He had trained himself for months now so he can perform his role in this farce. And yet he is completely unable to.

  “Maran, must we really do this? Isn’t there any other way?”

  The girl in the pastel pink dress put down her book, shooting a glare at the prince. It felt like there was a dagger of fire right in his heart. He flinched, a pathetic little sound leaving his lips.

  “Goodness, Your Highness, surely you’re the only one who still asks the same question for the thousandth time while knowing perfectly well that it was no two years ago and now that we’re at merely…” She glanced at a tall ivory clock. “An hour away. It is still no.”

  Maran rose from the chair, letting the thick book rest on a small side table and put herself right in front of him, hands on her hips, or at least as much as the dress, a frilly little thing that made her look like a bubblegum pink upside-down rose, let her.

  “I understand that you hate this, you have made it clear every single time. And in the same way, you know that I’m not comfortable either with hurting an innocent in such a way. But that’s how the story goes.”

  She looked to a side, first exasperated from having to say the same thing she always does, and then just exhausted. She brought her hand to the tiny silver locket that hung from her neck.

  “Rose is stronger than you think, Highness. She’s the villainess after all.”

  “I still refuse to believe it, Maran. Rose… Rose is the single sweetest girl I know, she wouldn’t hurt a single fly, she…” He turned towards her, pleading. “Her dream is to open an orphanage, Maran! And a children’s hospital, and… and… and she and I worked for so long to be able to extend free education to the southern provinces.”

  Maran glared at him. She rose a hand, grabbing one of his lapels.

  “Keep yourself together. Keep your mind cool, you’ll need it.”

  “I know.”

  She let go of him, letting out a soft sigh.

  “What happens if… you know… it doesn’t happen?”

  “Pray that it does, or we will lose a friend.”

  His Highness, Prince Rull Strovart de Lastria, second in line to the throne, walked towards a nearby window, his hands on his back, and looked at his reflection. He was handsome, with glossy black hair, golden eyes that shone at the darkest, and a green suit that “emboldened” his physique in ways he didn’t quite like. He had always been kind of scrawny and he liked to be that way.

  “You know…” Rull began, “I’m not that different from how I was, then.”

  Maran took a deep breath, and gave him a look that shut him up. For a minute at least.

  “I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to hurt her.”

  “You know the rules, if it comes positive, we just make up a lie to cover the lie and at most, your relationship with her will be strained. If it’s negative…” She didn’t continue talking, there was no need to keep having the same conversation as always when the very moment of truth was here. Maran stared at her own reflection on the mirror over the fireplace’s mantelpiece, making sure that her hair was perfect and she could put on the best puppy eyes of her life.

  There was a knock on the door. It was showtime. Both left the room, she went to the ballroom and he went to greet the guests before their act fully started.

  Maran spent most of the time both before and during their whole farce concentrated, focused in the locket as she clutched it in her small hands. The only time her mind wandered off was when Rose started crying, the sound of it caused her pain. She was making an innocent suffer, that poor girl truly had done nothing wrong and she was causing her this much pain.

  After Rose was brought outside, the ballroom fell into silence. The present aristocrats were asking each other if what they saw was real, if the prince had really broken his arranged marriage this publicly, if Lady Wynthart, famous among the aristocracy for her never ending philanthropy, could really be a criminal like that. It wasn’t too difficult for the prince to cancel the ball in a matter of minutes and send everyone home.

  By the time they all arrived at their residences, they’d have made up their minds and Rose would be a criminal.

  Maran entered the side room first and walked straight to stand before the fireplace, staring directly at the fire, in silence. Rull came in behind her, closing and locking the door.

  “Maran?” He asked before muttering a short curse when she turned around. She was pale, and her eyes were filled with what could only be described as fear.

  “I… I don’t know.”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  She ran the length of the room, grabbing the lapels of his coat, pulling him down just a little until their faces were at the same height. “You made this thing properly, right?” She sounded furious, her voice was full of pain.

  “Y-Yes.” He stuttered back. “I copied it from the book and… and you were seeing me all the time and double-checking! It… It has to be correct.”

  A terrifying realization appeared in his mind.

  “Maran… was… was it positive or negative?”

  She let go of him, taking a deep breath. “Neither.”

  “What?” He blurted out.

  Maran felt sick. She grab a table as, for her, the whole room as spinning. Her breath was accelerating with every second that passed.

  “Neither. It… It was no pulses if negative and three if positive, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “There was only one pulse.”

  He stared at her in silence. He raised one finger before putting it down. It was unlikely she she had missed the pulses, they were strong enough that he himself could feel them as it made her entire body vibrate, and she was right, he only felt it once.

  “The locket. Now.” He barked the order with more strength in his voice than any other order he had ever given before. And yet, his voice sounded entirely of uncontrollable panic.

  She broke it from her neck, placing it on a table as he rushed to open it with trembling hands. “Light!” He opened it, moving his head down to the point the inner mechanisms were caressing his nose. “And a magnifying glass!”

