Zul had barely settled into the rhythm of the palace when word reached him that he was to deliver a message to the eldest princess. The scroll was heavy with wax and authority. Its contents he could not fully understand, but he knew it was a summons.
Atlea's chambers were in the northern wing, a quiet corridor lined with bookshelves and polished floors. Zul paused at the door, his heart thudding in a way he had not expected. The guards barely glanced at him. He was nothing yet everything in this palace—a shadow carrying words.
The door opened before he could knock. Atlea sat behind a desk stacked with parchment, quill in hand. Her hair was the color of burnished gold, pulled neatly away from her face. Her eyes were sharp, intelligent, and cold enough to cut through pretense.
"You are Zul," she said without looking up. Her voice was firm, carrying the weight of authority, yet not unkind. "I am Atlea."
He bowed low. "Yes, Your Highness. I have a message from Master Haran."
Atlea gestured for him to rise. Her movements were precise, economical. "Leave it there," she said, indicating the desk. Her eyes flicked over him, measuring, analyzing. "You are… different from the usual pages."
"I was told to observe and assist," Zul said carefully. "I will follow instructions."
Her lips curved into a brief, almost imperceptible smile. "Good. Observation is more useful than obedience sometimes. You will need that skill if you intend to survive this court."
He nodded, unsure whether she was speaking to him or to the world itself.
For hours he remained in the room under the pretext of delivering the scroll. Atlea moved among her papers, reading and signing documents, never speaking more than necessary. But Zul noticed small details: the way she paused to tap a pen against her lip when thinking, how her fingers lingered over certain words as if weighing their significance. She was not merely commanding the court—she was the court, distilled into one person.
Finally, she looked up. Her gaze met his with unflinching intensity. "Tell me, Zul," she said, "have you ever made a choice that could change someone's life without knowing the consequences?"
He thought of his death, the new world, the whispered task of winning hearts. "Yes," he admitted. "And I fear the consequences."
Atlea studied him a long moment. Then she leaned back, her expression softening for a heartbeat. "Perhaps that fear is useful. Perhaps it will guide you. Be careful, Zul, because in this palace, mistakes are magnified, and even the smallest action ripples through the lives of many."
Zul swallowed. Her words were not a warning—they were a promise of challenge. He had survived death only to face a life that demanded vigilance, wit, and courage in equal measure.
As he prepared to leave, Atlea called softly, "Stay. One moment."
He paused, and she held out a small quill and ink. "I will assign you a task. You may learn from it. Fail, and it will not be forgotten."
His heart raced. This was the first time a princess had entrusted him directly, not as a messenger, not as a shadow, but as someone who mattered to her work. He took the quill with trembling hands.
"Good," Atlea said. "Begin tomorrow at dawn. You will record the schedules and duties of every household guard and servant in this wing. Accuracy is more valuable than loyalty. Understand that, and you will be useful."
Zul bowed. "I understand, Your Highness."
As he left the northern wing, the weight of the palace settled around him. He had seen Mare and Lya, felt their presence and touch, and now he had Atlea, sharp and commanding, yet unexpectedly perceptive. Three hearts, three challenges, one path.
For the first time, Zul realized that winning their hearts would not be merely desire or pleasure—it would be a trial of intellect, patience, and courage. And he would need every ounce of his skill to survive the court and fulfill the task he had been given.
The training yard was alive with the sound of clashing steel and shouted commands. Zul carried a bucket of water for the trainees, weaving carefully between men sparring with wooden swords. He was used to observing, but today, his attention was drawn to one figure above all: Mare.
She moved with precision, every strike deliberate and fluid, her armor catching the sun with each turn. Men faltered under her gaze, disciplined by the weight of her presence alone. Zul had seen soldiers before, but Mare was something else. Fierce, unyielding, alive with purpose.
She noticed him almost immediately as he stepped closer with the water. Her eyes narrowed, assessing him in a single glance.
"You're the new page," she said, voice carrying across the yard. "Do you even know how to carry water without spilling it"
Zul swallowed nervously. "I… I can manage," he replied, keeping the bucket level.
Mare tilted her head, her expression amused. "We will see." She gestured toward a row of trainees. "Fill their waters. And if you spill, you clean more than the mess."
Zul nodded, moving swiftly, conscious of every step. He carried the water without a single drop falling. When he returned, Mare was closer than before, her stance relaxed but her gaze still sharp.
"Not bad," she said. "Most pages are clumsy here. You have… control. I like that."
He felt his pulse quicken at her words, but he forced himself to stay calm. "Thank you, Princess Mare," he said, bowing slightly.
Her lips curved into a small, fleeting smile. "Control is necessary," she said. "But courage… courage matters more. Come," she added, gesturing him to follow. "I want you to watch. Not the fight, but how men respond to failure. Observe, and learn."
Zul followed her to the edge of the yard. Mare began sparring with a young soldier, moving faster than his eyes could fully track. She corrected his stance with a touch here, a word there. The soldier tried to resist, but Mare's control over the fight was absolute.
"See how fear guides them," she said, watching Zul's reaction. "Not just the fear of pain, but fear of losing honor, of failing someone important. Understanding that… gives you power without wielding a sword."
Zul nodded, absorbing every movement, every gesture. He realized that Mare was testing him, not with steel, but with observation. A subtle lesson in dominance, respect, and awareness.
As the sun lowered, Mare finally stopped sparring and turned toward him. "You are quiet," she said. "Do you not speak unless asked?"
"I observe first," Zul replied. "I speak later."
Her eyes lingered on him, sharp and calculating. "Good," she said softly. "There is wisdom in silence. Most men are too loud, too eager. Perhaps you are different."
Something in her tone made his chest tighten. It was approval, but also a challenge. A warning that nothing in her world was simple. He realized that winning Mare's favor would not be done with words or charm alone. It would take wit, patience, and courage—the kind that demanded more than desire.
Before he left the training yard, Mare placed a hand briefly on his shoulder. Light, almost casual, but deliberate. "Tomorrow," she said, "you will join the training. Not to fight, but to serve. Pay attention. Serve well. And perhaps I will notice more than your control."
Zul bowed. "I understand, Princess Mare."
As he walked away, he felt the weight of her gaze linger. Mare was a storm, and he had just stepped into the wind. The first sparks of challenge—and attraction—had begun, and he knew that his journey to win the hearts of the princesses had moved into its most dangerous phase yet.