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The still figure on the bed remained unchanged, pale, unmoving, and deathly silent.
Two women stood beside the bed, both dressed in maid uniforms, the fabric neat but their expressions weighed with worry.
One held a small book and a quill, her fingers twitching slightly as if she wasn't sure whether to write or not.
The other sat on a cushioned stool near the bedside, her hands folded neatly in her lap.
Her copper-orange hair shimmered faintly in the candlelight, but her face had long since lost any color of ease.
Her eyes stayed fixed on the man who lay still, unmoving, beneath the embroidered blanket.
It was the other maid, who looked slightly younger and with sharp features framed by dark brown hair tied tightly back, and holding a book, who broke the silence again.
"Since when did you notice this?" she asked, voice low, cautious, as if afraid the very question might disturb the one who slept. "Was he sick before? Showing signs?"
Veronica shook her head slowly, lips parting with hesitation.
"No," she answered, then continued. "Not that I could see. Then again, it's not like Master ever truly shows much of anything."
Her voice held a tinge of conflicted fondness, and a deeper worry.
"He was his usual self, cold, distant, always keeping things to himself. If something was wrong… he never gave even a hint." she added.
The other maid frowned, flipping a page in the book absently.
"And the butler? What did he say?"
"He told me… it just happened. No warning. No sign. He said he walked into Master's chambers that morning and found him like this." Veronica fingers curled slightly in her lap, "Soon after left immediately to inform the royals."
The other maid looked toward the bed, then back at Veronica.
"You're telling me not even the butler knew anything?"
Veronica nodded solemnly.
"It seems that way."
Both women fell into silence.
Then other maid stepped closer to the bed, gaze lowering.
"He looks like he's… not even here," she whispered. "Like his body's holding on, but the rest of him is far away."
Veronica didn't respond immediately.
She simply looked at the man lying before them, the master neither of them had ever seen defeated or rather never showed it, now appearing as though he teetered on the edge of life and death.
She spoke after a long pause, almost in a murmur.
"He's strong. I know he is. Whatever this is… it hasn't taken him yet."
The other maid hesitated, then finally nodded, stepping back.
She didn't press further.
For now, all they could do was wait.
Wait, and hope that the man who lay there unmoving, would soon open his eyes.
The other maid stood with arms crossed tightly across her chest, lips pressed in a thin, uncertain line.
Her gaze hovered over the man who lay still on the bed, noble and motionless, as if sleep had taken root far too deeply.
Then she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper, but sharp with suspicion.
"…Are you sure his butler isn't the one who did this to him?"
The question hit the air like a dagger flung into water, sudden, cutting, and instantly rippling into everything it touched.
Veronica head snapped toward her, wide-eyed.
Her voice dropped to a harsh whisper, nearly frantic.
"You! Don't say that!"
Her voice trembled not with fear for herself, but for the girl who had carelessly breathed doubt into a room not meant to hear it.
"What if someone hears you?" she hissed, stepping closer, the urgency in her tone rising. "Do you even understand what you're saying? If word of that accusation gets out… you'd be placing your own life on the line. That's not something you toss around in conversation."
The maid flinched slightly at the intensity in her voice.
Her lips parted, then closed, before she exhaled a long, uneasy sigh.
"You're right," she admitted, her voice quieter now as she continued, "But… it still feels wrong. I mean, don't you think it's a little too perfect? Our lord collapses without warning, no signs of illness, and the only other person that is always around him just 'doesn't know' how it happened, or what happened?"
She looked toward the bed again, then back at the older lady. "It's… convenient."
Veronica features tightened.
She didn't answer right away.
Her fingers unconsciously fidgeted with the apron at her waist, as though searching for a safer version of the truth.
Finally, she spoke, her voice low, almost like she was afraid the room itself might twist her words.
"No. I never thought of that. Not once."
She turned her gaze back to the unmoving figure under the covers, her expression hardening, not with anger, but with conviction.
"He's loyal. To a fault," She said. "Everything he's done, the way he follows master, the way he stands like his own shadow, always there but never in the way, he wouldn't… he wouldn't do this. Not him."
The younger lady eyes narrowed, not in defiance, but contemplation.
"You wouldn't know," she murmured. "No one ever does. That's why they say not to judge a book by its cover."
There was no bitterness in her tone, only the wary edge of someone who had seen too many masks worn too convincingly.
Veronica stood still as if rooted to the spot, her gaze locked on the man who lay motionless beneath the silk covers.
His face was pale, his chest barely rising and falling with shallow breaths.
A noble now rendered helpless, and she was the one left to watch over him.
But the quiet dread gnawing at her wasn't just for the man on the bed.
It was for herself.
Her breath quickened, each inhale sharper, her chest tightening.
Thoughts twisted in her mind, a vicious spiral of uncertainty.
Why had Valen left her here?
Why had he instructed her, of all people, to stay and ensure that no one entered the room?
Why had he been so cold, so precise with his words?
Veronica's lips trembled, and she didn't even realize she was speaking until the words slipped out in a hushed, stuttering whisper.
"M-Maybe… maybe he wants to blame it on me… maybe that's why he told me to stay. What if… what if this is all a setup? A trap, and I'm the one he'll point to…"
Her voice was a thread unraveling, weak and fraying.
Panic was clawing at the edges of her reason.
"Eh?" The other maid voice pierced through the fog of her fear, uncertain but insistent.
Her brow furrowed as she stepped closer, her own voice wavering slightly.
"No… no, I don't think he would do that. Right? I… I've heard he only does what he is commanded by Master. That's… that's all. If Master didn't command him, then he wouldn't—he wouldn't do something like that."
But her attempt to reassure quickly faltered.
Doubt crept into her tone like an unwelcome chill.
"Unless…" The maid's voice grew smaller, her gaze drifting to the unmoving figure on the bed. "Unless he's the one who… who did this to Master. If that's true, then yes… he might have brought you here to… to frame you. Make you take the blame."
A cold shudder ran down Veronica spine.
Her hands shook slightly, fingers clutching the fabric of her apron as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded.
"No… no, that can't be," she whispered, though even she wasn't sure if she believed it anymore.
Her mind raced, images flashing, Valen's stern, unreadable expression, his calm, precise instructions, the way he had left without looking back.
"H-He's loyal to Master. I've always thought so. Always… but… but if he…"
Her voice trailed off, and silence fell between them once more, tense and suffocating.
The other maid gaze shifted to the door, as if expecting it to swing open at any moment, perhaps with Valen returning, his cold, unreadable eyes seeing right through them.
Or worse… with someone else coming to accuse them, to take them away before they could even defend themselves.
They were trapped.
Trapped in a chamber that now felt more like a prison.