The Crown Prince's invitations seemed to flock in more and more with each passing day. Letters sealed with the Imperial crest stacked neatly on the table, each one carrying the same suffocating insistence.
Zuleika let out an exasperated sigh.
"Will he never stop?"
Cess, standing behind her and brushing her hair with gentle strokes, chuckled softly.
"Well, because in two weeks we are going back to Nexus, Your Highness. Perhaps he is desperate before your departure."
"Right… finally. I miss my home." Zuleika raised her hands with exaggerated flair, a little dramatic gesture that earned another small laugh from her maid.
Though her remaining days in Feltogora seemed peaceful on the surface, nothing could change her feelings. Day after day, no matter the Crown Prince's efforts—his invitations to tea, his offers to walk through the Capital—her answer was carved into stone. She would never accept his proposal.
"All done, Your Highness," Cess said at last, smiling as she laid the brush aside.
"Thank you, Cess. You may rest now."
The maid bowed and slipped out, leaving Zuleika alone with the moonlight that spilled from the balcony. She gazed at her reflection in the tall mirror—composed, elegant, but with a certain weariness in her eyes. Then, parting her lips, she spoke softly into the silence:
"Come out."
For a moment, nothing stirred. Then—thud. The faint sound of boots touching down on marble. The balcony doors pushed open and a cold breeze rushed in, fluttering the curtains.
A tall figure cloaked in white emerged, blindfold obscuring his eyes. He lowered his hood, and though half of his face was shadowed, a sly smile found its way to his lips.
"You have a terrifyingly sharp sense, Princess."
Zuleika didn't rise. She simply turned slightly in her chair, her crimson gaze locking on him.
"Are you the leader of this rebellion group spreading chaos across the Empire?"
The man leaned casually against the window frame, the wind tugging strands of his hair loose. "Yes," he answered without hesitation.
"What do you want from me now?" Her tone was even, cold, but her fingers curled slightly against the armrest.
For a heartbeat, he said nothing. Then—
"You despise this Empire, don't you?"
Zuleika leaned back, crossing her legs with deliberate grace. "I will not partake in your rebellion. Do I despise this Empire? Yes. Perhaps more than you think. I loathe the way they strip the commoners of their dignity, the way they parade nobility as gods. But hatred alone does not bind me to your cause."
Her voice dropped lower, steadier. "I cannot endanger Nexus. My people's lives weigh heavier on me than your thirst for destruction."
The man's smirk deepened, as if amused by her refusal. "My name is Hans."
Zuleika's brow twitched. Her lips parted in mild annoyance. "I did not ask."
Hans ignored her protest, his tone almost playful. "This Empire will fall. The Imperial Family with it. Don't you want to know whose power fuels us from the shadows?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Of course I am curious. But I doubt you'll hand me that secret."
"You're right," Hans said, tilting his head back, the night air brushing against his skin as though he were savoring it.
"My intuition tells me… it's either the Feltogoran council, or someone within their grasp." Her words cut sharp, and though Hans's smile remained, his eyes—hidden beneath the blindfold—flickered with something sharper.
He chuckled softly. "You're more dangerous than I thought."
Then, casually, as though shifting topics, he asked, "The Crown Prince… you will reject him, won't you?"
Zuleika's brows drew together. Why was that always the question everyone seemed so eager to pry into? With a tired sigh, she answered anyway.
"Yes. And after that, I will leave this Empire."
Hans tilted his head. "You've grown close to Princess Aquila."
Zuleika's fingers twitched where they rested. She quickly folded her arms across her chest. "You know too much."
"I do," he said lightly. "So let me offer advice: be careful. You and I—we share the same enemy, the same disgust for this Empire's injustices. Perhaps even the same goal."
Her lips thinned. "No. We do not share the same goal. I do not revel in bloodshed the way you rebels do. But injustice—I will never stand idle before it."
Hans smiled faintly at her words, then tilted backward, balancing on the edge of the window frame like a man toying with fate. "Justice, injustice… the lines blur, Princess. When the Empire crumbles, you'll see."
And without another word, he let his body fall backwards into the night air.
Zuleika frowned, annoyed at his dramatic exit. She rose, walked to the balcony, and with a click of her tongue muttered, "Tsk. He didn't even close it." She pushed the doors shut, her fingers lingering on the glass.
His words echoed in her mind. The Imperial Family will fall.
Her lips pressed together. Against her better judgment, another thought rose unbidden—
What would happen to Princess Aquila if it were true?
