Married to the vegetative prince

Jane moved quietly through the palace's luxurious hallways, her mind a storm of worry. The thick carpet cushioned her steps, but it couldn't drown out the anxious voice nagging at her thoughts.

"First the stable fire, then the poisoned wine... what's next?" she whispered to herself, absently twisting a loose strand of her dark hair.

Almost as if in response, a loud metallic creak echoed through the air. Jane's eyes darted up, her heart racing. The enormous crystal chandelier overhead swayed dangerously, its chains making an eerie sound.

Everything felt like it was in slow motion. Jane's body tightened, instinctively preparing to flee, yet her feet felt heavy like they were stuck to the ground. With a sudden, terrifying lurch, the chandelier plummeted.

"No!" she screamed, throwing herself to the side.

A thunderous crash filled the hall as shards of crystal scattered across the marble floor. Jane hit the ground, gasping for air, her ears ringing from the noise. She stared at the twisted metal and sparkling debris just inches away from where she had been standing.

"My lady!" A guard hurried to her side, panic in his voice. "Are you hurt?"

Shaking her head, still reeling, Jane replied, "I'm... I'm fine," though her voice trembled.

As the initial shock wore off, a determined calm began to settle in. She narrowed her eyes, studying the wreckage.

"This wasn't just an accident," she murmured, fists tightening. "Someone's trying to kill me."

The guard helped her to her feet, concern etched across his face. "We need to inform the king immediately, my lady."

"No," Jane replied firmly, brushing bits of glass from her skirt. "I need to speak to Prince Dubois first. He'll understand."

With newfound determination, she moved down the hall, leaving the confused guard behind her. Her thoughts raced, trying to connect the dots of the troubling events that had transpired.

"I won't let fear take over," Jane told herself defiantly, lifting her chin. "I've handled worse. Whatever's going on, I'm going to figure it out."

She stopped outside the prince's chambers, taking a steadying breath. Despite his own challenges, his presence always offered her peace. It felt like he understood her in a way that no one else could.

"I hope you're awake, Your Highness," she whispered, reaching for the door handle. "We have a lot to discuss."

Jane pushed open the heavy oak door to the royal study. Her heart raced as she walked in. Prince Dubois was seated at his ornate desk, deep in thought over a pile of parchments. The flickering candlelight played across his handsome features, showing the worry lines that had been appearing more often.

"Your Highness," Jane said softly, almost hesitantly. "I'm sorry for intruding, but it's urgent."

He looked up, his face softening at her presence. "Jane, what's going on? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Her hands shook as she stepped closer to the desk. "I'm afraid it's worse than that, my prince. I believe someone is trying to kill me."

Dubois's eyebrows shot up in alarm. "What? Please, tell me everything."

As she recounted the chandelier incident and the strange happenings leading up to it, Jane could see his concern shift into genuine worry. His fingers drummed nervously on the desk.

"This can't be a coincidence," she concluded, her voice barely above a whisper. "Things are happening more often and more dangerously. I don't know whom to trust anymore."

He rose smoothly, despite the weight of his royal attire, and crossed to her, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "You can trust me, Jane. I promise."

The warmth of his touch eased her nerves somewhat. "Thank you, Your Highness. I knew you would understand."

"I do understand, and I'm worried too," he replied in a serious tone. "These incidents create a disturbing pattern. We have to take this seriously."

Jane's eyes widened with hope. "So you believe me? You don't think I'm being paranoid?"

He shook his head, a faint smile appearing as he spoke. "Jane, experience tells me that paranoia often has some truth behind it. Especially in this palace."

He began pacing, his brow furrowed in thought. "I swear to you, I'll investigate this thoroughly. We won't overlook anything until we find out who is behind these attacks."

"But what if it's already too late?" Jane murmured, her fear surfacing again. "What if the next time, the chandelier doesn't miss?"

Dubois stopped and met her gaze with fierce determination. "I won't let that happen, Jane. You have my word as a prince and as your friend. We'll boost security, assign personal guards, whatever it takes to keep you safe."

A wave of gratitude washed over her, mixing with something deeper that she didn't dare name. "Thank you, Your Highness. Your support means everything to me."

As he explained his safety plans, Jane couldn't help but admire him. In spite of all the pressures on his shoulders, he was willing to go to great lengths to protect her. Moments like this gave her a fleeting glimpse of the king he would one day become.

Later, as Jane sat at her vanity, the soft candlelight flickering against her face, she stared at her reflection—a pale version of herself staring back. Her fingers glided over the ornate carvings of her hairbrush while her thoughts swirled with memories of the day's events: the chandelier crash, Prince Dubois' worried look, the lurking danger she felt.

A soft knock interrupted her reverie. "Your dinner, my lady," came a voice from outside.

"Thank you," Jane replied, her voice steadier than she felt. "Just set it by the door."

She waited until the footsteps faded and then retrieved the covered tray. The delicious aroma of roasted pheasant filled the air when she lifted the silver dome, yet even that mouthwatering smell couldn't soothe the anxiety gnawing at her.

"You're being ridiculous," she chided herself, picking up her fork. "It's just dinner, nothing to fret over."

Taking a cautious bite, she chewed slowly. For a moment, everything seemed fine. Then, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over her, followed by a sharp burning sensation in her throat.

"No," she gasped, stumbling to her feet as the room spun violently. "Not like this. I won't... I can't..."

Holding on to her vanity, her knuckles turned white as she fought to stay conscious. "Think, Jane," she murmured through clenched teeth. "What would Martha do?"

The thought of the caring seamstress sparked a memory—a tea Martha had prepared for her when she was sick as a child. Desperately, she searched through her belongings, praying she would find the dried herbs.

"There!" she exclaimed quietly, a flicker of hope igniting despite the pain. She crushed the leaves and steeped them in hot water from the kettle near the fire.

As she sipped the bitter concoction, Jane's mind raced. "This isn't just a coincidence," she told her pale reflection. "I need answers, and I know exactly who to ask."

With determination pushing aside the lingering nausea, she stood, her legs shaky but resolution strong. "Martha will know what to do. She always does."

Jane began packing a small bag, her movements growing steadier with each passing second. "I won't let fear control me," she declared, her chin held high. "Whatever dark forces are at play, I am ready to confront them. Not only for myself but for everyone in this palace who could be at risk."

With one last look around her chambers, Jane slipped out into the corridor, her heart set on finding Martha Thimbleton and uncovering the truth that lay beyond the palace walls.