The flickering glow of lantern light stretched across the kitchen's stone walls, throwing restless shadows that danced with every gust sneaking through the cracked windows. The scent of extinguished candles and spilt soup lingered in the air, thick and heavy like the tension that gripped everyone within.
Bettie's shoes scuffed against the tiled floor as she and the maids combed through the room, opening cupboards, peering behind flour sacks, calling out softly into the corners where darkness pooled. "Miss Fati, are you there?" "Miss Fati, where are you?" Their breaths came quick and shallow — soft gasps breaking the silence between clattering pots and hurried footsteps. "She's not here either." A servant sighed, swiping a hand across her sweaty forehead.
"Have you found her yet?" Bettie's voice cracked slightly, betraying the anxiety clawing up her throat. "I'm sure she must be around here somewhere. She must have gotten lost. The poor girl must be panicking wherever she is." Her heart thudded painfully beneath her dress as a chill crept up her spine. Where could she be? The thought struck her cold. "Miss Bettie…"
The trembling call of a maid drew her attention. The girl stood near the pantry doorway, pale as the moonlight spilling in through the latticed window. Behind her, the others clustered close — wide-eyed, their fingers twisted into the hems of their skirts.
A prickle of dread crawled through Bettie's chest. "What is it?" she asked, forcing calm into her voice even as her pulse quickened. The maids exchanged nervous glances, eyes darting to every corner as though afraid to speak aloud. "Did something happen to Miss Fatima?" Bettie's tone softened, almost pleading. "N-no," one maid stammered, shaking her head so hard her cap slipped askew. "However… I don't think we should look for her anymore." Her weary sigh broke through the stillness like a final bell.
Bettie froze, staring at her as the words sank in. Don't look for her anymore? The faint hum of the kitchen fire filled the silence — a low, uneasy crackle. Though Fatima's origins were wrapped in secrecy, everyone noticed how the crown prince's eyes followed her — how his voice softened around her name. Bettie never pried; she'd simply accepted that the girl was special to him. Too special. He called her an acquaintance, yet his temper burned whenever she laughed with the knights.
If anything were to happen to her… Bettie swallowed hard, the image of Nathaniel's fury flashing through her mind — the way his eyes darkened when angered, the dangerous stillness before he spoke. The very thought made her stomach twist. "Um… Miss Bettie?" The timid voice of a young maid cut through her spiraling thoughts. The girl's hands clutched the fabric of her apron, knuckles white. "There's… something you need to see." She gestured with a trembling hand toward the dimly lit hallway beyond the kitchen.
The air grew colder there, heavy with the scent of damp stone and melted wax. Bettie hesitated, her breath misting faintly in the cool draft that whispered through the corridor. Without a word, she followed — her steps slow, the tap of her heels echoing off the marble like a distant heartbeat.
Each turn seemed to stretch longer than the last, her imagination conjuring horrors behind every flicker of shadow. Then, just a few steps ahead, the young maid stopped — and Bettie's breath caught in her throat as a particular painting came into view.
**
In the dimly lit corridor of the Royal Palace of Syphus, the world felt muted—quiet enough that Nathaniel could hear the faint whisper of his own footsteps echoing across the marble floor. The flickering glow of golden sconces painted his path in shifting shades of amber and shadow, catching in the folds of his dark uniform as he moved. The air was cool, almost too still, thick with the faint perfume of polished wood and the lingering scent of the evening's feast—a blend of spiced wine and roasted herbs that clung stubbornly to the halls.
Despite the palace's quiet grandeur, Nathaniel felt the weight in his chest grow heavier with each step. The memory of Irrys collapsing at dinner played over and over in his mind—the sudden slackness in her face, the clatter of silverware, the gasps that rippled through the maids like the rustle of dry leaves. The sight had struck him deep, cracking open a wound he had spent years forcing shut. It had been his mother, not Irrys, he saw fall that night—her pallid lips, her final breath—and the ghost of that memory now haunted his every breath.
