The next few days at the Imperial Palace passed in silence for Princess Zuleika. She declined every invitation from the Crown Prince, whether they were phrased as gentle requests or framed as obligations. She kept to her chamber, determined to spend her remaining weeks in Feltogora as quietly as possible, avoiding entanglements that might tether her longer than necessary.
But solitude could only entertain for so long. By the late afternoon of the fourth day, restlessness won.
Zuleika wandered aimlessly through the marble halls of the palace, her steps unhurried, her mind drifting. Without realizing it, she found herself once again at the secluded garden—the very one she had sneaked through not long ago.
Curiosity piqued, she slipped inside.
The garden was exactly as she remembered, brimming with careful order and unbroken care. Roses, lilies, and tulips bloomed alongside flowers she couldn't name, weaving a tapestry of colors and fragrances. It was clear someone devoted themselves to keeping this place alive.
Her fingertips brushed the petals of a pale violet bloom as she strolled deeper. Then—
A sound.
The faint scrape of blade against wood.
Her gaze followed the noise until, in the far corner, she found the source: Princess Aquila.
The imperial princess sat poised, leather gloves on her hands, a small block of wood in one palm and a carving knife in the other. Thin curls of wood shavings gathered at her feet. The image was so utterly un-royal that Zuleika's lips immediately tugged into a smirk.
"Well, well," Zuleika drawled, stepping closer, her tone sharp with mockery. "The mighty Princess of Feltogora, reduced to whittling wood like a peasant craftsman. Should I be worried you'll start selling your trinkets in the market?"
Aquila's silver eyes lifted, cold and venomous. "Better a craftsman than a bored foreigner wandering halls that don't belong to her."
Zuleika's grin only widened. "I might actually believe you're proud of this… mess. Honestly, I could do better than you a hundred times over."
The knife stilled in Aquila's hand. A muscle in her brow twitched.
"You?" Her voice dripped disbelief. "You'd likely cut your own fingers before shaping a single line."
Zuleika shrugged, rolling the sleeves of her gown past her elbows with deliberate slowness. "Then why don't we find out? Unless Her Imperial Highness is afraid of being shown up."
For a heartbeat, Aquila looked ready to dismiss her entirely, to snap at her to leave with all the venom she could muster. But then—she remembered.
The conversation with her brother days before, his quiet frustration, his plea. Treat her well, Aquila. If she softens, even a little, it might save us. She had loathed the idea, but here, now, Zuleika's arrogance offered an opportunity.
Aquila set the wood down with a sharp tap against her knee, her lips curving into a smile that wasn't warm in the slightest. "Fine. Sit, then. Show me this 'hundred times better.'"
For the first time, Zuleika hesitated. She hadn't actually expected the princess to agree. Still, pride refused to let her back down.
She plopped herself onto the bench across from Aquila, fire in her eyes, determination in her grin. "Don't blink, Aquila. You might miss greatness."
The two princesses faced each other across the small table of wood shavings—two rivals locked in a game neither truly wanted to play, yet neither willing to lose.
The knife gleamed faintly as Aquila set the block of wood on her palm again, her movements composed, precise. She held the blade angled just so, drawing it steadily along the grain. Each motion peeled a thin, curling strip of wood that drifted down into the small pile at her feet. Her silver eyes narrowed in concentration, her lips pressed into a cool line, every cut deliberate.
Zuleika leaned forward, studying her rival's movements with folded arms. From a distance, it looked absurdly simple—push the knife, shave the wood, shape the figure. That's it? she thought smugly. Anyone could do that.
"Done gawking?" Aquila's voice was smooth, mocking. Without lifting her eyes, she flicked another ribbon of wood away. "You'll learn nothing staring like a lost child."
Zuleika's jaw flexed. "I'm memorizing your mistakes. Someone has to perfect them."
Aquila only hummed, as if unconcerned, then made another careful incision. Slowly, the block began to take form, edges tapering into something vaguely resembling wings.
Finally, Zuleika snatched a fresh block from the small stack beside the bench. "Move aside, Feltogora. Watch and learn."