Would she be stripped of her title? Cast down like the rest?
She bit her lower lip hard, shaking her head. She shouldn't care. She hated this Empire—hated the Revazkerio bloodline.
And yet… she could not stop herself from wondering.
...
Aquila was wandering the long corridors of the palace when she turned a corner and froze. Two of her ladies-in-waiting—Lady Georgia and Lady Marianne—were huddled near the wall, their sharp laughter ringing as they cornered a maid.
Her first instinct was to walk away. Commoners against nobles? Power against the powerless? It was the same story repeated across every hall of the Empire. Who were they to fight back? It was the natural order.
But then her eyes landed on the maid's face. Familiar. Too familiar.
Aquila clenched her jaw, muttering under her breath, "Seriously…"
Her steps carried her forward, her voice ringing out with quiet authority.
"Lady Georgia. Lady Marianne."
The two women flinched, spinning around—only to break into polished smiles.
"Princess! We've been looking everywhere for you."
Their sudden sweetness grated on Aquila. She held her gaze steady, unblinking.
"The Crown Prince is looking for you both. He's waiting in the Garden."
The ladies' faces lit up, squeals bubbling at the mention of Matthew. They exchanged flustered glances, smoothing their skirts as if to preen, then excused themselves quickly, scurrying down the hall.
When they were gone, Aquila's gaze returned to the maid. Her hair was disheveled, her cheek scraped and bleeding. Narrowing her eyes, Aquila recognized her fully—Cess. Princess Zuleika's personal maid.
"You shouldn't wander around alone without your Princess," Aquila said flatly.
Cess immediately bowed low, so low that Aquila pinched the bridge of her nose in irritation.
"You do not need to bow that far in front of me."
"But, Your Highness," Cess murmured, voice soft but steady, "this is what the head maid instructed me to do."
That reply made Aquila twitch. Right. The Imperial maids… taught to lower their heads, taught never to meet a noble's gaze.
"You're not one of them," Aquila said sharply. "You're from Nexus."
"Even so… if bowing low prevents any trouble from reaching Princess Zuleika, then I will bow."
Her tone was quiet, but resolute. And it ignited something ugly in Aquila's chest. She should have felt satisfied—revered, exalted, treated as she was born to be. That was how it always worked. Nobles trampling commoners. Power towering above weakness. She had seen it countless times, had done nothing, had even taken part.
So why now? Why was it that at this very moment, all she felt was… frustration?
Before she could form an answer, a voice broke through.
"Cess?"
Aquila turned sharply. Zuleika was there, a few paces away, worry etched in her features. She moved quickly toward her maid. The moment her crimson eyes fell on Cess's battered form, her entire body froze—her fist curling at her side.
Cess, ever loyal, quickly straightened, forcing a small smile. "I am all right, Your Highness. Do not worry."
But Zuleika's gaze was drawn next—to Aquila.
And it was not warm. Not angry either. Just… nothing. A void that pressed against Aquila's chest until it tightened painfully. She didn't flinch, didn't show it, but standing beneath that empty gaze felt heavier than any insult.
Cess, sensing the tension, stepped in softly. "Princess Aquila did nothing wrong. In fact, she… she saved me from those ladies." Her voice was timid, as though trying to soothe both royals at once.
"I see," Zuleika said shortly, her eyes flicking away without acknowledgment. She turned back to her maid. "Let's treat your wound."
She pivoted without so much as a bow, her back to Aquila.
Cess, however, hesitated. She cast an apologetic glance at the Imperial Princess, guilt written across her face, before bowing once more and hurrying after her mistress.
Aquila remained standing in the hall, jaw tight. Her nails dug into her palm as she bit the inside of her cheek. Is that what I get? After extending kindness?
"Seriously," she muttered with a bitter scoff, exhaling sharply. She understood it, of course. Zuleika hated her—and with good reason. Aquila had given her reason. She had hurt her before. That hatred was earned.
But the frustration clawed at her regardless, sharp and restless. Why now? Why this sudden change of heart?
Fury pressed at her ribs—not at Zuleika, not even at Cess, but at herself.
Aquila turned on her heel, striding away with her cloak whipping behind her—unaware that another pair of eyes had been watching.
From a shadowed corner, Prince Althurd leaned casually against the wall, his arms crossed, a smirk curving his lips.
"Well, well," he murmured to himself. "That's no good. We cannot have the Princess of Feltogora softening, now can we?"
His smirk deepened, sharp as a knife.