In the quiet courtyard of the shop, bathed in the soft glow of late afternoon light filtering through the flowering trellis, Princess Lucy shook her head, a stray lock of golden hair falling across her forehead, partially obscuring her right eye. Her delicate features were softened by a wistful smile, but her golden eyes held a flicker of something deeper—resignation, perhaps, or a quiet determination. "I've stayed in the capital too long," She said softly, her voice carrying the weight of someone who had lingered in a gilded cage for far too long. "I want to travel, see the world beyond these walls, and maybe find inspiration for a new novel."
Catherine's eyes widened, her expression a mix of shock and skepticism. "In winter?" she exclaimed, leaning forward in her chair, her gaze fixed on Lucy's serene smile. "You've always left the capital in spring or autumn—never in the dead of winter. Why now?" Her voice was tinged with concern, her mind racing to make sense of the princess's sudden decision. In the past, she and Lucy had taken short trips together, visiting nearby cities to clear their minds, always choosing the milder seasons when the roads were clear and the weather forgiving. A winter journey was unheard of, and Catherine couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Lucy's plan than she was letting on.
Lucy's smile didn't waver, but her fingers toyed with the stray lock of hair, tucking it behind her ear with a graceful motion. "I've never seen other cities in winter," She said, her voice light but deliberate. "I thought it might be interesting to witness their landscapes under snow, to capture a different kind of beauty for my stories." Her words were carefully chosen, but they carried a hint of evasion, as if she were weaving a tale to conceal her true intentions.
Catherine's brow furrowed, her instincts screaming that something was amiss. "Is that really it?" She pressed, her voice soft but insistent. She knew Lucy too well—her cousin's gentle demeanor often masked a deeper resolve, and this winter departure felt like more than a whim.
Lucy's lips pressed into a thin line, her golden eyes flickering with a fleeting shadow of reluctance. "What else could it be?" She replied, her tone almost too light, as if deflecting scrutiny. But the truth weighed heavily on her. She had to leave. The capital was no longer safe, not for her. The royal court, once a place of grandeur and protocol, had become a battlefield of ambition and treachery. Her father was gravely ill—a fact that had spread like wildfire through the city, whispered in the halls of nobles and the backrooms of merchants. Only Catherine and Dahlia, fresh from their journey, remained unaware of the storm brewing in the capital.
The king's declining health had ignited a fierce struggle for the throne. Prince Lucia, the eldest, and Prince Greena, the second-born, were locked in a brutal contest for power, their rivalry spilling over into the nobility. Factions had formed, allegiances declared, and lesser nobles had already paid the price—some with their lives—in the deadly game of political maneuvering. The streets of the capital buzzed with tension, and Lucy, as the king's beloved daughter, was caught in the crossfire.
Dahlia, seated across from Lucy, watched her closely, her eyes narrowing as she caught the subtle shift in the princess's demeanor—a mix of melancholy and relief that didn't quite align with her stated reasons. Her gaze flicked to Jones, the leopard-eared bodyguard standing vigilantly against the wall, her sharp eyes scanning the courtyard for any sign of danger. Something was off, and Dahlia's sharp mind began piecing together the puzzle. "Princess Lucy," She said, her voice low and measured, "will King really allow you to leave the capital in winter?"
Lucy hesitated, her hands tightening slightly around her ceramic cup. "My father… has already given his permission," She said, but her voice faltered, a flash of unease crossing her face.
Dahlia's eyebrow arched, her mind racing. The king's approval seemed unlikely, given his protective nature toward his daughter. She sifted through her memories, recalling a rumor she'd heard before leaving the capital: King had fallen ill and hadn't convened his council in days. The implications were chilling. Had the princes' power struggle grown so fierce that it now threatened Lucy, forcing her to flee the safety of the royal palace? The thought sent a shiver down Dahlia's spine. Was the court purging potential threats, even one as seemingly innocuous as a princess known for her novels?
Lowering her voice, Dahlia leaned closer. "Princess Lucy, what did they say to you?" Her question was pointed, her eyes searching Lucy's face for answers.
