That night, Zuleika refused to sleep.
Her chamber was littered with shavings of wood, curls scattered across the floor like a nest of pale snakes. Her personal maid, Cess, sat across from her, clumsily hacking at her own block of wood until she nearly nicked her finger. With a dramatic groan, she dropped the knife onto the table.
"Your Highness, I surrender. This… hobby is cursed."
Zuleika didn't even glance up, her crimson eyes gleaming with determination under the flickering lamplight. "Then fetch me snacks. I'll master this alone."
Cess obeyed, returning with a tray of sweets and warm milk. From then on, she busied herself nibbling on pastries while Zuleika hunched forward, stubbornly carving stroke after stroke.
By the time the moon had crossed half the sky, her shoulders were sore, her fingers cramped, and her lap buried in ruined chunks of wood. But finally—finally—her persistence bore fruit. She held up a small figure, crude but recognizable.
A fish.
Its fins were uneven, its body lumpy, and there were visible gouges where her hand had slipped, but it was something. Not cabbage. Not pumpkin. A fish.
She smirked, pride swelling in her chest. "Just wait, Aquila. Let's see who laughs now."
Morning light spilled into her chamber. Zuleika dressed herself, not in her usual gowns, but in something far freer. She wore tailored trousers of deep navy, fitted snugly at the waist with a golden sash, and a cream tunic that draped gracefully but still carried the refinement of royalty. Her boots were polished but built for movement, a quiet statement that though she was a princess, she refused to be caged in silk.
In one hand, she carried her precious wooden fish, polished clumsily but intact. Her step was light, humming softly to herself as she crossed the palace halls, delight plain in the way her crimson eyes sparkled.
"Where is Princess Aquila?" she asked one of the passing servants.
The man bowed deeply. "Her Imperial Highness is in the garden, Your Highness."
Zuleika nodded, ready to turn away, when a thought tugged at her. She paused, glancing back. "Tell me… this garden. Who commands it to be kept so pristine?"
The servant lowered his gaze respectfully. "Princess Aquila, Your Highness. But… originally, it belonged to the late Empress."
Zuleika stilled. "…The Empress?"
"Yes. Her Imperial Majesty passed six years ago."
Of course. Zuleika remembered hearing the distant rumor, but she had not cared then. Feltogora's grief had meant little to her younger self. She only knew of the Empress's famed beauty and kindness—qualities that seemed absent in every other member of Revazkerio's bloodline, whose legacy was iron and cruelty.
"How did she die?" Zuleika asked.
The servant shook his head helplessly. "I do not know, Your Highness."
She dismissed him with a nod of thanks, but as she walked, unease lingered in her thoughts. What kind of woman was she really, this Empress? And why does her absence feel heavier than her presence ever did?
Her musings ended as she entered the garden.
The sight before her was almost picturesque. Aquila sat at a wrought-iron table, sunlight filtering through vines above her, casting shifting patterns across the page of the book in her hands. A porcelain teacup steamed beside her. Alone, she looked—serene. Untouchable.
Zuleika's lips curled. Time to ruin it.
She strutted forward, fish in hand, her confidence worn as plainly as her trousers. Aquila glanced up, and immediately her brows furrowed.
"Wonderful," she drawled. "I was having a pleasant morning. And then you arrived."
Zuleika gasped in mock offense. "My, my, is this how you greet your guest? No wonder you're always alone."
"I prefer it that way," Aquila shot back coolly, turning a page.
"Well," Zuleika huffed, dropping into the chair across from her, "too bad. Because I came bearing… greatness."
With a dramatic flourish, she set her wooden fish onto the table between them.
Aquila set her book down slowly, her silver eyes narrowing at the object on the table. Her brow twitched once, then again, as though she couldn't quite believe what she was looking at.
"…Of all the shapes you could've carved," she said at last, voice cool as her teacup, "you chose… a fish?" Her gaze lifted to Zuleika, who was practically glowing with pride. "Is fish truly that important to you? Or were you simply incapable of anything else?"
Zuleika gasped, dramatically placing a hand to her chest. "How dare you insult the noble fish? Do you know how vital they are to the Nexus Kingdom?"
