July 19th, 1622

1 a.m. at the time of record-keeping

I have not done a very good job of holding him. None of my patients have ever fought any of my treatment or care and the only experience that I have outside of my field comes from caring for and raising my younger sisters. I do not know how to deal with a grown man that does not wish to be treated. I am worried that tricking him last night has made him lose all trust in me, if he even had any. I feel cornered. He is not giving me anything to work with.

Breakfast was silent; I watched him eat as he pretended that no one sat directly before him. My mind has been going around in circles trying to come up with a way to bring him closer to me. I worry that leaving him be, as he has begged me to do so many times before, might be the only way to truly make any headway with him, but that should only be my last resort. I need a faster way to connect.

I remembered that another step of courting is sending gifts, and out of better ideas, I decided to bite the bullet. These gifts are sentimental, not material. He is a prince, after all; there is nothing that I could possibly give him that he does not already have. So, I untied the vial from around my waist, placed it in a box and wrote a little note to go with it. What better way to send him straight back to me? He either keeps the vial that shall remind him of me, or he finds me and returns it. The note said drink me. I dropped the box off with his butler.

When I arrived at the sunroom, all conversations promptly died as everyone turned their attention to me. I had never been able to do that in all my years. It was such a bizarre sight that I froze on the spot, staring back at them wide-eyed and pale. Princess Charlotte was the first to approach me. Taking my hand, she pulled me further into the room.

“I must ask you something awful,” she prefaced. We sat on one of the couches. “Lady Jane claims that she saw you and Nik together last night, that he was… leaving your bedchamber unaccompanied. Is that true?”

“Oh.” My face colored. I did not think anyone had been watching us. I only hope that she did not see the insinuating looks that I had given him beforehand, or I will not have any argumentation left in my defense. “It is not like that at all. We were only conversing.”

“About what?” Lady Elizabeth asked.

“Is he unwell?” Princess Charlotte asked.

“Yes,” I answered. “I cannot go into much detail, but yes, he is unwell. His spirit, that is. I am a nurse of the soul, not the body.”

“Well, that does not surprise me,” Lady Ruth commented. “His behavior has only gotten worse with time. The man is possessed.”

“How dare you say that!” Lady Elizabeth clutched her necklace. “He is the future of our nation. He was appointed by God Himself!”

Lady Mary turned away from the other two, facing me directly now. “Is that all that happened?” she asked me.

“Yes,” I defended.

“So he will certainly not be asking you to the ball tonight… correct?” Lady Hodge’s voice was so quiet that I could barely hear her over the nearby bickering. Lady Ruth and Lady Elizabeth were being quite loud.

“That is right. I was not even aware of this ball until now.”

“Oh, you will attend, will you not?” Princess Charlotte asked me. “We always throw the loveliest balls. You must come.”

I hesitated. “Are balls not intended for the unmarried?”

“No, no. Balls are social events. All are welcome,” she explained.

“We will be there too,” Lady Mary reassured me. The other married women in the room nodded their agreement.

“Well, if you are all going, then I do not see a reason not to attend.”

“Oh, wonderful!” Princess Charlotte pulled me into a tight hug.

“You are his nurse,” Lady Hodge began. “You do not care for him in a romantic way. You are simply doing your job.”

“That is correct.”

“You said that you are a nurse of the soul,” Lady Mary jumped in. “I am afraid I do not know what that means.”

“I heal emotional damage. It usually manifests in one’s soul, leaving spiritual scars behind. Surface-level damage can be cured by the simple act of praying, or even airing out one’s feelings, but deeper trauma is more difficult to access. It takes a practiced eye to spot it.”

“Oh.” Lady Mary and the others shared an awkward glance. “Lovely.”

That is where our conversation ended.

Despite my explanation, my ties to the congregation, and the fact that I was telling the truth, I still felt that some of the women here had remained unconvinced that the prince had left my bedchamber last night untouched. Or rather, that I had not let him touch me. The topic may be over, but deep inside, they think that there is more to be said. That is my impression. Should Lady Jane have seen him come in and counted how long he stayed, she would have come to the conclusion that he did not stay nearly long enough for anything inappropriate to take place.

