"You've lost so much weight, Fati," Clover whined, her lower lip jutting out in mock distress as she reached up to pinch Fatima's cheeks. "You look like a wilted daisy!" She tugged lightly, stretching the soft skin until Fatima's lips puffed into a reluctant smile.
"Well," Fatima managed, her words slurred from Clover's playful assault, "I was sick a few times during the trip. But thanks to everyone's attentive care, I came back in one piece." Her tone was light, but her voice trembled slightly beneath it, like a fragile thread threatening to snap.
Ivy, who had been quietly observing, brushed the back of her hand across Fatima's arm. "Are you sure nothing else happened?" she asked, her brows knitting in quiet concern. "I can't shake the feeling that something… horrible has happened to you."
Fatima hesitated. For a fleeting moment, her eyes flickered with a shadow too heavy for words. Ivy is as perceptive as ever, she thought bitterly. But I can't tell them what happened yet. The wound is still too fresh—too raw. I need time before I can open that door again. "Everything is fine," she said at last, squeezing Ivy's hand in reassurance. "Besides, I'm here now, aren't I?" Ivy's frown softened into a small, relieved smile. "Yes, you're right. That's all that matters."
A breeze swept through the stable yard, carrying with it the scent of hay and distant wildflowers. Fatima drew in the air as if to steady herself. Oddly enough, she mused, this place feels more like home than the Syphus Palace ever did. The only thing missing is him.
Her mind drifted briefly—unwillingly—to that moment before his departure. The warmth of Nathaniel's arms around her, the weight of his breath against her hair. I still can't believe what I did that day, she thought, her cheeks heating as the memory surged. I was so excited when he asked to embrace me that I responded too quickly. I must have seemed so desperate. How embarrassing!
"Fati, your entire face is red." Amie's voice broke through her reverie, filled with worry. She reached out, pressing her palm gently against Fatima's forehead. "You're not breaking into a fever, are you?" Fatima laughed, waving her hand dismissively. "I'm fine. Just a bit flustered from the trip here, I suppose." "Amie's been bringing us food every day while you were gone," Clover chimed in proudly, grinning from ear to ear. "She said it was upon your request." Fatima turned to Amie with a grateful smile. "I don't know how to thank you, Amie."
Amie shook her head modestly. "It was my pleasure. I'll keep bringing meals whenever I can." Clover's eyes shimmered with emotion as she suddenly lunged forward, wrapping Fatima in a tight hug. "I'm so happy you're back, Fati! I missed you so much!" Fatima let out a small, surprised laugh, steadying them both as Clover buried her face against her shoulder. "You're just happy your favorite teasing target is back, aren't you?" she teased, ruffling Clover's hair.
The four girls fell into laughter that rang bright and pure against the soft hum of the countryside. They sank down into the sun-warmed grass together, their skirts spreading around them like petals. The horses nearby snorted and flicked their tails lazily, the world at peace for the first time in days.
Fatima leaned back on her palms, gazing up at the open blue sky. The sunlight kissed her cheeks, and she closed her eyes, breathing in deeply. I was right to come back here, she thought. Chilsela might have been peaceful—too peaceful. There, as an honored guest of the prince, I would have had every chance to drown in my own sadness. But here… here, with them, I can keep my mind busy. I can heal. For now, this was enough.
**
The amber glow of the hearth danced across the chamber, painting long shadows over velvet drapes and marble floors. Nathaniel lounged on his settee, draped in a robe of light purple silk that shimmered under the flicker of the flames. His legs were crossed lazily, one hand holding a book, the other resting on the armrest. The scent of burning cedarwood mingled with faint traces of bergamot—his preferred cologne—still clinging to the air.
Leonardo moved about the room with quiet precision, the soft rustle of fine fabrics marking his presence. He was arranging Nathaniel's evening attire—a white ceremonial coat with golden embroidery, its collar adorned with the insignia of the royal house. Every crease he smoothed, every button he polished, was done with the devotion of a man who understood that service to the crown was its own art form.
