The Mad Princess and the Dying Prince novel Chapter 31

Celia and Celeste had trained for ten years, waiting single-mindedly for the prince's return so they could serve at his side. Yet, the moment Prince Jareth finally returned, they barely caught a glimpse of him before being packed off to Beaumont Manor.

It was impossible to say they weren't bitterly disappointed.

However, raised and instructed by Matron Cecily, they knew their duty. They had been sent to care for Lucia, and neither maid had any intention of slacking off.

Celeste had already left to prepare hot water for Lucia's bath.

Celia, meanwhile, brought over a bowl of restorative broth. She fed Lucia with careful, meticulous movements.

She had been wondering if Lucia would be difficult to please, or if she would torment her new servants, but she never expected the sudden question that left her mistress's lips.

"Have you killed someone recently?"

"Don't be nervous," Lucia added smoothly.

Celia set the bowl aside and stood with her hands clasped before the bed. "Does my lady wish to punish me?"

So she admits it?

Lucia arched a brow. It seemed the maids sent from the Prince's Estate possessed their own quiet pride—they disdained lying.

Or perhaps, Celia simply didn't care if she confessed to her.

"I assume the Prince's Estate knows nothing of this kill?" Lucia pressed.

Celia looked at her, shock flickering in her eyes. "How did you know?"

She was right. Matron Cecily knew nothing of it, nor did anyone else at the estate; only Celeste knew. Celia had agonized over whether to confess to the Matron, terrified that doing so would cost her the right to serve the prince.

"It is quite obvious," Lucia replied.

Obvious? How could such a thing be obvious?

Rumor had it that Lucia had only just arrived in the Royal Capital from some backwater province.

That night, while returning from an errand outside the estate, she had passed a dense thicket and spotted a man suspiciously dragging a young girl into the shadows.

Hesitating for only a moment, Celia had followed them.

The man had tossed the girl to the ground. It was then Celia saw that the child couldn't have been older than eleven or twelve.

A filthy rag had been shoved into the girl's mouth. When the man yanked it out, she coughed violently before bursting into tears.

"Please, let me go! I promise I'll be good from now on! I'll give you all the coppers father gives me to buy ale..."

"Who cares about your miserable coppers? I'm past twenty and still don't have a wife, and every night I have to listen to our parents at it in the next room! Those shameless old fools got me worked up!"

"No, please!" the little girl wailed miserably. She finally realized her own brother's twisted intentions as he began unfastening his belt.

Sobbing, she scrambled backward. She tried to run, but she was too weak, her face twisted in absolute terror.