Lucy's hands trembled, the tea in her cup rippling faintly. She pressed her lips together, meeting Dahlia's steady gaze with a sigh. "You're too clever, Dahlia," She said, her voice barely above a whisper, heavy with resignation. "You always see through me."
Catherine, catching the shift in tone, leaned forward, her golden eyes wide with realization. "Wait—what? They're forcing you out?" She asked, her voice cracking with disbelief. "They can't tolerate you anymore?"
Lucy's gaze dropped to her cup, her fingers tracing its rim as she spoke. "A few days ago, Prince Lucia…" Her voice trailed off as she recounted a chilling incident—an attempt by the eldest prince to eliminate a rival through a proxy, a calculated act of betrayal disguised as diplomacy. The details were vague but damning, painting a picture of a court descending into chaos.
"That… that snake!" Catherine exploded, her face flushing with anger. "I thought Prince Lucia was a gentleman, all charm and grace. How could he be so vicious?" Her hands clenched into fists, her loyalty to her cousin fueling her outrage.
Dahlia's expression darkened, her mind racing. "It's safer for you to leave, Princess," She said, her voice steady but grave. "The capital is a whirlpool right now—one wrong step, and you'll be dragged under without even knowing how you fell." Her words were blunt, reflecting the harsh reality of the court's power games. A pang of regret struck her; returning to the capital now, with her valuable cargo from Sedona City, might draw unwanted attention. Her goods—perfume, milk tea, and more—were worth a fortune, and ambitious nobles or greedy merchants might see her as a pawn in their schemes.
"Where are you planning to go?" Catherine asked, her hand still clutching Lucy's, her voice thick with worry. "You've never traveled far from the capital. Won't it be hard to adjust?"
Lucy's delicate features softened, a faint smile breaking through her melancholy. "I'm not sure yet," She admitted, her voice carrying a trace of freedom. "I'll wander and see where the road takes me. With Jones by my side, I'll be fine."
Catherine's eyes widened, her mouth falling open in disbelief. "Just Jones? You're leaving with one person?" She exclaimed, her gaze darting to the stoic leopard-eared bodyguard. "You're not serious, are you?"
"Yes," Lucy said quietly, her golden eyes dimming with sorrow. "Jones will smuggle me out of the capital. And… I may not return." Her voice broke slightly, the weight of her decision settling over the courtyard. After refusing to pen biographies glorifying the princes, she had become a liability in their eyes. Once her father passed, her protection would vanish. Whichever prince claimed the throne would likely use her as a bargaining chip, marrying her off to secure alliances with powerful nobles. The capital, once her home, was now a trap.
Catherine sat frozen, her mouth agape, struggling to process the idea of Lucy living in exile, her identity concealed to escape the court's machinations. The weight of it was crushing, and words failed her.
Dahlia, however, leaned forward, her eyes narrowing with a spark of audacity. "Princess Lucy," She said, her voice low and deliberate, "Have you ever considered… taking the throne yourself?"
The courtyard fell silent, the air thick with tension. Lucy froze, her golden eyes wide as she stared at Dahlia, the weight of the word "throne" hanging between them like a blade.
Catherine's head snapped toward Dahlia, her golden eyes blazing with alarm. "Dahlia, are you insane?" She hissed, her blue hair swishing as she shook her head. "Lucy, don't listen to her. The throne isn't something you can just claim!" Her voice was sharp, her concern rooted in the harsh realities of Siacan's history. The kingdom had seen a queen once, generations ago—a brilliant, ruthless princess who had outmaneuvered her rivals to seize the crown. Her reign had been a golden age for women's rights, but it came at a cost. She had crushed dissenting nobles, earning their eternal resentment. Since then, the aristocracy had fiercely opposed any woman rising to power, ensuring no princess had come close to the throne. Lucy, with no noble allies or military backing, would be walking into a slaughter.
Lucy's eyes flickered, a mix of understanding and resignation. "Catherine," She said softly, her voice gentle but firm. "That's not what Dahlia means." She understood the subtext of Dahlia's suggestion—not an immediate bid for the crown, but a long-term strategy. Find a remote territory, build a power base in secret, and, when the time is right, return to challenge the princes and claim the throne as a queen.
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