The sun streamed through the crystalline windows of the Nexus Palace's dining hall, bathing the long table in a golden glow. Silver cutlery gleamed, and the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine filled the air.
Princess Eloisa, perched neatly in her chair, pushed a grape around her plate before raising her voice.
"Father, when is Sister Zuleika coming home? It feels like forever since I last saw her."
King Stewart, in his dark blue robes, set down his goblet. His brow softened, though the faintest sigh escaped him.
"Three weeks from now, Eloisa," he replied, his voice steady, but carrying a weight beneath it. "It will come quickly, so you need not trouble yourself."
Across the table, one of the twins, Steven, puffed his chest proudly. "I miss Sister the most! She always takes my side when Elijah picks on me."
Elijah, his identical face a mirror of his brother's, remained silent, his gaze fixed on his plate as he carved his meat in steady, precise motions. His quiet presence contrasted with Steven's enthusiasm.
Queen Elisha chuckled softly, her eyes fond as she rested her hand on her husband's. "It is true, though. The palace does feel emptier without her. Zuleika's energy always stirs life wherever she goes."
Eloisa tilted her head curiously, crimson ribbons tied neatly in her hair. "But… will she really marry the Crown Prince of Feltogora?"
The question struck like a stone against glass.
King Stewart nearly choked on his food, coughing as he slammed his goblet down.
The table fell silent. The twins exchanged wary glances, and Eloisa lowered her gaze, nibbling on her lip. Queen Elisha merely sighed, her eyes deep with a sorrow she did not voice.
King Stewart cleared his throat, stabbing at his roast with more force than necessary. "Marry a Revazkerio?" he scoffed. "I'd sooner see Zuleika wed a fisherman who smells like seaweed than hand her over to those cold-blooded royals."
Steven blinked. "...Even if the fisherman's missing teeth?"
"Teeth grow back," Stewart retorted firmly.
"No, they don't," Elijah muttered flatly, still chewing his food.
The King slammed his goblet down, wine sloshing. "Then we'll buy him new ones! Anything is better than Revazkerio!"
Eloisa hid her giggles behind her hand, while Queen Elisha pinched the bridge of her nose as if silently asking the heavens why she married this man in the first place.
Meanwhile, far from the jeweled halls of Nexus, the garden of the Imperial Palace lay drenched in the perfume of blooming roses and trimmed hedges.
There, at a round marble table, sat the very subject of their conversation.
Princess Zuleika leaned lazily forward, her chin resting in her palm, her crimson eyes sparkling with amusement as she watched the light purple-haired beauty across from her.
"How delightful," she drawled, lips curling in mischief. "I wonder if my family is gossiping about me this very moment."
Across the table, Princess Aquila sat stiff-backed, her silver gaze flat and unamused. Her hand wrapped neatly around her teacup, though the tension in her posture betrayed her irritation.
"Do you ever stop talking?" Aquila muttered, her voice sharp, cutting through the gentle hum of bees and rustle of leaves.
Unbothered, Zuleika grinned wider, tilting her head as if studying her companion like a painting. "No. Especially not when I can see how easily my words bother you."
Aquila's brow twitched, but she said nothing, returning her attention to the porcelain rim of her cup.
The air between them carried the faintest thread of humor, but beyond the garden's quiet, the empire itself was far from calm.
After their return from Vasiliou, the Emperor wasted no time. An investigation into the Zhenka family was launched immediately. Prince Althurd, sharp-eyed and tireless, spearheaded the inquiry in the Crown Prince's stead, for the latter was already tied down suppressing rebellious factions in the southern provinces.
The findings were grim.
The Duke of Zhenka, cornered by his own failed assassination attempt, had sought aid from across the sea—from Tartagalia. Through them, he had bargained with a Dweller of the arcane, a mage steeped in forbidden arts. It was this pact that granted him the grotesque strength that twisted him into a monster.
The Duchess and Lady Kylie had discovered the truth too late. In their terror, they tried to flee, to reveal his treachery. But their cries never left the estate walls. Their blood marked the floors as testimony to the Duke's desperation and cruelty.