From behind the settee, the gentle flutter of wings broke the rhythm of the quiet. Cali, Nathaniel's falcon, pecked insistently at his shoulder. "Cali, will you quit pecking me while I'm busy?" Nathaniel grumbled, snapping his book shut with a soft thud. Leonardo didn't glance up. "She has been through quite a lot since you left, Your Highness. It's her way of scolding you for making her wait so long." His tone was even, but there was a faint smile tugging at his lips as he adjusted the lapel of the coat. "I've got better things to do than sit here and be chastised by a bird," Nathaniel muttered, leaning back with a huff. His amber eyes darted toward the foot of his bed. "And you, Louis—get down from there this instant!"
The panther stretched languidly, then leapt down with effortless grace, his obsidian fur catching the firelight. With a low growl, he walked over and rested his massive head on Nathaniel's lap. "You stubborn creature," Nathaniel said, voice softening as he stroked his head. "You remind me far too much of her."
Leonardo's head tilted slightly. "Her?" Nathaniel's gaze drifted, unfocused. "Fatima," he murmured under his breath, so quietly the name almost vanished into the crackle of the fire. His fingers absently threaded through Louis's fur, the warmth of the beast grounding him even as his mind wandered miles away. "I wonder what she's doing right now."
Leonardo cleared his throat, breaking the spell. "Tonight's reception is to celebrate your return—and your reconciliation with His Majesty," he said, his voice carefully measured as he wheeled the garment rack closer. "Will you be alright, Your Highness?" "Why wouldn't I be," Nathaniel replied smoothly, rising from the settee, "when I have you here, Leo?" he added, patting his shoulder as he reached for the white trousers hanging from the rack.
Leonardo froze mid-motion, the cufflinks in his hand glinting between his fingers. His eyes flickered upward in disbelief. Did he just…? "Who knew you could say such kind words without flinching, Your Highness," Leonardo said at last, chuckling to mask the sudden warmth creeping up his neck. Nathaniel blinked, his expression still and unreadable. Something stirred in his memory—a voice, a smile, a teasing remark spoken under starlight. Where have I heard this before? Then it struck him. Fatima.
His heart gave a quiet, startled jolt, as though caught off guard by the very thought of her. The air around him seemed to thicken with the ghost of her laughter. "Leo," Nathaniel began suddenly, his tone unusually contemplative. "What does it mean when a man's heart beats fast at the thought of a particular woman?" The cufflinks slipped from Leonardo's grasp, clattering softly onto the rug. "P–pardon?" he stammered, eyes wide as saucers. Nathaniel regarded him coolly, unbothered by his shock.
"Y–Your Highness… could the rumors be true? Are you and Princess—" Nathaniel's brow twitched. "What are you hallucinating about now, Leo? The rumors involving Princess Irrys are nothing more than baseless gossip. Don't tell me you believe such drivel more than you do my words. That would be rather disappointing."
Leonardo bowed his head immediately, face flushing with embarrassment. "My deepest apologies, Your Highness. I've committed a grave sin." He hesitated, then risked a glance upward. "Wait—does this mean a young maiden has truly caught your eye?"
Nathaniel's expression didn't falter, but the faintest color rose along his cheekbones. "I was merely asking because I was curious. That is all." Leonardo's eyes widened, then narrowed in barely concealed delight. His face… it's red! he thought with an inward grin. I've hit the nail right on the head. He studied the prince as he adjusted his cuffs—a man who once carried the chill of winter now moving with an unfamiliar ease. He's different now, Leonardo mused. More alive and engaging. Could it be… love?
Nathaniel slipped his arms through the sleeves of his coat, his composure returned. "Let us be on our way now, Leo," he said calmly, though his voice carried a subtle tremor. The falcon gave a quiet, approving trill from her perch. The fire crackled, shadows shifted, and the scent of cedar lingered as the prince and his chamberlain stepped into the hall—one burdened by duty, the other by the faint, inexplicable warmth of a name still echoing in his chest.
**
The crystal chandeliers blazed overhead, scattering prisms of gold and rose light across the grand ballroom. The air shimmered with perfume and candle heat, with every breath laced in the mingled scents of lilacs, wine, and polished oak. A string quartet played a lively waltz near the dais, their music swelling beneath the hum of chatter and the clinking of crystal goblets.