Prince Nikolai’s surprise appearance did nothing for my cause, of course. He stood in the doorway and very loudly called my name. That was halfway into the afternoon, when cakes and fruits littered every available surface. His voice was so loud that it startled me. I got up to join him half covered in cake and with a mouthful of cream. I was unable to excuse myself.

“If I let you administer your Goddamn rituals, will you stop pestering me?” Vexation seeped through every one of his pores. We spoke right outside the open door, where everyone in the sunroom could hear us.

“Yes, Your Highness!” I kept a hand over my own mouth, so he would not see the mess that it was. The cake muffled my voice.

He gave me a look. “What are you eating?”

“Strawberry shortcake.” I was quite embarrassed to be caught so unprepared and tried to hastily wipe my face as best as I could. I produced a kerchief to wipe my hands on. “My apologies, I was not expecting you.”

He seemed like he was going to say something else but thought better of it. Taking his visible disgust into consideration, I can perfectly imagine what he had on his mind. He started to leave, so I followed.

We walked right past my bedchamber.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“To my apartment.”

I faltered. That was not a good idea, but then, it was probably where he had left the vial. My eyes quickly darted around, hoping that no one had taken notice of us. The nobles that we passed by did not care to look our way more than once. They had seen us walking together and that was all.

Prince Nikolai’s butler welcomed us, opening the door to his apartment. Before going in, the prince told him not to disturb us. Even though the man showed no emotion regarding that comment, I still felt the need to clarify to him that we would be performing rituals together. He simply nodded and shut the door. Turning around, I found the prince smirking.

“What is it?” I asked him.

He frowned comically. “I find it queer that you should need to clarify your intentions as if you were not my appointed nurse.”

“I have already been interrogated about last night and would rather avoid further suspicion. Thank you.”

“Why not make it easier upon yourself and find an escort?”

“Yes, perhaps I should.”

We talked while crossing a mostly empty room, then an even emptier room, before entering what I can only describe as the great chamber. A dining table filled out the rightmost portion of the room, a grand piano stood near the left wall, and a number of couches were gathered before the fireplace at the back. Paintings filled the walls, separated only by the gilded details on the wallpaper. The whole room shimmered, opulent.

The gift that I had given him lay open on the coffee table. He took the vial as we talked and drank it. I have only filled it halfway this time, so as not to drown him again. Placing the empty bottle back on the table, he lay on a nearby chaise longue. His hands rested over his stomach, laced. The disinterest on his face was clear.

“You have until the ball,” he told me. “Perform as many rituals as you wish until then, for there will be no more afterwards."

“Alright.” I approached. “Close your eyes.”

He complied.

I began by performing a general cleanse upon his soul. Then, I softened it, like a farmer prepares the earth for seeds. I thought that, if his eyes remained closed, the blessing would unfold as expected and the light would take this time, but nothing changed. That intense connection was back, setting me ablaze as I filled his soul with light. As soon as I pulled away, however, the holy fire went out. He scowled. Puzzled, I decided to try and soften his soul again, so it would stop fighting the light. We were in uncharted territory now; I was simply trying my best to navigate it. His eyes squeezed as I went on, as if in pain. Suddenly, he took my wrist and looked at me.

“Am I hurting you?” I asked.

“No.” He let go. “My apologies. Carry on.”

I performed a more localized cleanse this time, centered entirely on his chest, and connected with the holy ghost. The light was very faint, difficult to see. He groaned, scowling once again. Afraid that I might be hurting him, I ceased all contact. He immediately performed a cleanse upon himself. That one, for some reason, seemed to make him feel better; he took a deep breath and relaxed. I circled his chest with both hands, so his soul would show itself to me. It was darker now. Why? I took a seat on the coffee table.

“Do that to me,” I blurted out. “Perform that same cleanse on me.”

He gave me a look, but sitting up, complied anyway.

All the words were said correctly, and the movement of his hand was accurate. It did, however, oppress me, as if a hundred invisible tons lay right over my ribs, squeezing all air out of me. That feeling only lasted for a moment. I was rendered nearly breathless.

“Is that how you felt just now?” I asked. “As if an incredible weight had pressed upon your chest?”

