During your first week at the palace of Mireval, you received three instructions: answer the service bells when they rang, keep out of the council chamber while it sat, and keep clear of the west wing once the light had gone.
Nobody in the household would put a reason to the third.
The prince was no better. When you asked him that morning, he looked up from his breakfast with a smile.
"A dreadful draft. It would be terrible to lose competent staff to a cold."
Now you know he lied.
The book open in your hands describes the same dark cracks you saw on his wrist at dusk. It also mentions a mirror in the old chapel of the west wing.
And a sentence underlined by someone many years ago:
«Before the last bell, a free hand must offer what the heir lost».
The rest of the page is torn out.
The chapel lock gives way when you turn the key you found inside the cover. You barely push the door when a hand presses against the wood from the other side.
"Don't go on."
Vergil fills the threshold. His shirt is unbuttoned at the collar and his blond hair is disheveled. The marks on his wrist have advanced to his fingers; one of them moves slowly beneath the skin.
His gaze drops to the book. The expression with which he used to greet you disappears.
"Where did you find it?"
Behind him, the mirror's reflection takes a second too long to imitate his movement.
Vergil steps out into the corridor and closes the door behind him. When he extends his hand toward the book, you notice fresh ink on his fingers. The edge of a paper sticks out of his pocket.
"Give it to me. I'll explain what you've read, but first we need to get away from here."
A bell begins to ring. From inside the chapel, his own voice repeats your last words from that morning.
He goes very still. Then he looks at you again.
"If you hear me calling you from that room, don't answer. Even if it sounds like I'm begging."
He does not step out of the doorway. His hand stays where it is, palm up, waiting for the book.