Feeling disoriented after waking up, Rasputina rubbed her bleary eyes and managed to push herself up to a sitting position on her bed. 

Pale sunlight was streaming through the windows of her bedchamber. The steady lulling noise of the Orient Express droned on in the background of the drawing room, forming a curious melody that never seemed to cease. 

Another morning has dawned—this time in reality, she realised with a sigh of relief. 

“What a strange dream…” 

Rasputina could still clearly remember everything the man who called himself the Lord told her.  The truth behind the Empire. His desperate request to make Anastasia Queen by the Festival of Aetherium. Ayrı Dünyalar. 

She moved her hand to push herself off the bed, but started when her fingers brushed against a solid object. 

“What the hell is this?” Rasputina cautiously picked up the peculiar rectangular object that had mysteriously appeared under her sheets. Examining it curiously, she found that there was a hefty weight to the object, and it fit surprisingly snugly in her palm. The sides and back were polished metal, while its front was made out of a strange black glass which reflected her puzzled expression. 

The Lord had mentioned something about a ‘gift’ in the dream vision, didn’t He? She vaguely recalled Sister Cyrillne from the cathedral passing her a ‘gift’ that would only reveal itself to her when she’s alone or something—so, could this be the Lord’s gift to her?

But, even as a paperweight, it seemed kind of useless… 

A loud knock on her compartment door interrupted her thoughts. “Rasputina?” Anastasia called out from outside. “You up yet? Everyone is going to have breakfast soon in the lounge car.” 

“I-I’m almost done!” she replied, leaping off her bed in a hurry. She hadn’t even changed out of her dress from last night’s dinner; hastily changing into a clean nightrail that would make her appear decent enough, she draped a thick shawl around her shoulders before opening the door. 

“Sure took you long enough,” Anastasia remarked, taking in her groggy appearance. “You look like you’ve been to Hell and back, are you alright?” 

“I think you might not be far off from the truth,” Rasputina mumbled, pulling her shawl tighter. The morning air was much more chilly than previous days—a possible sign of early snowfall, she thought. “How much more time do we have till the train stops at Versailles?” 

“We’re reaching Calais soon,” Anastasia said, nodding at the corridor windows. To the west, sunlight glinted off the surface of Lake Calais, a beautiful glacier lake as vast as the sea. Rasputina recalled Master once mentioning that it was the largest source of freshwater in the Empire when they visited the city of Calais, which sat along its southern shore. It had been years since then, but the lake still looked as magnificent as he had remembered. 

“That means we’ll arrive in Versailles in just under two hours,” Rasputina murmured. “Calais and Versailles are only separated by a river.” 

“Then it’s time we wrap up our murder case.” Anastasia opened the connecting door and they entered the lounge car together. Theo, Alphand and Nightingale were already seated comfortably next to one another in their red upholstered armchairs; noticing their arrival, Theo looked in their direction and nodded his head. 

“Parthenope went to help Machel bring our breakfast over,” he said. “The rest of the passengers have been gathered inside the dining car. Once we’re done, we can enter and address all the passengers about our investigation results.” 

“I told them about my idea with the glass slippers,” Anastasia added in a slightly sheepish tone. “Parthenope discovered that the slippers do not fit the dead woman last night, so everyone else gave their support to my suggestion. But if it doesn’t work…I’ll just be making a fool out of myself, won’t I?” 

“Don’t worry, it’s worth at least a shot,” Rasputina said, flashing her a reassuring grin. “Even the best detective in the world makes mistakes in their deductions sometimes, you know?”

Anastasia bit her lip and took a deep breath. “Mm, you’re right.” 

Just then, the connecting door to the dining car swung open. “Breakfast is here!” Parthenope announced happily as she walked in with a tray on each hand. Looking at Nightingale, she said, “it looks super good, you know? You’ll regret not trying it.”

“I couldn’t even sleep the entire night because you took up so much space on my bed,” Nightingale grumbled. “There’s no point skipping breakfast when I’m already wide awake.”

“Are you trying to suggest that I’m fat?!” she retorted, nearly dropping her trays and causing Alphand to quickly go over and help set the food down on a table.

“It does indeed smell heavenly, Madame,” he commented. “Machel, can you please describe this novel dish?”

The Wagon Lit Conductor, who was serving everyone their apéritifs, gave a polite but proud smile. “Our chef de cuisine has prepared a special breakfast for your group, Monsieur, as gratitude for assisting us in solving this murder. Today’s breakfast is pain doré sucré-salé topped with myrtille, fresh butter and powdered sugar. Compliments of the Wagon Lit.” 

“You could have just said ‘French toast’ and I’m all ready to eat,” Anastasia jokingly chided before grabbing a slice from the nearest tray and chowing down on it. “Owowwdsjifjsjk! So. Sweet. Delicious!”

Watching her interesting reaction, Rasputina couldn’t resist trying a slice as well. The yellow pan-fried dough was soaked with rich egg custard, and it had a caramelised golden brown colour on the top where the butter sat. White powdered sugar had been sifted over it like snow, lending it a luxurious appearance.

At first glance, it looked a lot less like bread and more like a fancy pastry, she thought in amazement. She chose to try it without adding the myrtille topping first. 

Anatasia saw her eating the toast and eagerly asked, “Rasputina, how is it, how is it?” 

“Hmf…” She swallowed the sweet, melting contents down her throat before speaking again. “The surface is crispy, but the inside is surprisingly soft and fluffy, with a mellow sweetness that is consistent but doesn’t overwhelm the palate. I honestly can’t believe that this is made simply from plain bread.”

“I’m delighted to hear that Your Highness and Grace finds it savoury,” Machel courteously replied while looking wide-eyed at Anastasia stuffing another toast into her mouth in one bite. “If you will excuse me, I shall return to the dining car to check on the other passengers. I will return to inform you when they are all ready. In the meantime, please enjoy your meal, ladies and gentlemen…”

His voice trailed off as his gaze fell upon the empty plates on the trays. Not even crumbs remained, as Nightingale and Parthenope licked their surfaces clean when no one was looking. 

“Thank you for the appetising breakfast, Machel,” Theo said, elegantly wiping his butter-smeared lips with his napkin. 

“M-monsieur, that’s too quick!”