The Fates Tell Me My Best Friend's Long Dead

Noticing the change in my expression, Eleanor Fitzroy struggled to sit up.

"Rosa, what's wrong?" she asked. "Is there anything wrong with Matilda's fate?"

The tone of her voice—even the slight furrow of her brows—was exactly the same as Eleanor's.

I said nothing. I simply gathered the three coins from the floor and held them in my palm.

When I remained silent for too long, Alexander Wyndham strode toward me. The ruler who was normally so decisive and ruthless now had panic written all over his face.

"Rosa, what did you see? Just tell me," he urged. "Whatever it is, I'll deal with it."

All eight princes dropped to their knees before me, looking up at me anxiously.

Prince Charles Wyndham, the eldest, was practically frantic.

"Rosa, if my sister is in danger, I'll give my life to protect her!"

My gaze swept across the room.

Years ago, at the height of the war for the throne, Alexander had been trapped by enemy forces in a mountain pass and afflicted with a deadly curse.

I had sacrificed ten years of my own life to perform a forbidden ritual, keeping him alive by sheer external force.

When Charles was ambushed by assassins, I had used my own blood to call down a bolt of lightning from the heavens, killing 32 elite assassins on the spot.

In the kingdom of Arden, my word was practically law.

I raised my hand and pointed straight at the woman lying on the bed.

"She isn't Eleanor."

Silence fell over the entire palace chamber.

Alexander froze, his gaze following my finger toward the woman who was supposed to be his wife.

The queen looked stunned at first, but then she gave a bitter little smile.

"Rosa, have you spent so many years in seclusion that you've worked yourself into seeing things that aren't there?

"If you're angry that I haven't visited you in eight years, you can hit me, curse me, or do whatever you want to me. But why make a joke like this in front of the children?"

"I'll ask you one more time," I said coldly, ignoring her pretentious act. "Where did you hide Eleanor's body?"

The moment the words left my mouth, an angry voice thundered from outside the chamber. "How dare you!"

Queen Mother Agatha Blackwood swept through the doorway, surrounded by attendants.

"Rosamund, have you let the little influence you earned years ago go to your head? Do you really think you're some kind of living saint?"

She strode to the bed and shielded the queen behind her.

"Eleanor has just given the royal family a princess, earning the kingdom an immeasurable blessing, and you dare stand here spreading such outrageous accusations and claiming she's dead?"

I ignored Agatha, my gaze fixed firmly on the queen.

"Eleanor has an old arrow scar beneath her left rib. She got it saving Alexander years ago," I said. "Are you willing to prove you're really her? Take off your gown and let us see."

Agatha's face darkened with fury.

"This is absurd!" she seethed, pointing at me. "Eleanor is the queen! How dare you demand that she strip herself in front of everyone and humiliate her like this?"

Alexander, however, turned toward his mother and fixed her with a hard stare.

"Mother, let Rosa examine her."

Agatha trembled with rage. She pointed a finger in Alexander's face, but for a moment, she couldn't even find the words to respond.

The queen sighed and loosened the ties of her underdress herself.

Beneath her left rib lay a jagged old scar, its size and exact position identical to the one I remembered.

My eyes widened.

My divination could never be wrong. The omen I had seen was one of the darkest signs imaginable—a warning of death, of a body that had already been claimed by the grave.

Eleanor was definitely dead.

The queen pulled her clothes back together, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Rosa, I know you're worried about me. You're afraid I've suffered here in the palace. But I'm truly fine," she insisted. "Alexander has treated me wonderfully, and the children have always been good to me."

She looked so wronged and helpless that I somehow appeared to be the unreasonable one.

My gaze turned cold as I tightened my grip around the coins.

"Fine. If there's nothing wrong with her body, then we'll ask the dead themselves.

"The truth cannot hide from the forces beyond this world. I'll find the dead and uncover what has been buried."

I flung the three coins into the air. They spun rapidly overhead, filling the chamber with an eerie, piercing hum.

Then, they struck the floor one after another with a series of sharp clinks.

I looked up and met the queen's gaze.

"Eleanor's remains are somewhere within Westbury Palace."