Thank you to all my reviewers! XD Hope you enjoyed this chapter… please review! It really encourages me and helps me update faster.

THIS CHAPTER'S SPOILER WATCH (Don't read if you don't want to:)

Pay special attention to how each character described looks. It may give you a hint towards a part of the plot (not described in the summary. SOME things have to be a surprise, you know!)

And of course, the well is important.

"You weakling!" she cries. "You foolish weakling! You are not fit to be a princess! You are not fit to be queen!"

I stare. I did not understand how the woman before me had turned into the person she was today. She never was so loud; calm and quite, she was, out of people's way. "I never wanted to be princess," I whisper solemnly, my voice weak. "I never wanted to be queen."

"You are too weak to want!" she yells out, her flaming fury wrapping about her, her eyes glowing coal red with jealousy and anger. "You are too weak to have!"

I do not understand. I never believed the child whom I thought would have grown to make history would have made history in a poor way. "Why?" I whisper. "Why?"

She eyes me angrily, spitting out venomous words. "You know why," she hisses. "You know why! I worked hard to be queen; I wanted that position, but I could not have it. Why? Why, you ask? Because you were first-born. I was not. It did not matter who was more intelligent, it only mattered who was born first! Is that righteousness, I ask you? Is that fair?"

"It is not," I admit quietly. "It is not fair that I should become queen when I never wanted to."

"You selfish creature!" she cries out. "You think only for yourself! Do you ever think of me? I stay quiet, trying to keep my emotions hidden; have you ever once at least tried to comfort me?"

I hesitate. I recall, my far-away sister who never spoke to me much, the one who no one looked at. I recall, the look in her soft eyes, the pain that shrieks out loud. It was clear that she needed great help, yet I did not give it. I look down as the truth swept over me. "No," I whisper. "I didn't."

I awake. Tarza is cleaning my room. I sigh in relief, resting my head on my hand. I had many dreams, each dream worse than the next. But they are dreams, and nothing more. Book Master Conroy told me that when you dream, the Spirits take you into another realm, one of fantasy and might, or one of horrors that may await us. Sometimes, in dark situations, the Spirits choose you to see what will happen, so that you may perhaps prevent it. When I was young, I believed in his every word, but I know better now. Dreams don't come true; if they did, Mother would have been thrown out of the kingdom long ago, when I was six.

I shake my head, clearing myself of these thoughts. Dreams should be the last thing that is disturbing me; I should be afraid for Katrina.

Once again, I wonder of why I am princess; it does not seem right that I should be chosen because of my birth status. I always had hoped that Abigail, my third sister, would have been chosen; she was always Father's favorite. She is betrothed to a noble from Sunalei, whose name I cannot recall. She seems content with her position, for which I am quite displeased. If she had requested for Father to make her heir to the throne, I am certain that Father would have complied; she did not.

Tarza does not notice that I am awake. I lift myself from bed, for which she is surprised. "Oh, my goodness!" she cries. "Oh, dear! I am sorry, princess – I did not acknowledge – "

"It's okay," I say hurriedly, distracted. I ponder over the previous night's numerous situations and thoughts. I bite my lip. It seems ironic to me that I, the heir to the throne, does not only wish to be heir, but is forced to rule through the worst reign of the country yet. I realize how many times I have complained over being heir to the throne, how many times these past two days I have repeatedly spoken or thought it. It seems to me that the only reason why I worry is because, indeed, of my own selfishness…

I cannot linger upon these thoughts, I realize. I shall be late, and no princess should ever be late unless willing to face the disgrace of it all. I quickly dress myself, despite Tarza's protests. I clean myself well, racing towards my bedroom door. I calm myself down. I shall walk. I shall not run; no. It would be a disgrace to run, or so Father had told me when I was young and he had paid heed to me, but no more. I shall honor him still, however. It is my duty.

I meet Prince Daray halfway down the hall. I stop to look into his eyes; I find nothing. Ashamed, I hurry along the long corridor, refusing to look up to him. He does not respond. I arrive to class on time, but I cannot concentrate. My head is swirling with thoughts of Katrina and Daray.

I push my dark brown hair behind my ear as I stare at my blank parchment. I have more important things to worry about than my study. I have always received top grades, for which Mother is proud of. I request to leave. My instructor refuses, in the middle of a deep speech about the French Empire. I request to go to the restroom. He reluctantly agrees. I leave, heading not toward the restroom but towards the garden. I noticed that Katrina had not been there the whole day yesterday. I wonder why.

