4.

Given her relationship with the King, Margaret thought the princess would crumble to the ground and weep. The woman was ready to handle the broken heir. She was already clutching on the napkin in her left hand, waiting for the tears, but Atarah shocked her by pulling out her blade, lightning fast, and held it up to her throat. “Where are the soldiers?” Her voice was calm, and it scared Margeret to even come up with the thought that the brave warrior had her uncle murdered. “On the way,” she stuttered. Atarah threw the blade on her bed and sat on the edge, looking at the carpet. Margaret didn't know what to do. Should she console her? Should she question her? What was the princess feeling? It was hard to understand her expression. 

“Your highness, the soldiers will take you to the throne room, for your safety.” Margaret whispered. She was afraid the princess would throw a blade at her anytime, and she would meet the same fate as her King. But thankfully Atarah didn't flinch from her position. She looked at the head court lady and asked, “you can keep a secret Margaret, right?” Her voice was dangerously low and threatening. Meanwhile, Astara was having an eye contest with the two soldiers. 

Margaret hesitated before replying, “Yes, your highness. I've kept many secrets and you are the witness.” She didn't know what was coming. Was she going to confess? Surely not in front of the soldiers. Atarah must have thought the same. She looked at the soldiers and ordered them to leave them alone. Without hesitating, they left the room. That's when Atarah got down to business. She jumped from the bed and walked into her closet. Margaret knew not to follow. “Can you tell a lie, Margaret?” Atarah called out from the closet. It sounded like she was changing clothes. 

“Yes, your highness.” Margaret was confident that Atarah was going to confess to her. Maybe the princess did have her uncle killed, considering the bloody history between her parents and him. Atarah came out of her closet in clothes Margaret wasn't expecting. Everything was black, one would say what’s wrong with wearing black. Her uncle just died, she is mourning. But it wasn't the kind of clothes one would wear to mourn, it was the clothes one would wear to kill. 

“Are- are you going somewhere, you highness?” Margaret asked. She was shocked. How could she be running away after having her uncle killed? Surely she knows that desertion means exile and she would be ripped away from her title. Before Atarah could reply, Margaret went down on her knees and started crying. “Your highness- please, please don't run away. I understand if you had your uncle killed, he was a greedy man and a bad caretaker. But please don't run away, the palace needs you, your kingdom needs you. I will keep your secret.” 

“What. The. F.” Atarah could simply stare at the weeping lady. Her hood was in her hand, and she didn't understand what made Margaret think like that. “Margaret,” she coughed, trying to quiet her down. She didn't want soldiers barging in on her. But the woman was weeping so loudly that Astara had to cover her ears. “Oh god.” she thought and placed a hand on court lady’s shoulder, helping her stand up. “Margaret, look at me.” The woman did as told. Her eyes and nose were running. It was bad. “I'm not running away. And i certainly didn't have the king killed.” Atarah calmly spoke each word clearly, hoping Margaret would come to her senses and stop making her feel awkward. 

Thankfully, Margarat was a smart woman, and it didn't take much try. She sniffed. “You didn't kill the king?” Atarah shook her head. “Then where are you going?” she pointed to her clothes. Atarah moved away from the woman, she took off the painting on the left wall and placed her palm on the wall. A red beam scanned her hand. Margaret looked at the scene curiously. She had never known that the princess had a secret room. Sadly, it wasn't a secret room. The wall slid to the right, revealing a glass shelf and three drawers beneath it. Margaret gasped lightly when she saw what the secret door hid. The weapons were beautiful and one of a kind. From gold to diamond, the blades were placed in a dramatic way. Proudly presenting themselves to the owner. Atarah then pressed a button on the right panel, and the drawers automatically opened up. Inside were the most beautiful swords Margarat had ever seen. The handles were spectacular, each made with a wolf's head on top, studded with different gems. 

Atarah looked back at the woman and smirked at her expression. “Like them?” she asked, and Margaret nodded. Atarah hid two blades in her clothes and locked the wall, placing the painting over it. “This is where the lie and secret come,” she said, walking over to the balcony. “You are the only person who will know where i am, because i trust you and I like you. But you cannot tell anyone about my whereabouts, especially that old man. God, I hate him.” Margaret thought for a second who she was talking about, then she realized. “Delroy?” Atarah nodded with a smile. She knew she had to climb down without a rope, or else people might see her. “First, listen to me clearly, and you must do as you are told.” Her commander mode was on. 

“When you leave the room, let Astara out. She knows where to find me and what to do. Make sure she isn't locked up, although my baby can take care of herself, but still. Second, lock my room once you get out, or else they will suspect you of my disappearance.” Margaret nodded at the orders and vowed to herself and the gods that she will keep the promise. “Tell them the princess is in mourning and she is not to be disturbed. They have seen me angry. The message will be enough for them.” Atarah climbed to the other side of the railing. She knew where to step and what to hold. Her hands and feet remembered the exercise. 

“But your highness, where are you going?” Margaret asked. She was clearly worried about the heir. Atarah smiled at the woman one last time, “Antares.” and she let go of the railing.