He nodded.

Well, what does that mean? I stared blankly at him. Without any better ideas, I took his hands and urged him to pray with me. He rolled his eyes closed. We prayed the Hail Mary twice, then moved onto the Our Father. His voice faltered only a few words into it, growing weak. Then, he stopped praying altogether. Letting go of my hands, he doubled over and covered his face.

“What is it?” I asked him. “How do you feel?”

“Sick.”

I stroked his hair, forcing his head toward his own legs. “Breathe in deeply,” I instructed. My free hand ran along his back, looking for the light there. It peppered through the darkness. I am utterly lost on what ails him.

It took him a little while to recover. When he raised his head back up, color had returned to his face. I brushed some hair off his forehead.

“Forgive me,” I whispered.

I had failed.

He stared at me with half-lidded eyes, clearly exhausted. There was no hope on his features, a desolate look. Ignoring what I had just said, he got up and began to leave. “Are you coming to the ball?”

“I am.”

“Then you should get dressed.”

I tied the empty vial around my waist and meandered to the door. I felt completely lost, an utter failure. Pausing, I turned toward him with my gaze still downcast. I did not deserve to gaze upon him. “I truly am sorry.”

Receiving no response from him, I finally turned and walked out.

His butler awaited me outside. Once he had shut the front door for me, he asked how the rituals had gone. I very frankly told him that they had failed.

Back in my bedchamber, I pulled open my dresser drawer and stared at my habits. Prince Nikolai had told me to change, but I do not exactly have many garments and none of them are very different from each other. I am a clergywoman. My evening dress is my everyday dress. With nothing regal to wear, I ended up merely changing into a clean tunic for the ball.

The crowd’s expensive garments and shimmering jewelry made me feel not only underdressed, but also like I should not be here. As far as I understand it, these balls are thrown for unmarried people to meet, drink and dance while everybody else speculates on their feelings for each other. What purpose does a religious figurehead serve in such private affairs? There is nothing godly to be done here. I immediately regretted attending.

Princess Charlotte, Lady Mary and the other married women that I had met were very happy to see me. The princess promptly hugged me hello as the others brought me up to speed on what I had missed. Since the ball had only just begun, I had not missed much. Everything that they had to tell me was gossip, of course; that Lord so-and-so had ignored Lady so-and-so as they had passed each other, or that Lady so-and-so had spoken to Lady so-and-so, who is considered to be her archnemesis and so on.

I always feel so conflicted hearing these murmured conversations. On the one hand, I am not choosing to participate, but on the other, gossip is an awful sin. I always try to forget as much as I can as soon as I hear it.

As the night progressed and the ballroom grew more crowded, my attention was redirected to the fact that I had not seen the prince yet. He said that he would come, or at least, that is how I had interpreted his earlier comment. Lady Hodge was the first one to bring him up, mentioning in passing that he was still in the next room over. I had not realized that this ball extended past the ballroom. Apparently, the catering was in the next room, where the music was not so loud, allowing for conversations to take place. That is where most married men were. My friends and I watched bachelors dance while their husbands did business with other wealthy nobles.

Curious, I told the girls that I would be visiting the next room over. Lady Hodge quickly jumped to my side, offering to accompany me. So, we linked arms and left.

My expectations were correct, that I should find an entire room full of men drinking champagne and smoking cigars. Lady Hodge and I were clearly not welcome here. Some of them glanced in our direction as we strolled about but did not say anything. I must attribute that quiet acceptance to my role as a priestess, and since Lady Hodge was with me, she was also spared their scrutiny. I have no doubt, however, that they all wondered what we were doing here.

“Oh! There he is.”

Her voice pulled my attention over to one of the tables.

The prince sat with a few nobles, hogging an entire silver tray of hors d’oeuvres while the others played cards. He did not seem to be participating in their game, busying himself with the tray. I almost did not recognize him in that doublet, but his messy hair and bare neck gave him away. The doublet was unbuttoned, showing his white shirt underneath.