Katrina, though not in class, is not in her garden, either. My dark eyes peer against the beating wind, my hair flapping about. I cannot find her. I walk out towards the riverbank, where she gathered the water for her flowers. She is not there, either. I recall that when she was young, she enjoyed going to the nearby well after Father had told her stories about the witch that had drowned there. The story had fascinated her, and she would sit by the well all day, waiting for the cry of help from the witch. Fantasies always swept Katrina away. I suppose Prince Daray is a fantasy to her.

I head back to my studies, my hair thoroughly tangled in the great wind outside. The instructor eyes me suspiciously but does not speak, for which I am grateful for. He continues his long speech, passing onto Spanish wars. I doze out, wondering where sweet Katrina could be. It was not like her to miss studies. She had only done so twice, and she had done thus during emotional stress. I could always find her in the garden, however.

I do not know where she is today.

The instructor does not seem to care for Katrina's whereabouts. He suspects more of emotional stress, I suppose, assuming her to be in the garden. I wish to tell him she is not there, that we should be worried, yet I dare not. It is not his business, and he would know where I had gone. If Katrina had purposely fled, she would not be pleased with me.

Yet I cannot help but worry for my youngest sister.

Class is at last over. I have an hour to dwindle; I have completed today's work of embroidery yesterday. I wander outside, the harsh, cold wind making my pale skin even paler than normally. A hand grabs my shoulder. I gasp, spinning around quickly, finding the face of Daray's, his own hair flapping in the furious breeze.

"Come with me," he says. I obey, fearing to get caught. It is not allowed for a woman and man of nobles or royals to be together alone, unless married. I glance around. I see no one.

He leads me deep into a part of the castle I never knew of. I wonder faintly how he knew about this deserted dungeon; I, who lived here all my life, know nothing about it. He, who is here for two weeks, finds this area. Yet I cannot linger upon this idea, for he begins to speak with me.

"You must believe me," he whispers to me.

I eye him angrily. "Why should I? What proof have you to give me?"

He eyes me in the same manner in return. "What proof do you have of your religion?"

I open my mouth to retort, yet I hold it back. He made a point – I cannot defy that. I can, however, defy his own beliefs, his own lies. If I could separate truth from lies, it would be a gloriously pleasant life for me. I would not fear to be queen, for I could make the correct judgments for the people. It is that, however, that most people quest for – even wandering into strange, foreign lands for it and never returning – yet never find it. I have a country I shall soon run. I cannot try to partake in these time-consuming actions.

He continues, noticing my defeat. "I have many secrets," he tells me. "Many secrets that your father, nor mine, may ever know. These secrets can lead you to your rise – or to your downfall, shall I tell it to you." I ponder his words, confused, yet I do not show it. I glare.

"I will not believe in your secrets anyhow," I say angrily. "You are plotting my defeat. Why should I believe a word you say?"

He stares at me solemnly, small traces of anger erasing from his dark eyes. "I will not attempt to correct you," he says.

"You have none to correct," I spit venomously.

His eyes flare. "I try to sympathize," he whispers, "but you do not agree with me." Why would I? "If I shall someday share these uncovered truths, you must act accordingly. I have been both here and there. I know."

He does not make sense to me. I do not try to make myself sound clever or witty; I turn around to leave. He does not stop me. I am relieved. Every word that this man says proves himself to be the schemer, in his failure attempts to lure me over innocently. He has done so to Katrina, but he shall not do so to me.

My heart stops beating. Katrina! I spin around. He is still there.

"Where is Katrina?" I say. He stares at me with his dark brown eyes, not responding. "Where is Katrina?" I repeat, demanding.

He looks away. "She will return, though I don't expect her to be quite the same," he says softly.

My mouth drops open, horrified. "What did you do?" I growl. "What did you do to Katrina?" My heart pounds quickly and furiously for fear of my sister. I do not believe myself to be overly protective of her, yet what could I do when she is possibly dead?

He glances up and stares into my dark brown orbs. "I did not do anything to her," he says. "We met by the well. She told me of the story. As she told the story, her eyes…" His voice trailed off. I stare as I wait for him to continue. Shaking his head, he says, "Her eyes. They glowed with a passion, so furious… it was haunting."

I imagine Katrina's light blue eyes turn fierce with fervor. I cannot think of a possibility of its existence.

"You lie," I say dangerously. "You lie!"

He turns away. I stare at him before leaving. My dislike towards Daray is increasing every moment I see him, my hands itching with desire to shave his head bald, like his father. I attempt to retain control, holding my head high as I walk out. However, my strong position collapses the moment I am back in the garden. I fall to my knees, clutching my heart, the other hand in the soil, keeping myself from hitting the earth.