He pressed a palm against his chest, inhaling slowly to steady himself. I just want to make sure she's alright, he told himself. And Fatima… His throat tightened at the thought of her name. He had not seen her since he entered the palace, and with his supernatural hearing inexplicably dulled within these walls, even her heartbeat—once so familiar—was lost to him. Where could she be hiding? he wondered. Why hasn't she gone to her sister?
As he turned a corner, a faint voice broke through the silence. A man's voice—low and hurried—followed by a woman's sharp reply. "Your Highness, there is something urgent I must report—" "Go away, Raul."
Nathaniel stopped mid-step, her tone cutting clean through the air like frost on glass. It wasn't the fragile voice of a grieving sister he had expected, but one cold and composed, distant as moonlight. His brows furrowed. Yet another side of her, he mused grimly. And who, exactly, is Raul?
Before he could draw closer, two guards stationed by the princess's door straightened sharply, the metal of their armor clinking as their hands found the hilts of their swords. "Who goes there?" one demanded, his voice taut with suspicion. The tension in the corridor thickened; even the air seemed to hold its breath.
Gabriel, ever dutiful, stepped forward with a slight flare of his cloak. "Crown Prince Kazein would like to have an audience with the princess," he announced, his tone clipped but controlled.
Recognition dawned on the guards' faces. "Y-your highness!" they stammered, lowering their heads in unison, the gleam of their polished helmets bending the torchlight into thin crescents. "Our deepest apologies!" One turned hastily to the door, raising a trembling fist. "I shall announce your arrival immediately—"
But before his knuckles could touch the wood, the door flew open with a sudden, violent swing. A rush of wind burst from the chamber, tossing Nathaniel's hair into disarray. Out stepped a towering figure—broad-shouldered, wrapped in the shadowy folds of a black uniform that marked him as a soldier. His copper-brown hair glinted faintly under the torchlight, his expression unreadable yet firm.
"Sir! Th-the—" the guard beside Nathaniel stammered, frozen mid-bow. The stranger inclined his head smoothly. "Greetings, your highness," he said, his voice gravelly yet measured. "I am Raul Degruff, commander of the Royal Knighthood of Syphus. It is an honor to make your acquaintance." He placed a hand over his chest and bowed low, the faint scent of steel and leather accompanying his movement.
Nathaniel didn't return the gesture. He studied Raul in silence, his amber eyes flicking over the man's face, noting the slight twitch of his jaw and the stiffness in his shoulders. His mind replayed Irrys' voice—Go away, Raul—and a wave of curiosity washed over him. So, this is the man she dismissed. And yet he dares to linger here?
Nathaniel's lips curved slightly, though there was little warmth in the gesture. "Likewise, Sir Raul," he said evenly, sliding his hands into his pockets. The motion was casual, but his gaze remained razor-sharp. Raul's posture didn't falter. "The princess has granted your request and is awaiting you inside, your highness." He gestured toward the open door, his arm sweeping aside with soldierly precision.
The faint scent of lavender drifted from within—the same fragrance that clung to the princess's chambers—tinged tonight, however, with something heavier. Grief. Nathaniel took a slow step forward, the sound of his boots echoing through the corridor as the guards bowed once more. Beyond the threshold, the candlelight flickered softly, painting gold and shadow across the floor—a quiet storm waiting for him within.
**
The door closed behind Nathaniel with a muted clack, its sound swallowed by the hush of the dimly lit chamber. The scent of spilt wine and wilted roses lingered in the air, faintly sweet yet sour from neglect. His amber eyes scanned the room, taking in the disarray with quiet precision — the wrinkled bedsheets tangled in restless abandon, a silken shawl draped carelessly across the settee, the soft gleam of empty bottles catching the light of a flickering candle on the table. A faint draft stirred the curtains, their sheer white fabric rippling like restless ghosts.
