The afternoon sun had turned the skies over the Vasiliou Palace into a masterpiece of its own. Gentle gold shimmered along the horizon, blending into the soft, endless blue of the ocean. From the wide balcony of her chamber, Princess Zuleika captured it all with quiet concentration.
She sat before an easel, brush in hand, the light breeze teasing stray strands of teal hair from her tied-back ribbon. The canvas already bore the beginnings of a world—broad strokes of azure forming the sea, lighter shades dancing at the edges to mimic the sunlight glimmering across the waves. With each movement of her hand, she breathed life into the picture, her strokes deliberate yet tender.
Dip. Glide. Soften.
Her brush swirled in subtle arcs, layering clouds in muted whites tinged with faint lavender. The bristles whispered against the canvas, spreading color with the same patience she showed in her daily duties. Yet painting was different; here, she was not a princess, not the heir of Nexus. Here she was simply Zuleika—an artist rendering the world as she saw it.
The salty scent of the ocean drifted into her chamber, mingling with the faint aroma of drying paint. The balcony doors stood open, curtains fluttering with the sea breeze. For a time, there was only the sound of the waves crashing in the distance, the calls of seabirds circling high above, and the faint rhythm of brush against canvas.
Then came the sound of footsteps. Firm, steady, unmistakable.
Zuleika didn't look up. She knew them too well.
A shadow fell across her easel as her father, His Majesty King Stewart, approached. Without a word, he drew out the chair beside her and sat down, folding his arms across his chest as his eyes fell on her work.
For a moment, there was silence. Then the King spoke, voice calm, tinged with warmth.
"You've captured the horizon well," he said. "Almost better than the horizon itself."
Zuleika smiled faintly, though her gaze remained on her canvas. "Flattery won't make me paint faster."
"Who said I want you to paint faster?" he replied with a soft chuckle. "If anything, I want you to slow down. These afternoons are rare for you."
She hummed, dabbing the tip of her brush into a shade of cerulean, then drew it carefully along the canvas to deepen the ocean's edge. "Painting makes me feel… still. Everything else keeps moving, Father. But here—" she gestured lightly toward the canvas "—I can decide when the waves will rise and when they'll fall."
The King leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze turning out toward the ocean she painted. "That is the Vasiliou way, is it not? To command the waves, whether by oar or crown."
Zuleika tilted her head at his words, though she still didn't look at him. "Command, or guide?"
"Both," he answered softly.
Silence stretched again, companionable. The ocean's breeze carried their thoughts farther than words could reach. Then, as though pulling himself from the peace of the moment, King Stewart straightened in his chair. His voice, while still gentle, carried a gravity that made Zuleika's hand pause mid-stroke.
"Do you know, child, how far our family's history stretches?"
She dipped her brush again, pressing color into the fading clouds. "Longer than the empire's, if the old records are true. But you'll tell me the tale anyway."
The King's lips curved faintly, though the weight in his eyes deepened. "Our bloodline has stood against storms, both of the sea and of men. For generations, Vasiliou kings and queens have steered Nexus through tides that would have drowned lesser kingdoms. We endured not through sheer might, but because we carried our people as we would carry family."
Zuleika listened, though her gaze remained fixed on the canvas. The brush moved, steady, almost defiant of the heaviness in his words.
"Each generation has its trial," the King continued. "Mine was to keep Nexus from being swallowed by Feltogora's shadow during their great expansions. And yours—" his eyes narrowed slightly as he turned toward her, "—may be even more difficult."
Zuleika's hand slowed, the paintbrush hovering inches above the canvas. "I was wondering when you would bring it up."
Her father's silence was answer enough.
Lowering the brush, she finally looked at him. His face was calm, but his crimson eyes betrayed a storm beneath.
"The Imperial Palace," he said at last, "has sent invitation. Two months in Feltogora. In return, the Empire offers us access to their mineral mines."
For the first time that afternoon, Zuleika's hand faltered completely. She set the brush down, the tip leaving a faint smear of blue at the edge of the canvas. Her gaze fell, heavy and unreadable, as though the words had sunk into her chest like anchors.
King Stewart's voice softened. "If you do not wish it, you need only say so. I will find another path—another reason to decline their proposal. You are not bound to this if your heart resists it."
Zuleika lifted her eyes, meeting her father's gaze. His face, usually so unshakable, was touched by worry. The man who commanded armies, who stood unyielding before foreign kings, now looked at her not as a ruler, but as a father afraid of what he might ask of his child.
For a moment, silence hung between them. Then Zuleika smiled faintly, though it was tinged with sadness.
"You're worried too much," she whispered.
King Stewart's brow furrowed. "Zuleika—"
She laughed softly, interrupting him, though it wasn't careless laughter—it was the kind that carries understanding, even acceptance. "I know what it means, Father. If we refuse too bluntly, the Empire will not forget. And if we accept without caution, we walk into their jaws willingly. This isn't a choice made for me alone. It's a choice that could ripple through the lives of thousands."
Her voice wavered only slightly, but her eyes were steady. "If I have to walk into their trap to keep innocent blood from being spilled, then I will."
