By day, Princess Zuleika wore the mask of diplomacy. Each morning she sat within the gilded halls of the Feltogora Council, listening to the droning voices of ancient men who spoke of treaties and conquests as though they were lines etched in stone. Their words were laced with arrogance, dismissing Nexus as a jewel to be pocketed rather than a kingdom to be respected. Zuleika answered with measured grace, smiling where she must, bowing her head when required. Yet in her heart, every phrase burned like iron pressed against her skin.
On other days, she was made to accompany Crown Prince Matthew. Refined yet firm in bearing, he delighted in showing her the wonders of Revazkerio. Together they walked through the immaculate gardens, where roses were pruned into perfect symmetry, through colonnades where white marble gleamed with gold veins, and across vast training fields where knights drilled with flawless precision.
Matthew's golden eyes gleamed with pride as he swept a hand toward the soldiers. "You see, Princess, this is what sets Feltogora apart. Discipline, unity, strength. A single order from the throne, and tens of thousands move as one. No chaos, no hesitation—only obedience."
Zuleika's gaze lingered on the clashing shields, the steady rhythm of steel. "Impressive," she said softly, her tone polite. "And yet, does such obedience leave no room for the will of the man beneath the armor?"
Matthew tilted his head, studying her as though amused by the question. "The will of one man is insignificant. A single soldier's life means little, but together—they become the will of the Empire itself. That is how glory is built. That is how peace endures."
Zuleika's lips curved faintly, though her eyes betrayed nothing. "Peace, yes… though I wonder if silence and peace are not so easily mistaken. One can silence voices without ever earning harmony."
He chuckled, a warm sound tinged with condescension. "You speak prettily, Princess. But in time, you will see. The laughter of common folk, the freedom of small voices—these are fleeting. Strength, law, order—these endure. That is the true gift of Feltogora."
Her heart pricked with the memory of Aya's shy smile, of midnight laughter in the narrow streets. Fleeting, she thought bitterly, yet more alive than all this marble and steel. But aloud she only said, her voice as smooth as glass, "Perhaps time will tell us both which gift endures, Your Highness."
For a moment, his golden eyes lingered on her, sharp as though trying to pierce her mask. Then he smiled, the charming smile of a prince who believed the world already belonged to him.
And so, when the sun fell, Zuleika shed her daytime chains. Wrapped in her crimson cloak, she became "Lei" once more, slipping past the palace walls to join the hidden celebrations of the commoners. The midnight feasts had become her sanctuary. Beneath lanterns cobbled together from old glass and ribbons, she sat shoulder to shoulder with strangers who welcomed her as kin. They sang with voices hoarse but unbroken, and when Aya tugged her hand, pulling her into the dance, Zuleika laughed freely—like a girl unburdened, not a princess bound.
Yet shadows travel swiftly in a palace of iron.
One evening, as silver light poured through the high windows of the Revazkerio palace, a quiet knock came at Princess Aquila's chamber. The younger maid entered, her hands trembling slightly as she bowed. In her palms lay a folded note, its ink still fresh.
Aquila, draped in midnight-blue silks, took it with a glance sharp enough to cut. She read, and for a moment, silence filled the chamber. Her silver eyes narrowed, glinting like tempered steel.
"Princess Zuleika of Nexus," she murmured, the words heavy with disdain, "wandering the filth-ridden streets to dine with rats."
The maid lowered her gaze. "It is said, Your Highness… she sneaks out most nights. Disguised."
Aquila rose from her seat, the hem of her robe whispering against the marble floor. Disgust curled her lips, yet beneath it stirred something darker. "How predictable. The little jewel cannot resist polishing herself in the mud."
She turned toward the window, where the moon hung like a blade above Revaz. Her fingers trailed along the glass as she whispered, almost to herself, "If she finds beauty in squalor, then let her drown in it."
The maid dared a glance upward. "Your Highness…?"
Aquila's smile was faint, cold, and deliberate. "Bring me word each time she slips away. No one must interfere—not yet. Let her dance among her vermin, let her bask in her false freedom. When the moment comes, I shall make her regret every step."
Her silver eyes flashed as she clasped her hands behind her back. "A princess who mingles with commoners… is a scandal waiting to be carved into history. And I will be the one to hold the knife."
The maid bowed deeply, her fear clear, before retreating swiftly.
Left alone, Aquila turned back to the moon, her reflection pale in the window. "Play your little game, Princess Zuleika," she murmured, voice edged with venom and intrigue. "But every shadow you walk in… belongs to me."
...…
Aya sat cross-legged beside her on the worn wooden steps, swinging her legs like a child though her words carried the weight of one far older. "You always listen so well, Lei. Most nobles would've turned away by now. But you… you look at us, like we're real."
Zuleika smiled faintly, tilting her head toward the girl. "That's because you are real, Aya. More real than half the courtiers I dine with each morning."
Aya laughed, soft and unpolished, her black eyes glimmering. "Maybe so, but you don't belong here. When you talk, it feels like your words should be written on banners, not whispered to the likes of me."
Zuleika chuckled under her breath. "And yet, I find it easier to breathe here with you, than in any marble hall."