Without invitation, she slid into the chair across from her, leaning forward like a storyteller about to launch into a grand tale. A grin tugged at her lips, crimson eyes glittering with mischief.
"In Nexus, fish are everything. They fill our rivers, our lakes, our ocean, even the banquet tables in the palace. They are a source of food, of trade, of strength. Do you know what they say about a Nexus soldier?" She paused, waiting for Aquila's inevitable sigh before continuing with relish. "That we fight with the swiftness of trout, the cunning of eels, and the endurance of salmon that swim upstream."
Aquila pinched the bridge of her nose, taking a slow sip of her tea as if it were the only thing tethering her sanity. "You cannot be serious."
"Oh, I am deadly serious," Zuleika countered, wagging her finger like an old tutor. "Fish are the heart of my kingdom. Do you know the sound of an entire river teeming with silver scales as they leap and dance under the moonlight? It's poetry in motion. And their taste!" She pressed her palms together reverently. "Grilled, smoked, stewed—you haven't lived until you've had a Nexus trout cooked in herbs from our valleys."
Aquila arched a brow, unimpressed but listening despite herself.
"And let's not forget," Zuleika continued, warming to her subject, "they're symbols of resilience. Even in the harshest winters, even when the rivers freeze, fish survive. Just like Nexus."
For a moment, there was silence. Aquila set her teacup down, the faintest frown still etched across her face, though her eyes lingered on the crooked little wooden fish.
"So," she said dryly, "you're telling me that instead of carving something elegant or dignified, you chose this… lump with fins… because you're sentimental about supper?"
Zuleika's grin widened. "No, because I'm sentimental about home."
Zuleika leaned back in her chair, twirling the crooked wooden fish between her fingers as if it were some priceless relic. "You know, Princess Aquila, you're missing out. You sit here with your books and your tea, but you've never felt the thrill of casting a net at dawn, pulling it back heavy with silver scales glittering like treasure. That—" she waved the fish around proudly "—is true wealth."
Aquila's expression didn't soften in the slightest; her silver eyes stayed flat, her lips a thin line of growing irritation.
Zuleika took her silence as encouragement and kept going, her voice gaining a playful rhythm. "In fact, if I had my way, I wouldn't be stuck with politics or court duties. No, no. I'd live by the ocean, own a little boat, wear a straw hat maybe—" she grinned at the thought "—and spend my days as a fisherwoman. Can you imagine it? Me, catching dinner instead of being paraded at banquets."
That slipped out without much thought, and the garden went oddly quiet for a beat.
Aquila blinked once, twice, then tilted her head slightly, as though trying to decide if Zuleika was joking. "A fisherwoman," she repeated at last, voice dripping with disbelief. "Princess of Nexus, heir to a throne, dreaming not of crowns or empires—but of smelling like salt water and fish guts?"
Zuleika gasped theatrically. "Fish guts are a badge of honor!"
Aquila's brow twitched. "It is the badge of peasants."
"Oh, excuse me, your Imperial Grace," Zuleika shot back, sarcasm thick. "Not all of us find joy in sulking at teacups and glaring at flowers for sport."
Aquila's lips curved—though not into a smile. More a sharp, disdainful curl. "And not all of us aspire to spend our futures knee-deep in mud, shouting at slippery creatures with fins."
Zuleika crossed her arms, pouting like a stubborn child. "Better than drowning in etiquette and rules until you forget how to breathe. At least fish don't bow to anyone."
"Of course they don't," Aquila retorted smoothly. "They're brainless."
Zuleika pointed the wooden fish at her like a weapon. "Say that again and I'll make this fish the symbol of Nexus greatness, just to spite you."
Aquila leaned back in her chair, nonchalant, sipping her tea as though Zuleika's presence itself was the real ordeal. "Do as you please, fisherwoman. The world will surely tremble at your… trout dynasty."
The playful grin that Zuleika wore slowly faded when Aquila lowered her cup and, without any trace of jest, asked,
"What do you think of my brother?"
