant, I might kill you before my prince does.
So Eleonora did what no one in their right mind would do. She pulled out the bottle of tincture again — much to poor John's displeasure — and let the falling drops from it soak the cloth before handing it over to the vendor lady, guiding her on how to apply it effectively on her wound. All while the general waited with growing impatience and Talia glared at her, horrified by the lack of hurry.
'Tell mama, papa and Mary that I loved them,' she told Talia, then turned to the general and squeezed herself through the small opening in between the barrier. 'I shall follow you now, General Redmond. I apologize for making you wait.'
'Let's just hope that Prince Callahan is as forgiving,' he huffed.
Eleonora followed him to the inn barely affected by that statement. After all, she vividly remembered behaving with the crown prince of Valon, the next in line to the throne, as no commoner would dare to behave with any person with nominal authority, much less the one with the second highest in the kingdom. So what was yet another crime added to the long list of other offences worthy of treason?
If she were to die anyway, would it not be embarrassing to not have enough crimes piled up? How were Hugh and Margaret to survive knowing their elder daughter died of saying shut up to a man of royal blood? She could not have it stain their family's legacy — whatever it might be.
General Arthur stopped walking. Eleonora caught her balance just in time to not crash into his back. She followed his gaze to the exquisite looking inn with colourful lanterns hung over and around. Its walls were painted with intricate murals making it stand apart from the market stalls and other establishments in the vicinity. A huge board was hung over one of its many balconies. It read: The Velvet Pearl. Her destination. Eleonora wondered if she still had time to run away.
If the outside of the inn had made her appreciate the beautiful architecture and marvel at the enormous expense only on visual appeal, the inside made her want to crawl back to a world that still made sense to her. The odour of various sweet drinks floated in the air, mixed with the scent of sandalwood from the burning incense and fragrant flowers adorning every corner. Music played by the young artists flowed through the open doors and windows, enjoyed by men with drinks in hands, laughing and chatting as they sat in dark rooms — despite the broad daylight outside.
Every corner of the inn exuded elegance and opulence, catering to the expectations of the nobles that visit it. For really, every one of the guests present at the inn was undoubtedly of noble descendants. Eleonora could easily tell that by their manner of carrying themselves if not for the gold and silver adorning their clothes.
Ilyndor had taken her breath away at the very first moment itself. As even if she looked past its beauty and grandeur, she was in awe of the lives of the working class, the commoners. It was a life that the people in her village could only dream of. But it was only when she walked through the doors of the inn that, for the first time, she truly felt out of place. Intimidated — not of the wealth and luxuries, but of the vast difference in her social standing compared to everyone in here.
Until now, she had only heard of it in others' stories, only read of it in books, now watching these people enjoy music over a glass of alcohol in broad daylight while only a few paces away there were vendors crying out for their ruined livelihood only to ease the unreasonable fears of a duke, was humbling as well as terrifying.
'Wait by that door till I inform the prince of your arrival,' said general Arthur, pointing towards the only closed door of the inn. 'Don't walk in and bother the duke until His Highness comes here.'
Eleonora watched as the general climbed up the stairs and disappeared. Even without that warning, she wouldn't have dared move an inch anywhere. Her earlier plan of piling up her crimes has been fully renounced. The soldier turning out to be the prince was already weighing on her mind, now she was standing a door away from a duke. What was he planning?
She had long given up on the idea that there was truly a person who needed her medicines as mentioned in the letter, but if that was not why she was called upon, what could it be?
Eleonora remembered how she was fooled in the forest by his, apparently self-induced, injury and hardened her resolve to not be deceived by the man this time around.
The door that she was forbidden to go through opened just then, and purely out of reflex, she stepped back. A woman walked out, so frail and weak looking, that Eleonora had to rush and grab her before her wobbly feet gave away.
'Shut that door!' came an angry scream from inside, making the woman flinch.
From the narrow opening of the door, Eleonora watched the bald man — the Duke, she realised — glare at them with fury as a woman, perhaps a worker of the inn, sat by his side, pouring him a glass of ale. Eleonora reached for the door to close it, but with the old woman almost drooping to the side, it was beyond her grasp. The Duke continued to murder both of them with his eyes.
'Did you not hear me?' he seethed through his teeth. 'Shut the damn door before I-'
The words died on his tongue as his eyes went wide. The Duke hurried to his feet, almost toppling over the newly filled glass of ale on the table with his knee. The confused inn worker followed his gaze and stood up herself, both their heads down in reverence.
For a moment, Eleonora stood there disoriented by the sudden change, then she heard the almost inaudible movement of someone coming to stand behind her.
'Now, now, Winslow. That is no proper way to treat my guest,' said a familiar voice. And just like everyone else in her vicinity, Eleonora froze too.