Laughter rippled among the crowd, though a quiet undercurrent of curiosity threaded through every conversation — all eyes, inevitably, drifting toward the tall figure of the crown prince. His presence commanded the room even in stillness. The golden embroidery on his white uniform caught the light each time he turned his head, and his amber gaze — sharp, yet oddly softened tonight — made several young ladies draw subtle, hopeful breaths. They watched him as if he were a flame in a room full of moths. Each whispered, waiting for a moment to approach.
Meanwhile, a cluster of noblemen surrounded him, their jeweled cups glinting as they bombarded him with eager questions about his journey across foreign lands. "Is it true, your highness, that you crossed the Dahlian deserts without escort?" "I heard from a knight that you dined with the sultan of the Eastern Isles himself." Strangely, Nathaniel listened intently, even smiling faintly at their remarks while sharing his details of his risky escapades during his travels, earning gasps and laughter from the nobles. For a man once notorious for his cold indifference, it was a rare and disarming sight.
"Where has the antisocial tyrant run off to, brother?" came a lilting voice from the side. The words, though spoken quietly, sliced cleanly through the music and murmurs. Heads turned at once. Conversations faltered. The noblemen exchanged uneasy glances before parting like waves, clearing a path for the newcomers.
The princess glided forward with her signature poise—Emilia, in a gown of pearl and silver lace that glittered like frost beneath the chandeliers. Her red curls were pinned with moonstones, her smile edged with mischief. At her side walked Duke Dimitriu, his posture effortless yet commanding, every movement underscored by the quiet confidence of a man used to attention. "May the glory of Alkaraz be with you, your highness," Dimitriu greeted, his voice smooth as aged wine. He clasped the prince's hand firmly, his signet ring glinting. "How do you do, Chamberlain Leonardo?"
Leonardo bowed from where he stood behind the prince, head lowered in reverence to both the duke and the princess. The faint rustle of silk and the soft chime of jewelry filled the pause that followed.
"We've much to talk about, Dominique," Nathaniel said calmly, his lips curving into the faintest smirk. Then, turning to Emilia, his tone cooled. "And to answer your question, princess — the antisocial tyrant is standing right before you. I've not changed one bit, so don't keep your hopes up." His words carried a dry edge, but something unguarded flickered in his expression — a trace of warmth he didn't bother to hide.
Leonardo's brow lifted slightly. He's been showing emotion ever since he returned to the capital. A thought he did not voice, though the observation brought a quiet amusement to his eyes. Whoever that young maiden is, we must find her — and keep her close. She's done what none of us could.
Emilia tilted her head, her grin widening. "Is that so? Then I shall hope twice as hard." She took a sip from her wine before adding, "I hope you returned my employee in one piece your highness," Dimitriu added lightly, his tone teasing, his eyes sharp. The prince's composure slipped for the first time that evening. His jaw tensed, and his gaze flicked away. "Ah! That's right!" Emilia chimed in, her fan snapping open with delight. "Fati went with you, didn't she? I hope you didn't pester her all throughout the—" Before she could finish, Nathaniel's gloved hand shot up, gently but firmly covering her mouth. A few startled gasps escaped nearby guests. The quartet's bowstrings faltered for half a beat.
The prince's face had turned an unmistakable shade of red. His jaw tightened as if he regretted his impulsive gesture, yet his eyes betrayed him — the faintest hint of panic and something softer. Emilia's eyes widened, scandalized. "What on earth are you doing, Zen?" she hissed, swatting at him with her fan as the crowd tittered behind lace and silk. Nathaniel coughed into his fist, turning sharply aside. "A slip." He muttered, ears tinged pink. Dimitriu's grin deepened, his amusement barely restrained. "My, my…I never thought I'd see the crown prince of Alkaraz blush. Something grave must be on the horizon."
Leonardo bit back a laugh, lowering his gaze. This trio is as chaotic as ever. I'm glad some things haven't changed.