I was surprised to see him so settled. I thought that the free-flowing wine, coupled with the ton’s indecent inclinations this evening meant that he would act accordingly. I should have realized, however, when he had first entered my bedchamber, that his nonconformist behavior is less of his own volition and more a calculated act of rebellion. If he only ever acted for his own benefit, he would be inappropriate with me all the time.

It only took him a moment to notice us. His eyebrows furrowed into a confused look. Lady Hodge promptly waved at him, which I mimicked. I did not have any better ideas and would definitely not be approaching him. He refrained from waving back, as if embarrassed to even know us, and went right back to his snacks.

Giggling uncontrollably, Lady Hodge pulled me out of the room. She kept a hand over her own mouth, trying to stifle her laughter as we rejoined our friends in the ballroom. I felt infinitely older than her.

The other women were not very surprised to learn that the prince preferred to surround himself with married men rather than spend the ball dancing with eligible young women. Apparently, he did not interact with the opposite sex very much. The princess joked that Daughter Angela and I are the only women unrelated to him by blood that he has ever spoken to, but I find that hard to believe. The ease with which he had invited himself to my body gave me the impression that he has asked that same question to dozens of women. Then again, it is possible that his half-sister and her friends would not know about that aspect of his life, especially considering their animosity. The royal guard is also infamous for their presence at certain late-night businesses downtown, which I am far more inclined to believe the prince is no stranger to. He is not a man looking for a bride; he is a man that concerns himself only with his own best interests. To each their own.

The way Lady Hodge spoke of him was a bit suspect, mentioning—albeit in passing—how handsome he looked in that doublet. I was compelled to ask her, quite bluntly even, if she has feelings for him.

“Well…” She shrugged. “He is the only bachelor my age that I am allowed to entertain. There are no other princes in Vyerno and all the available dukes are one hundred years old.”

That comment shocked me. “How old is he?” I asked. Our past interactions have made me believe that the prince was rather close to me in age, but Lady Hodge is barely past her adolescence.

“Twenty-two,” she told me. “I do not mind an older man so long as he is not double my age. A three-year age gap is perfectly fine to me.”

I nearly missed what she said next; my ears were filled with cotton. I cannot possibly be six years his senior. How am I older than everyone here? Looking around the room, I quickly realized that all the women who seemed significantly older than me gathered in a separate circle. Since I was among Princess Charlotte’s friends, it made sense that they would all be around her age. Suddenly, I was back in the convent, acting the babysitter. Where were the women my age? Not so young that they were still unmarried, yet not old enough to have sons and daughters attend balls. The young mamas with small children. Do wetnurses not watch the kids overnight, or are the parents so madly in love that parting from each other for a single evening is simply inconceivable? For my own sanity, I chose to believe the latter.

Overhearing Lady Hodge’s comment, the other girls agreed that they too prefer an older man, sometimes decently older too, although they all understood ten years to be their absolute limit. I do not know what to think about that. I am too inexperienced in this particular topic to add to the conversation and have never entertained the idea of marriage, so I simply guarded my silence and listened.

The rest of that evening was rather uneventful. Gossip and relationship talk filled the air. I felt rather strange participating in an event intended for single women, not religious persons. That is not how I have engaged with life thus far. As the girls talked, I found myself, for the first time in my life, picturing what my future would look like was I one of them. Would I be getting asked to dance? Would I be holding my breath hoping for my preferred bachelor to ask me? I do not even know whether I have a type. I have never thought of men at all.

No, that is not true. I have thought of men, only I have not thought of a man that would be right for me. What would I look for in a husband? Stupidly, my mind went to the prince, but I immediately stopped that train of thought. He is far too young, and anyway, we have nothing in common. Not to mention that princes marry princesses. Marriage is political, after all.

The rain started just before the ball wrapped up. It is customary for the daughters of the congregation to try and get as close to Queen Anne’s blessings as possible without putting themselves in any danger. This was not a storm, but a gentle summer rain that would be of no harm to anyone. So, I and the other members of the congregation stepped outside. It was a beautiful moment; we could all feel each other with our eyes closed. We were connected, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. We were family.

I felt the prince nearby, and turning, saw him on the deck, so close to the edge of the roof that the splash was getting on him. We watched each other for a moment. I could not stop smiling; my heart was full of glee. I extended my hand toward him, and to my surprise, he came over to take it.

