Monday arrived with a strange weight on Priscilla's shoulders. Ever since she had heard that series of numbers, she couldn't get them out of her mind. They were like a constant echo, repeating themselves in the silences, in the corners of the palace, even in her dreams.
On Tuesday, while supervising the supply carts, she noticed the first sign. Thirty-one carts were lined up in the loading yard. The number sent a chill through her. She stood there for a moment, watching, with the feeling that it was not just a simple count, but a message meant only for her.
On Thursday afternoon, while visiting the sick in the north wing ward, she was handed the improvement log: twelve patients had recovered in the last week. Twelve. The number echoed in her head like a hollow bell. She began to doubt the coincidence.
What really unsettled her was the last number. She had “spoken” to Amadeo on Sunday, and exactly seven days later, her grandmother showed a sudden, almost miraculous improvement. The coincidence was too precise to ignore.
But there was still a gap in the sequence: the number one. At first she thought it might mean a week, but it didn't quite fit with the rest. Could one be her? An isolated person? A lonely fate? The uncertainty consumed her more than any certainty.
As Priscilla paced around the palace courtyard, the sound of firm, confident footsteps interrupted her walk. Amadeo's presence became evident, accompanied by that arrogant voice that irritated her so much.
—You're going to get dizzy if you keep spinning like a top. — he said mockingly, as if it were just a private joke between them.
—I'm surprised you haven't left yet. — she replied, stopping in her tracks and staring at him. — You didn't bother me all week.
Amadeo raised both hands in a gesture of false surrender, with a crooked half-smile.
—I come with a white flag. I came to invite you to practice karate, since, according to you, you don't practice fencing.
—And what makes you think I want to practice with you? — Priscilla stepped forward until she was standing in front of him, upright, her chin held high, without showing a hint of fear.
—I suppose we both know what you want: the information I have. — Amadeo extended his hand toward her, an arrogant smile and an expectant look on his face. —So, are you coming?
Priscilla did not take his hand. She turned on her heel and walked away.
—We're leaving in half an hour.
The echo of Amadeo's laughter lingered behind her. She couldn't deny it: she needed him. The information he had already given her was too important to ignore. Perhaps he held the key not only to her parents' whereabouts... but also to those damn prophecies that weighed heavier on her shoulders every day.
They both set off for the karate club on horseback. Priscilla tried to keep her distance; she needed to confront him with her feet on the ground, in an enclosed space, without the distractions of the palace. The atmosphere was thick; each of Amadeo's words seemed to inflate into an invisible balloon, waiting for her to pop it and bear the impact.
Upon arrival, Priscilla removed the fake skirt she was wearing and revealed a pair of men's pants.
—Every day you manage to surprise me more. — Amadeo commented, tying his long blond hair into a messy ponytail.
—I don't mean to. You surprise yourself. — she replied coldly, pushing the garment aside.
The club's makeshift tatami mat was silent. Only the echo of the wind coming through the cracks in the roof and the firm footsteps of the two of them filled the room. Amadeo bowed slightly in a sign of respect, and Priscilla returned the gesture, though her eyes never left his: two wolves sizing each other up before the jump.
He took the first stance, solid, with his arms on guard. She imitated him, though more flexible, as if her whole body were prepared to dodge and counterattack.
—Tell me, Priscilla. — Amadeo murmured, advancing with a first straight punch that she blocked with her forearm. — Which weighs more, a truth spoken softly or a lie shouted in the square?
Priscila took a step back, tilting her head to avoid his knee, and replied between gasps:
—It depends... a lie can raise an army, but a truth, even a small one, can bring down kingdoms.
Amadeo smiled, spinning around to deliver a side kick that grazed Priscilla's side, forcing her to roll backward and get back up with agility.
—Then another question: if everyone believes you are weak, when is your strength revealed?
She blocked his next attack with her elbow and slid a fist toward his abdomen, but Amadeo blocked it with his open palm, deflecting the force.
—When I let them underestimate me. — Priscila replied, taking a deep breath. — Only then is my victory complete.
Their eyes locked like daggers. Amadeo advanced again, pressing with a series of quick blows, each accompanied by words like riddles.
—If fate is a cage, are you a trapped bird or a hidden key?
Priscila stepped back, dodging his fast fists by inches. Her heart was pounding like a drum, but her mind remained clear. Between one move and another, she replied, throwing a punch that barely grazed Amadeo's chin:
—I am the iron that bends the cage. I am neither bird nor key.
