Classified (UNDER CONSTRUCTION)

File 2, Part 11 - Her Imperial Majesty

The morning sun streamed through the tall, arched windows of my older sister's chambers, but it brought no warmth to the room. The heavy velvet drapes hung like shrouds, and the scent of stale perfume and alcohol clung to the air. She sat on her bed, awake yet barely moving. Her long, red hair fell in disarray over the delicate lace of her nightgown, and her azure eyes rimmed with black.

I paused outside her doors, hesitating.

My heart feels heavy, though perhaps not nearly as much as hers. The weight of her lover's murder, the whispers of court intrigue, and the aftermath of the dragon campaign are etched solidly in my mind. I cannot imagine what it is like for her.

I took a steadying breath, adjusted my dress, and nodded to the guards.

"Leave us and guard the doors," I instructed.

They obeyed without question, disappearing silently down the corridor.

When I shut the door behind me, I immediately bowed my head. She was looking at me, although her eyes lacked their signature focus. Her shoulders were rigid, her chin held high, but the tremor in her hands as she gestured betrayed her fragility. She offered me a faint smile, a gesture that did little to mask how broken she was.

"Greetings, Princess," she said softly, her voice hoarse but steady. "You do not have to scrutinize me so critically. Please, sit down." 

She gestured to her bed with a weak motion of her hand.

I nodded, taking the seat she offered. The bed beneath me felt strange to occupy, because it was unmade, its silken sheets tangled. Silence fell between us, thick and oppressive, as I studied her carefully.

"How are you feeling now, Your Imperial Majesty?" I finally asked, my tone gentle but probing.

She exhaled a hollow laugh, though her lips barely moved. "Princess," she began, her voice trembling slightly, "I think we both know already."

I inclined my head in acknowledgment.

"Yes," I said softly. "I was simply checking, especially because of the dragon campaign and...his death."

Her composure cracked then, just slightly. Her eyes, glassy with unshed tears, darted toward me.

"Where is he?" she whispered, her voice breaking. "I mean... his body."

The image of his face, contorted and discolored, flashed before my eyes. The acrid scent of vomit clung to the memory. The silence that followed... deafening.

I swallowed hard, the bile rising in my throat.

"I needed to bury him immediately," I explained, my voice steady but low. "Otherwise, the suspicions of the people would grow. Rumors were already spreading about you and him, so I used the Oublie-moi potions that induce memory loss for up to one full day. No one will remember him...or the details of his connection to you."

My sister closed her eyes, nodding slowly. Her fingers crumpled into fists, knuckles whitening. "I understand," she murmured.

The silence that followed was unbearable. I wanted to offer comfort, to tell her that everything would be alright, but the weight of what we both knew made such reassurances impossible. Instead, I sat there, watching her stare into oblivion.

"May I ask some questions?" I began, breaking the silence. "I have been conducting investigations about his death. Maybe your account can help me deduce who the perpetrator is. I think there was foul play involved."

"Go on."

I gave her a small nod, my own resolve wavering under the weight of what I was about to inquire. "I need you to be as truthful as possible," I said gently, trying not to let my words feel like a demand.