Rolling her shoulders, she mimicked Aquila's posture, knife in one hand, wood in the other. She angled the blade against the surface and pressed forward with a confident swipe.
Crack.
A jagged chunk splintered off the side, leaving the block uneven and ugly.
Zuleika blinked at it. "…Tch."
She tried again, dragging the blade down the edge, slower this time. The knife bit too deep, snagging awkwardly, and she had to wrench it out. Her jaw tightened as she muttered under her breath, "Stupid thing—"
From across the table, Aquila's brow arched, her silver eyes glinting like cold steel. "Oh? I thought you said you'd be a hundred times better. At this rate, you'll make firewood."
Zuleika glared, cheeks flushing faintly with frustration. "Shut up. It looked easier when you did it."
"Of course it did." Aquila leaned back slightly, resting her cheek on her gloved palm, smirk tugging her lips. "Skill always looks effortless to the unskilled."
The knife in Zuleika's hand screeched down the block again, scraping unevenly, sending a misshapen curl of wood flying. She hissed through her teeth. "By the gods, how do you even control this thing?!"
"You don't force the blade," Aquila replied coolly. She adjusted her own grip, demonstrating with deliberate slowness. "You guide it. Let the wood tell you where it wants to bend."
"That's ridiculous. It's wood, not a person."
"Which explains why it refuses to listen to you."
Zuleika's grip tightened. She gave the block another furious stroke, nearly taking off her thumb in the process. She froze, eye twitching. "If I bleed because of this, I swear, I'm haunting you from the grave."
Aquila chuckled under her breath, the sound low and amused. "At least then you'd finally be useful."
Zuleika steadied the knife in her hand again, glaring at the unyielding block of wood. Her failed attempt looked more like a mangled potato than anything close to Aquila's neat carving. She inhaled sharply through her nose and tried another slice.
The blade slipped, shaving too much off the side.
"Crooked," Aquila muttered, not even looking up from her own block. Her fingers worked with steady, elegant control, peeling perfect curls of wood. "Your hand's too stiff."
Zuleika's eye twitched. "I'll show you stiff—"
"Stiff, clumsy, and deaf," Aquila added with a sigh. "Truly a royal trifecta."
Zuleika stabbed the knife into the table—not deep, just enough to make a point. "You really think you're clever, don't you?"
Aquila leaned back slightly, examining her own carving, which was beginning to resemble a bird in flight. "Compared to you? Undeniably."
Grinding her teeth, Zuleika picked up her woodblock again. She tightened her grip, forced her strokes slower this time. The curl that fell away was uneven but not disastrous. She brightened—until the knife caught again and tore off an ugly chunk.
"Too much pressure," Aquila remarked lazily. "If you keep hacking at it like that, you'll end up with a spoon."
"At least a spoon is useful, unlike your smug commentary."
Aquila finally lifted her eyes, a wicked glint in them. "Princess, your temper's showing. All bark, no craft."
Zuleika barked a laugh, sharp and unamused. "Craft? What are you, a carpenter in disguise? No wonder no one wants to marry you—you're too busy romancing dead trees."
For a moment, Aquila's knife paused mid-slice. Then, with the calmness of a blade about to cut, she murmured, "Better to romance wood than to bore men to death with an overinflated ego."
Zuleika's face heated instantly. "Excuse me?!"
"You heard me." Aquila's lips curled. "If you talked less and worked more, perhaps your wood wouldn't look like a butchered turnip."
"It does not look like a turnip!" Zuleika snatched up the block, staring at it. A beat of silence. "…Okay, maybe a little."
That earned a laugh, sharp, amused—from Aquila. She shook her head as she shaved another clean strip, her movements fluid.
"You're hopeless."
"Hopelessly better-looking than you," Zuleika shot back, rolling up her sleeves even higher. She bent over the block, determined now. "Move over, Feltogora. Watch a real princess work."
"You've said that five times already."
"And this time, I mean it!"
