Fatima's eyes flickered, confusion swimming in their crimson depths. Tears welled, shimmering like molten rubies. "What… do you mean?" she asked, her voice so fragile it seemed to dissolve into the echoing gloom.
Nathaniel hesitated at the edge of the faint light, his breath ghosting in front of him. "I mean…" His boots crunched softly on the gravel as he stepped closer, each sound amplified in the hollow space. "You built this place—this darkness—to hide in. So, before I come closer, I need to know if I'm allowed inside. If I'm welcome… in the part of you that's hurting."
Her lips parted, trembling. No sound came out. The silence that followed pulsed, slow and rhythmic, like a heartbeat in the dark. Light from the cave walls shimmered faintly against her tear-streaked face, tracing the delicate quiver of her jaw and the soft rise and fall of her breath. "I don't want you to see me like this," she whispered finally, her voice cracking under the weight of shame. Her fingers dug into the thin fabric of her dress, clutching it until her knuckles turned white. "Broken. Pitiful. I wanted to be strong… but I feel helpless now."
Nathaniel's gaze softened as he lowered himself to one knee before her. The faint glow painted his hair with molten gold, his eyes gleaming like amber caught in sunlight. "You don't have to be strong right now," he murmured, his voice rough, barely restrained. "You've carried the weight of two worlds alone. Let me carry a piece of it with you this time."
The air between them seemed to thicken, warm with unspoken sorrow. Even the shadows softened around them, as though the cave itself were listening. Fatima shook her head, her tears spilling freely now. "But I lied to you, Nathan. I let you believe I was someone I wasn't. I don't deserve your kindness."
He reached out slowly, as if afraid a sudden movement might shatter her completely. His hand trembled slightly before brushing a loose strand of silver hair from her cheek. She flinched at first—then froze. His touch lingered, steady and tender, the warmth of it grounding her in a place that felt both unreal and achingly alive.
"I was once taught that things like kindness and love aren't earned but given freely." he said softly. His voice was low, carrying the weight of something remembered and true. Her lashes fluttered, her breath catching in her throat. Nathaniel's gaze deepened, his next words falling like a confession. "You deceived me, yes—but even when you hid the truth, your eyes never lied."
The cave dimmed around them, the glow fading to a faint pulse that mirrored the slow rhythm of their breathing. The silence was no longer empty—it was alive, charged with emotion and everything left unsaid. Fatima's voice broke through at last, raw and trembling. "I seem to hurt everything I touch. My kingdom… my brother, my sister, you. If you stay close to me, you'll only suffer in the end."
Nathaniel smiled faintly, but sorrow lingered beneath the curve of his lips. "Then let me suffer with you," he whispered. "I'm stronger than I look." Her head jerked up, eyes wide, glowing like wet jewels in the dim light. "You don't mean that." "I do." His hand slid down, fingers brushing against hers. Her hands were cold, trembling—but she didn't pull away. "You're not alone anymore, Fati," he said gently. "I'm here now. You said so yourself that we are friends. You can rely on me for anything."
The words settled between them like a vow. For the first time in his life, Nathaniel had opened up to someone, and to his surprise, it felt liberating to bare his emotions to Fatima. Outside, faintly beyond the walls of her mind, the forest stirred—the wind sighing through ivy, the distant murmur of night birds returning to their nests. Fatima's tears still fell, but her sobs quieted. Her shoulders trembled as she looked at him through a haze of tears, her lips parting in a shaky breath. "I don't know how to get past this. How to go back to being normal again." she whispered.
"I'll do my best to help you," he said. "So, lean on me. We'll do it together." His voice was steady, sure—a promise made in a place where promises rarely reached. Something in her broke then—not in despair, but in release. Her resistance melted away, and she leaned forward until her forehead rested against his chest. He exhaled, unsteady, and his arms closed around her. The scent of rain, earth, and crushed grass filled the space between them.
For a long moment, neither spoke. The cave's walls began to soften, their glow fading into the gold warmth of dawn. Outside, the world itself seemed to sigh, the mist lifting as light poured through the dreamscape. Fatima's lips curved faintly against his chest. "Who knew you could say such warm words and not flinch or scowl?" she murmured, her voice laced with fragile laughter.
Nathaniel stiffened slightly, his breath stirring the crown of her hair. "Are you teasing me right now?" he asked, tone caught somewhere between amusement and relief. She giggled softly but said nothing. He leaned closer, his voice a whisper against her temple. "Come back with me, Fatima. Wake up. Please." Her lashes fluttered, her breath catching. And far away—in the waking world—her brows twitched, her fingers shifting ever so slightly, as though her soul had begun its slow journey home.