The tension broke with laughter. Music swelled once more. And through the throng of swirling gowns and murmuring voices, another presence began to draw near. "May the glory of Alkaraz be with you. Greetings, your highness," came a calm, silvery voice. Florette Isabel Kartier stepped forward, her emerald gown glistening under the chandeliers like a wave of light. The subtle scent of rose lingered in her wake. So, she's finally making her move, Leonardo mused silently. She's been stealing glances at him all night. The prince's gaze flicked toward her — polite, unreadable — and for a fleeting second, the hum of the ballroom seemed to still again, as if waiting to see what spark might strike next.
**
The music swelled again, though softer now, a gentle waltz, the king that carried whispers rather than laughter. Around the edges of the ballroom, fans fluttered like pale wings, eyes watched from every direction, curiosity and calculation gleaming alike. Florette dipped into a curtsy so graceful it seemed choreographed by light itself. The emerald of her gown rippled like the surface of a lake, her every movement deliberate, practiced, the way one moved before prey…or a crown.
"Your highness," she said, voice as smooth as silk drawn over glass. "I'd like to officially wish you a warm welcome back home. It has been far too long since Alkaraz basked in your presence." A few nobles exchanged a look and nodded but said nothing. Nathaniel inclined his head, measured and distant. "You're too kind, my lady." He said, histone polite but void of warmth. Her smile didn't falter. "Your return has quite stirred the capital, your highness," she said softly. Her tone was sweet like honey but laced with something sharper. They say the Northern winds brought back a new man altogether. A softer heart, perhaps?"
Nathaniel inclined his head slightly, neither confirming nor denying. "Rumors tend embellish what little truth they hold, Lady Florette. I assure you, I am much the same as before." "Ah," she murmured, stepping closer. The faint fragrance of her perfume coiling through the space between them. "And yet, the same man does not often return with a Syphus princess in his heart."
The murmur of surrounding voices dimmed once more. Leonardo, stationed a respectful distance behind, caught the flicker of discomfort that passed through Nathaniel's expression before the prince smoothed it away. Florette's eyes glinted as if lit from within by envy disguised as amusement. "Princess Irrys, the future queen of Syphus, was it not? Her name has been on every tongue way before your arrival in the capital. They say you lingered at her side the entire time you spent there. Quite the loyal companion you are, your highness."
"Indeed," Nathaniel replied, his tone clipped but courteous. "It was the least I could do for a grieving princess who had lost her entire family. She needed the support of those closest to her at that moment." "Support," Florette echoed, tasting the phrase like fine wine. "And yet the most innocent form of consolation can be…misinterpreted. You know how our people adores blowing things out of proportion."
Emilia, never one to hold her tongue, leaned in with a mischievous grin. "Oh, come now, Lady Florette, surely you don't believe every rumor posted on those tabloids. Journalists these days tend to exaggerate their tall tales to spike sales." Florette turned to her, her smile tightening lightly. "Of course not, your highness. I simply find it fascinating how swiftly affection is rumored to bloom when a man and woman share a single roof, even in the name of diplomacy." Her gaze flicked back to Nathaniel, lingering deliberately. "Especially when the man in question is as…guarded as our crown prince."
Dimitriu gave a low chuckle. "Careful my dearest little sister. That sounds suspiciously like jealousy." "W-well," her words faltered for a beat before regaining her composure. "Hardly, I speak only as one loyal to our realm's image. It would be tragic if idle gossip cast doubt on his highness's intentions toward Syphus…or toward anyone else."
The words slid between them like a dagger's whisper, delicate, but meant to wound. Nathaniel's expression remained composed, but his gloved hand tightened imperceptibly around his glass. "Rest assured, my loyalties lie where they have always been." He said evenly, his voice carrying just enough steel to remind her who she was addressing.
As the waltz swelled anew, the golden light of the chandeliers seemed to shimmer more fiercely, as though the ballroom itself sensed that beneath all the laughter, perfumes, and polished smiles, a storm was quietly beginning to turn.
**
Where could she have run off to at this hour? Ivy's mind raced as her feet thudded softly against the damp earth outside the stables. A thin shawl clung to her shoulders while another hung over her arm—meant for the girl who'd vanished from her side. She was sleeping right between us a moment ago… Did she go for a stroll? Her brows knitted, heart thrumming uneasily as her gaze swept over the moonlit pasture. The fields stretched out pale and silent, painted silver beneath the cold light. Crickets trilled faintly, and the occasional rustle in the tall grass made her pulse quicken. The recent sightings of wild animals—wolves, mostly—lingered in her mind like a warning. It was no longer safe for anyone to be out alone this late.