The King's chest tightened at her words. He had prepared speeches, reassurances, even arguments to protect her from such a decision—but none of it mattered now. She had already stepped into the burden before he could shield her.
Zuleika reached out, touching his hand gently. "I will go."
His eyes softened, and for once, his composure cracked. He turned his hand over, clasping hers tightly, as though anchoring himself to her resolve. "If you go," he said, his voice low, "then I swear to you—I will do everything in my power to reject their proposal without sacrificing a single soul. Not one life will be lost for this game of empires."
Her smile deepened, soft and warm. "I believe you."
For a moment, their silence was not heavy but comforting. The bond of father and daughter filled the space more surely than any words could.
Then Zuleika leaned back slightly, her lips curling into a mischievous grin. "In that case, while I'm away, you'd better make good use of that mineral mine. Strengthen Nexus so that when I return, I'll find a kingdom too strong for the Empire to swallow whole."
King Stewart blinked at her, momentarily taken aback. Then he let out a surprised laugh, the sound easing the tension from his chest. "Even in the face of danger, you still find room to lecture me?"
"Of course," she replied with mock seriousness. "Someone has to keep Your Majesty in line."
He chuckled again, shaking his head. "Very well, daughter. I'll make use of their generosity, if only to sharpen our strength. You have my word."
Their laughter lingered, carrying over the balcony with the sea breeze, mingling with the cries of seabirds above.
The waves glimmered under the fading light, casting the balcony in a golden glow. Zuleika leaned back in her chair, a thoughtful smile playing on her lips as her paintbrush tapped idly against the rim of the palette.
"Father," she said suddenly, tone bright as if announcing something momentous, "when all of this nonsense with the Empire finally settles… I've decided I want to become a fisherwoman."
The King turned to her sharply, brows rising. "…A what?"
"A fisherwoman," she repeated, utterly straight-faced. "I'll rise before dawn, cast my nets into the sea, and spend the day with the fish. No more banquets. No more negotiations. Just me, the boat, and the waves."
King Stewart blinked at her as if she had spoken another language entirely. "My daughter… the heir of Nexus… wishes to abandon her throne—for fish?"
Zuleika nodded gravely, though the corners of her lips twitched with suppressed laughter. "I've already proven I'm skilled enough. And imagine me in a straw hat, calling out at the market: 'Two silver for this fine red snapper!' I think it suits me."
The King pressed a hand to his chest as though in pain. "Elisha will faint if she hears this. Truly, she will faint. I'll be forced to explain to the Queen why her daughter prefers mackerel over monarchy."
"And yet," Zuleika went on serenely, "the people will respect me—not for my crown, but for my fish. Bowing not to Princess Zuleika, but to the queen of red snapper."
For a moment he stared, horrified, then broke into booming laughter that echoed over the balcony. "Insufferable child," he muttered between chuckles, rubbing his temple. "Absolutely insufferable."
Zuleika grinned now, dropping the act. "Then it's settled. If all else fails, I'll retire with dignity—as a fisherwoman."
The King leaned back, shaking his head, but amusement softened his eyes. "If that day ever comes, I swear I'll be the first fool to buy your catch."
She beamed at him, but he wasn't finished. "No, when this is over, you should find yourself a man."
"Like the Crown Prince?"
The King froze mid-breath, then gave her the most disgusted look he could muster. "Anyone but him."
Zuleika chuckled. "So I can bring a woman instead, Father?"
His eyes widened. "What—" He groaned, dragging his palm down his face, then pinched the bridge of his nose. "Never mind. Forget I said anything."
"Then I'll just stick to fishing."
"Urgh! Anything, Zuleika. Anyone. Just—anything but a fisherwoman at the end of it all!"
They both dissolved into laughter, the sound blending with the ocean breeze. For a fleeting moment, the weight of kingdoms, empires, and looming war slipped away, leaving only a father and daughter teasing each other in the fading light.
But eventually, their conversation turned once more, this time to warnings. King Stewart spoke at length about the Empire—their politics, their traps, their gilded words that always hid blades beneath. His tone grew strict, the stern father replacing the softened man from earlier.
"Trust no flattery," he said. "Every gesture they extend is a leash waiting to tighten. Even the air in their palace carries weight—breathe too deeply, and they will call it debt."
Zuleika listened quietly, her eyes fixed on him, her heart storing each word.
"You are strong," he added, "but strength alone won't protect you. Remember who you are, but never reveal more than they should know. That is how you survive among wolves."
She nodded, her face calm, though inside her chest, her heart pounded like war drums.
Three days.
That was all the time she had before she departed for the Empire. Three days to carry the peace of home within her, to etch every detail of Nexus into her memory, to strengthen the resolve she would need when she stepped into the Revazkerio palace—into the heart of danger itself.
That night, when the sun dipped and the ocean swallowed the light, Zuleika returned to her canvas. The horizon she had painted earlier now looked different. The waves seemed sharper, the skies more vast. She lifted her brush again, steady hand guiding it across the canvas.
This time, her strokes carried not only beauty, but resolve.