A flash of approval gleamed in his eyes. With a shout, Amadeo jumped, spinning in the air to deliver a powerful downward kick. The blow fell with the fury of a hammer, and Priscila barely managed to cross her arms to block it, feeling the vibration run through her bones.
He smiled with the confidence of a predator approaching victory.
—Last question, Priscilla... which weighs more? My final blow or your fear of losing?
Her arms still numb from the impact, she stared at him. A spark of defiance crossed her lips, curved in a smile.
—Neither your blow nor my fear... my decision not to fall weighs more.
In an instant, as Amadeo confidently lowered himself to deliver the finishing blow, Priscilla spun around, slid her leg between his, and with a quick movement of her hips threw him off balance. The floor shook as Amadeo's body fell backward, and the air escaped from his lungs in a sharp gasp.
She stood over him, her knee firmly against his chest and her fist raised in victory.
—Another question, Amadeo? — she said in a low, firm voice, a mixture of calm and defiance. She took a few steps back, leaving the boy lying on the floor, and ran her hand across her forehead to wipe away the sweat beading on her skin.
—Do you remember this, Priscilla? — he murmured, still lying down. With a slow gesture, he stretched out his arm. In his hand hung a necklace.
Priscilla turned toward him, and at that moment her heart seemed to stop. She recognized the object immediately: her mother's necklace. The same one she had seen so many mornings, shining against her skin as it caught the light of dawn. A simple golden sun, but impossible to forget. Her father had had the moon, she herself had kept the star... and her mother, always, the sun. It was the symbol of her family, of a bond she had believed broken forever.
—How...? — she stammered, but her voice broke before she could finish the sentence.
Her breathing became rough and heavy. Memories piled up like blows to her temple: her mother touching the necklace tenderly, her soft laughter, the way she adjusted it on her chest before starting the day.
Priscilla's hands trembled as she moved toward Amadeo, not from exhaustion or pent-up rage after the fight, but from something much deeper: fear. A visceral, icy fear that arose from the realization that this object, so intimate and sacred, was in his possession.
—Why the hell do you have that? —Her step was threatening, but every fiber of her body vibrated with a mixture of fury and terror.
Amadeo slowly lowered his hand with the necklace, as if he were holding an invisible weapon. His lips curved into a poisonous half-smile.
—Don't trust anyone, Priscilla. — His voice dropped to a raspy, intimate, cruel whisper. — No one.
Priscilla looked at him in confusion, her heart pounding violently against her chest. That phrase was not new. She had heard it before, from another mouth.
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—What did you say? — she asked, barely breathing.
Amadeo tilted his head, playing with the tension in the air.
— Don't trust anyone. Do you want to know who told me that?
A chill ran down Priscilla's spine. She swallowed, but didn't answer.
Amadeo then leaned toward her, his words falling like knives:
—Leandro. Your beloved half-brother. He repeated it to me so many times... like an echo that never fades.
Priscila felt the ground disappear beneath her feet. Her voice, broken, came out like a thread of air:
—You're lying...
—Am I lying? — Amadeo repeated, almost amused. — Do you really think you're the only one with secrets, princess? Your brother knows the weight of betrayal better than anyone. I'm just the messenger.
The silence became unbearable, interrupted only by the clinking of the necklace against Amadeo's palm. Priscilla watched him, trembling, unable to tell whether it was rage or fear that coursed through her veins.
Finally, she found the strength to speak, though her voice was barely a whisper:
—If you know him... if you're really talking about Leandro... tell me what else you know.
Amadeo smiled again, that crooked smile that made it impossible to tell whether he was hiding compassion or cruelty.
—Enough to make you doubt everyone. Enough to make you start looking over your shoulder every time you breathe.
Priscila clenched her teeth and took another step forward. The tension in the air was like a duel without blows, a combat more painful than the physical.
—Then speak. — Her voice hardened, firm despite the trembling of her hands. — Because if you're just repeating his words... I'll make you regret having a tongue.
—Oh... I don't repeat words. — Amadeo smiled, a cold and strange, almost inhuman gesture. — Probably someone you already know does.
The necklace fell from his fingers with a sharp thud that echoed through the room, and Amadeo took a step toward the door, his movements calculated and stealthy, as if the air itself feared him.
—Excuse me? — said Priscilla, turning abruptly, her voice loud but laden with confusion and alarm.
