From the corner of her vision, Nia noticed two figures standing in the courtyard. She turned her head fully—just in time to see one bow low toward her window. Neither spoke. In the next breath, both slipped away into the shadows, leaving only the silence of dawn behind.
Before she could process it, Lyssa's voice cut through from behind—calm, but edged with firmness.
"Tomorrow, you will meet with the king here. For that, you must learn proper etiquette."
Nia turned back slowly, head tilted, eyes wide.
"He wishes to speak with you about something," Lyssa continued. Her tone softened, though a strange weight lingered behind her words. Noticing the fear flicker across Nia's face, she added, almost gently:
"Don't worry. He won't do anything… at least, not here. Not while I'm watching."
✦✦✦
"Let's go and see around the capital," Lyssa said.
Nia's eyes lit up instantly, bright with joy and wonder. Without hesitation, she rushed over and wrapped her arms tightly around Lyssa.
"There's no need to cling to me all the time," Lyssa sighed.
Nia pulled back a step, tears pricking at her eyes.
Lyssa exhaled, then opened her arms. "Don't cry. Come here." She hugged Nia back, more gently this time.
A thought crossed her mind as she held the girl. She can't speak, so hugging is her way of showing gratitude. But if she doesn't learn boundaries, this could cause trouble.
She pulled back slightly, looking Nia in the eyes. "Do you know when it's okay to hug someone?"
Nia shook her head.
"Then listen closely. You don't hug strangers. You don't hug just anyone who makes you feel something in the moment. You save hugs for the ones you truly trust—those you care about from the inside out. Do you understand?"
Nia tilted her head, then pointed her finger at Lyssa.
"Yes," Lyssa said with a small smile. "You can hug me. But remember the rule."
Her smile faded as a quiet vow pressed into her thoughts. If she ever hugs the king out of pure-hearted instinct, the consequences could be dangerous. I won't allow that.
✦✦✦
The mansion gates groaned as they swung open, the polished ironwork catching the morning light. A crisp breeze stirred the banners overhead, their deep crimson fabric rippling like fire against the pale sky.
Servants lined the cobblestone path, bowing as Nia and Lyssa emerged from the marble steps. The soft click of Lyssa's heels echoed, sharp and composed, while Nia's light steps carried a restless energy.
Nia's eyes darted everywhere—the glinting carriages waiting beyond the gates, the horses stamping their hooves, the scent of oil and fresh leather mingling in the air. She tugged lightly on Lyssa's sleeve, pointing toward the bustling line of guards forming up in disciplined silence.
"Don't be overwhelmed," Lyssa murmured, her voice steady but low. "They are here for show. The capital will be different."
Nia nodded quickly, though her wide eyes betrayed her excitement. When Lyssa guided her into the waiting carriage, the polished wood gleamed like still water, the brass handles warm beneath her small fingers.
The coachman cracked the reins. With a jolt, the carriage rolled forward. Servants and guards bowed as it passed through the gates, the sound of hooves striking stone building into a steady rhythm.
Nia pressed her palms against the window frame, her breath fogging the glass as the mansion slowly shrank from view. Her heart raced—not with fear, but with the thrill of stepping into a world she had only ever dreamed of seeing.
The ride stretched on, the steady rhythm of hooves carrying them past rolling estates and over a wide stone bridge. Morning air carried the scent of damp earth and wildflowers until, at last, the walls of the capital rose on the horizon.
At first, Nia thought it was a mountain—gray, looming, unshakable. But as they drew closer, she saw the truth: colossal walls of carved stone, etched with ancient runes that shimmered faintly in the daylight. The gates stood massive and forbidding, reinforced with iron, opening just wide enough for a steady stream of carriages, wagons, and merchants to flow through.
"You know, Nia," Lyssa said softly, her eyes narrowing at the gates, "the capital runs on trust."
But Nia didn't catch her words. Her wide eyes darted past everything—the swirl of colorful stalls, rooftops draped with fluttering banners, the scent of roasted spices wafting from a corner, children weaving between carts with peals of laughter. Cloaked travelers pressed forward with hurried steps, their faces set with purpose, and guards at the gate scanned each wagon with watchful eyes.
Nia pressed her forehead against the glass, drinking it all in, her breath fogging the window.
Lyssa allowed herself the briefest smile at her wonder, but leaned closer, her tone firm. "Don't be fooled by the colors. The capital shines bright at the surface—but its shadows run deep."
Nia blinked, tilting her head in quiet confusion. Yet almost instantly, her gaze was pulled back outside, captured again by the chaos and wonder—her first true taste of the world beyond the mansion walls, and beyond the cold, narrow cell where she had once been kept.
✦✦✦
"That's the girl getting treated like a prince—for what?" The woman's voice was laced with scorn, her gold ornaments glinting in the morning light. Each movement of her white dress gave a soft whisper of silk as she leaned against the balcony rail.
Two figures watched from the upper floor of a weathered stone building, hidden just enough in the shadows.
The man in the black cloak lounged back in a chair, a smooth gesture lifting his mask just enough to sip from a goblet. The deep red liquid caught the sunlight, flashing like blood.
"Want some?" he asked casually, swirling the wine, voice muffled behind the half-lowered mask.
"Not wine. Not while on duty." Her bracelets chimed faintly as she crossed her arms, irritation sharp in her tone. "You sit here with the easy role, while I'm shoved into a dancer's disguise to spy."
A creak in the wooden beams above made her pause. He set the goblet down with a quiet clink, gaze flicking toward the sound. Then he rose, boots tapping against the floor, slow and deliberate.
In one smooth motion, his hand reached for her chin, lifting it just enough that her golden earrings swayed in the light. His breath carried a faint trace of wine as he murmured:
"Perfect for the role."
The silence that followed felt heavier than the words, the city noise below dulling as if the whole world was holding its breath.
✦✦✦
The grand hall stretched wide, its vaulted ceiling carved with scenes of ancient battles and kings long past. Tall windows spilled morning light across the polished marble floor, where banners of deep crimson and gold draped down the walls. A low murmur of attendants filled the chamber, quills scratching, boots shifting, the occasional cough echoing beneath the high arches.
At the far end, upon the dais, the king sat—crown glinting, robes heavy with woven thread of silver and blue. His gaze was sharp, though his posture betrayed the weight of years spent carrying the throne.
A steward stepped forward, bowing low before raising his voice so that it carried beneath the vaulted ceiling.
"Good Sire, a grand feast must we prepare, for the matter thou art privy to."
Translation: "Sire, we have to arrange a banquet for… you know what."
The king's fingers tapped once against the armrest before he replied, voice low but resonant.
"Aye, I am aware 'twas vexing thee."
Translation: "Yes, I know it was bothering you."
Another advisor, robes trimmed with gold, stepped from the line and clasped his hands together, concern etching his brow.
"I am sore distressed to impart that we possess no persons apt for this affair."
Translation: "I'm sorry to say this, but we don't have the people for this matter."
The king leaned forward slightly, the jewels of his crown catching the light.
"Bid thee fetch my son hither, for this affair doth require his presence."
Translation: "Summon my son for this matter."
The command lingered in the air like a bell's toll. Whispers rippled through the court as a messenger hurried from the hall, the echo of his boots fading into the distance.