CH 41 : Tulip or Camellia

The moment was broken by the sound of approaching hoofbeats. 

Emilia turned her head sharply, her thoughts scattering as the crowd around her stirred with murmurs and whispers. The two men had returned.

Dorian and Alistair rode side by side, their horses slowing as they reached the gathered nobles. The anticipation in the air thickened as the princes dismounted with ease, their boots hitting the ground in unison. However, what caught Emilia off guard wasn't their return, it was what they carried.

Not weapons. Not game from the hunt.

Flowers.

In Dorian's hand rested a deep red bloom, striking in color, bold in its presence, as if daring to be acknowledged. In Alistair's grasp, delicate, pale blossoms with soft, intricate petals, a flower so rare and fleeting in its bloom that it was considered a symbol of gentle devotion.

Emilia's breath caught.

They were both walking toward her.

The crowd around them murmured excitedly, the spectacle far more riveting than any hunt could have been. Nobles leaned in, eyes gleaming with interest, waiting to see what the Crown Princess would do next.

From behind her, a smooth voice and laced with something unspoken, cut through the murmurs.

"Choose wisely, Crown Princess." Lady Marguerite words, though spoken softly, carried a weight that sent a shiver down Emilia's spine. "Whoever you choose will be the winner; while the other… will be the loser in the entire kingdom."

Emilia's hands clenched subtly at her sides. Was this truly the moment where perception would shift? Where the careful balance of power of expectation would tilt irrevocably?

Her gaze flickered between the two men.

Dorian's expression was warm, expectant, a quiet confidence in his stance. As if he had no doubt that she would accept what he offered.

Alistair, however…

His jaw was set, his grip on the flower firm, but there was something unreadable in his eyes. Not uncertainty, no, Alistair was never uncertain but something deeper. A test, a challenge, perhaps even a plea hidden beneath the surface.

And now, all eyes were on her.

The entire kingdom waited.

Emilia felt the weight of the moment press down on her. The air around them was thick with expectation, the nobles watching with rapt attention, waiting for her decision.

The two princes stood before her, their expressions composed yet carrying an unspoken challenge. Their hands, still streaked with dirt and faint cuts from their journey, extended their respective offerings toward her.

The flowers were striking in contrast, one dark and fragile, the other bold and unwavering.

Alistair spoke first.

His voice was smooth, his confidence unwavering, though his eyes held something deeper beneath the surface.

"This is a broken tulip," he said, lifting the delicate yet imperfect bloom in his hand. The petals, dark and velvety with intricate streaks, bore a quiet, haunting beauty.

"They say the broken tulip is one of the rarest flowers in the world. Once damaged, it never returns to its original form, yet it remains breathtaking, perhaps even more so than before. It is a flower marked by struggle, yet it stands resilient, refusing to wither completely."

Alistair's gaze flickered toward her, his voice dipping lower. "It reminded me of you."

A ripple of murmurs stirred through the crowd. Emilia's breath caught in her throat as his meaning settled over her. Before she could respond, Dorian spoke, stepping forward slightly as he presented his own flower.

"And this," he said, his voice warm yet firm, "is a Middlemist Red Camellia."

The bloom was striking a vivid, almost unnatural red, its layered petals forming a perfect symmetry.

"One of the rarest flowers in the world, its beauty is unmatched, and it has only survived because of careful, dedicated hands that have protected it over generations. It is a flower that symbolizes love, longing… and admiration."

His eyes met hers, unwavering. "It reminded me of you, Crown Princess."

Emilia inhaled softly, her fingers twitching at her sides. 

The entire court was watching.

Two rare flowers. Two powerful meanings.

Two men standing before her, waiting.

Suddenly the conversation she had with the Queen and the Countess just days ago resurfaced in her mind. The Queen had spoken with deliberate intent, her gaze steady as she addressed Emilia.

"You must understand, my dear. The throne is not merely held by strength or birthright, it is secured by perception. And perception, my dear, is shaped by emotion."

The Countess had added with a knowing smile, "Jealousy is a powerful tool, one that few know how to wield properly. It is not about making a man envious, it is about making him realize what he fears losing."

The plan had been simple in theory, using calculated actions to stir Alistair's possessiveness, to remind him that even a Crown Prince is not above the vulnerabilities of the heart. But executing it in reality was an entirely different matter.

Emilia's gaze flickered toward Selene, who still stood nearby, her arms crossed and her eyes filled with barely concealed irritation. If Emilia played this moment correctly, she knew it could serve their goal perfectly. The circumstances were ideal, the audiences were nobles and she had the opportunity to be the main character on this stage.

Her thoughts drifted briefly to Dorian. His warm smile, his easy presence. He was a prince, respected in his own right, but unlike Alistair, he carried no weight of expectations between them. Would allowing herself to be seen closer to him now truly make a difference?

