XX ※ Uninvited to the Royal Mess: Where Trials, Blood Tears, and Broken Sisters Meet

Rai's point of view

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Prince Daisuke brought me, Elodie, and my brother to his castle. The journey to his stronghold was unlike anything I had ever experienced. The towering walls of the castle loomed before us, and as we passed through the grand gates, the sheer size and history of the place struck me. It was more than just a home; it was a fortress, built to withstand the tests of time, wars, and the immense weight of its legacy. Yet, despite the immensity of the place, there was something cold and indifferent in Prince Daisuke's demeanor. As he explained the arrangement to us, it was clear that he saw us as mere guests, if not burdens. He told us we would be staying in the castle for the time being, but the tone of his voice made it obvious that we were here out of necessity, not hospitality.

But the worst part, the words that would linger in my mind long after we settled in, came after that. Elodie was the exception to this arrangement. She was to stay apart from us, a separate entity, for a reason that weighed heavily on all of us. The Trials were coming, a brutal and unforgiving test of character, strength, and survival. The Trials determined who would be eligible to be married into the royal family or chosen as companions to the powerful elite. Since Elodie was unmarried, she had no choice but to participate. And we all knew what that meant for her.

Aeneas, ever the curious and probing one, couldn't resist asking where the girls would be staying. His voice had a sharp edge to it, like a blade hidden beneath curiosity. His gaze flickered between us, but there was something darker behind his smirk. I could feel it deep within my gut, that gnawing, twisting feeling, as if I already knew the answer before Daisuke even spoke.

"Avy's castle," the prince replied with a casual indifference, his voice cool and biting. The words hung in the air, and I could feel their weight pressing down on us. His expression, twisted into something vicious, made it clear that he knew exactly what he was doing. He wasn't simply assigning accommodations. No, this was intentional. He wanted to hurt her. To hurt Nsomi.

In that moment, I knew exactly what he was doing. He was playing a cruel game, and Nsomi was the pawn. The malice in his voice wasn't lost on me. He knew full well the implications of what he had said. And as I stood there, listening to the words that were meant to wound, I couldn't shake the feeling that I, too, had a role to play in this. I, more than anyone, understood the depths of his hatred for her, because, if I'm being honest, I hated her too. The venom in his voice was my own, reflected back at me.

But then, there was something else—a strange sensation that bubbled up inside me. It wasn't the usual anger, nor the bitterness I had grown so accustomed to. It was something unfamiliar, something that felt almost... uncomfortable. It was the memory of her, standing before the mirror, staring at her own reflection, with blood tears streaming down her face. I had seen it, watched it happen in silence, though she hadn't noticed me there. I had been a ghost in the corner of the room, unable to tear my gaze away from her brokenness. The sight of her like that—it haunted me. Her vulnerability was a sharp contrast to the cold, angry version of her I had come to know.

For the first time in a long while, I felt something stir inside of me, something I didn't want to acknowledge. I had always believed that she was strong, that nothing could break her, but now I wasn't so sure. That moment, that raw, broken expression on her face, made me question everything. I didn't want to care. I didn't want to think about her like that. But the truth was, seeing her like that made me uncomfortable in a way I couldn't explain.

And now, I'm left wondering if she even has much longer to live. We all know why we're angry with her. The death she caused—the chaos, the destruction—it all seemed to point back to her. But she hadn't killed them herself. She didn't have that kind of control, and deep down, I knew that. It was an accident. A curse. Yet, that didn't change what had happened.

A part of me, though I hate to admit it, used to find some comfort in the idea that Princess Avyanna had cared for Nsomi, that she had seen something in her that no one else had. Avyanna had been the one person who hadn't blamed my sister for the curse she bore, for the deaths she had witnessed. And I found solace in that, knowing that someone loved her, even when the rest of us couldn't. Avyanna had reached through her walls, broken down her defenses, and somehow managed to capture her heart.

But that was before the truth came out. The truth about Nsomi's cursed ability. After that, I kept my distance. I became wary, always on edge around her. I watched her every move, every flicker of emotion. It was like I was looking for a reason to hate her more, a way to justify everything I had already decided about her. I needed an outlet for my anger, and she was an easy target. She never fought back. She never spoke out against me. She had grown used to the cruelty, and I, in turn, had grown used to giving it to her.

I watched her more closely than anyone, always searching for something—anything—that would give me more insight into what she was feeling. I remember when she came back from her best friend's 13th birthday party. It was clear something was off. She was acting strange, far more subdued than usual. Her eyes were distant, lost in something that wasn't there. She barely spoke, and when she did, it was as if she were talking through a fog. I could see it in the way she carried herself, in the heaviness of her every step. It was as if she had seen something terrible, something that had shaken her to her core. It didn't take a genius to realize it. She had seen someone's death. I knew it as surely as I knew my own name.

But I said nothing. I didn't confront her. I didn't ask. It wasn't my place. And besides, I wasn't sure. I couldn't be sure. So I kept it to myself, hidden deep inside, tucked away with everything else I refused to acknowledge.

Then came the day that everything changed. The day Nsomi locked herself away in her chambers for four days. Four long days in which she refused to speak to anyone, refused to leave her room. When she finally emerged, it was clear that whatever had happened had broken her. She looked hollow, as though something vital had been ripped from her. I could see it in the dullness of her eyes, in the way her shoulders sagged, in the way she moved through the world as if it no longer held any meaning for her. She had seen something, and I knew, deep down, that it had destroyed her.

I didn't tell anyone what I suspected. I couldn't be certain. And so, I kept my silence.

A year later, Princess Avyanna was dead. Her death came suddenly, violently, and it rocked the kingdom to its core. But for Nsomi, it was more than just the loss of a friend. It was the loss of the one person who had ever shown her kindness, the one person who had ever cared for her without any hidden agenda. After that day, Nsomi never left our home. She stayed in her room, refusing to see anyone. Every night, I could hear her crying. It was soft, broken, and endless. Sometimes, she screamed in her sleep, calling out for her best friend. Other times, she would fall silent, only to be overtaken by fresh waves of grief. It was torturous to hear, yet I did nothing. I didn't go to her. I didn't comfort her. I convinced myself that she deserved this suffering. That she needed to mourn, just like I had. I had lost something too, and if she was going to suffer, then so be it.

But here's the thing no one knew: despite everything, I never wanted her to die. I never wished for her death. I hated her, yes, with every fiber of my being. But I never wanted her gone. I needed her to be there. She was the only person left for me to hate, the only one who could take all of my pain, my anger, and my bitterness. Without her, I wouldn't know where to focus all of that rage. She was a convenient outlet, the perfect target. And I had gotten used to that.

But now, as I saw her standing there, staring into the mirror, her reflection distorted by the blood tears that fell from her eyes, something inside me shifted. I wasn't sure what it was, but it was unsettling. The possibility that she might not survive much longer, that she could be taken from this world far sooner than I had ever imagined, left me with a feeling I didn't want to confront. It was uncomfortable, and it scared me. Her reaction—her broken, hollow expression—wasn't that of someone who had years to live. It was the look of someone who had already given up, someone who had been broken beyond repair.

And that realization cracked something deep inside me. Something I didn't know was there. Something I was terrified to face.