Chapter 170: Princess Seraphina’s haunting image

Julian placed the petals into the mortar. He added the Bitter-Roots he’d purchased from the store, the pungent, earthy smell momentarily cutting through the cloying scent of the Palace’s jasmine.

Clink. Clink. Clink.

The sound of the pestle against the silver was the only thing filling the room. He ground the ingredients together, pouring all of his focus, all of his desperation into the motion. He needed this, at least to be able to close his tired eyes.

As the paste turned into a thick, swirling violet liquid, Julian felt a strange sensation—a prickle of heat at the back of his neck.

Slowly, he turned his head toward the window. There was no one, but he couldn’t shake off the feeling that someone was watching him.

He left the concoction for a bit and walked towards the balcony window, the water spraying violently on the glass.

It was dark outside, and the guards were probably standing underneath the balcony, so there should be no one to—

His breath got caught, and his heart nearly stopped as he spotted a figure under a big tree.

It was Princess Seraphina. She was standing under the tree, clearly looking towards his room, drenched with the rain and her white dress clinging to her thin, bony frame like a second skin, the fabric translucent against her pale flesh.

Her dark hair was plastered to her cheeks in wet streaks, making her golden eyes look unnervingly large. She didn’t look like a member of the Imperial family; she looked like a drowned spirit hauled up from the palace moats.

Ah, a ghost.

It sent chills down Julian’s spine as he watched the princess staring right at him from a distance. What did she want from him?

Then, she smiled, one that Julian, who was afar, could notice perfectly, and his skin crawled, goosebumps rising all over his body.

Julian felt a surge of adrenaline cut through the lethargy of his exhaustion.

He wanted to open the glass door, to yell and demand to know what she wanted, why she was watching him, but his feet felt rooted to the floor.

He wondered, with a sudden, sharp clarity, if that was exactly what she was after—a confrontation, a crack in his barely composed self, a crack that she could widen with her own madness.

And then, as quickly as she had appeared, she stepped back into the shadows of the tree. For a second, her white dress flashed in the dark, accompanied by a thunderbolt that shot through the sky.

And then she was gone, leaving nothing behind but the rain and the lingering sensation of being watched by something that wasn’t entirely human.

Julian’s heart hammered frantically against his ribs as he felt his mentality cracking even more. [Stability: 24%].

He turned back to the desk, his hands shaking so violently that the pestle clattered against the wood.

The silence of the room felt heavier now, charged with the lingering weight of her gaze. He looked at the violet liquid in the mortar. It was his only escape from the reality he was living right now, but somehow, he felt that even the medicine was tainted.

She didn’t say a word, yet I feel like she’s already inside my head. Is this what the Emperor wants? To surround me with ghosts until I can’t tell the living from the dead? I have to sleep. If I stay awake, the shadows will start moving on their own.

He poured the draught into a small crystal glass. The liquid was thick, swirling with a faint, bioluminescent glow that seemed to pulse in time with his own heartbeat.

He didn’t hesitate this time. He couldn’t afford to. He raised the glass to his lips and drank the entire contents in one long, bitter swallow.

The effect was almost instantaneous.

A wave of numbing cold washed over his tongue, spreading down his throat and into his chest. The room began to tilt, the gold-leafed carvings on the ceiling stretching and warping into the shapes of skeletal trees.

The sound of the rain faded into a dull, distant hum, replaced by the heavy thrumming of a drum deep beneath the floorboards.

He barely made it to the bed before he collapsed onto the pillows, his limbs feeling like they were made of lead. As the darkness of the sedative pulled him under, he didn’t see the Duke. Instead, he saw a pair of golden eyes and a white dress fluttering in the rain.

That haunting image just had to stick in his head.

The next morning, the Waking Madness greeted him with a fresh bout of agonising pain.

Julian was jolted out of a heavy, drug-induced stupor by the sensation of a cold hand tightening around his heart.

He bucked against the mattress, his fingers digging into the silk sheets as he fought for a single, jagged breath that wouldn’t come.

The silence of the room was absolute, mocking the frantic, silent scream trapped in his chest. It took nearly ten minutes of agonizing effort before the iron band around his heart and lungs loosened.

But he didn’t get up. He lay there, trembling, the taste of the sedative still lingering in his mouth.

Once he had sobered enough to move, Julian dragged himself to the small armchair by the window. He was still in his inner shirt, the laces undone at the throat.

He picked up a book, but his eyes barely tracked the lines. The shadows under his eyes were dark, bruised smears—a permanent map of his ongoing torment.

> [Mental Stability: 24% — Status: Chronic Sleep Deprivation & Trauma]

He had fallen asleep. It was a deep sleep, one that should’ve kept him refreshed even just a little, but his mental stability had not increased at all.

Maybe he should just be glad that it did not reduce.

I’m tired. He thought, his eyelids closing slowly and his wet lashes parting just enough for him to see.

He looked out the balcony, remembered that it wasn’t just the Emperor haunting his mental state, but a princess he didn’t even know was doing the same.

The Palace was a graveyard, but he didn’t want it to be his own grave.

He wanted to survive it.

Soon, the familiar, heavy clack of the bolt signaled the end of his solitude.