**
"Miss Lindina, I don't think it wise to do this…" Bettie whispered, her voice trembling as lightning briefly illuminated the chamber.
Lindina's lips curled into a mischievous grin, her neat curls bouncing as she turned toward the bed where Nathaniel and Fatima lay unconscious. "Don't worry, Miss Bettie," she said in a singsong tone, eyes sparkling with childish glee. "I'm sure the prince will be so delighted that he'll start thanking me the moment he comes to."
Bettie clasped her hands nervously, glancing toward the slumbering figures. The prince's breathing was slow and steady, his crimson hair damp against his temples, while the princess looked deathly—pale lashes resting like snowflakes against her pallid cheeks. "Lindina, please," Bettie hissed under her breath. "You'll get us both scolded—"
But Lindina was already reaching forward, her fingers deftly guiding Nathaniel's hand until it clasped around Fatima's slender one. She giggled under her breath, unable to contain her delight. I should have stopped her, Bettie thought miserably, pressing a hand to her chest as thunder cracked again outside. A small part of her, however, couldn't help but imagine the prince's reaction—his sharp composure shattered by such an innocent prank.
Moments later, the prince stirred. A faint groan escaped his lips before he blinked awake, amber eyes glinting drowsily beneath the dim light of the fireplace. "How long have I been asleep?" he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. "Approximately three hours, Your Highness," Bettie answered, her voice quivering despite her attempt to sound composed.
He yawned, stretching lazily before swinging his legs off the bed. His bare feet touched the polished marble floor, cool beneath his skin. Then his movement halted—his hand wouldn't budge. Confusion flickered in his gaze as he turned, only for his face to drain of color the moment he realized what he was holding.
Fatima's delicate hand rested in his, their fingers still loosely intertwined. His eyes widened. "W–what in…?" Nathaniel's startled cry rang through the chamber as he yanked his hand away, stumbling backward. In his haste, his heel caught on the edge of the rug, sending him toppling unceremoniously to the floor with a dull thud.
"Your Highness!" the maids gasped in unison, their skirts rustling as they rushed to his side. "Are you alright, Your Highness?" Bettie asked, kneeling beside him. She could already see the forming bruise along his wrist and shoulder. Panic rippled through the room as one maid fetched a salve while another dabbed a cloth with cold water.
Behind them, a faint snicker broke through the tension. All eyes turned toward Lindina, who stood facing the corner, shoulders trembling with suppressed laughter. "Lindina…" The prince's voice was low—dangerously calm, his eyes narrowing. "Y–yes, Your Highness?" she stammered, still refusing to turn around.
He exhaled sharply, the sound half sigh, half growl. "Forget it," he muttered, wincing as Bettie dabbed at his shoulder. The rain's steady rhythm filled the silence that followed, mingling with the faint scent of antiseptic and the soft crackle of the fireplace.
Lindina stayed perfectly still, her back turned, silently vowing never again to test the prince's patience—no matter how funny the idea seemed at first. As to whether or not she will keep the same vow she has made each time she's had to face the consequences of her actions, only time will tell.
**
The sun blazed high over the marble towers of Syphus Palace, spilling molten gold across the terraces and bathing the corridors in shimmering warmth. Outside, birds trilled their mid-day songs, fluttering between blossoming myrtle trees whose petals drifted through the open arches, filling the air with a sweet, floral scent. Inside the grand hall, the rhythmic click of footsteps echoed softly over polished floors of veined alabaster.
Irrys walked beside Raul, her silken gown whispering with every measured step. The faint perfume of jasmine trailed behind her — delicate, deceptive, much like the woman herself. The air between them was taut with unspoken tension. "Your Highness," Raul began, his voice low, respectful yet heavy, "the council meeting has just ended… and I regret to announce the result is not in our favor."
Irrys slowed, the subtle lift of her chin betraying her anticipation. "Go on." "The elders have made the unanimous decision to postpone your coronation, Princess," he continued, his tone steady though his jaw tightened. "Some claim you are… not in the right state of mind to rule. Others argue you lack the qualifications to become queen."
A sharp silence followed. The words settled like shards of ice under Irrys's skin. Her chest constricted, fury igniting deep within — slow, searing, alive. She halted before the double doors of her study, where the afternoon light filtered through stained glass, scattering fractured rainbows across her crimson eyes. Her lips curved downward, but her expression remained eerily composed, save for the faint twitch in her temple. "It seems," she murmured, voice laced with quiet venom, "the remnants of my parents' disdain continue to haunt me even after their deaths."
