The estate map was barely visible between the pages of Imperial Trade Routes and Their Historical Significance. Viktor had positioned the textbook across his crossed legs, angled just enough that anyone glancing through the doorway would see a boy studying. His finger traced the route through Eisenholm's upper district to the Farrow estate—a path he'd memorized twice already but kept reviewing anyway.
Three days.
His shoulders hurt. Had been tight for two days, since the fight with his mother. Since he'd called her a coward. He'd barely seen her since. Aldwin delivered lessons alone now. Meals came on trays left outside his door.
It was better. He didn't need her trying to stop him.
The door opened without a knock.
Viktor's hands slammed the textbook shut. The sound cracked through the room—loud, guilty, obvious. His heart kicked.
Emeline stopped in the doorway, one eyebrow rising. A wooden tray balanced in her hands, teacup rattling slightly. "Gods, your highness." She stepped inside, kicking the door shut with her heel. "What's in that book, treason? Planning to overthrow the empire?"
Heat crawled up Viktor's neck. "No. I was just—it's nothing."
"'Nothing' doesn't make people jump like they've been caught stealing imperial jewels." She set the tray down on the only clear space on his desk—a corner he'd apparently forgotten existed. Books covered everything else. Frost Manipulation and Advanced Theory. The Principles of Source Control. Three volumes on military history he'd never opened before last week.
She picked up one of the pastries from the tray and took a deliberate bite. "You've been strung tight as a bowstring all week. What's got you so jumpy?" She gestured at him with the pastry, her mouth still half-full. "Did Leopold finally figure out how to read and it scared you?"
Viktor's mouth twitched despite himself. "He can read."
"Debatable." She moved a stack of books off his chair and dropped into it, legs sprawling out in front of her. "I've seen him try. It's painful. Like watching someone fight a bear, except the bear is winning and the bear is a children's book."
A laugh snorted out of Viktor before he could stop it.
Emeline grinned, triumphant. "There. See? You're not dead inside yet." She pointed at the scattered books. "What's all this anyway? Since when do you read military history? You trying to impress Aldwin? Because trust me, he's not impressed by anything. Pretty sure that man was born disappointed."
"It's for..." Viktor trailed off. "Just extra studying."
"Extra studying." Emeline stole another pastry and leaned back, studying him like he was a puzzle she was working out. "Right. Because that's what ten-year-olds do for fun. Read dusty books about dead generals." She took a bite, chewed thoughtfully. "You know what normal kids do? They sneak into the kitchens and steal sweets. They climb things they shouldn't. They definitely don't lock themselves in their rooms looking like someone kicked their puppy."
Viktor picked at a loose thread on his sleeve. "I'm not a normal kid."
"Yeah, yeah. You're a prince." She said it the way she always did—like it was both true and ridiculous at the same time. "Doesn't mean you have to act like you're sixty. Seriously, you look like you haven't slept since your big meeting with the Emperor. You're going to get those weird purple rings under your eyes, and then your father will think you're 'weak,' and then we'll all have to hear about it."
The textbook sat heavy across Viktor's lap. The map's edges pressed against his thighs through the pages.
She tilted her head, and the teasing edge softened. Her voice dropped. "Hey. You okay?"
The question made his chest tight. He wanted to tell her. Father gave him a mission and he was scared and his mother thought he was going to die and he didn't actually know what he was doing.
"I'm fine." His voice came out too quick. "Just studies. Aldwin's giving me extra work."
"Uh-huh. 'Studies.'" She reached over and grabbed the last pastry, dropping it directly onto the book in his lap. A few crumbs scattered across the pages. "Well, Professor, you need to eat. You've been holing up in here like you're preparing for a siege. Pretty sure even scholars are supposed to see sunlight occasionally."
The pastry sat there, still warm. His favorite kind. The ones with the apple filling that Emeline always managed to snag from the kitchen before they ran out. She'd been doing that since he was six.
Something in his chest loosened. Just a little.
"Thanks," he muttered.
She grinned and reached over to mess up his hair. He ducked, but not fast enough. "There's my little ice prince. Thought you'd disappeared on me entirely."
"I'm not little."
"You're ten. You're practically a baby." She settled back into the chair, arms crossed, but her eyes hadn't left his face. "So. What's actually bothering you? And don't give me the 'extra studies' thing again. I've known you since you were little, and I know when something's eating at you."
He picked at the edge of the pastry. She was watching him. Patient. Waiting. The way she always did when she knew something was wrong.
He could tell her.
"Emeline, what if..." He stopped. His throat felt tight. "What if Father asked me to do something important? Something... something I wasn't sure I could do?"
The teasing dropped from her face completely. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. Her voice went quiet, serious. "Important? What's he got you doing? Something for that 'strength' test?"
She was worried. He could see it in how her eyes narrowed, how her shoulders tensed up. The way she looked when Leopold used to corner him in the hallways, back before Charles made it stop.
But he wasn't supposed to need protecting anymore. He was an asset. He had a mission. Charles wouldn't need people worrying about him. Charles was strong. Independent. Viktor needed to be like that.
Viktor straightened his back. Lifted his chin slightly, the way he'd seen Charles do a hundred times. His hands stopped shaking. His voice went flat. "It's fine. It's... princely business. Nothing for you to worry about."
Emeline froze.
The air in the room changed. Went strange and hollow.
She didn't curtsy. Didn't go formal. She just... stopped. The warmth in her eyes disappeared like someone had snuffed out a candle. She stepped back—just half a step, but it felt like a mile. Her face went carefully blank.
"Oh." Her voice went quiet. Clipped. Nothing like how she usually sounded. "Okay. 'Princely business.' Got it."
No. Wait. That wasn't—he hadn't meant—
But the words were already out. The distance was already there.
She stood. Picked up the empty tray. The easy, casual energy—the thing that made her Emeline—was just gone. Replaced by something careful and distant.
"I'll let you get back to your studies, your highness."
She'd never called him that before. Not like that. Not like he was someone she didn't know.
She walked to the door. Didn't mess up his hair again. Didn't punch his shoulder or tell him to stop being dramatic. Didn't say anything else.
The door closed behind her. Quiet. Final. Her footsteps faded down the hallway—quick, purposeful, nothing like her usual easy stride.
Viktor sat on the floor, the textbook heavy across his legs. The pastry was still in his hand, apple filling leaking onto his fingers.
He'd kept the secret. That was good. That was what he was supposed to do.
So why did it feel like he'd just broken something he couldn't fix?
The map was still hidden in the textbook. The gala was three days away. He'd kept the secret.
He'd done exactly what he was supposed to do.
The pastry tasted like ash.