30| True Purpose I

Hours later within the Welerian royal palace...

Philip strode through the hallway with Sir Darian alone, making their way to the grand doors of the library, which the patrol guards pushed open for them.

They walked in.

"Your Highness?" Sir Darian was the first to speak as he stepped forward, bowing at the sight of Sylteena standing still by the window frame.

Sylteena's eyes fluttered between Philip and the bowing knight, and she took a moment to softly clear her throat.

"Y-You may rise, Sir Darian..." Her voice lacked any hint of authority.

He slowly raised his head.

With Philip still frozen in place, wide-eyed as he scrutinized the guard before shooting Sylteena a quizzical look, she scratched the side of her arm, shifting her weight between her feet.

"I—I hope it wasn't any trouble, Sir Darian?"

"None at all, Your Highness." His voice was curt and assured.

Sylteena looked back at Philip, who only stared in silence.

She then added, "T- Thank you, Sir D- Darian... Y- You may leave now."

"Very well, Your Highness." He turned to march toward the door but paused at the knob. "I will be waiting for your call behind the closed doors, Your Highness."

"There will be no need for that." She waved a dismissive hand. "I would like to speak to him in private... S- So could you please—"

"Ask the patrol guards to leave as well? Of course, Your Highness."

Without another word, he pulled the doors open and exited.

Sylteena and Philip stood still, their gazes fixed on the closed door, listening to the light chatter on the other side before the footsteps faded in opposite directions.

They both instinctively let out a breath they hadn't realized they were holding.

Philip turned back to her.

"My Lady..." He took a moment to reconstruct his thoughts. "I was gone for just a night and you already have a new friend..."

"...Well, it would seem so." She scratched the back of her head. "But I believe the word friend overqualifies it."

"Still..." His expression melted into a soft smile. "It is refreshing to know someone else treats My Lady with the respect she was born to deserve."

Sylteena smiled, lowering her gaze as she rubbed her arm. "It would be a lie to say I feel anything but gratitude."

Philip chuckled and stepped forward to gently embrace her. Sylteena melted into his warmth, wrapping her arms around him as his palm rested on the back of her head, slowly stroking her strands.

Resting her head against his chest, Sylteena's shoulders loosened as she sighed.

He then spoke, "From how red your eyes are, I can tell you haven't slept..."

She didn't respond, taking a moment to soak in his comfort.

Philip continued to stroke her hair. "My Lady, I know it can be difficult at times, but you have to put your health firs—"

"Papa was killed."

Philip's hand froze.

A chill ran down his spine — he slowly pulled away from her, grasping her shoulders as he looked down.

"I beg your pardon, My Lady?"

Staring silently at the buttons of his coat, Sylteena slowly raised her gaze to lock with his — her expression stern.

"You knew Father was murdered, didn't you, Philip?"

Philip's eyes widened.

Silence clogged the tensed air between them.

He blinked twice, the corner of his lips twitching into a nervous smile. "M-My Lady, w-what are you talki—"

"Do not lie to me, Philip!" Her brows scrunched into a frown.

His silence was the only answer she needed. She watched his gaze slowly fall from hers as he looked away.

Philip cleared his throat.

"My Lady—"

Sylteena suddenly jolted away from him and strode to the nearest shelf, pulling out the hide bag he had given her.

"My Lady?..." His voice cracked with sympathy as he watched her pace to the desk.

Plummeting the large, leather-bound text The Chronicles of Beasts, she hastily flipped through it.

"My Lady!?" Philip took a step closer, reaching for her shoulder. "My Lady, please listen—"

But Sylteena tore away from his touch, her hands trembling as they frantically flipped through the thick pages, the leather groaning beneath her desperation.

"All this while…" Her voice cracked, low and broken. "How could I have been so blind?"

Philip's brows pinched with concern. "My Lady—"

"Everything," she muttered. "Everything was right under my nose."

Her hands skimmed across ancient inked text and fragile parchment, her eyes darting from line to line.

"It was clear from his disappearance... We never saw his body, Philip! We never really knew where he went!" she barked, her voice rising with each word. "We never knew the circumstances around his death!"

"My Lady, please—"

"How could I have been so foolish to believe it so easily?" She let out a bitter laugh, slamming her palm against the open page, making the book jolt.

Philip stepped closer, nearly begging. "My Lady, listen to me—"

"They were all here, Philip. Everything! The evidence was always here!" She flipped to another section, then another, parchment flapping violently in the quiet of the library. "If I had been more attentive… If I hadn't buried my head in grief— Look at this! This… all of this is Papa's research!"

She dragged a shaking finger across a marked passage in her father's handwriting, her breath hitching. "He was getting so close. Too close. That's why they silenced him!"

"My Lady—"

"It all makes sense now!" she whimpered, slamming the book shut only to yank it open again. "Everything makes sense! If there are seven theories, this is just one! I don't know where Papa hid the rest…!"

Philip placed his hand on her shoulder.

"Don't stop me!" she snapped, eyes burning as she shot him a look. "I need to know who did this! I need to find everything!"

He stepped forward with a grimace, taking her hands and forcing the book still.

"Sylteena!"

She froze. He had never said her name in years.

He swallowed hard. His voice was low, gutted. "Please, My Lady..." His eyes softened. "There is a reason I ensured to keep you away from the very thing that took your father's life..."

"Don't you see, Philip?" she let out a bitter chuckle. "The reason everything happened… The reason Papa is gone… Is because of me."

Philip loosened his grip and slowly lowered her hands.

"This is exactly what I didn't want you thinking, My Lady!"

"But it's the glaring truth!" Sylteena's voice cracked. "If I wasn't born the way I was," she said quietly, locking eyes with him, "he never would have taken interest in studying curse magic and origin… He never would have plunged himself into such dangerous waters. He only did it to understand me. To help me. That's why they killed him."

Philip stared at her — silent, stricken.

"My Lady, please don't blame yourself," he whispered woefully. "This is why I didn't tell—"

"No!" she cut him off sharply, stepping back. "You listen!"

Philip looked up, startled.

"I'm not blaming myself, Philip!" she said, chest heaving. "I am simply acknowledging the truth."

She clutched the edge of the desk for balance.

"Papa loved me. So much. He loved me enough to dive headfirst into diabolic history… into forbidden knowledge. All for me!"

Her voice trembled, eyes glistening with tears. "To understand why I was born this way. To fix what the world saw as a flaw in me."

"You are not an abnormality, My Lady!" Philip's voice was fierce now.

"No. No, I'm not. But Papa believed I deserved to know the truth. He believed I deserved a world that understood me. And someone… Or something — wanted to silence him for it. And it did..."

She met Philip's gaze.

"I have to do this. I have to find out who did this. I have to finish what he started."

Philip's hands twitched, unsure whether to hold her or hold her back.

"My Lady, please… Do not do this to yourself. Please."

She turned from him, slowly gathering the sheets of documents into her arms like they were her father's corpse.

"No. I must."

And just as he reached to stop her, she looked over her shoulder and murmured, "I owe him that much."

Philip stilled.