Amadeo paused just inside the doorway. His eyes, dark and bright as burning embers, seemed to pierce her, revealing secrets she could not yet understand.
—Not all your blood is family... — he whispered, his tone creeping across the floor like a shadow, cold and poisonous. — Trust no one. Don't make your brother's efforts in vain.
And with that warning, he disappeared into the darkness of the hallway, leaving behind a silence that weighed heavier than any tangible threat. Priscilla stood there, the necklace trembling in her hands, the coldness of his words seeping into her bones, a warning that would not fade with time, but would haunt her every time she thought she was safe.
The echo of her departure filled the room like a dark whisper: something was lurking, something greater than any known betrayal. And in that moment, Priscilla understood that her world, as she knew it, would no longer be a safe place.
Priscila remained motionless, her gaze fixed on the door through which Amadeo had disappeared. His words echoed in the room like a dark echo, filling every corner with a coldness that did not come from the air, but from the warning she had just received.
—Not all your blood is family... — she whispered, barely audible, feeling her throat close up. What did he mean by that?
Her mother's necklace lay on the floor, reflecting the light like a golden eye watching her. Priscilla bent down slowly, her breath shaky, and picked it up in her hands. The cold metal burned her skin, as if it held a forbidden secret. Every memory of her parents mingled with Amadeo's warning, and the feeling of betrayal enveloped her in a dark fog.
She let herself fall onto the tatami mat, hugging her knees, and the silence in the room seemed to crouch, as if waiting for her to speak, tremble, or cry. Her thoughts were tangled with images of Leandro: her brother, her blood. And suddenly, everything became suspicious. Every gesture, every smile, every word... could be poison disguised as affection.
—My own blood... and yet I can't trust him. — she murmured, her voice trembling between fear and anger. — No... no one...
The room seemed to shrink around her. The shadows on the walls lengthened and twisted like fingers. The silence was no longer empty, but a constant whisper calling her to distrust everything, everyone, even herself.
Finally, she lifted the necklace to her chest, clutching it as if she could absorb its warmth and strength. Her lips tightened into a hard line, and a cold spark of resolve ignited within her.
Priscila left the karate club quickly, leaving behind an unsettling silence. Her horse was there, alone; Amadeo's had disappeared along with him. She climbed onto her horse with contained fury, her heartbeat pounding in her ears, her hands clinging tightly to the leather saddle. The wind hit her face, cold and biting, as if it wanted to tear every thought from her mind.
When she reached the courtyard, not even the stable, something inside her snapped. For the first time, she gave orders in a tone that was not her own, charged with pure rage.
—Miss, is something wrong? — asked one of the maids, approaching confidently, unaware of the tension radiating from Priscilla.
—The horse! Take him to the stable. Now. — Priscilla's voice was deep, harsh, unrecognizable even to those who knew her best.
The maid tensed at the order and followed her with her eyes as Priscilla entered the palace, aware that something was wrong. As soon as she had the chance, she asked a guard to take the horse to the stable before looking for Coral.
—Coral... something's not right. — Priscilla spoke breathlessly, still agitated from running through the palace corridors.
—You're drenched in sweat, Livia... what's going on? — said Coral, dropping the tray she was carrying and rushing over.
—The princess... she... — Livia took a deep breath before continuing. — Her voice... it's as if she's seen a monster. You have to go see her.
Without waiting for further explanation, Coral ran off, a sense of danger pounding in her chest. She knew, without needing words, that something terrible had happened.
Priscila reached her room with her heart pounding in her chest like a runaway drum, her heavy, ragged breathing echoing in the silence of the room. Each step seemed to drag an invisible weight; her eyes clouded over, she blinked with difficulty as she wandered aimlessly around the small space, as if running in circles could drive away the chaos she felt inside.
The echo of Amadeo's words reverberated in her head, piercing every thought: her mother's necklace, the veiled warnings, the secrets that now seemed to hang over her like invisible blades. Her hand sought the comfort of something tangible, and she placed it tremulously on her mother's necklace, sliding her fingers along the chain as if she could absorb some certainty from it.
On impulse, she lunged toward her desk, pulling out her own necklace—the star—with trembling fingers. She held it next to the sun necklace, fitting perfectly, as if they were pieces of a puzzle she had never wanted to put together. The perfection of the union contrasted with the storm raging inside her.
A tremor ran through her arms and her hands failed her: both necklaces fell with a metallic clink onto the wood of the desk. Priscilla took a step back, unable to react, and bumped into the wall behind her, which felt too cold and close, as if it wanted to trap her.