Her knife slipped again. She cursed low under her breath. Aquila only chuckled, and the two of them fell back into the rhythm: Zuleika muttering, trying, failing, swearing, while Aquila's dry voice cut in with mocking "corrections." The air between them filled with shavings of wood, the rasp of blades, and insults so sharp they might as well have been weapons themselves.
The sun had dipped low, streaks of amber and violet spilling across the garden walls. Zuleika's lap was littered with ruined blocks of wood, splinters clinging to her skirts like trophies of defeat. Each piece looked worse than the last—misshapen lumps that resembled nothing but firewood.
Meanwhile, across from her, Aquila brushed the last curl of wood from her own block and held it up. The finished carving was a bird, wings outstretched as if it were frozen mid-flight. Graceful, symmetrical, almost alive.
Zuleika's jaw clenched. "Oh, marvelous," she muttered. "Should we build you a shrine now, Princess of Splinters?"
Aquila tilted the carving in the light, admiring her work with infuriating calm. "Perhaps. At least mine looks like something other than… cabbage gone wrong."
"It's not cabbage!" Zuleika snapped, waving her own block. Unfortunately, the lump in her hand did look suspiciously vegetable-like.
"Mm. If you squint hard enough, it could pass for a diseased pumpkin."
"You're undeniably annoying," Zuleika growled, tossing the block aside. For once, silence settled between them, broken only by the rustle of leaves and the distant song of birds preparing to roost.
Her crimson gaze flicked toward Aquila, reluctant curiosity bubbling up. "…How long have you been doing this? To be that good?"
Aquila smirked immediately. "One day."
Zuleika groaned, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Should've known you'd give a stupid answer."
The smugness softened into something steadier as Aquila rested the carving on her knee. "Since I was eleven," she admitted simply.
Zuleika blinked, caught off guard. "Eleven? Gods, no wonder. You've been at this for years." She crossed her arms, grumbling, "Still don't see the point. Horseback riding, hunting—now those are worth my time. Carving wood? What do you even do with it, sell it in a market stall?"
Aquila looked at her then, long and slow, as though studying a very dense creature. "Truly, all muscle, no brain," she murmured.
"Excuse me?!"
"Watch." Aquila plucked the knife from Zuleika's hand before she could protest and grabbed one of the discarded blocks. Her movements slowed deliberately, so Zuleika could follow. "You're forcing it. Wood doesn't bend to brute strength—it listens to control."
She set the blade against the grain, her wrist loose, guiding the knife in a smooth, effortless stroke. A curl fell away neatly. "See? Not a battle. A conversation."
Zuleika scowled, but leaned closer despite herself. "So what, I've just been… yelling at the wood this whole time?"
"More like screaming." Aquila handed the knife back. "Try again. This time, don't fight it."
Zuleika exhaled sharply, gripping the block. She adjusted her hold, set the blade carefully, and—remembering Aquila's words—drew it down with less force. The curl that fell was clean, almost elegant.
Her eyes widened. "I… I did it."
For the first time that day, her frustration melted away. She looked up, her face lighting like fire in the dusk. Her crimson eyes caught the last gold rays of the sun, glowing brighter than any jewel. A smile broke across her lips, dazzling and utterly unguarded.
Aquila froze, just for a second, watching.
Then she ruined it. "Do it a million more times before you celebrate."
Zuleika's smile faltered instantly. "Oh, you are vile."
Aquila stood smoothly, brushing wood dust from her skirts. She picked up her bird carving and started walking away. "You'll thank me when your hands stop producing pumpkins."
"Wait—where do you think you're going?" Zuleika called after her, scrambling to her feet.
"Some of us have better things to do than babysit."
Zuleika scoffed, planting her fists on her hips. "Hah! Just you wait, tomorrow I'll carve something better than your ridiculous little bird."
Aquila didn't even glance back. "Dream big, cabbage princess."
"Not cabbage!" Zuleika shouted, her voice chasing Aquila into the growing shadows.
The only response was the soft sound of footsteps, low and fleeting, before the garden fell quiet again.