Prologue

At the heart of society, Charles II of Valois and Eddy formed an inseparable couple. Their love was so strong that it seemed to defy all challenges. However, a terrible tragedy was unfolding before the powerless eyes of these tormented beings, to the benefit of the royalty who wanted them separated by all means.

2015, some few years earlier...

The air suddenly became heavy, filled with a palpable sadness that mingled with the general agitation.

The royal court located in it's center had been silent earlier that evening in the sumptuous royal city of Valois, when the authorities discovered and were now busy around the lifeless body of Princess Samara (in her thirties, very pretty, with a calming gaze, well-treated hair and a neat cut, and wife of King Charles of Valois, the second of his name).

Lying on the ground in the fetal position, swimming in a pool of blood, her neck broken, like a dark omen at the majestic entrance of the royal town hall, her vacant gaze and pale complexion proved that she was no longer of this world.

Anxious murmurs filled the atmosphere, while the victim's family - Prince Patrick (14 years old, with a neat cut, son of Princess Samara), his sister, Princess Laurent (in her thirties, dark, gothic style but classy and glamorous), and his parents (in their fifties, King and Queen of BARTON), and finally her beloved ex-husband, King Charles of Valois the second (in his thirties, majestic in appearance), collapsed in a wave of silent pain, tried to find a glimmer of hope in this dismal picture.

Investigators quickly encapsulated the area to conduct their investigation, detailing every clue in a painstaking diagram.

Camera flashes flickered in the air as detectives scrutinized each piece of the puzzle, trying to piece together the last moments of the victim's life.

The questions, his family was not spared, on the contrary, particularly her sister despite the devastating state in which she found herself. Obviously, that evening she was the last to have seen the victim, they lived in the same apartment.

How could all this have happened without his knowledge? As an alibi, they did not occupy the same bedroom, although their balconies crossed.

She had seen nothing. And unfortunately, the cameras were disabled at the time of the accident. Just tonight for a first.

The images in the possession of the investigators, reviewed, only built a perfect summary of his whole day, apart from this moment when Samara signed his disappearance.

"Why turn off the images at the very most important moment of the day when even trouble arises?" One of the inspectors wondered indignantly.

The managers of the images of the presidential suites could not themselves explain what had happened.

Coincidence or shenanigans?

For me, your tender chronicler, the cut could only be a simple accident, a breakdown, arrived at spades.

Rather than dwell on baseless sabotage, they should rather start questioning the real reasons for Samara's suicide so that such a thing never has to happen again to any third party. After all, that's just my opinion.

Valois, the royal city, usually a symbol of peace, grandeur, and wealth, had been turned into a brutal crime scene.

The entire city, and the two kingdoms seemed to have come to a standstill, frozen in a collective incomprehension in the face of this tragedy.

The faces, strewn with tears and dread, were filled with indescribable pain. Each sought answers in the other's eyes, hoping to find an ounce of understanding in this maze of disarray.

The precise moment when this city would lose its last glimmer of innocence was not without date.

And in the middle of this macabre scene, stood there, Eddy, in the middle of all eyes, his heart devastated by his own actions.

He had stolen from a woman, who turned out to be a worthy princess her beloved husband, and now he bore the immeasurable burden of the murderer.

The victim's gaze, that icy gaze that seemed accusatory, pierced his soul with remorse and infinite guilt.

The ground beneath his feet seemed to give way, while his legs refused to support him.

He approached timidly, his hesitant steps echoing in the oppressive silence.

The inert and cold body lay in a tragically serene pose, as if fate had offered her a last respite after a tormented life.

A lone tear rolled down his cheek, soon joined by his sisters, and he collapsed to his knees beside the victim.

Memories of that forbidden love, of those stolen moments in the shadows, overwhelmed him, adding an unbearable weight to his pain.

Each tear that escaped his eyes stirred up a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, a cascade of love, sorrow and regret.

The police exchanged knowing glances, sensing the terrible secret hidden behind this tragedy.

But their expression mixed with pity and contempt did notonly to accentuate the pain that devoured his being.

He took refuge in this fatal melody of tears, thus hoping to be engulfed in the ocean of remorse which invaded him.

In this crime scene, where death had tinged the palace walls with eternal sadness, the truth was hidden behind every look, every held breath.

And he, the heartbroken culprit, he waited desperately for justice, scanning the horizon for a redemption that might never come.

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