But what truly caught his attention wasn't what he saw — it was what he heard. A muffled sob, barely audible, carried through the still air. Nathaniel moved soundlessly, his boots brushing against the carpet as he followed the sound toward the balcony. The night beyond was cool and heavy with moonlight, spilling silver through the half-drawn curtains that fluttered softly against his arm as he reached out. He pushed open one of the glass doors, and there she was.
Princess Irrys stood by the balcony's stone railing, her body bent slightly forward as though the night wind might claim her. Her long raven hair, usually neat and lustrous, now fell in tangled waves over her shoulders, streaked with the soft shimmer of tears. The pale pink of her nightgown clung loosely to her form, but it was marred by a dark red stain blooming across the front — wine, not blood, though its sharp scent filled the cool night air. In one trembling hand she held a carafe, half-emptied, the liquid within catching the moonlight like rubies. He froze just as she tilted her head back, drinking greedily, heedless of the crimson trail that slipped down her chin. "Princess—"
The word barely left his lips before she swayed, her knees buckling. The bottle fell from her grasp and shattered against the marble floor with a piercing crash that sent echoes slicing through the silence. Nathaniel lunged forward. In a heartbeat, his arms were around her, one steadying her waist, the other catching her limp arm before it could strike the shards below. Her hair brushed against his cheek, carrying the faint scent of roses and wine.
The world seemed to pause as their eyes met — her deep blue ones clouded with tears and confusion, his amber ones lit with concern. "Are you alright, Princess?" he asked, his voice low but urgent, breath fanning against her cheek. "Ah!" Irrys gasped suddenly, her expression twisting into one of feigned pain as she leaned against his chest. "My ankle… it hurts," she murmured weakly, fingers clutching at his tunic as though seeking balance.
He hesitated, brows furrowing. "Shall I call the guards to carry you to your bed?" His tone was polite, but the stiffness in his posture betrayed his discomfort. "No." She sniffled softly, her voice trembling. "I don't want anyone else to see me like this." She pressed her forehead lightly to his chest, her words muffled by the fabric. "If it isn't too much of a bother… might I ask you to carry me, prince Kazein?"
The plea in her tone struck at his conscience before reason could intervene. With a resigned sigh, Nathaniel slipped one arm beneath her knees and lifted her effortlessly. Her head rested against his shoulder, the faint warmth of her breath brushing his neck.
Inside, the candlelight painted the room in shades of gold and shadow as he laid her gently upon the bed. The sheets were cool beneath his hands as he drew them over her chest. He stepped back, running a weary hand through his hair, the heaviness of the night settling on his shoulders.
What on earth have I gotten myself into? He turned toward the door — only to feel slender fingers curl around his own. "I am… an orphan now, Your Highness," Irrys whispered, her voice breaking as tears welled once more. "Everyone I've ever loved is gone." Nathaniel's gaze softened despite himself. "Princess…" She looked up, eyes glistening. "May I ask another favor?" "What is it?" His tone, though gentle, carried the faint edge of caution. "Will you… lie next to me?" she asked, her lashes fluttering as exhaustion overtook her. "I don't think I can sleep alone tonight. I'm… scared." Nathaniel's jaw tightened. "You are not in the right state of mind, Princess. It would be best if I leave and return in the morning." He gently pulled his hand free, stepping back as her fingers slipped away like falling petals. Her head lowered. "Forgive me, Your Highness. You're right… I wasn't thinking clearly. I hope I haven't offended you." "Not at all," he said, pausing at the doorway. "Please rest, Princess. I bid you goodnight." He said, closing the door softly behind him.
From within, her sobs resumed — fragile, uneven — echoing against the marble walls long after his footsteps had faded down the corridor. Outside, the moon hung silently over the palace, casting pale light over the balcony where the scent of spilled wine still lingered in the midnight air.
**
The mid-morning sun spilled over the ivory towers of the Royal Palace of Syphus, bathing its gilded spires and marble terraces in a soft golden haze. Wisps of cotton-white clouds drifted lazily across the sky, and the faint fragrance of dew-laced roses wafted in from the palace gardens. Birds trilled from their perches near the royal stables, their songs light and carefree—an almost cruel contrast to the tension that simmered within the palace walls.
