The council meetings stretched into the evening, draining Zuleika's patience as thoroughly as they sapped her strength. Discussion after discussion circled the same themes: trade, alliances, appearances. The Feltogora lords spoke in tones as heavy as the maroon drapes that shadowed the chamber, and though their words were courteous, their intent was not.
At last, the matter was settled. One week from now, during Prince Althurd's birthday, the Empire would announce her presence to the world. It was framed as a celebration of alliance—Nexus joining hands with the great Feltogora Empire. But Zuleika knew better. The grand reveal was not to honor her, but to parade her as proof of conquest. A jewel they claimed to have set into their crown.
When she returned to her chamber, the sun had long vanished beyond the jagged horizon. A faint glow of lamps lit the palace corridors, accompanied by the ever-present tread of armored patrols. Zuleika dismissed Cess early, offering her a smile of exhaustion.
But once alone, her expression changed.
"No… not tonight," she whispered to herself. Her turquoise hair glinted faintly in the lamplight as determination filled her features.
She would not wait until the Empire dressed her up and displayed her to its people. If she was to know the truth of Feltogora, she would learn it herself. Not in the golden halls of nobles, but in the streets where life pulsed raw and unpolished. The Commoner's Street—where truth could not be silenced with banners.
Zuleika shed her gown and slipped into a plain, comfortable attire. Over it, she drew a dark red cloak with a deep hood. Approaching her balcony, she glanced down. The chamber was set on the second floor, the garden stretching far below. Bushes, dense and forgiving, clustered beneath the marble rail.
A reckless idea took hold.
Before she could reason herself out of it, Zuleika swung a leg over the rail and leapt. The air rushed against her, her cloak snapping behind her—then a muffled thud as she landed squarely into the bushes. Leaves scratched her arms, and a faint rustle filled the silence. But no alarm was raised.
She grinned, breathless but triumphant. "Perfect."
Climbing back later would be troublesome, but that was a problem for another time. For now, her heart beat with exhilaration as she padded toward the shadowed garden.
Patrol knights passed in twos, their spears gleaming in the moonlight. Zuleika darted from pillar to pillar, crouching in alcoves, her cloak flowing silently around her ankles. Each careful breath carried her closer until, at last, she reached the gardens.
The lamps had been extinguished, leaving the moon as her only guide. Its silver glow bathed the marble paths in pale light. A cool wind whispered across her skin as she stepped deeper inside.
At the garden's center lay a fountain. She slowed, her breath catching. Someone was there.
A slender figure sat upon the fountain's edge, head bowed, light purple hair spilling down like liquid silver. The moon shifted, illuminating her fully—Princess Aquila. She wore silk pajamas, a robe draped loosely across her shoulders. Her hands hovered delicately in the air, and upon her fingertip rested a white butterfly, wings shimmering faintly.
More butterflies drifted around her, pale as snowflakes against the night. They did not flutter aimlessly but seemed to orbit Aquila, as though her very breath were the rhythm to which they moved. Some brushed against her hair, tangling briefly in the purple waves before alighting again into the dark. Others kissed the folds of her robe, glowing faintly in the moonlight, as if blessing her.
Her silver eyes, usually sharp and glacial, softened in that instant, catching the moonlight until they glimmered like molten frost. She tilted her head slightly, and the curve of her lips parted—not in a smile, but in the fragile wonder of someone touching a secret meant for no one else. The butterfly balanced weightlessly on her fingertip, its wings opening and closing with a soundless rhythm, as though the world itself dared not intrude.
The sight held a fragile, sacred stillness. The chaos of council chambers, the heavy drapes of duty, the suffocating presence of soldiers—none of it seemed to exist here. Only her, the fountain, the pale shimmer of wings, and the kind of beauty that made time itself feel like it had paused to witness.
Zuleika's breath caught in her throat. Her chest tightened, struck not only by the ethereal scene but by the dissonance of it—how could the same Aquila who carried herself with cold disdain now embody such fragile grace? It was otherworldly, haunting, breathtaking. Like stumbling into a dream so luminous that waking from it felt like a crime.
But the spell broke in an instant.
Aquila's gaze flicked up, silver meeting red. The butterflies scattered in a rush, dissolving into the shadows as though they had never been. Her eyes, once luminous, hardened into steel. Rising slowly, she stood with the composure of a queen even in her nightclothes. The silk robe trailed against the marble, her posture elegant, unyielding, and wholly untouchable.