Raul dared not speak. "I expected opposition," she went on, eyes narrowing, the gleam in them dangerous and deliberate, "but for all of them to conspire against me…" A small, humorless chuckle escaped her. "How unnerving." The scent of old parchment and ink drifted faintly from behind the study doors. She stood still, gaze distant — calculating. The council of Syphus was a fortress of faith and old blood; even she knew that razing such a wall required precision. Her fingers grazed the carved wooden frame as her thoughts turned darker. Killing my family was only the beginning… she mused. I had thought the promise of power would be enough to lure them. But devotion is a curious poison. A faint smile ghosted across her face — the kind that never reached her eyes. "Even among the purest sheep," she whispered, "there are wolves in wool. All I need is patience."
"Your Highness," Raul's deep voice broke the silence, cutting through the haze of her thoughts. "There is… something else I must bring to your attention." "Raul," she sighed sharply, pushing open the doors to her study. The hinges groaned, releasing a breath of air tinged with ink, sandalwood, and lingering candle wax. "I've had enough of your wretched reports for one day. Leave — and return when I feel better." She flicked her wrist dismissively, the gold bangles around her arm clinking like tiny bells.
"Eleison…" Raul muttered under his breath. The name froze her mid-step. It lingered in the air — heavy, electric — before echoing faintly off the chamber walls. Her eyes darkened. Raul straightened, his expression composed but proud. "Eleison managed to escape the attack at Bassup. At first, we believed him dead — but my men tracked him toward Lisara." Irrys turned slowly, her movements graceful yet predatory. "We cornered him at Mount Jagreth's cliff, and as per your orders, he was… finished there — and cast into the sea below."
"I see…" she murmured, voice flat, though her gaze had drifted somewhere far beyond the study walls. She circled around her desk, trailing her fingers over its polished surface until she reached her chair, sinking into it with languid elegance. Her mind, however, was no longer in the present. She could almost smell the tea again — the sweet aroma of mint and honey carried by a soft summer breeze. The laughter of her sister Calliope chimed like silver bells, and beside her stood a young knight, Eleison Degretch, his armor glinting under the sunlight.
He had been Calliope's shadow — loyal, quiet, ever-watchful. She often mocked their closeness but secretly admired his steadfastness. "Eleison," Calliope said one day, setting her teacup down with an almost careless grace, "do you want to marry me?" The poor young knight nearly choked, eyes wide with disbelief. "P-Princess, what are you saying?"
"Well," she continued, her tone utterly practical, "if I'm going to be queen, I'll need a king, won't I? You seem a good fit. You already follow me everywhere, and my father favors you." She shrugged. "Why not just make it official?"
Irrys had been watching from the terrace then, hiding behind the carved marble railing. Her laughter had burst forth before she could stop it — a rare, crystalline sound. For a fleeting moment, the thought of killing her sister had vanished, replaced by something almost human.
Back in the present, a faint smile curved her lips. "Raul," she said softly, the purr of amusement curling through her voice. Her expression turned cold, eyes gleaming with wicked delight. "Announce to the public that after an extensive investigation — led by yours truly — it has been discovered that Eleison Degretch was the traitor responsible for the attack on the monarchs."
Raul's head lifted, his eyes flickering with surprise. "State that he was executed for high treason," she continued, leaning back in her chair, her voice as smooth as silk yet sharp as a blade. "For raising his sword against his masters." Her final word cracked through the air like a whip. Raul bowed deeply, suppressing the unease that prickled at the back of his neck. "As you wish, my queen."
The title hung in the air — a lie dressed as prophecy. "That should silence those decrepit fools," Irrys muttered under her breath, steepling her fingers, her mind already spinning new threads of deceit. "You may leave, Raul. And send tea on your way out." "As you command."
Raul retreated quietly, his footsteps fading down the corridor until only the whisper of the wind through the stained glass remained. Irrys exhaled, slow and deliberate, her gaze fixed on the horizon. The light gilded her face — half angel, half serpent — and the faintest smirk lingered on her lips. The throne was not yet hers, but soon… very soon, the kingdom would kneel before her.
**
Sunlight filtered through the tall arched windows of the Grand Hotel Royale's tearoom, scattering golden hues across the polished marble floors. The scent of bergamot and freshly cut lilies perfumed the air, blending with the faint sweetness of pastries cooling on a silver tray nearby. Outside, the muffled clatter of carriages and murmured chatter of guests trickled in through the glass panes, yet within the room, an invisible tension anchored the air between two princes.
