Days had slipped past quietly, yet for Zuleika they carried the weight of stone. She wandered through the vast Imperial Palace as she always did—trailing along gilded corridors, her footsteps echoing faintly against marbled halls—but she had not once crossed paths with Princess Aquila since the day of the maid.
Her thoughts, however, refused to let go of that moment. The words Prince Zejidiah had spoken clung to her mind like a shadow she could not shake. Because of a commoner… our mother died.
The late Empress. A death six years ago.
It was a truth that burned holes in her curiosity, and yet she could not gather the courage to ask. She was an outsider here, after all. A foreign princess. To dig into the pain of another family, into wounds she did not belong to, felt wrong.
Still, the silence pressed. And every time she passed a servant's whisper or saw the sharp way nobles carried themselves, her heart circled back to that single revelation.
"Princess Zuleika?"
She startled, spinning on her heel. The familiar voice came from behind.
Crown Prince Matthew stood there, his golden eyes warm with amusement, a smile tugging lightly at his lips. "You look as though you've been walking through the Palace chasing ghosts. What are you doing here all alone?"
Zuleika exhaled, steadying herself. "Wandering," she admitted, crimson eyes narrowing with her usual bluntness. "Is that not what guests are for? To wander through endless, boring halls until they collapse from tedium?"
Matthew chuckled, stepping closer. "If that is your definition, then I pity every palace that will ever host you."
She smirked faintly. "You should. I make a dreadful guest."
"On the contrary," he said, tilting his head. "You make an honest one."
For a moment, silence settled between them, almost companionable. Zuleika found herself studying his face—the calm set of his features, the way he carried himself differently than his brothers. He was guarded.
Then his voice broke the quiet. "Tell me, Princess… would you care to leave these suffocating halls for a time?"
Her brows lifted. "Leave?"
Matthew's smile widened just a fraction. "I plan to visit our vacation estate in the west. A few days, nothing more. It's quiet, away from the Court's endless chatter. There's a river nearby, the kind you might enjoy."
At the mention of a river, Zuleika paused. Instantly her thoughts wandered to fish darting beneath clear water, to lines tugging against rods, to afternoons spent by the shore back home in Nexus. For the first time in days, a flicker of interest crossed her face.
Matthew noticed. "And—" his tone gentled, "Aquila will be there as well. If her presence assures you that I won't try anything untoward, then you can rest easy. I only wish for company. Yours."
Her lips parted slightly at his honesty. Zuleika studied him carefully, weighing her answer. He could have hidden behind diplomacy or sweet words, but instead he laid his intent plainly. And strangely, it disarmed her.
"...A river, you say?" she asked slowly, fighting the tug of a smile.
"A wide one," he confirmed. "Though I must warn you, it's colder than Nexus waters."
She folded her arms. "If there are fish, I will endure it."
He laughed softly, the sound bright against the quiet hall. "Then I take that as agreement. We leave at first light tomorrow."
"Wait," Zuleika said suddenly, her eyes sparking. "If there is a river, then I'll need a fishing rod. I'll have to buy one before we go."
Matthew shook his head almost immediately. "No need. We have everything you'll need at the estate."
"Everything?" she repeated skeptically.
"Fishing rods, nets, bait," he listed, suppressing a chuckle. "Though I admit, none of us ever used them. Perhaps they've only been waiting for you."
Zuleika's lips curved, small but genuine, and she let out a faint laugh. "Then perhaps they'll finally have purpose."
For a fleeting moment, standing there in the golden light of the hall, she thought: Perhaps the Crown Prince is not so unbearable after all. Perhaps he, too, is bound by the chains of duty—just as I am.
The morning came pale and silver, the air crisp with a hint of dew. Outside the palace gates, the estate carriages were already being readied. Servants bustled about, tightening leather straps and loading provisions, the horses stamping restlessly against the stones as if eager to depart.
To Zuleika's mild surprise, she learned that the arrangements had been made so that her carriage would not be shared with Princess Aquila after all. Instead, she was seated across from the Crown Prince himself.
As the wheels began to roll and the palace walls slipped away behind them, Zuleika folded her hands neatly on her lap, crimson eyes flicking toward Matthew with polite restraint. He, however, seemed perfectly at ease—shoulders relaxed, golden gaze alight with something almost playful.
"The west," he began, breaking the silence, "is far kinder than these heavy stone walls. The air there is cleaner, the land brighter. You'll find the rivers clear as crystal, and the forests filled with game. I used to spend summers there with my brothers when we were younger."