And now, the Duke's corpse lay under strict preservation by order of the Imperial Palace, his twisted remains studied for any trace of the dark contract that had undone him.
Feltogora was shaken, Tartagalia's shadow loomed closer, and Nexus was unknowingly entangled at the center of it all—through the daughter who sat smiling like a cat before the coldest princess of Revazkerio.
Aquila set her teacup down with a soft clink, her gaze steady. "Do you truly not wish to marry the Crown Prince?"
Zuleika's brow furrowed. "You've asked me that so many times. My answer hasn't changed, Aquila. No." Her voice held no hesitation—only quiet steel. But then her eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering across her face. "Wait. Don't tell me Matthew came running to you, begging for your help?"
"Yes." Aquila's bluntness cut the air like a blade.
For a moment, Zuleika froze. Then, in a quieter voice, she asked, "And… do you actually want me to marry him?"
Aquila lifted her cup again, unbothered, and took a sip. "Yes. It would serve both our Empires well if the Crown Princess of Nexus were bound to Feltogora's heir."
Zuleika went still, her usual brightness dimming. She lowered her eyes, her tone dropping to a low murmur. "So that's all I am to you… to all of you. A piece in your grand game of chess. Move the princess here, sacrifice her there. Who cares if she's happy, as long as the board is in order."
The words hit heavier than the silence that followed. For once, Aquila faltered, the silver of her eyes flickering as if searching for an answer.
But before she could speak, Zuleika's lips curved into a mischievous grin, her voice suddenly light. "Tell me, Aquila… would you really do anything just to make sure Matthew and I end up together? Anything?"
Aquila exhaled through her nose, her patience thinning. "Yes," she said, tone weary but firm. "If it is for the betterment of the Empire."
Zuleika fell quiet, her gaze drifting to the cluster of flowers blooming at their side—soft pink petals swaying in the gentle wind, a sharp contrast to the heaviness in the air between them.
Silence stretched.
Then Aquila's voice cut through, low and steady. "Do you still remember the group who kidnapped us before?"
Zuleika's brows knit, her eyes flicking back to her. "Of course. Why?"
"The Crown Prince investigated further," Aquila said, her tone laced with restraint. "That group has a name. They call themselves the People's Revolution Power… a rebellion rising within our Empire."
Zuleika's interest sharpened instantly, her eyes locking on Aquila with a glint of intrigue.
Aquila let out a slow breath, shoulders tense, as though the weight of the subject pressed down on her. "The timing is too perfect. Rebellion festering inside our lands while Tartagalia strikes from beyond. They move as though orchestrated."
Zuleika's gaze narrowed. She said nothing, lips pressed in a thin line, but her silence spoke volumes. She already knew. The pieces connected too easily.
There was a traitor among the Feltogora officials. A traitor sitting in their very council.
Zuleika leaned back slightly, her crimson eyes unfocused as her thoughts wandered. The People's Revolution Power…
Her fingers idly brushed the edge of the table as she pieced it together. What is their true goal?
Were they simply bandits clothed in the guise of rebels, or… was it something deeper?
Her mind replayed the words of the men who had once taken her and Aquila hostage—their bitterness, the venom in their voices when they spoke of the Empire, of nobles, of Kings and Emperors who lived in comfort while peasants broke their backs in the fields.
Are they truly seeking to destroy the monarchy itself?
The thought lingered like smoke. If so, then this was no petty uprising. This was an ideology—a vision to tear down the very pillars of royal blood and throne, to replace centuries of order with chaos in the name of "freedom."
Zuleika's lips pressed into a thin line. "Their enemy isn't just the Crown," she murmured almost to herself, "it's the system itself. They don't want to topple one Emperor or one kingdom—they want to erase monarchy altogether."
Her gaze drifted to Aquila, searching her silver eyes for any sign of agreement—or denial. "But to bring down something so old, so rooted… they would need more than anger. They would need allies, resources, someone in power feeding them strength."
The unspoken thought pressed at her mind like a whisper: And that someone is probably sitting inside Feltogora.