We did not speak at all, yet we had never been so close. His hand was warm in mine, a firm grip that kept me by his side. I thought the rain would brighten the light inside him, but it did not. I have never seen anyone so inviting to Queen Anne’s blessings reject them so strongly, a physical reaction. Usually, these strong adverse reactions are emotional.

He left soon afterwards, but I only went back inside after the rain had stopped. Lady Hodge was the first of my friends that I ran into, watching me with such a dubious expression that I did not know what to make of it. I offered her a smile that she did not return. Lady Mary and the other women joined us later, while Princess Charlotte was nowhere to be found.

**

11 p.m. at the time of record-keeping

He is in terrible shape. I write from his bedchamber tonight, keeping the glow of the candles soft and distant so that he may rest. The concoction of herbs that I made earlier seems to be helping. During my time at the hospital, I learned how to channel my strength and look for diagnostics. Usually, that means pumping a vessel full of light, so the darkness can come out, but in his case, the light goes nowhere. I push on his chest and nothing happens. He somehow usurps all the light that I give him.

He has been asleep since I got here, weak and drenched in sweat. I find myself checking on him often, afraid that he might be cold next time I touch him. He should not be this small. Oh, I dread to think that our frivolous spat might be the last words that I ever tell him. I was so horrible to him then. I must treat him with overwhelming kindness when he awakens.

Apologies for my scattered thoughts; let me start from the beginning. He was not present at breakfast this morning. Apparently, he had eaten much earlier on and gone out. When I went looking for him, I found that he had not left for the training grounds but gone for a joyride. None of the staff downstairs knew where he was, so I turned to his butler. On second thought, I should have introduced myself earlier; we both share many of the same goals. His name is Reginald, a most sympathetic man.

Reginald seemed relieved to see me, just as concerned about the prince as I am. It seems that we are the only two people in the whole kingdom who feel this way. He told me that Prince Nikolai did not use to be so cold, that while deeply frustrated, he was once a warm and inviting child. He had worked very closely with Daughter Angela for many years, trying to come to terms with his mama’s death. It was supposed to be therapeutic for him. He was only two years old when Queen Anne drowned; there had been no time to make any memories with her. He had to learn about her the same way all of us back at the convent did too.

I can only imagine how awful it must be to learn of one’s own mama instead of simply knowing her. While I also do not know my birth mother, Daughter Angela is the one who has ultimately taken up that role in my life. She is my mama on Earth as Queen Anne is my mama in Heaven.

Reginald and I found Prince Nikolai at the Sacred Lake. I am still buzzing from the visit. You must forgive my grossly inappropriate reaction at such a terrible time; I never thought that I would get to see it. Eight years after Queen Anne drowned, King Nikita fenced off the lake and locked the gate. Entrance is strictly prohibited. I thought that he was the only one who held the key, but that is not true; Prince Nikolai has one also. Apparently, he used to go there a lot. Reginald promised not to speak of our trespassing, after all, we were on a rescue mission.

We found him sitting three feet into the water. He watched the carriage approach with a blank look on his face, not surprised, yet not upset that we had imposed on his privacy either.

As soon as my eyes fell on the lake, my attention was totally seized. It was as if I could not even see the prince anymore. The lake spoke directly to the core of my being, bringing me over without my even realizing it. In a moment, I had joined the prince, sitting in the spot next to him not knowing why or how. I had been hypnotized.

Little conversation followed. I am not sure that I would even call it a conversation at all, considering that he did most of the talking. His voice was soft and quiet, not the boastful tone that he uses when trying to impress. He told me that he had felt something in the rain last night. Instead of trying to describe that feeling, he got his hand wet and offered it to me. I could very well have told him that I already knew what he meant, for I had felt it too, but this was the very bonding that we needed. So, I too got my hand wet and held his in return. We felt each other very faintly, warm where our palms touched. He pulled away first.

Very much distracted by the lake, I did not try to peer into his face. I feel guilty, in retrospect, for not giving him the attention that he deserved. I had been toiling away for this moment, and now that he was finally willing to connect with me, my focus was not present. I nearly missed it when he said that he would like to give the congregation another try. Huzzah! Please, picture that as a soft and cautious 'huzzah,' but a 'huzzah' none the less.