"You look different, your highness," Jonathin said casually, his voice breaking the hush. Crown Prince Kazein Nathaniel VonTicus lifted his gaze from the newspaper in his hand, amber eyes glinting beneath the soft afternoon light. His expression was unreadable—composed, detached, the kind of calm that made others uneasy. "I look the same as I always do," he replied coolly. "What brings you here, Prince Jonathin?"
Jonathin swallowed hard. This charisma of his… he thought, watching how even the simplest words carried weight. It's no wonder these young ladies lose their senses around him. Though only seventeen, Kazein bore the poise of a man far older—his posture regal, his presence commanding. The faint glow in his eyes seemed to pierce right through one's composure, chilling the soul with a single glance. Jonathin shivered inwardly. Honestly… I don't even know what came over me that night.
"Your highness…" he began, hesitating. Kazein sat across from him, folding one leg over the other with effortless grace. A faint rustle of paper filled the air as he raised the newspaper before his face again. His silence was measured—intentionally suffocating. Jonathin clasped his hands together to steady his voice. "I am here to present my sincere apologies for the slight I committed the other night. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me, your highness." His tone softened with remorse. But Kazein didn't respond. His eyes were locked on the front page—his portrait printed beside that of the bereaved princess. The faint flicker in his gaze betrayed recognition, but no emotion.
Then, with a sharp crack, his fingers crushed the paper, the sound slicing through the quiet. He slammed it onto the table, sending the teacups trembling on their saucers. "Apology accepted, Prince Jonathin," he said flatly. "If that is all, I would like to return to my abode now." The words were calm, but his voice dripped with restrained anger—cold and deliberate, like steel held in check. His features remained as still as a midnight pond, yet the air around him pulsed with fury. This man will make a formidable emperor, Jonathin thought, both admiring and fearing him. Alkaraz will see a new dawn under his reign. And I… I want to personally witness it.
"Your highness…" "What is it now?" Kazein's tone was curt as he rose, his chair gliding back against the marble. "I would like to become one of your personal allies, if you'll have me." For a moment, Nathaniel seemed as though he was not breathing, then he let out a heavy sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose, irritation overtaking him. "Prince Jonathin, we've been over this already and—" "I insist, your highness," Jonathin interjected, standing as well. His voice trembled, but determination burned beneath it. "…and I shall continue to do so," he pressed, "until your highness changes his mind."
The ache in his chest resurfaced—the emptiness that had haunted him since the day of that tragedy. Losing the love of his life had hollowed him, driven him to every vile indulgence in an attempt to forget her, to forget everything she meant to him. But before Kazein, that gnawing despair quieted. He needed purpose again—something, or someone, to follow. His gut told him this prince was the key. "Do as you wish," Kazein said finally, his sigh carrying the weight of reluctant acceptance. He turned to leave, the crimson of his coat flaring like a dying ember as he walked away.
Then he stopped. Slowly, he turned his head over his shoulder. Their eyes met. Jonathin froze. The prince's fluorescent amber eyes locked onto him—bright, merciless, almost inhuman. His breath hitched as sweat beaded along his temple, sliding down the side of his face. "Keep in mind," Kazein said, voice low and chillingly calm, "that if you ever betray me, I shall hang your head upon the palace walls and have your skull carved into a footstool of mine. Are we clear?"
Jonathin dropped to his knees, his heart pounding in his throat. "I, Jonathin Herbert Wells, vow to serve Crown Prince Kazein Nathaniel VonTicus with the utmost loyalty and respect for as long as I shall live. If ever such a vow comes to break, I shall pay the consequences with my life." His voice quivered, but his conviction rang true. He dared not look up.
"Gabriel," Kazein called. "Your highness," came the knight's prompt reply. "Hand me your sword." The command cut through the room like a blade itself. Gabriel drew the weapon in one smooth motion—the steel gleaming under the chandelier's glow—and presented it hilt-first.
Kazein took it with quiet authority. His voice, when he spoke again, was clear and unwavering. "From today onward, Jonathin Herbert Wells shall be called one of my own. The whole of you now belongs to me, and in the face of adversities, you must always place my safety and well-being above your own. Do you accept these conditions, Jonathin?"
Jonathin lifted his gaze, trembling yet resolute, as the golden light of afternoon framed the young prince like a halo of fire. "Yes, your highness," he breathed. "With all that I am."