'I don’t really quite remember a lot'

"I was certain that you were exhausted earlier. And here you are now, in your office, working. A bit of a workaholic, aren't you?"

"What are you doing here?" Amelia's brow arched, "Who let you in?"

"Your knights did. I told them you asked for me and they let me in. Better change your security, they're not very reassuring."

"Oswyn, how many—"

"Ossie," the scholar stared at the duchess with both his hands on his hips. "I told you to call me that."

Amelia sighed and shook her head.

Luncheon ended a while ago and Amelia retreated to her office instead of her room. She wasn't feeling well there by herself, so she thought she'd read through some documents to pass the time. There were still a few hours before the evening event started, so she has plenty of time to meet with the seamstress later for her final dress of the day. Plus, there's the thing tomorrow where she needed to sign some documents to officially claim her rights as the ruler of Osmea.

Though she was considered an heir long before the incident happened, they later found out that there was no will written giving her the title. The role of Duchess was given to her temporarily—as if she's under the observation of the crown and other families. And rules said that when there's no other claimant to the title, the remaining child or children will inherit it the day after the coming-of-age ceremony given that nothing happened to him or her during that time.

"I don't have time to argue with you. If you want to stay, then sit down and don't make a sound." Oswyn shrugged his shoulders and made a face as he chose a comfortable-looking spot on the couch to seat on.

As she instructed, the scholar kept his mouth shut. Amelia stole glances at what he's doing and she either caught him staring back at her or looking around the room.

The Duchess was in the middle of signing a document when suddenly, she remembered the piece of paper she shoved in the secret pocket of her dress.

"Oswyn—"

"Ossie," he said, cutting off the duchess before she even made a point with her statement.

"Oswyn. I have something to ask you… It's something about Pradour," Amelia's voice was calm, almost pleading even but the scholar still chose to ignore her.

Though that was the case, the duchess knew that he's listening at least, just blatantly snubbing her for not calling him what he wanted to be called.

"So, I saw a letter in Uncle Vance's office, and it was written in Pradour's language. I didn't learn the language so I can barely make up any of it, but I did write down what I remembered. Maybe you can help me with it?"

Amelia tilted her head, waiting for a response, but Oswyn had his eyes on the bookshelves at one side of the room. Still, she waited, sorting through some papers in the meantime. But when the wait took a while, the duchess lifted her gaze and inhaled deeply.

"Oswy—Ossie?" she said in a low voice. The name Ossie was too sweet for her taste that the thought of it made her feel awkward.

"Alright… no need to be so pushy. Let me see it," the scholar stood from where he sat and pretended to drag himself towards the duchess' table. "Hand it," he demanded, and Amelia couldn't help but raise a brow.

'Did he just order me?' she thought.

No one ever dared order her of anything. The last time was probably when she was still training but that was a different story. Now she's already a ruler.

Amelia almost scoffed. She was both a little insulted but also quite amused by the kind of bravado the scholar has.

"Does it make any sense to you?"

"Hmm…" Oswyn turned his head from side to side, trying to discern the contents of the paper in his hand, "No. Not at all. One wrong word and this will have a whole different meaning."

"But what do you think it says?"

"It either says, 'It's time to take what's rightfully yours' or 'It's time to take what's rightfully ours' Their writing system is a little complicated so this could be interpreted in a lot of ways," he held the paper between his fingers and waved it. "Is this all?"

"No. The following words read as 'Come back, we need you', so I quickly assumed that his family's involved somehow."

Oswyn bobbed his head and his lips pursed. "Is it though?"

"I… don't know, to be honest," Amelia fixed her gaze on a spot at the side of her table.

What does she even know about her advisor? Until now, she didn't even know that he was from Pradour. All she knew was that he's a former knight who became her late father's secretary.

"He didn't mention anything else? I mean, you employ him for his services. He should be honest and tell you—" Amelia waved a finger to stop Oswyn.

"No, no, no…" she muttered, "It's not that. Uncle Vance has been with the family way before I was born. He's my father's trusted secretary and my mother's knight. There was—there was an accident a few years ago that caused me to lose some of my memories from when I was younger, so I don't really quite remember a lot."

"Oh…" was all the scholar answered.

