Lost Items

Her words, though composed, carried an underlying intensity that seemed to reach out and grip him.

In that moment, the past rushed forth, a vivid memory of a distressing incident that still haunted him. 

Though Princess Eleanor now stood at a distance, the mere echo of her voice triggered an involuntary reaction. It was as if her hands, in their unwelcome familiarity, still held the power to conjure a visceral response from him, invoking an unpleasant shiver down his spine.

A surge of tension rippled through Fabian's frame, his fingers involuntarily clenched tightly on the walking cane. He drew in a deep breath, the air feeling jagged as it scraped against his sore throat. 

He fought to conceal the telltale tremor that quivered beneath his skin, an outward manifestation of the internal struggle he battled. 

He had entered this encounter with a pact with himself: flee at the mere sight of Princess Eleanor. Yet, here he stood, his legs inexplicably rooted to the ground, betraying his intentions.

In the wake of this unexpected encounter, Fabian's mind raced, fraught with a new perspective on Princess Eleanor's behavior. The memory of the masquerade party resurfaced, and he allowed himself a fleeting, almost fantastical, thought. 

What if he had danced with her that night when the first princess had ingeniously disguised herself as Yohana? How far would her audacious charade have extended, in the midst of countless witnesses?

Summoning what remained of his wits, Fabian managed a hasty response, his words tumbling out in a deliberate effort to maintain his composure. 

"Please accept my apologies, Your Highness. I find myself in quite a rush, for matters at home require my immediate attention," he spoke, his gaze avoiding direct contact with Princess Eleanor's eyes.

But his escape was thwarted, as the first princess seized his arm with a grip that held a hint of possession. She leaned against him, her head finding its resting place on his arm. 

"Avoiding me, Your Grace?" Her voice carried a feigned sadness, the words dripping with an unmistakable undercurrent. 

It was as though a predator was playacting vulnerability, even as it clutched its prey with unyielding claws.

His pulse quickened, a mixture of anxiety and wariness intertwining within him. 

The scene was fraught with tension, a delicate balance between Fabian's efforts to extricate himself and Princess Eleanor's artful manipulation. 

The air hung heavy with unsaid words, a silent confrontation that painted a vivid portrait of power dynamics and concealed intentions.

In the clutch of tension, a moment of inertia stretched until a timely intervention shattered the tableau. Someone appeared, gracefully extricating Princess Eleanor's grip from Fabian's arm, like peeling away the tendrils of a thorny vine.

It was Princess Elke. She confronted her sister, "Sister, do I need to reiterate that His Grace is pledged to me? Would you fancy the notion of being accused of adultery? Mother may intercede, but you know full well that mere warnings can't halt my intentions. You know my determination is unswerving."

Princess Elke showed up in time, a guardian angel descending to liberate Fabian from the clutches of a disconcerting scenario. 

Frustration gnawed at him, a self-directed discontent for allowing himself to be immobilized by the mere sound of Princess Eleanor's voice. 

Princess Elke inserted herself between Fabian's immobilized form and Princess Eleanor's unsettling presence. Her words cut through the charged atmosphere like a blade, simultaneously protective and confrontational. 

"Do you have no other matters to attend to? Would you relish witnessing an intimate exchange between us?" Her tone was pointed, a challenge laced with an underlying warning. "I assure you, that would serve no one's interests."

Princess Eleanor's gaze flitted between her sister and Fabian, her lips curving into an impish smirk that injected an unexpected element of mockery into the encounter. 

"Very well," she conceded, her words carrying a hint of playful cynicism. "Let's postpone our conversations for a moment when the stage is less crowded."

With Princess Eleanor's departure, Fabian released a pent-up sigh, his muscles easing as the tension in the air dissipated. 

Slowly, the feeling returned to his legs, though they were now rendered weak, almost as if his ordeal had stolen his strength. He stumbled, his body seeking support against the palace wall.

"Thank you," he muttered, his gratitude sincere yet laced with a touch of residual unease.

Princess Elke's demeanor shifted, her tone softening as she addressed him. "You are Lady Runa's friend, and by extension, you're a friend to me as well. The palace grounds can be treacherous, Your Grace. My sister has fixated her sights on you, and her intentions haven't remained hidden even during our dinners. Her pursuit of you is not to be taken lightly."

Fabian's response was a solemn nod. 

The gravity of the situation lingered as he swiftly made his way back to his waiting carriage, the carriage itself feeling like a sanctuary of relief. 

Yet, even this refuge held a reminder – his valet's mention that he had left his cane behind in the turmoil of the moment.

Staring at the carriage's interior, Fabian found his mind clouded, the aftershocks of the unnerving encounter leaving him disoriented. 

His valet's subtle concern for the forgotten cane was met with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Let it go," he murmured, his fingers absently massaging his temple. 

With a decisive tone, he instructed the carriage to move, yearning for distance from the palace and the haunting memories that now clung to it.

***

Time had passed since Yohana last caught sight of Fabian within the palace's opulent halls. Restless, her concern drew her to the second princess, seeking any knowledge of his whereabouts. 

Princess Elke's account of the disconcerting encounter with Princess Eleanor only fueled Yohana's anger, fanning the flames of her protective instincts.

A fierce rage bubbled within her, an indignant fire stoked by Princess Eleanor's audacity to torment her brother once again. Determination crystallized, and Yohana swiftly dispatched Thea on a mission to uncover Fabian's condition.

The news, delivered by Thea that very night, weighed on Yohana's heart like a heavy burden. Fabian was unwell, confined to his chamber for days. 

The room became a whirlwind of restless pacing, Yohana grappling with a flurry of emotions. 

Should she teach Princess Eleanor a lesson, ensuring she dared not meddle with Fabian's well-being again?

But the intricacies of their relationship restrained her, demanding a cautious approach that would neither reveal nor endanger their connection.

A resolution formed in the storm of her thoughts, and Yohana donned her cloak, a symbol of purpose and readiness. With Thea's steadfast presence by her side, she embarked on a mission to visit Fabian. 

"Thea, arrange for a carriage. We are paying a visit to Duke Fabian."

Thea's response was immediate, a testament to their unwavering bond and shared understanding. In the shadowed confines of Yohana's chamber, Thea concealed her identity with a cloak, a necessary veil considering her role as Yohana's personal maid.

As the carriage bore them away from the palace gate, Thea's words sliced through the air. "My Lady, your concern for His Grace runs deep. This action speaks volumes of your affection."

Yohana's gaze drifted to her fingers, her thoughts a tumultuous sea. The words yes or no  seemed insufficient, both in capturing the truth and in shielding her heart. Honesty held its allure, and she chose her words carefully. 

"Your bond must be strong indeed for you to regard him as kin. It's clear, even to me, that your connection to His Grace is purely familial," Thea responded.