A sharp breeze rolled through, carrying the scent of hay, earth, and horse musk from the nearby stables. Ivy shivered, clutching her shawl tighter around her shoulders. "Good heavens…" she breathed, her voice trembling as much as her hands. "I hope she hasn't wandered too far…"
The moon was so bright that the stars had vanished into its glow, leaving the sky stark and hollow. From somewhere deep within the trees came the distant hoot of an owl, the sound echoing softly over the fields. And there—just beyond the wooden fence—she finally saw her.
Fatima sat crouched atop an old, gnarled tree stump, her silver hair glinting like spun frost beneath the moonlight. Her knees were drawn tightly to her chest, her shoulders quivering with every sob she tried to swallow. The sight tugged painfully at Ivy's chest. So, I wasn't wrong after all… Something happened on that trip. But if she's hiding it so fiercely, pressing her now might only hurt her more.
"Beautiful moon, isn't it?" Ivy called gently as she approached. Fatima startled with a gasp, wobbling on the stump before tumbling backward into the grass. Ivy burst into laughter despite herself and hurried forward. "Oh, Fati, you poor thing! I didn't mean to scare you. Are you alright?"
Fatima blinked up at her, cheeks flushed from both cold and embarrassment. "I was really startled—but yes, I'm fine," she said with a shaky giggle, brushing leaves from her skirt. "Good thing that stump isn't any taller," Ivy teased, pulling her up.
Once Fatima was steady, Ivy unfurled the spare shawl and draped it around her trembling shoulders. They both sank down onto the cool grass beside the stump, the fabric rustling softly. Above them, the moon bathed the field in serene light, and the wind whispered through the trees. Crickets chirped, owls hooted again, and the night felt almost too peaceful—like the world itself was holding its breath.
Fatima buried her face against her knees, silent, save for the occasional sniffles escaping her. Each sigh carried a heaviness that made Ivy's chest ache. "Fati?" Ivy murmured after a while, her voice warm but tentative. Fatima didn't lift her head. "Hmm?" A pause. Then a whisper. "Ivy, do you ever…" Her voice trailed off into the wind, dissolving before she finished. She sighed again, shoulders drooping as she muttered, "Never mind. It's nothing."
Ivy frowned, studying her friend's pale profile, the way her fingers twisted nervously in the edge of her shawl. Over the past two years of working together, Ivy had come to understand Fatima in ways most couldn't. She was a girl of unfiltered emotion—bright, guileless, endlessly curious. She found joy in the smallest things, yet when sorrow struck, it consumed her wholly. Seeing her now—so small, so unlike her usual radiant self—made Ivy's stomach twist with unease.
Minutes passed in quiet companionship before Fatima's soft voice broke the stillness again. "Ivy… do you have a sibling?" Ivy blinked, caught off guard. "Yes, I do, actually. Two of them to be exact." she said with a light chuckle, hoping to ease the tension. "One of them is resting in the stables right now—snoring like a lumberjack, I bet."
Fatima gave a weak laugh, but her tone was earnest when she pressed, "No, I mean… a real sibling. One related to you by blood." "Yes," Ivy confirmed, smiling faintly. "Her name's Clover. The little troublemaker who's been making my life miserable since the day she was born." Fatima's head snapped up, her crimson eyes wide with disbelief. "Wait—what?!"
Ivy couldn't help laughing at her astonishment, the sound soft and bright in the quiet night. "Oh, don't sound so surprised! You didn't think I treated her that way just for fun, did you?" Fatima stared for a beat before breaking into laughter herself—a fragile, genuine sound that made the moonlit fields seem a little warmer. "I've been looking after her ever since she was an infant." Ivy admitted, tilting her head back to stare at the moon above.
For the first time that night, Ivy felt the knot in her chest ease. Maybe Fatima wasn't ready to share what haunted her—but at least she was laughing again.