Suddenly realizing a sudden gap in her memory, Amelia froze in her seat and stared blankly at one spot.

How much of her memory was missing? How well does she know her advisor? How about Vernon and the others? Did she hurt them in any way simply because she didn't remember a thing?

'And wait…' Amelia's brows furrowed. 'Didn't Ayland tell her that the poison they discovered was from Pradour? How does this tie up with everything?'

Amelia stared at the smooth finish of her table as she kept her head low, her fingers combed through her hair; her palms supporting her head from completely hitting the table.

Her breathing turned heavy. She felt the scholar place a hand on her shoulders, calling and lightly shaking her, but her mind refused to listen. She continued to stare at her table thinking about nothing.

She wanted to think but the voice in her mind seemed to know only a few words that it repeated again and again until it was nauseating.

"Hey… Are you alright?" Oswyn crouched and brushed the hair covering her face so he could see her. "Are you remembering anything? I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"No…" Amelia shook her head slowly. She closed her eyes and tilted her head to the side, supported by her palm. Taking a few deep breaths, the duchess exhaled. Much as she wanted, she didn't remember anything, instead, there were more questions.

She suddenly felt tired—tired of thinking.

Amelia was about to open her mouth to talk but someone was at the other side of the door.

It's Arabella.

"What is it?" the duchess returned to her usual demeanor before everything came down at her like a raging waterfall. "Is Madame Camellia already here again?"

"Yes, she is. And she's waiting in your room." Arabella stood straight before glancing at the scholar who haven't left the side of the duchess' table. "What are you doing here, and how did you get in?" there was no space for Oswyn to plant a witty remark or anything. The lady assassin's presence alone was enough to make him take her seriously.

"It's alright, Bella. I was talking to him about something. You may leave, Oswyn. Thank you."

"Are you sure you're feeling alright?" the scholar's tone was soft. He was about to reach out to the duchess again, but he quickly retracted his hand. "You should take some rest first."

"Why? Is something wrong with you? What are you feeling?" Arabella jumped from where she stood and quickly inspected the duchess. She gave Oswyn a light push when she went around Amelia's table to check on what might be amiss.

"No, I'm fine. There's nothing to worry about."

"What happened to Lia?" Arabella didn't buy her answer. She turned to face Oswyn and threatened him. When the scholar took a while to answer, she lurched forward and grabbed him by the collar. "I am asking you, and when you're asked, you answer." She said between gritted teeth.

"ARABELLA!" the lady assassin's eyes widened. Blinking quickly, she slowly turned her head to face Amelia. "Let him go." The duchess said firmly. Her hand hurt when she hit the table but she also felt a little better now that she managed to express some of her frustrations. "I already told you I'm fine."

Arabella looked at her quite apologetic at first, but she quickly reverted her attention to the scholar. She let him go, fixing his collar roughly. And though she was smiling, there was hardly a speck of it in her eyes. Amelia shook her head and massaged her temple. She didn't mean to lash out at her lady assassin, but she felt like a volcano on the verge of erupting and Arabella was just the perfect catalyst.

"You may go now, Oswyn. Thank you," Amelia said in a low voice. "Arabella, let's go," she then said a few minutes after the door closed behind the scholar. And, of course, her lady-in-waiting being herself walked behind her, pouting and deliberately letting Amelia hear her sighs.

The duchess ignored it but, in her mind, she's already apologized repeatedly to whoever would receive her lady assassin's wrath later.

**********

From her bedroom's window, the flock of people passing through the gates looked greater than it was last year.

Young, old; married, unmarried, widows, even old people marched towards the western garden. Children were running about the wide yard. Not far, the gazebos were all occupied by either cooks or stationed knights. As it was the most awaited festivity of the year for the duchy, the food should come in waves too rather than just raindrops.

With all the dancing, singing, and merry-making, everyone would have huge appetites in between.

"You remember your line, right?" Christa asked anxiously as she quickly loosened the ribbon for Amelia's corset as she won't be needing one for the coming evening.

"I've got it all in my head," she smiled proudly.

"Well, most people who think that writing down important stuff isn't… well, important, are wrong most of the time. I think you'd forget about half of it by the time you need to talk."

