Princess Zuleika paused before the heavy double doors, their polished surface carved with the sigil of Feltogora. She raised her hand, but before her knuckles could touch the wood, the door swung open from the inside.
There stood Princess Aquila, her silver eyes catching the light for the briefest second. For a moment, the two princesses locked gazes. No words passed between them. Aquila's chin tilted ever so slightly higher, her silken steps carrying her past Zuleika without a greeting, without even acknowledgment—like a cold breeze slipping through an open hall.
Zuleika's lips twitched faintly. By now, she was accustomed to the princess's proud indifference. She did not waste breath on it.
Behind her, Captain Rhys straightened, his armor glinting dully in the morning light streaming through the corridor's tall windows. Zuleika glanced back at him.
"Wait here. I won't be long," she instructed.
He bowed his head in quiet obedience. "As you command, Your Highness."
With that, Zuleika stepped inside, and the door closed behind her with a muted thud.
The workroom of the Crown Prince was a chamber of order and severity. High shelves climbed the walls, each stacked with scrolls, ledgers, and maps meticulously bound in leather. At the center stood a long oak desk, its surface weighed down by a scattering of documents sealed with wax, an inkstand of black glass, and a single silver quill poised as though waiting for judgment to be rendered.
Behind the desk, tall windows stretched to the ceiling, their crimson drapes half-drawn to let in narrow beams of sunlight. The rays cut across the room like blades, illuminating dust motes that drifted lazily in the air. To one side of the chamber stood a great map of the empire, framed in gold and pinned with markers denoting borders, trade routes, and territories—the lifeblood of Feltogora laid bare on parchment.
The atmosphere was stifling, heavy with the faint musk of ink and parchment, yet threaded with the metallic bite of discipline. Every detail of the chamber spoke of duty, authority, and a prince who valued control above all else.
And at the heart of it, waiting, sat Crown Prince Matthew.
The heavy silence between them stretched until Crown Prince Matthew finally gestured toward the chair opposite his.
"Please, sit."
Zuleika crossed the room with measured steps, her gaze steady, her posture regal even in weariness. She lowered herself into the chair, back straight, hands folded neatly on her lap.
A servant appeared silently, setting down a delicate porcelain cup of tea before her. The fragrant steam curled upward, carrying the faint aroma of spiced herbs. Zuleika spared it a glance, then lifted it to her lips with a composure that betrayed nothing of the storm within.
Matthew lowered himself into his seat across from her, his golden eyes sharp beneath the morning light. His fingers tapped once against the desk before he leaned forward.
"I'll make this simple, Princess," he began, his voice firm but not yet hostile. "Tell me everything you recall from the time of your abduction. Every detail matters, no matter how trivial it may seem."
Zuleika set the cup down, her fingers brushing lightly against the porcelain rim. Her gaze met his evenly.
"They came at night," she said, her tone calm, deliberate. "Faces hidden beneath hoods and a mask. Their movements were practiced, coordinated… as though this was far from their first abduction. They wore cloaks—white, stark against the dark. On their backs, I saw a symbol."
She paused, watching his reaction carefully.
Matthew's brows furrowed. "A symbol?"
"Yes," Zuleika continued, voice steady. "A justice scale, crossed through as though defiled. It was sewn large enough on the cloak to be unmistakable. That, I remember."
The Crown Prince's fingers stilled on the desk. His golden eyes sharpened, searching her face. "And their appearance? Their voices? Their manner of speaking?"
Zuleika shook her head once, a strand of hair falling against her cheek. "Their faces were concealed. Their voices… controlled, deep. I could not distinguish them."
Matthew studied her for a long moment, as though trying to see past her words to what she withheld. His jaw flexed.
"You expect me to believe that is all?"
Zuleika's lips curved faintly, though it was not a smile. "That is what I remember, Your Highness."
His hand closed into a fist against the desk. "You shared captivity with them. Days. And yet you bring me only a cloak and a symbol?"
Her gaze sharpened, her voice cool as ice. "Perhaps the Crown Prince of Feltogora should direct his anger toward those who let us be taken in the first place, rather than at the one who survived it."
For a moment, silence hung between them like a taut string. Then, the Crown Prince leaned back, exhaling slowly. His golden eyes softened, if only slightly.
"…Forgive me," Matthew said at last, his tone low, almost reluctant. "I should not have raised my voice. My frustration is not meant for you, Princess Zuleika."
Zuleika inclined her head faintly, her expression calm though her thoughts simmered. "Apology noted."
Matthew's jaw flexed once before he leaned forward again, studying her closely.
"Then tell me this—during your captivity, did they say anything? A word, a hint, even whispers among themselves?"
Zuleika's gaze sharpened as memory pricked her. She hesitated—not because she feared speaking, but because she knew how much to reveal.
"There was one thing," she admitted at last. Her voice lowered, calm but deliberate. "A man—likely their leader—spoke of kingdoms, of order and ruin. And… he said this: The Empire of Feltogora will fall."
Her words dropped heavy into the quiet room.
For a heartbeat, Matthew's face was unreadable. Then—unexpectedly—his lips curved into a short, humorless chuckle. He leaned back in his chair, shaking his head.
"So that is their prophecy?" he said, amusement lacing his tone. "That Feltogora—the strongest empire on this continent—will simply crumble?" His laugh was quiet, but there was steel beneath it. "Let them come, then. We will see who falls."
Zuleika studied him, unmoved by his bravado.
Matthew waved a hand, dismissing the thought as though swatting away a fly. "You may go now, Princess. Rest. I will handle the rest of this matter."
But Zuleika did not rise immediately. Instead, she fixed her gaze on him, her voice calm yet edged.