Tears began to roll down her cheeks, hot and heavy, as her face contorted into an expression that mixed horror and vulnerability. It was a fear she had never known before: pure, sharp, so deep that it pierced her skin and dug into her bones. For the first time in her life, Priscilla was not in control. Anxiety swirled around her like a living shadow, and she felt small, lost, trapped between the secrets she had just discovered and the helplessness of not being able to change what was already in motion.
The room seemed to shrink with every breath she took, the walls whispering memories of her mother, her father, the necklace that now held the truth in her hands. Her heart was beating so hard she could hear every beat, and with each beat the certainty that nothing would ever be the same again became more real.
Priscila slumped over the desk, resting her forehead against the cold wood, trying to stop her body from shaking. Every breath was an effort, a reminder that she was alive and alone in the face of something she was only beginning to understand. The room seemed to grow darker, as if the light itself were fleeing from the weight of her fear.
Her eyes, still wet, fixed on the necklaces on the desk. The star around her neck and her mother's sun formed a small reflection of what her family had once been. But now, that unity was broken, corroded by secrets and betrayals that slithered through her mind like snakes.
A blast of cold air swept through the room, and Priscilla suddenly raised her head. Every shadow in the corners of the room seemed to move, every creak of the wooden floor was a warning that she was not alone. Her instincts screamed that someone—or something—was watching her. Her heart raced, beating so hard she felt she could hear it outside her own chest.
She jumped up, her hands searching for invisible support as she paced from one end of the room to the other, as if moving could ward off the feeling of imminent danger. Her gaze stopped at the window: outside, the night was dark, and the wind rocked the branches of the trees, casting shadows that seemed to dance and mock her.
Priscila closed her eyes for a moment, trying to breathe deeply, but the anxiety refused to subside. She felt the warmth of tears drying on her cheeks, mixing with the sweat on her forehead. The feeling of vulnerability was so intense that it burned her chest. For a moment, she thought she could scream and no one would hear her, that the whole world had become a place where betrayal lurked around every corner.
Then, with enormous effort, she reached for the necklaces. She took them again, and for a second, the connection to her mother and father gave her a little respite. She squeezed the star tightly, letting the familiarity of the cold metal restore some control. Her breathing began to calm slightly, and with each heartbeat she could feel a thread of determination tangled with her fear.
Priscila knew she couldn't afford to give up. Betrayal, secrets, prophecies... all of that might await her, but she had to face it. She had to take control, even if fear tore her apart inside. She stood up, her body still trembling, but her gaze fixed and her fists clenched. The necklaces were still in her hands, reminding her that even though everything seemed lost, she still had a connection to those who had been her family. And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to guide her through the darkness that lay ahead.
Before Priscilla could organize her thoughts, the door opened softly and Coral appeared in the doorway. Her gaze fell on the princess with a mixture of concern and tenderness, instantly sensing the state of unease she was in.
—Pris... — Coral said, her voice low, trembling but firm. — Come, you don't have to carry this alone.
Priscilla stood motionless for a moment, as if unsure how to react. Her breathing was still rapid, her trembling hands clutching the necklaces. Coral moved slowly, her footsteps silent, until she was standing beside her. Without a word, she reached out and wrapped her arms around Priscilla, hugging her tightly.
The contact was an unexpected relief. The trembling in Priscilla's body began to subside little by little, and the pressure of anxiety that weighed on her chest eased. She could feel Coral's warmth and strength, a presence that reminded her that there was still someone she could trust, someone who knew her beyond the titles and expectations of the kingdom.
—It's okay to cry, Pris. — Coral whispered, resting her head against Priscilla's shoulder. — You don't have to be strong all the time. Not here. Not now.
Priscilla rested her forehead against Coral's chest, feeling fear mingle with a strange relief. For a moment, the dark, cold room was transformed into a refuge. The fury, confusion, and terror intertwined with the feeling that, even though everything seemed lost, there was still a human bond that sustained her.
—Thank you... — Priscilla whispered, her voice breaking. — I don't know what I would do without you.
—I'll never leave you alone, Pris. — Coral tightened her embrace. — Not even when the whole world tries to do so.
The tears kept falling, but they were no longer just from fear. They were also from relief, from acceptance that she could trust someone, that she was not completely alone in the midst of the coming storm. And, for the first time in hours, Priscilla felt she could start breathing again, even if only a little.