For a moment, Aya simply beamed, resting her chin on her hands. "Then promise me you'll keep coming, Lei. Tomorrow, the night after, and the night after that. We'll save a place for you. Always."
Zuleika reached over and brushed a strand of hair from Aya's face, her smile softer now. "As long as I am able, Aya, I will come."
Aya grinned, satisfied, then leaned against her shoulder as the distant hum of laughter and clattering dishes filled the air. The commoners' feast was humble, but in that moment, to Zuleika, it felt richer than any banquet.
Little did Princess Zuleika know, it would be the last conversation between her and the commoner Aya.
The moon hung pale above Revaz, its light spilling over cobblestones slick with dew. Zuleika slipped through the narrow alleys as she always did, her cloak brushing against the walls, her breath a quiet rhythm of anticipation. The commoners' district should have been alive with their secret feast—music faint, laughter muffled, whispers shared under the cloak of night.
But tonight, silence reigned.
Zuleika slowed, her brows furrowing. The plaza ahead, usually buzzing with stolen joy, was deserted. Not a single lantern flickered, not a single child's laughter broke the quiet. Her heart quickened, unease prickling along her skin.
Then—
A scream. Sharp. Terrified. Familiar.
"Aya."
Zuleika's blood turned to ice. She ran, skirts snapping at her heels, heart hammering in her chest. She tore through the narrow street and into the square—
And froze.
Knights of the Imperial Palace, their silver armor glinting under the moonlight, had turned the little plaza into a slaughterhouse. Commoners lay strewn across the cobblestones, their meager feast overturned, food scattered among blood. Flames from torches painted the carnage in cruel orange.
At the center of it all, Aya was dragged by her hair, struggling in vain as a knight raised his sword above her.
"No!" Zuleika's voice tore from her throat as she bolted forward, her feet moving before thought could catch her. "Stop!"
The sword came down.
Aya's body crumpled, the light in her eyes extinguished in an instant.
Zuleika fell to her knees beside her, hands trembling as she gathered Aya into her arms. Warm blood soaked into her cloak, spreading like fire against her skin. "Aya… Aya, no, stay with me," she whispered, voice breaking, though she knew it was useless. The girl's head lolled lifelessly against her shoulder, her black hair spilling like ink across Zuleika's lap.
Her vision blurred with rage and grief.
And then—footsteps. Deliberate. Cold.
Crown Prince Matthew stepped into the torchlight, his golden eyes gleaming with something cruel.
"Well," he drawled, his voice smooth but edged with mockery. "So the whispers were true. The jewel of Nexus sneaks into the gutters like a stray cat." He stopped just before her, gaze flicking down to the dead girl in her arms. "How unbecoming."
Zuleika looked up at him, her face pale but burning with fury. "You… you ordered this?"
Matthew tilted his head, lips curling into a faint, merciless smile. "Do not mistake me, Princess. Rats multiply when left unchecked. Tonight was but a cleansing. Unfortunate, that your little friend was among them. But then—such is the way of weak lives."
Zuleika's arms tightened around Aya's body. Her breath came sharp, ragged. "She was a child."
"A child?" Matthew scoffed. "A nuisance. A shadow. And you, Princess, have been so very careless. Did you truly think no one would notice your nightly wanderings? That you could dance among beggars and not dirty your feet?"
Behind him, the surviving commoners—huddled at the edges of the square, trembling—began to whisper.
"Lei…" one of them breathed.
"That's her…" another murmured, realization dawning in their wide, terrified eyes. "She's… the Princess of Nexus…"
The murmur spread like wildfire, their voices hushed yet heavy, carrying disbelief, betrayal, awe. "Princess Zuleika…?"
Matthew's gaze sharpened, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes as he watched the commoners recoil from her, the warmth of their trust unraveling into fear.
Zuleika lowered her head, her tears falling silently onto Aya's bloodied cheek. Her heart screamed, her insides burned, but she forced herself not to waver—not in front of him.
Her cloak was ruined, her hands stained, and the girl who had called her "Lei" lay dead in her arms.
And Matthew stood above her, victorious.
Zuleika's chest heaved as she clutched Aya tighter, her tears mixing with the blood staining her cloak. The murmurs of the commoners swelled, whispers slicing into her like knives: Princess… Nexus… Her all along…
Matthew's golden gaze never left her, hard and merciless. "Do you see now, Princess?" His voice was calm, but every word was a lash. "This is what happens when royalty stoops to the mud. You are not their savior. You are their undoing."
Zuleika's lips parted, trembling—whether with grief, fury, or both, even she could not tell.
But then—
A slow clap.
The sound echoed through the blood-soaked square, deliberate, mocking.
From the shadows of the torchlight, another figure emerged. Aquila. Her white silk night robe flowed around her like a phantom, her hair catching the firelight in cold gleams. She walked with unhurried grace, her every step dripping with authority, with venomous satisfaction.
"I told you, brother," Aquila's voice was silk woven with thorns. "Didn't I say our little guest had a fondness for straying where she doesn't belong?" She stopped a few paces away, her silver eyes fixed on Zuleika.
Her lips curled into a smirk—sharp, cruel, deliberate. It cut into Zuleika more deeply than the knights' blades had cut into Aya.