Evanthe lay in the tub as her maids scrubbed her back. Steam filled the bathroom as one of them poured a bucket of soapy tepid water into the tub, surrounding Evanthe in another burst of warmth. Another continued to wash her long hair, brushing out the knots and tangles embedded in her ebony locks.

An awkward silence hung in the air.

The servants didn't know what to say. They were still reeling from the aftermath of the nightmare their young lady had. It wasn't the first time their mistress had suffered from nightmares. It had started after the death of the Countess. But the episodes were never as severe as that night. She would normally weep in her sleep and by the time they woke her, Lady Evanthe would have forgotten what she dreamt about and would continue her usual merry self.

This time, however, it consumed their lady completely and left her unable to leave her room for a week. Even when the maids attempted to speak to lighten the mood, to disperse the tense atmosphere around them, the young lady did not reply and acted as if her servants have not spoken at all. 

It was as if she was a different person completely. 

And she was.

She was no longer that young girl who thought she was safe-- protected by her older brothers, by her father, by the influence of the Cernat family. She understood the weight of House Cernat, felt the responsibility, the pressure, and the clutches of the other noble families slowly entrapping them. They were just waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. And the dream. It was the appropriate time. 

The house weakened by the deaths of its sons, a fallen army returning without their leader, pride and honour diminished. The head of Cernat was left to face the repercussions. And the helpless daughter. Powerful only in name, yet another easy pawn for the Somneri to use.

The stronger the house, the more enemies lurk.

Evanthe shivered. 

In the past, she wouldn't have cared about such affairs. They were not trifling matters but they were not things meant for a lady to handle. Perhaps when she turned 15. This age coincided with a noble's coming-of-age ceremony; their debut to high society. Perhaps then, her father would slowly teach her the ropes to the Cernat household. Introduce her to people whom the Cernat family had connections with. 

But that would prove too late.

She wasn't exactly certain how old she was in the nightmare-- perhaps in her late teens? But she couldn't be too sure. What if that fateful event happened earlier? Would she be ready enough to stop it? 

She had to start preparing now. 

Evanthe's maids had finished dressing her and were putting the final touches to their lady's hair. They knew their lady loved experimenting with new hairstyles that were seen popular with the young girls in the Arodian Kingdom. And so they were shocked when Evanthe stopped them from touching her hair. 

"I don't need any hair ornaments, just comb it will do," she said as she eyed their reflection through the mirror dresser.

"Ah, yes, my lady. We just thought it will make you feel better. Nanny Pagna brought this beautiful flower piece from Ieshagard the other day," a maid called Ingrid held it under the morning light for Evanthe to see.

Evanthe squinted.

What was Nanny Pagna doing at the capital? Ieshagard was a week away by horseback. By carriage, it would have taken longer. If the Count had wanted supplies from Ieshagard, he would have gotten a courier to handle it. Moreover, the Cernat territory was quite self-sufficient in basic necessities that there was no need to head to the capital for something so trivial. 

"Place it on my dresser, I don't feel like wearing it today. Perhaps another time," Evanthe motioned Ingrid to hand her the ornament to which the maid obliged. 

Evanthe smiled.

"It is a lovely flower. A vibrant red," 

Ingrid widened her eyes when she saw her lady smiled the first time that day. 

"Yes, it is isn't it?" She beamed. 

"It reminds me of death," Evanthe thought to herself as her maids continued to brush her long raven hair.

Evanthe finally left her room to join the family for breakfast.

She was nervous.

Before this, she would usually dine on her bedroom's balcony for breakfast just to avoid her father. Sometimes her brothers would join her to keep her company. The excuse always was that she was young and still grieving by the loss of her mother that she couldn't bear to see an empty chair once occupied by Countess Vaelthe. 

Truth be told, she couldn't remember the Countess very well. She couldn't recall her mother's face nor what happened that led to her death. But she remembered her stories. Her warmth. The vague familiar smile and her immense love for her husband and children.

It happened a year ago.

It might be because Evanthe was still young and the memory was hazy. But she recalled the whole family there when it happened. They probably had a picnic somewhere around Cernat's territory. 

She knew she had dreams ever since the incident. They were harmless ones, and she usually forgot what they were about when she woke up. She found those dreams to be the only thing that's stopping her from remembering. And that's probably for the best. Her mother wasn't around in her nightmare, so recalling a death that she couldn't reverse would only bring her sadness. 

She could only now alter the fates of her father and brothers. 

Evanthe went down the winding steps of the mansion and entered the hallway leading to the dining hall, the sunlight filtering into the floor-to-ceiling windows. She took a deep breath and glanced into the room. The morning light cast a soft glow on the members sitting at the long table, all quietly eating their breakfast. All of them looked up when they saw the young girl peeking through the double doors, her loose sable hair attracting attention. 

"You finally came out! We were worried sick about you," Eugen exclaimed as he rushed over. 

Eugen. There were many who stated that Eugen looked just like Countess Vaelthe. Despite Evanthe's vague recollection of her mother, she agreed that he did not look like Eomer nor herself-- both followed the splitting image of their father. Eugen had the same ebony hair, trimmed short, but his eyes were a dazzling green. His facial features were bright and cheerful. In a few years, however, it will harden, the facade turning into a cold and trained militiaman. 

"Thank you for your concern, brother. I'm feeling fine now," She grabbed hold of Eugen's open palm and he led her towards her seat. She walked past Eomer who smiled at her. 

"I'm glad you're alright. We were puzzled why you didn't let us enter the room," Eomer motioned to the butler on the side to prepare another cutlery set for his sister. The butler nodded and rushed out to the kitchen. 

Evanthe settled into her seat, a place across the Countess' vacant chair and one that was beside Eugen. Eomer was placed by the empty seat, while Count Cernat sat at the head of the table. She glanced at her eldest brother who was staring at her. Eomer was 5 years older, a complete male version of her. He had the same dark sable hair, golden eyes, but a face that masked his true feelings, just like his father.

From a young age, Eomer was already being groomed to inherit the Cernat household's name. He was often away for days, either accompanying his father, in the courtyard training, or in his room studying. It was no wonder he had to mature fast.

She suddenly felt nauseous, remembering the Cernat platoon bringing home Eomer's pale and still body from the Eastern front. Evanthe forced herself to keep a straight face as she returned a smile. 

"I was worried you might catch the cold I had," Evanthe lied. 

Before anyone could say more, the butler returned with Evanthe's cutlery. Once it was laid for her, she scooped a huge dollop of potatoes and eggs onto her plate, too much for her own good. Count Eamon smiled to himself, amused. 

"Let the girl eat, we can continue this conversation later," Eamon instructed, and everyone fell silent, poking at their food.

Evanthe was ravenous. Holed up in her room for a week, she didn't bother taking care of her health. While the maids served her meals diligently on trays and left them outside the door of her room, she only ate little of what was given. She forgot how creamy potatoes could taste, how delightfully delicious warm scrambled eggs were. She forgot her manners and wolfed down the plate's contents in minutes. In retrospect, Evanthe Cernat returned to how she usually was, a clumsy idealistic 5-year-old girl. Yet the young lady will soon learn. 

Eugen chuckled.

"It's good to have you back," He thought to himself as he watched his sister devouring her breakfast, unaware of the nightmare that plagued her.