Inside, the air buzzed with hushed urgency. The soft thud of slippers and the swish of crisp aprons echoed faintly across the carpeted corridors. Servants darted to and fro, their whispers barely audible yet heavy with implication.
"Who on earth could have done something so horrible to the king and queen?" a maid murmured, clutching a basket of linens to her chest. "Shh! Keep your voice down, Eunice. The walls in this palace have ears," another hissed, her eyes darting nervously to the gilded portraits that seemed to watch their every move. A third voice joined in, hushed but brimming with gossip. "Have you heard? Apparently, our princess and the prince of Alkaraz spent an extended time alone in her chambers last night. And when he finally left—he looked all disheveled, as if—"
Gasps rippled through the small group, the sound like a flock of startled birds. "Watch that tongue of yours, Claudine." The sharp rebuke of an older maid cut through the air, snapping the younger ones back to their duties.
Outside of the palace stables, Nathaniel paused mid-stride, his jaw tightening. He exhaled through his nose, a quiet sigh of exasperation escaping him as he adjusted his immaculate white gloves. The murmur of gossip was nothing new—but today, every careless word seemed to grate against his already frayed patience.
At his side, Bettie adjusted the collar of his fitted black equestrian shirt, her fingers deft but trembling slightly. "What do you make of this situation, Your Highness?" she called, her voice soft, almost weary. The faint scent of saddle soap and polished leather hung in the air between them.
Nathaniel's amber eyes darkened beneath furrowed brows. "My head has been in a fog ever since I discovered the truth about her," he muttered, his tone low and heavy with unspoken conflict. His gaze drifted toward the stables, where the horses snorted impatiently, their coats gleaming under the sun. I can't seem to pick up her voice anywhere, he thought, the absence gnawing at him more than he cared to admit.
Bettie handed him a coiled riding whip, then smoothed down the front of her apron with a sigh. "We are all feeling the same way, Your Highness. Imagine my worry when she suddenly vanished without a word. I nearly lost my wits searching for her." She rubbed her temple, the memory of the frantic night still fresh in her mind.
Nathaniel swung himself onto his horse with effortless grace, the movement fluid yet taut with restrained emotion. "Well..." he sighed, adjusting his bearings on the beast. "The important thing is that she's home now." "Indeed." Bettie nodded slightly, the previous night's frustration finally leaving her. The animal shifted beneath Nathaniel, hooves scraping the gravel, as if sensing its rider's unease.
"I understand that the princess is in a state of melancholy because of the recent events," Bettie said gently, running her palm over the horse's muscular neck. "However… a horseback promenade along the coastline sounds rather… intimate, Your Highness. I don't feel good about it at all."
Nathaniel's lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. "I share your sentiments, Bettie," he replied, voice edged with resignation. "Nevertheless, I must indulge her until we leave this place." He adjusted the reins, the leather creaking softly under his grip, as sunlight glinted off his black riding boots. The weight of duty pressed against his chest like an invisible yoke.
What a pain, he thought bitterly. I should have just flat-out rejected the emperor's preposterous order. The wind picked up, carrying the scent of salt and horsehair through the stables—an omen of the difficult day ahead.
**
Meanwhile, back at the Alkaraz imperial palace, a flurry of shrill voices echoed through the sunlit foyer, ricocheting off the tall marble columns as chaos swept across Nathaniel's chamber. The maids darted in every direction, the rhythmic slap of their slippers ringing sharply against the polished marble floor. Dust motes danced in the golden shafts of morning light streaming through the high arched windows, their graceful descent in stark contrast to the frantic scurrying below.
"This way! She just flew past the pillars!" one maid cried, waving her broom like a sword as her cap slipped sideways. "I can't see where she went!" another called from the staircase, breathless and flushed, her voice bouncing off the ornate banisters. "Over there! On His Highness' balcony!"