She hesitated.

Despite the logic behind it, the idea of intentionally provoking Alistair felt… uneasy. It wasn't just strategy anymore, it was personal. Could she truly go through with it, knowing that she wasn't merely toying with a prince's pride, but with something far more delicate?

Her fingers tightened slightly.

Lady Marguerite's words replayed in her mind. "Sometimes, knowing which flower to choose makes all the difference."

What would Alistair see when he returned? Would he see a woman standing unwaveringly by his side, or would he see someone slipping from his grasp?

The choice was hers to make.

Emilia's fingers hovered just above the flowers, her heart pounding in her chest. The air was so tense, it felt suffocating.

"Die…"

The whisper slithered into her mind, so faint at first that Emilia thought she imagined it. Her breath hitched, and she glanced around, but no one else seemed to react.

"Die… Die… Die…"

The voice grew sharper, more insistent, clawing at the edges of her consciousness. Emilia's vision blurred for a moment. The world around her, the expectant gazes and the murmuring nobles, the two men standing before her started to feel distant, almost unreal. And then…

"DIE!!!"

The word exploded in her skull like a piercing shriek, the force of it unbearable. Her hands flew to her head, fingers clutching at her temples as a searing pain ripped through her. It felt as if something was tearing her mind apart from the inside.

The world around her twisted. Shadows crept in from the edges of her vision, consuming everything. The colors drained from her surroundings, replaced by an abyss of darkness that swallowed all light, all sound. Her body trembled, her knees buckling beneath her.

Somewhere, she heard voices, distant and alarmed. Someone called her name. But it was too far, too unreachable.

The last thing she saw was the look of shock on Alistair's and Dorian's faces before her world went completely black.

***

The first thing Emilia noticed when she woke up was the dim glow of candlelight flickering across the ceiling. Her body felt strangely heavy, and as she shifted slightly, the soft fabric of her nightgown brushed against her skin. Someone had changed her clothes.

The realization made her pause for a moment, but the throbbing ache in her head quickly pushed the thought aside. She turned her head slightly, eyes adjusting to the darkened room. The sun had already set.

The air inside felt stifling, pressing against her chest, making it difficult to breathe. She needed fresh air. Slowly, she pushed herself up, throwing her legs over the side of the bed. Her bare feet touched the cool floor, sending a small shiver up her spine.

Grabbing the outer robe draped over the chair nearby, she wrapped it around her shoulders before slipping out of the room.

The halls were eerily quiet, only the occasional flicker of torches lighting the way. Emilia walked slowly, her thoughts still muddled from earlier. The memory of the voices whispering in her head made her stomach tighten.

What had happened to her? Was it a hallucination? A warning?

When she finally reached the garden, the cool night air caressed her skin, soothing the lingering unease in her chest. She took a deep breath, her gaze wandering across the moonlit flowers, their petals glowing faintly under the silver light.

That's when she saw him.

Dorian stood by the fountain, his posture relaxed but his eyes distant, as if lost in thought. The gentle sound of water trickling filled the silence between them.

At first, he didn't notice her, but when she took a step closer, his head snapped toward her. His eyes widened slightly in surprise before softening with relief.

"Emilia…" He quickly closed the distance between them. "You're awake."

She nodded, offering him a small, reassuring smile. "I am. I didn't mean to worry you."

Dorian exhaled a breath, as if releasing the tension he'd been holding. "You collapsed so suddenly… No one knew what happened. Even Alistair looked shaken." He studied her closely. "How do you feel now?"

"A bit lightheaded," she admitted. "But it's nothing serious."

His brows furrowed. "Are you sure? If something still feels off, I can call for a physician..."

"No, really, I'm fine." She placed a hand gently on his arm to stop his worry from spiraling further. 

"But…" She hesitated, then met his gaze. "Did you hear anything strange before I collapsed? Or maybe see anyone unusual in the hunting grounds?"

Dorian blinked, caught off guard by the question. His expression turned thoughtful. "No… not that I recall. Everything seemed normal. Why?"

She bit her lip, debating whether to tell him about the voice. The memory of it still sent a chill down her spine. "I just have a strange feeling about what happened," she finally said. "Like… maybe it wasn't just my body giving out."

Dorian's gaze darkened slightly, his concern deepening. "Do you think someone did something to you?"

"I don't know," Emilia whispered. "But I intend to find out."

The night breeze rustled the leaves, carrying their silent thoughts between them. Whatever had happened in the forest, whatever had caused that voice in her head, Emilia knew one thing, it wasn't over yet.

Emilia stood beside the fountain, her fingers lightly tracing the cold marble edge. The gentle sound of water trickling filled the quiet space between them. She hesitated for a moment, gathering her thoughts before speaking.

"Dorian," she finally said, her voice low but firm. "What do you know about Lady Rowena?"

***