  Maran obeyed and stayed by his side for the next entire hour as she put the entire locket apart, first the clockwork mechanism, ensuring that it was completely unbroken. Then came the sheet with the detecting spell. He inspected it for three whole quarters of the hour. Unrolling the small paper, he checked the detecting sigils, the mechanism for the spell, the activating conditions, the lock, everything. Even the little energy pill was still emitting power.

  The locket couldn’t have malfunctioned.

  Maran raised the flashlight, becoming even paler than when she had entered the room. She clutched her chest, making as much effort as she could until finally she was able to say it, “What the fuck.”

  Rull looked at her, just as pale. “There has to be a rational explanation for this. There… There can only be two results, either positive or negative.”

  She leaned in. “Either she’s like us, or she’s… you know.”

  He nodded. “Then, if she’s neither, what is she?”

  “Something else.” Maran answered, as if it was obvious. And technically it had to be, it was the only logical response, but it carried implications that neither of them wanted to think about, and yet they had to.

  “Right…” Rull scratched his head, sitting on a chair. “Let’s think this out. We’re too inside of the box, don’t you think?”

  Maran breathed in, deep. He was right, they were assuming that there were only two possibilities, and that wasn’t strictly true, they had to think outside the box a bit. She sat on a different chair, and leaned to a side, resting one of her arms and her head on the table.

  “Alright, let’s start at the beginning. What did the locket measure?” Maran began.

  Rull answered fast, “Soul modification. The movement the soul does when it slightly changes, to be more specific.” He grabbed his chin, in thought. “In accordance with?”

  “Her soul being modified to conform to the narrative.”

  Maran didn’t want to state it, but she had to. “What if…”

  “Don’t say it.”

  “What if there’s nothing left.”

  They didn’t want to think about that third possibility. It undeniably existed, however, but the idea that a soul could conform enough to be entirely native was terrifying for them, as it spelled either lifelong struggle against it, or, effectively, their untimely death, in a way. Thinking that maybe she really was from here at least gave them a scenario in which they could plan; she knew how this stories went, so they could push for a good end, but thinking that they could end up as being characters, was a horrific idea.

  Her soul only reacting a bit could point to exactly that.

  “Wait.” Said Rull, rising his head. “There is a fourth possibility.”

  Maran kept quiet for a second before asking him the obvious question.

  “It can, in fact, have malfunctioned.”

  “Didn’t we just go over this?” She stared at him. “I don’t want to think about this either, but please, let’s not spend two hours now going over and over about the locket. It gave us that result and that’s…”

  “No, no. There’s not just the locket, right?” He interrupted her, pointing at her with a finger as he asked. “Are you sure that she had the tricked coin in her hand for five minutes.”

  “She had it for almost ten, yes, we’ve gone over this twice.”

  “Touching her skin!?”

  “Yes! Touching her skin.”

  He fell back into the chair with the like a hot air balloon that just got a hole on it. “We’re doomed then.”

  Maran nodded.

  “Or…” He began. “What if we do it again?”

  Maran shot a look at him as if he was insane. Which was exactly what she was thinking, that he had crumbled upon the pressure and finally, after so long, finally lost his mind. She opened her mouth, but not a sound came out. She rose from her chair and crossed her arms, waiting for him to explain.

  “Alright then, you’re planning on doing this test again after having potentially ruined her life. Smart, your Highness, very smart.”

  “Would you let me explain myself?” He answered, scratching his head.

  “The floor is yours. Until you realize that come tomorrow morning, she’s not going to be in shock anymore and will refuse to talk with us.” He opened his mouth but she continued without letting him put in a single word. “And, if we go now, she’d think this is some kind of cruel prank, which of course, wouldn’t be entirely wrong, and thus we can’t explain her what’s actually going on here.”

  “When you put it like that.”

  “We’re not in the best place right now, aren’t we?” She sat down again, arms still crossed and even tighter than before.

  There was a knock on the door, they both flinched. The prince let out a simple, startled “Come in” without even turning around.

  Once the door opened, behind it, was a tall man with a long hooked nose. He was balding on the top of his head, but the sides were prematurely white yet perfectly groomed and well kept. He was wearing an elegant black frock coat with a black silk cravat and a golden pin right in the middle of it. He still had his top hat in hand.

  “Ah, your Highness, there you are.” His voice, like almost always, was rather warm. “I’ve heard that there was some disturbance in the ball. But I arrived fashionably late and have found that there was nobody left.”

  Rull turned around upon hearing him, a small smile in his lips, trying to sound reassuring. “It’s nothing too important, Lord Vivrul. I’m sure you will find out about in in the morning papers.”

  Lord Vivrul, the Duke of Vivrul at that, staggered for a moment, locking eyes with the prince. “I assume then, that this does not affect any matters of government?”

  “It certainly should not.”

  The duke smiled, warmly, and with a simple “Good evening,” took his leave.

  Maran stood before Rull, looking up at him.