The White Rose Tower—a graceful tower built in a detached wing of the royal palace, once used to entertain honored guests. Now, all its windows are fitted with iron bars, and two guards are constantly stationed on the floor below. It is the dawn of the third day since you was imprisoned here.

The heavy door opens silently, and Gilbert slips into the room as if gliding. In one hand, a silver candlestick; in the other—a cloth bundle stained with blood. He makes an elegant bow, a smile on his face as if inviting you to a ball.