I barely heard him at the time; it was as if the lake itself had picked me up and pulled me in. I only noticed that I had been walking deeper into the water when he grabbed my arm. Suddenly, my mind had returned to me. We had water up to our knees. His grip was strong, and pulling me back, he told me that I was not allowed in. Well, clearly! That is his mama’s grave! I was not thinking. Chagrin promptly consumed me.

It has just dawned on me that he must have gone there to mourn. Not only has he lost his mama to those waters, but also a sister that he barely knew. My transgressions were so much worse than I had thought; I am simply mortified for having interrupted him. I shall apologize again, more profusely this time, whenever he awakens. Perhaps he is far more sensitive than I had thought. But then, he is also bloodthirsty and quite violent… I will not pretend to understand him. Is it possible to be soft and hard at the same time? That is quite the duality.

The rituals resumed in the carriage. As soon as we had set off, he asked after my emergency vial, and after drinking the holy water, urged me to perform another blessing. His eagerness surprised me. Giving the rituals another shot does not change the core of who he is, of course; he is still just as rude and condescending as always, only a lot more inviting and open now. That is progress. He promptly threw himself at my feet, impatiently holding my gaze. I must confess that seeing him on his knees affected me greatly. Something about him just brings out the worst in me, wicked thoughts of those big black eyes staring at me from between my thighs. I dislike who I become near him. He makes me forget the role that I must play in his life.

I did not waste my time asking him to close his eyes. It very clearly changes nothing. I would not perform any rituals in this manner ever again, however; it is far too intimate. I only hope that Reginald, as a mere spectator in the carriage, did not notice how strongly the holy fire had burned in us.

Much like before, the moment we ceased contact, that intensity was gone. Prince Nikolai felt it too; I saw the way his shoulders fell with disappointment, but he bounced back right away, suggesting that we try a fortifying ritual next. That was a good idea. We first purified his body, then pumped it with light. He could only take so much, feeling sick halfway through. He grew pale and out of breath, much like he had done yesterday, so we took a break. Color eventually returned to him. He wished to resume the ritual right away, but I was afraid that, if we did, he would be sick all over me.

What ensued is best described as childish bickering. Looking back, I am a bit embarrassed by some of the things that I said, but he is so difficult. I have no experience dealing with people like him, so… rightfully entitled. I could not dissuade him at all. Similarly, he had no effect on me; I did not back down. In the end, Reginald had to get involved, stopping our pathetic squabble. Prince Nikolai only acquiesced with the promise that we would start over once we arrived. We were close, anyway.

He resumed his seat across from mine, crossed his arms and stared out the window for the rest of the ride. I believe this childish attitude is much closer to the core of who he is than anything that I have seen from him so far. We have finally connected, and sure enough, he acts like a 22-year-old.

Once we arrived, I offered to continue our practices in my bedchamber. He agreed and followed me in. It did not cross my mind that our entrance, soaking wet and bolting for my quarters, would be reason for speculation once again, but of course, as I write this, I understand completely. The ton’s interest is not unwarranted. We are the scandal that Princess Charlotte has so vehemently warned me against. Then again, when it comes to the prince, I find it hard to believe that a scandal is avoidable in the first place.

We promptly knelt over the sacred symbols that I had drawn on the floor and began the fortifying ritual from scratch. Again, it did not take. It felt as if I had just lit a candle, but before it had had the chance to cast any shadow, the flame had gone out. I, too, joined in his frustration, but I know when to draw a line. That was when he vomited a thick red liquid all over my floor. Not blood, a strange substance that disappeared as soon as it met the floor, as if it had bled straight through the wooden boards. It was curious, nothing that I had ever seen before. I wish it had not disappeared, so that I may have had a chance to study it, but it left no trace behind. Pity.

Prince Nikolai, of course, fought me when I suggested stopping for today, but I put my foot down. This was for his own good. I could never, in good conscience, aid a man in torturing himself.