"That's not very reassuring…"

"And I can assure you that." Christa shook her head and Amelia smiled. It pleased the duchess that the lady's comfortable enough to pitch in a few sarcastic remarks.

As Laila's out to help her advisor with some last-minute preparations, and Arabella's with Ancel for the security, the duchess was left her new lady-in-waiting. Together with Madame Camellia and some of her aides, she managed to strip down her dress and put on the new one.

"I heard that the scholar was in your office earlier. That might… spread some unwanted rumors." Christa whispered so that the others wouldn't hear her.

"Oswyn's a good guy. I can't push away great minds just because they might pose a rumor against me." Amelia walked around her bed in her chemise while the seamstress carefully took the dress in its box.

When the duchess turned around to see it, her mouth almost gaped but she expected just as much from the renowned Madame Camellia.

The dress was white—like snow.

It was so white, a speck of dirt would be immediately visible. She has never worn white before and the only time she imagined ever wanting to wear white would be on her future children's baptism—only that they will be wearing white, not Amelia. It's customary that baptism clothes should be white and she didn't have enough power to say otherwise.

The fabric was a tad stiffer than the first two dresses since it's made from wool to keep her warm. The sleeves, however, were made of a thin layer of almost see-through fabric; slightly puffed sleeves with the cuffs' end embroidered by intertwining roses in red and green for the leaves and vine. The collar was designed the same way too. Then from the base of the collar to the ribbon around her waist was a line of pearl that the seamstress wouldn't stop talking about.

They're harvested from freshwater shells and since they formed through a natural process, the beads were irregular in shape. It's their charm, or so the Madame said.

Thankfully for this one, there's no need for corsets and petticoats and such since the fabric held its shape pretty well.

After she was done changing, the seamstress and her staff excused themselves. Amelia told them to join the festivity later and they left with a smile after lifting their gazes.

"A bun would be a nice touch," Christa muttered as she combed Amelia's hair. "Say, Duche—I mean, Lia, why don't you let your maids take care of your things? They're maids for a reason."

"I don't have a good history with maids. And also, there was this thing a few months ago."

"Ah, yes, I see." Christa bobbed her head.

For all that the duchess remembered, the ones that always tended to her were her advisor and governess. No one was allowed near her and she always had security around. For whatever reason it was, Amelia didn't probe deeper.

The conversation ended there and by the sound of the church bell, signaling the start of the night, people gathered at the courtyard. There's cloaks tight about them as the wind picked up a little.

At the center, in front of the palace's entrance, huge pieces of wood were neatly stacked over the other to create a sort of pyramid with it standing just as tall as Amelia.

It's Osmea's tradition to light a bonfire on the winter holiday to give thanks for the blessings of the year and to pray for the following year. The smoke was said to bring those wishes to the Heavens, so the bigger the bonfire, the more wishes it could bring to the gods. But since the incident, the bonfire also gave tribute to the deceased Florence family.

For the first three years after the fire, Amelia was at Aclador and then traveling with Ayland so she didn't attend the festivity. When she came back, the people were reluctant to celebrate it, thinking that it may bring back hurtful memories to the duchess. But she braved through it over time.

Amelia stood in front of the fire, clutching onto her advisor like how she was that night. With lacking memories of her own, witnessing the bonfire after some years seemed natural to the duchess. She just couldn't find a deeper connection—a deeper feeling—towards it because she didn't have the memory, to begin with.

It was neither a good nor a bad thing—but her people were happy to see her and that was all that mattered at that time.

"All done," Amelia snapped back to the present and saw the neatly done high bun Christa arranged for her.

"Thank you, Christa." The lady shyly smiled as she placed the hairbrush back on the dresser. "Aren't you going to change yourself?"

"But Laila and Arabella are not back yet."

"It's alright. Ancel's men are guarding the hallway." Amelia stood up and grabbed her lady-in-waiting's hand. "I'll tell one of them to go with you."

The two ladies were already by the door when it suddenly flung open, leaving the two almost soulless from where they stood.

"What in the Heavens is going on?!" the duchess's tone was a tad loud and Christa glanced at her in disbelief. It was the first she heard Amelia raise her voice.