"Before I leave… I wish to ask. With what has already happened—will my stay here be shortened? Or am I still expected to remain, as though nothing occurred?"
Matthew's expression shifted—darkened—but only for a fleeting second before he masked it with a careless shrug. "No. The agreement remains. Two months. That was the condition for Nexus to access Feltogora's mines. I cannot alter that."
Zuleika's lips pressed into a thin line. She tilted her head ever so slightly, her voice gaining a sharper edge.
"So even after I was kidnapped—here, under your empire's very watch—I am still bound to remain? Until your bargain is satisfied?"
"Yes." The answer came immediately, clipped, without hesitation. He exhaled sharply, frustration flashing across his features. "That is the deal."
For a moment, silence stretched once more. Zuleika's hands tightened against her skirts, nails biting into the fabric, but her face betrayed nothing save a glacial calm. Inside, however, a cold flame burned.
At last, she rose from her chair with regal composure. "Very well, Your Highness. Then I shall take my leave. May the rest of your inquiries bear more fruit than mine."
She dipped her head slightly, formal, precise—a farewell with no warmth. Then she turned on her heel, her steps quiet but resolute.
Matthew said nothing as she walked away. He only sat in his chair, golden eyes locked on her retreating form, a storm of unspoken thoughts simmering behind his silence.
...…
The hours stretched long, and Matthew had not left his desk. The glow of candlelight bathed the chamber, parchment scattered across the table like fallen leaves, though his eyes had long stopped reading the ink on them.
A sharp rap on the door broke the silence.
"Enter," he called, his voice taut from exhaustion.
The door opened, and to his surprise, His Imperial Majesty Maximiam strode in—not adorned in a ceremonial cape, but in his royal suit, his presence still as commanding as the empire's great walls. His gaze swept the room once, then fell on the servants. With a subtle wave of his hand, he dismissed them. They bowed deeply, retreating swiftly, the door shutting with a heavy click.
Matthew rose at once, heart jolting, and bowed deeply. "Father. You should have summoned me instead. I would have come at once."
Maximiam's hand cut the air in dismissal. "Sit down, boy. Formalities tire me at this hour." He lowered himself into the couch with the ease of a man who owned every space he entered, plucking a small cookie from the porcelain tray as if the empire's weight were not upon his shoulders.
Matthew hesitated only a moment before taking the opposite couch. The silence that stretched was heavier than steel.
At last, the Crown Prince broke it. "Why are you here, Your Imperial Majesty?"
The Emperor's eyes, cold and sharp, fixed on him. Instead of answering, his voice rumbled with a question of his own. "How fares the investigation into the abduction?"
Matthew clenched his jaw, biting the inside of his cheek before answering. "We've uncovered little. The cowards hid behind cloaks, their insignia masked. But I'm certain of one thing—the target was not the Nexus princess. It was us. Someone seeks to strike at the Imperial Family. An enemy of Feltogora, though which one remains uncertain." He leaned forward, eyes alight with restrained fury. "Rest assured, Father, I will uncover them. And when I do, they will be punished without mercy."
Maximiam studied him, saying nothing, his chin propped against a fist, legs crossed in perfect composure. His silence pressed down heavier than chains.
Then, his voice shifted—sharp, precise. "And Princess Zuleika? Tell me, how progresses her… attachment to you?"
The words pierced deeper than the earlier question. Matthew froze. His tongue faltered, because he could not lie to himself: there was no progress. She treated him with the same cool civility as the day they met, her walls unbroken, her sharpness untamed. He could not admit that weakness, not to the man who had raised him.
But before he could conjure a reply, Maximiam's expression darkened, his tone turning blade-like. "You have three weeks left, Matthew. Three. By the end of it, either the Nexus princess is bound to you, or the entire treaty collapses. Tell me—how will you achieve it?"
The Crown Prince's throat tightened. He lowered his gaze, hands clenching atop his knees. "Father… bending Nexus is no simple feat. Their princess is not pliant. She is—unyielding. She cannot be manipulated, not entirely." His voice grew hoarse, laced with an honesty he could not hold back. "Perhaps it is better to release them. To find another bride. A woman more suitable. One who submits willingly to the empire's will, instead of—"
"—Matthew."
His name, spoken with the Emperor's deeper timbre, struck like a lash. The Crown Prince flinched.
Maximiam leaned forward, his voice dropping, heavy with warning. "Do not disgrace yourself with weakness. There is no woman better suited to stand beside the future Emperor of Feltogora than a strong one from a strong bloodline. Nexus wields power beyond wealth—their armies, their influence, their minerals. All of it must bend to Feltogora." His fist struck the armrest once, controlled but thunderous. "There is no 'other option.' Do you understand?"
Matthew's jaw tightened, his voice strained. "And if she refuses me still? If charm and courtly gestures are meaningless to her? What would you have me do, Father?"
For a long moment, Maximiam said nothing. He leaned back, the candlelight etching shadows into his harsh features. The silence dragged—then, slowly, he leaned in, his lips moving.
A whisper.
Matthew's eyes widened, his breath catching as if the words had struck ice into his veins. His lips parted, yet no sound came.
The Emperor straightened, his towering presence casting a long shadow across the chamber. His gaze bore down upon his son, unrelenting. "That is the only way. Do it, and Nexus will have no grounds to defy us. Fail, and you will not only disappoint me—you will shame the legacy of Feltogora's throne."
He turned toward the door, his final words ringing colder than iron. "Do not waste the bloodline of Emperors by failing one simple duty, Matthew. Remember—you are not merely my son. You are the heir. Act like it."
The door closed with a heavy thud.
Matthew sat frozen, brows furrowing, hands trembling faintly against his knees. His expression, half-shadowed by the wavering candlelight, was unreadable. Not rage, not fear—something far more dangerous.