Zuleika arched a brow. "Summers spent hunting and bickering, I presume?"
A faint chuckle escaped him. "You presume correctly. Though Aquila rarely came with us. She preferred her garden, even as a child. The rest of us…" his gaze drifted briefly out the carriage window, "we were reckless enough to think the wilds belonged to us."
Zuleika tilted her head, studying him. "And now?"
"Now," Matthew said, smiling faintly, "I think the wilds tolerate us only because they are merciful. One learns to respect what they cannot conquer."
His words earned the slightest curve of her lips, though she disguised it with a sip of water from the flask beside her.
"Tell me," he continued, leaning back against the carriage seat, "how does Nexus compare? I imagine your rivers are teeming with fish, your coasts… I've heard they are some of the most formidable in the known world."
Zuleika's eyes lit subtly, the stiffness in her posture easing just a little. "Our seas are our walls," she said quietly, pride lacing her tone. "We do not build defenses of stone. The ocean defends us, and we defend the ocean. Our lives are bound to it."
Matthew nodded, his expression thoughtful. "It suits you. Strong, untamed, relentless."
The words were spoken with sincerity, not flattery, and that sincerity disarmed her far more than she wished to admit. She cleared her throat lightly, averting her gaze to the window where fields stretched wide beneath the pale morning sky.
Still, Matthew carried the conversation easily, weaving through topics with surprising ease—stories of the estate, the riverside festivals they once held, even the wildflowers that grew near the hunting grounds. His voice carried the ease of someone determined to keep silence from falling heavy, though not once did it feel forced.
Zuleika sat back, listening, answering in short but steady replies. And though she would never admit it aloud, she found herself—against her own instincts—entertained.
The journey stretched long, but when the carriages finally rolled to a halt, Zuleika felt the change immediately.
The air was different here. Gone was the weight of the Imperial Palace's cold stone and heavy etiquette. The estate in the west breathed warmth—clean, fragrant with pine and the faint sweetness of wildflowers carried on the wind. Zuleika inhaled deeply, almost startled by the familiarity it stirred within her. It was not Nexus, yet it felt closer to home than anything she had known since stepping into Revazkerio soil.
The estate itself rose modestly against the expanse of green. Unlike the towering grandeur of the palace, this residence held a quieter dignity. Its walls were of pale stone veined with ivy, its peaked roofs of dark wood blending with the surrounding forest. It was not vast nor ostentatious, yet its proportions, symmetry, and carefully tended gardens made it undeniably Imperial. One could tell at a glance that those who dwelled within belonged to the bloodline of emperors.
Stepping inside, Zuleika slowed to take it in. The interior contrasted sharply with the palace's gilded excess. Here, the design was older, rooted in tradition rather than opulence. The hallways were lined with tapestries faded by time but rich in craft—depicting battles long past and forests teeming with creatures now thought to be myths. Heavy beams of dark cedar crossed the ceilings, polished smooth by generations. Lanterns cast a golden glow against stone floors, their glass etched with curling patterns of leaves and rivers. The air smelled faintly of aged wood and herbs, of a place lived in rather than merely displayed.
Cess followed quietly behind, carrying Zuleika's belongings, while the Crown Prince himself led the way. His stride was unhurried, deliberately measured, as though he wished to give her time to see everything.
At last, he stopped before a chamber door and pushed it open for her. "This is yours," he said simply.
The room was airy, with high windows and pale curtains that swayed gently in the breeze. But it was the balcony that caught Zuleika's breath. Stepping forward, she found herself gazing at a view that seemed carved for her alone: the ribbon of a river glistening beneath the sun, winding past a forest that stretched endlessly, alive with birdsong.
For a moment, she stood still, her heart tugged by the sight. It was quiet, unspoiled, almost like the coastlines of Nexus where she had spent her childhood chasing waves.
"You'll find it more peaceful here," the Crown Prince said from behind her, his tone softer than usual. "Each of us has separate chambers. I thought… you might prefer that."
Zuleika turned slightly, studying him. His words were thoughtful, considerate even. But no matter how carefully he arranged things, her heart resisted. The memory of that day in the Commoner District lingered sharp and unyielding. His anger might have been born from loyalty and wounded pride—but to her, the way he unleashed it upon those who could not fight back could never be justified.
So she offered him only a small nod, her expression unreadable, before turning back to the balcony. The wind caught her hair, carrying the scent of the river, and she let her silence speak for her.