It was only after I raised my voice that he finally acquiesced. I had never done that before. It was so jarring that both of us stared at each other for a moment, equally shocked. I do not think that anyone had ever spoken to him that way. Lacking a proper reaction, all he did was thank me for my help and leave. Regret eats me alive now. Had I known that he would continue on his own, I would have gone with him, but then, I do not know what else I would have done to stop him.

I decided to spend the rest of my afternoon with Princess Charlotte.

She has finally been able to see her cousin, Lady Joan, and introduce me. Dozens of eligible bachelors were lining up at her door when we arrived. She seemed to enjoy our intrusion, having a big laugh at it. She is a countess, and yet, she is single. Not a widow, single. Never married. She has managed to acquire a title all on her own. The mere concept spun my head around. She told me that it had been no easy feat; she had had to fight tooth and nail for it, bending the laws to accommodate her expensive tastes, which she defends by saying that they are no more expensive than any man’s. When she learned that King Nikita had made a family friend earl for no apparent reason, she wondered why his only niece should not get something too. After much insistence, he finally made her Countess of Lilyton. I was surprised to learn that a lot of women were upset by this, while the men had remained mostly indifferent. I thought it would be the other way around. Even Queen Emilia seems to dislike her for that.

When I asked her why that is, she shrugged and said that that has always been the case. She is similar to the prince in that respect, two radicals, only in different ways. Why are women jealous of her, instead of being inspired? Her title means that it is possible for a woman to own land and have her own money without the need for a husband. It is revolutionary. I suppose, then, that they must not wish for a revolution, or they would be jumping at the opportunity to change the very foundation of our kingdom.  

Lady Joan quickly lost interest in our conversation, far more taken by the line that kept growing. I assume that her title is all anyone ever wants to talk to her about; it must get tiring. Princess Charlotte had a lot more to say about it, though, telling me that the women of the ton do not care for the way that her cousin behaves. She approaches the world with the confidence of a man, entitled like one too, which the other women disapprove of. Her good looks are another reason for concern, allowing her to steal any man that she wishes to, even if she has not.

I must admit that I do not understand why any of that is considered an issue. I myself am awestruck. She has achieved things that no woman has before. The princess agrees with me; she speaks very highly of her cousin. It is strange that the women of high society seem to enforce the rules far more than the men do, keeping a sharp eye on each other. I suppose that is the only thing they can truly control. Themselves, each other, and how to behave in high society.

I was not shocked to learn that I am still being talked about. Holding hands with the prince at the ball last night, then entering my bedchamber soaking wet and without an escort this morning has given the ton what to talk about. The princess very sincerely asked whether I have feelings for her brother, to which I responded negatively. Caring for him is merely my job. Of course, as I write this, my heart aches, but that is only because he is sick.

He did not come to dinner tonight. Rather, Reginald told us that he had fallen ill sometime this afternoon. Panic immediately rose inside me. Somehow, I knew that he had continued pushing himself long after we had parted ways. The others at the table were only mildly concerned, wondering if what he had was serious, but Reginald made sure not to alert them. They could not do anything for him, but as his nurse, I could. Hastily excusing myself, I sped out of the room. Reginald was relieved to see me rush to the prince’s aid; I had successfully received his message.

Dozens of scenarios flooded my mind then, everything that the prince could possibly have done on his own. I blame myself for cutting our rendezvous so short when I know what he is like and what he is capable of. What he knows.

I was certain that he had poisoned himself, but strangely, when I examined him, I found no signs of light poisoning. In fact, I found nothing at all, only a deep and all-encompassing darkness. That is far more worrying. Reginald did not have any insight into what might have happened either; he had hoped that I would be the one to tell him. He had found the prince sitting on the edge of the mattress just before dinnertime, holding his own stomach, already sick. Then, he had laid on the bed and promptly passed out. That was when Reginald decided to get me.

I have been here for about four hours now. He has not moved a muscle. His chest is a black mass; nothing I had ever seen before. I tried connecting with the holy ghost and guiding the darkness up to his throat, so that it might perhaps come out, but it did not move at all. It feels like it has crystallized inside him. I know that is a strange way to describe something immaterial, but while light feels like flowing water, this feels like jagged rocks.

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