Book One: The Marigold's Larkspur ~ A tale of mystery, magic, and obsession.

Chapter Twenty-two

Cressida's hand flew to her mouth, her breath warm against her fingers as she echoed Mint's words. "...The king is dead?"

Cilla moved to Mint's side. "Come sit down." she murmured, guiding the shocked woman to the settee Cilla had just vacated.

Mint sunk down onto the plush surface, her freckled face awash with worry and panic.

"Deep breaths, Mint," Cilla said quietly, and Mint followed her instructions, inhaling and exhaling in slow, measured gasps until her breathing normalized. "Now, can you tell us what exactly happened? How did you learn this?"

Mint swallowed thickly, "Tavian."

"Tavian?" Cressida questioned.

"He's one of the guards on rotation for the guest wing." Cilla swiftly explained.

Cressida nodded, settling on the opposite settee, urging Mint to continue. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she struggled to maintain her composure.

"...he told me to..." Mint trailed off, her eyes flicking to Cressida, before she swallowed again, shaking her head.

Cressida leaned forward, "Please, Mint," she urged gently, "Tell me what he said."

Mint took a deep breath, steeling herself before continuing. "He told me to 'tell the Rust Stain that she's lucky to be locked inside, otherwise he'd...'"

Cressida's eyes widened, "What did he mean by 'Rust Stain'?"

Mint's gaze dropped to the floor, her voice barely audible. "...you, Your Highness."

Cilla shot a look at Mint, her mouth tightening into a thin line, expressing clear disapproval of the derogatory name, or perhaps Mint's decision to tell Cressida.

"Does he think I killed the king?" Cressida rasped, her voice filled with a mixture of disbelief and fear. "How would that even be possible? I've been imprisoned for..." She trailed off, realizing she had lost track of time during her captivity.

Cilla's voice was grim as she replied, "46 days."

Cressida's mind raced, trying to make sense of the situation. She looked at Mint and Cilla, finding solace in their supportive presence.

"I gathered that...he was just looking to vent his anger." Mint said, tentatively, her eyes downcast and apologetic.

"He's an idiot." Cilla quickly dismissed, "And already had a low opinion of Eflians. Mint, if he's the one who told you the king is dead, then I would take it with a grain of salt. We shouldn't jump to conclusions based on one guard's words alone."

Cressida nodded, finding a glimmer of hope in Cilla's words, but Mint met Cilla's eyes with a shake of the head. "I'm not." she muttered. "There was a lot of commotion in the kitchen as well. No one talks to me much there, not since I started serving Her Highness, but I heard them talking about some sort of announcement."

Cressida's heart sank further at Mint's words, the weight of the situation pressing down on her. "An announcement?" she repeated, her voice laced with worry. "Do you know what it was about?"

Mint shook her head, her expression filled with concern. "I couldn't hear all the details, but they mentioned something about the king and a sudden illness. They seemed anxious. The kitchen was in chaos. And..." she paused, before continuing softer. "...they were also whispering about you."

"...I wouldn't touch your food today, Your Highness." Cilla muttered.

Mint raised her head to shoot Cilla a disapproving look. "I handle her food." she said. "She doesn't have to worry about that."