"Catch her! Quickly!" Keleen shouted, her braid whipping behind her as she lunged forward. Her foot slipped on the slick marble—she gasped, the world tilting beneath her—and for a terrifying instant, she felt the cold rush of air from the drop below.
A strong hand seized her arm before gravity could claim her. "Careful," a deep, measured voice intoned. Keleen's breath hitched. She looked up—and the white curtains billowed aside, unveiling a tall man framed by sunlight. Chamberlain Leonardo stood there, his golden hair catching the morning light like threads of silk, tied neatly at the nape of his neck. A black velvet mask covered half his face, lending an air of mystery that made her pulse quicken. The visible half of his lips curved faintly—too faintly to be called a smile—as he steadied her.
Her fingers trembled in his grasp, and heat flushed her cheeks as she found herself staring at the sharp line of his jaw, the calm authority radiating from him. "C-Chamberlain Leonardo, sir!" the maids chorused, straightening up hastily as though the man's mere presence restored order.
The gentle breeze swept through again, carrying the faint scent of lavender from the gardens outside. Leonardo's deep blue eyes flicked from one guilty face to another, his brows knitting with quiet displeasure. "What," he began, his tone like the cool edge of steel, "is all this commotion? I thought I made it clear that the prince's wing is to be kept quiet."
"We're very sorry, sir!" one maid stammered. "We weren't careful. What happened was—" Her voice trailed off as she fidgeted with her apron, explaining in halting words the unfortunate sequence of events that led to the current pandemonium.
It all begun earlier that morning. The maids were trudging through the hall outside the prince's bedchamber, the smell of polish and lavender soap heavy in the air, their soft complaints echoing faintly.
"Do you think His Highness will ever come back?" one sighed, clutching her dust cloth. "After everything that happened, he might not," another murmured. "I still think it was unfair—His Majesty blamed the Crown Prince when he was only the victim." Their voices softened as melancholy took hold. "I feel bad for his pets," one added. "They've been waiting a whole year for him. Poor things must think he abandoned them."
A faint rustle interrupted them—then a sharp screech. From the dim corridor's shadows burst Cali, the prince's temperamental falcon, feathers gleaming like burnished bronze. She shrieked indignantly, swooping through the air with wild beats of her wings, scattering petals and knocking over a porcelain vase that shattered across the marble. The maids screamed, ducking and waving their rags helplessly as the falcon darted about, her cries echoing through the halls like a storm of fury.
Leonardo's sigh was long and heavy, the kind that carried years of restraint. He pinched the bridge of his nose as his sharp gaze swept the foyer. The destruction was almost artistic in its chaos—broken flowerpots strewn like casualties, damp soil staining the once-immaculate floor, feathers clinging to the stair rails, and half the draperies tangled where the falcon had made her escape.
Meanwhile, in the adjoining chamber, Louis—the prince's black panther—lay sprawled luxuriously across the silken sheets of the bed, his obsidian coat gleaming in the morning light. Despite the racket, his tail flicked lazily, his golden eyes half-lidded in disdainful amusement.
Leonardo's voice dropped, calm but firm, carrying a weight that silenced the last of the whispers. "Clean this place up. Now." "Yes, sir!" came the unified squeak as the maids rushed to obey, their skirts fluttering like frightened doves.
Leonardo turned toward the lounging beast, his tone shifting to wry command. "As for you, Sir Louis—you're in charge of escorting Miss Cali back here by dawn."
The panther stretched, claws glinting as he yawned, a deep, resonant growl rumbling from his chest. With a deliberate swish of his tail, he rose, padded to the balcony, and paused—turning to give Leonardo what could only be described as a glare of regal contempt. Then, with a powerful leap, he vanished over the edge into the gardens below.
Leonardo blinked, lips parting slightly in disbelief. "Was that a scoff I just heard?" he murmured, tilting his head, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth as the breeze tousled his golden hair.