Zuleika blinked, caught off guard. She tilted her head, crimson eyes narrowing. "Your brother? You mean the Crown Prince?" She almost spat the title, her lips twitching with disdain.
"Yes," Aquila replied evenly, silver gaze unflinching. "You've been here long enough. Surely you've formed… an opinion."
Zuleika exhaled through her nose, setting down her poor wooden fish on the table. "Opinion? That's an awfully polite word for it."
Aquila arched a brow. "Then what word would you use?"
"Loathing," Zuleika said without hesitation. She leaned forward, elbows on the table, her tone sharp but simmering with conviction. "I hate this place. The air, the walls, the false niceties—and above all, the people who think I should be grateful to be here. So no, Princess Aquila, I don't 'think' of your brother. There is no room for fondness in me when it comes to anyone in Revazkerio."
The words hung in the air, bitter and honest. Aquila studied her carefully, fingers tapping lightly against her teacup.
"You despise us so thoroughly," Aquila murmured, almost to herself. "And yet, you sit here, talking of fish and freedom, as if you could simply walk away."
Zuleika's jaw tightened. "Because I should be able to walk away. Nexus is my home, not this empire of walls and chains. Do you think I came here by choice? To play your brother's little game of courtship?"
"Games," Aquila echoed, her lips curving faintly, though her tone was unreadable. "You think that's what this is?"
Zuleika met her gaze firmly. "It doesn't matter what you call it. I will never—never—love your Crown Prince or anyone in Revazkerio. Not now, not ever. My heart is not some pawn to be pushed into your empire's hands."
Aquila held her eyes for a long moment, and though her expression stayed composed, there was a flicker of something deeper in her gaze. She leaned back slowly, almost as if satisfied to have pulled the truth out of Zuleika's mouth.
"I see," Aquila said at last, quiet but sharp. "So your hatred runs that deep."
Zuleika huffed, reclaiming her wooden fish and clutching it like a shield. "Call it whatever you want. But if your brother is expecting me to swoon at his feet, he'll die waiting."
Zuleika puffed her cheeks out, breaking the heavy air with an exaggerated sigh. "You know, Princess Aquila, this arrangement feels rather unfair. You taught me about wood carving, but what do you get in return?"
Aquila tilted her head, unimpressed. "The satisfaction of improving yourself, perhaps? You should be grateful I even bothered to correct your brutish hacking."
"Brutish?" Zuleika clutched her chest as if wounded. "I'll have you know, in Nexus, people would beg me to teach them hunting. And muskets! I'm quite skilled with one. In fact…" She leaned forward, crimson eyes gleaming with mischief. "I could teach you."
Aquila's expression didn't even flinch. "No."
"No?" Zuleika repeated, dramatically gasping. "That's it? No curiosity? No intrigue at the idea of expanding your horizons?"
"None." Aquila calmly sipped her tea. "I have no need for crude toys that spit fire and smoke. My bow suffices."
Zuleika's jaw dropped, then she leaned back, arms crossed, grinning like a fox. "I see… You're afraid."
Aquila froze mid-sip, her silver eyes narrowing. "Afraid?"
"Yes, yes," Zuleika continued, tapping her chin as if in thought. "Afraid that if you touch a musket, you'll find out you're terrible at it. Afraid that for once, I might outshine you."
Aquila set her cup down with a sharp clink. "You're insufferably transparent. Do you think such a childish taunt will—"
"So you are afraid!" Zuleika cut in, smirking triumphantly. "I knew it."
Aquila's lips pressed into a thin line. Her pride twitched. She hated how easily the other princess could twist her words.
"…Fine," Aquila finally bit out, her voice low but steady. "Tomorrow morning. The hunting grounds."
Zuleika's grin widened like a victorious cat. "Splendid! Don't worry, I'll be gentle with you."
"Gentle?" Aquila scoffed, rising gracefully from her seat. "By the time we're done, you'll regret ever thinking you could teach me anything."
Zuleika hugged her little wooden fish to her chest, leaning back in her chair smugly. "We'll see, Princess Aquila. Tomorrow, you'll be eating your words."