Her gaze swept Zuleika from head to toe, slow and deliberate, like a blade dragged across fine silk. "Well," she said at last, voice quiet but edged, "what a curious sight. The jewel of Nexus, sneaking about in the dark like a thief."
Zuleika's heart lurched, but her chin lifted. "Your Highness, I—"
"Spare me the fumbling," Aquila cut in, her tone slicing with practiced ease. She stepped closer, the moonlight catching in her silver eyes. "What are you doing here?"
Zuleika steadied her breath, choosing each word with care. "I wished only to see more of Feltogora. Beyond the palace walls. Beyond the rehearsed parades shown to guests."
Aquila's lips curved—not into warmth, but something sharp and disdainful. "How bold. Or how foolish. Do you truly believe our city is so welcoming, Princess? That its streets will bow to your curiosity as your courtiers bow to you?"
Zuleika met her glare with calm defiance. "I believe a ruler cannot know her people if she never walks among them. Not from gilded balconies, nor from guarded halls, but in the places where life truly beats."
Aquila gave a soft, derisive laugh. "How poetic. And how typically Nexus—wrapping naivety in silken ideals." She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. "Tell me, do your sermons work as well at home as you hope they do here?"
Zuleika's fingers curled beneath her cloak. The urge to strike back pulsed hot beneath her skin, but she schooled her tone to composure. "They work well enough that my people do not starve in shadows, nor bleed for the pride of those above them."
The jab landed. For the briefest moment, Aquila's expression faltered, irritation flashing like a crack in ice. She stepped closer still, their faces now only a breath apart. "Careful, Princess," she whispered. "Iron does not bend to words. And Feltogora is iron."
Zuleika held her ground, unblinking. "Even iron rusts when left blind to the rain."
Aquila's lips curved, but the expression was more a blade than a smile. "Then it is fortunate, is it not, that Feltogora does not stand in the rain. We build walls high enough to keep storms at bay. While Nexus," her silver eyes glinted, "seems content to let itself drown for the sake of poetry."
Zuleika's breath caught, but she forced her voice steady. "Perhaps. Yet a city shut away behind walls learns nothing of the sky it denies. It grows proud, blind, brittle."
"Brittle?" Aquila's tone sharpened, silk masking steel. Her hair falling like a curtain between them, her voice low and cutting. "Do not mistake restraint for weakness, Princess. We do not shatter. We break others."
Their gazes clashed— heat against frost. Neither yielded. The air between them thickened, charged, as though even the moonlight hesitated to fall between their shadows.
At last, Aquila tilted her head, voice dropping to something almost intimate in its menace. "Rust may claim lesser kingdoms. But Feltogora does not rust. We endure."
Zuleika's lips twitched, the ghost of a smile at the corners. "So you say."
The faintest crack showed in Aquila's composure—was it anger, or the dangerous edge of curiosity? Her jaw clenched, but her chin lifted higher, refusing the concession of silence.
"Say what you wish, Nexus jewel," she hissed softly, robe swirling as she turned on her heel. "But remember this—you are in my Empire. And here, it is iron that dictates, not rain."
Her departure was sharp, every step echoing like a command.
Zuleika exhaled only when the silver gleam of her hair vanished into shadow. Her chest tightened, not from fear, but from the maddening pull of that clash. "Infuriating woman," she muttered under her breath.
She shook the thought away and pressed onward. Past the fountain, past the hedges, until she reached the far end of the garden. There, just as she had discovered before, a small gate opened into a forest path.
The night air was colder here, the trees bending overhead like watchful sentinels. She followed the narrow trail, boots soft against the dirt. At its end, faint lights flickered—the streets of Revaz.
The noble district greeted her first, broad and gleaming, lanterns hung like trophies before mansion gates. But Zuleika did not linger. She slipped through alleys, following the slope of the streets downward. Stone gave way to mud, lanterns to sputtering torches. The noble's perfume faded, replaced by the grit of smoke and the sharp tang of cheap ale.
And at last—there it was. The Commoner's Street.
Zuleika pulled her hood lower and stepped forward, her heart pounding with anticipation.
Tonight, she would glimpse the true sight of Feltogora beneath the gold and maroons.