I do not wish for Katrina to ever find such a fantasy in a man as thus. I do not wish to marry a man as thus. I do not even wish to know a man as thus, but as I have said before, and I shall say again, fate is not in favor of me.

What happened to stories I listened to of common folk girls taking brave actions, marrying the king, and living happily ever after? Oh, how I wish I live in such a fairy tale, with a fairy godmother to take heed to my needs. Thus, I am not so lucky. I am forced to live in a reality so harsh that not even the most horrific stories I have heard can compare to such a drastic life. I wallow in self-pity. What, I ask, kind of princess lets herself sink so?

My hour's time of leisure is over, now. I have wished to use it taking a relaxing bath in my luxury room, yet it was wasted upon another false story of Daray's. I sigh, my feet dragging themselves towards the familiar walls. It was luncheon; I was prepared to make another sight of Daray once more. As I summon up my strength and courage to meet Daray once more, my sister Lemahnae shot up towards me, her hair frizzled, a bewilder expression cast upon her face. "Have you seen them?" she asks. "Have you seen Katrina and Prince Daray?"

My breathing stops short as I hear her speak. I force myself to remain calm. "Why?" I ask.

"They're missing!" she wails. "Oh, no! Katrina – oh, how can she do such a thing? Disappearing with another man – alone, may I add? – and to think, your future husband, and our future king – Oh! The shame of it all!" She hesitates. "When did you last see them?"

I take in a deep breath. "This…" I begin, yet I change my mind halfway, deciding to lie, what I have never done before. "No – um, yesterday. At dinner," I say.

Lemahnae lets out a wail. "Oh!" she cries. "Oh! Goodness knows how long they've been together – "

She leaves, for which I am pleased. I have just met Daray, so that much I know he is safe and alone, for which I strongly pity. Yet Katrina…?

Perhaps this will all be a dream. Yes. I'll wake up. Let me rest for now…

I climb up the stairs, falling into my bed. Sleep overwhelms me, but not for long. I awoke when a horrifying shriek in my dream disturbs me, only to find the castle quiet as normal. It was not unusually silent; I could hear people bustling about downstairs. Nothing was wrong. I reflect upon my dream.

I search for Katrina. It has been a day since I last saw her. I am worried, my heart beating faster and faster with every second that passes. Oh, Lord, I pray. Let her be alright! I think of the secret dungeons. Perhaps I may find Prince Daray there; perhaps he can tell me where she is. At this point, I am so desperate as to willingly meet Daray once more. I run into the dungeons, yet I do not find Daray there. Rather, a person has taken his place.

It was Katrina, dripping wet, a knife in hand.

She attempted to stab me with it as I use my best strength to stop her. "You! You!" she cries, her eyes raging mad. I am afraid. "You!" she continues, each lunge of the blade stronger and stronger. "You!"

I have no strength to ask her what she meant as she tries to stab me. At last, she lets out a blood-curdling yell…

I find myself following the pathway that Prince Daray has led me down earlier. I enter the dungeons, and there was Prince Daray – lying upon the stone floor, covered in blood, such a strong shade of red that I have never seen before. It still dripped; he may still be alive. The liquid was frightening; I dared not to touch it, nor to go near it. I am worried, despite however much I dislike the prince. I cannot do anything to help him. I do the most sensible thing I can think of; I run for help.

When I return with it, however, he was no longer there, not even dried blood. Was it all a pigment of my imagination? Was I wanting to see him so badly, I hallucinated his being?

I am confused.

Three Hours Later

Prince Daray returns from the woods. He claims he went out to settle a craving of his, a berry found only in the deep of the wilderness. It was dangerous, he says, that no uneducated man can handle. There were a few scratches from his journey; however, there are no signs of his wounds from three hours previous, the massive amount of blood escaping from his gashes. I may not know much, but if he indeed had those injuries, it would not have recovered so quickly and so perfectly. It must have been a pigment of my imagination. It must've. There is no possibility of the wounds being cured.

He claims he does not know where Katrina is. I grit my teeth, staring at him in fury. He does not see me. He is acting differently since our last meeting.

I sigh. I must find Katrina.

He spoke of a well. I must go there. Perhaps the witch drowned there had ensnared her; perhaps she has risen and taken form of the vile Prince Daray. It would be possible; no wonder why his wounds healed so quickly. I throw on my coat and walk outside, fighting against the forceful wind.

I see nothing wrong with the well, yet I am not ready for what I am about to see as I peer inside the well.

I gasp as I stumble backwards, bumping into an object that was not there before.

"Hello."