"I see, so that's what had happened." Stel said, her tone flat as she sipped from the teacup before her.
They were gathered in the gardens of the Nexus Palace. At the round table sat King Stewart, Queen Elisha, and Eloisa. The twins had already retreated to their chambers to study, their chatter replaced by the heavy silence of the adults.
Zuleika, on the other hand… after seeing Aquila again, the memories had come rushing back. Overwhelmed, shaken, she had relapsed into sickness and was now resting in her chamber.
"The girl seems to have been unaware until it was too late," Elisha murmured, her hand drifting over to Stewart's veiny knuckles, a silent plea for calm.
"Even so—she is from Revazkerio," Stewart growled. His jaw clenched so tightly it looked as though his veins would burst from his skin.
Eloisa stayed quiet, eyes lowered to the porcelain cup in her hands.
"We should tell her to leave as soon as possible," Stewart added, his voice hard.
"Stewart…" Elisha said softly, her tone a gentle tether that drew him back. Stewart's expression shifted, contrition flickering in his gaze as he exhaled heavily.
"If it will affect Lei, we should," Stel interjected lazily, setting her cup down.
"Affect what?"
All eyes turned at once. Zuleika stood at the garden entrance, her steps slow but steady as she approached.
"Lei… are you okay now?" Eloisa asked, rushing forward with worry etched on her face.
Zuleika reached up to pat her sister's head, offering a small smile. Eloisa's concern faded only a fraction.
"Well…" King Stewart began awkwardly, choosing each word with painstaking care, afraid of shattering her composure.
"Is she going to stay here?" Zuleika asked, cutting directly to the point.
Silence fell again.
"The rebels in Feltogora have closed every path," Stel spoke first. Her eyes slid lazily toward Zuleika. "Sooner or later, war will unfold. And it will be safer for the Princess to remain here for now."
"Stel," the King warned.
"But—" Stel pressed on, unbothered.
"Lei, your health matters most. The decision is still yours to make."
Every gaze settled on Zuleika.
She exhaled deeply, her chest tightening as thoughts collided within her. If she allowed herself to be triggered every time… how could she live her life at all?
"It's alright," she said at last, her voice steady.
"Lei…" Elisha, Eloisa, and Stewart echoed in unison, worry heavy in their tones.
But Zuleika smiled, bright though it did not reach her eyes. "I'll have to face a Revazkerio someday. It only came sooner than I expected." She gave a soft laugh, an attempt to lighten the mood that clung to them like fog.
"I'm okay. Really. Stop looking at me like that," she teased, and though their worry didn't vanish, they eased, exhaling together.
That night, Queen Elisha quietly entered her daughter's chamber. Zuleika was lingering by the balcony, gazing at the old paintings she had once made, her silhouette framed by moonlight.
"Lei…" Elisha called softly.
Zuleika turned, her smile faint. "Yes, Mother?"
"Are you sure you are alright?" Elisha asked gently, scanning her daughter's face for cracks she might be hiding.
Zuleika let out a short laugh. "I'd be lying if I said yes, a hundred percent."
She moved back toward the bed, lowering herself onto it before sprawling across the covers like a starfish. Elisha followed, seating herself at the edge.
"But… I believe I still have unfinished business with Princess Aquila," Zuleika admitted, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
Her mother blinked, surprised by the sudden mention.
"What do you think of her, Mother?"
Elisha hesitated, caught off guard, then answered honestly. "I think the Princess has changed these past few months."
"Changed? In a cruel way?"
"No." Elisha shook her head. "She seems… softer. When I spoke to her earlier, she struggled to express herself, but I could tell—she's trying."
Zuleika's lips parted faintly, though her eyes remained fixed upward.
"When I was stuck in the Empire, I would see her every now and then," she murmured, voice distant. "We would argue endlessly, over everything and nothing. It was ridiculous… but as time passed, I found myself looking forward to it."
Her expression softened, if only for a heartbeat, before she closed her eyes.
"I do not hate Aquila, Mother," she whispered.
Elisha's heart squeezed as she listened.
"I know she did nothing wrong." Zuleika's voice cracked slightly, but she pressed on.
"But how am I supposed to face her… when the very blood inside her reeks of the person I hate the most in this world?"
She curled onto her side, back turned to her mother, shoulders trembling ever so slightly.
Elisha's eyes softened, sorrow tightening her chest.
These two girls… she thought. They are both stubbornly right.
...
Days had already passed since Aquila first arrived in the Nexus.
Though she insisted she would be fine and had even voiced her intent to leave immediately, the Queen was firm—Aquila was to stay, at least until the unrest in the Empire settled. Her safety, Elisha had said, mattered more than her pride.
Aquila hadn't been able to argue further. She had nowhere else to go anyway.
So she stayed. Resting in the chamber provided to her, staring at the ceiling in silence, her mind constantly circling back to one thing—what she would say if she crossed paths with Zuleika again.
She thought of explanations, apologies, confessions. Words tangled into knots in her chest.
Her lips pressed tightly together. She hated herself for it—for the way her heart had leapt at the sight of Zuleika again, despite the pain and guilt binding them both. She shouldn't be happy. She had no right.
Aquila pushed herself up, her steps carrying her toward the balcony.
Her silver gaze lifted, and for the first time, she truly saw it—the vast stretch of ocean glimmering under the sun, waves moving in a rhythm both endless and calm.
Her lips parted faintly.
She had never seen a sight so serene before.
And in that moment, with the salt-kissed wind brushing against her skin, Aquila felt the weight in her chest ease—just slightly.
The next morning came, bright and clear.
Aquila, restless from another night of circling thoughts, decided to head down into the town of Nexus.
She dressed plainly—casual clothing that did not scream nobility, though her posture and the way she carried herself betrayed her upbringing. Even dressed as a common traveler, there was something too poised, too practiced in the way she walked.
Her eyes wandered from stall to stall as she moved through the bustling district. The air was thick with scents of baked bread, roasted meat, and fresh fruit. Vendors called out, their voices overlapping in a lively chorus. Children ran between legs and laughter spilled down the cobbled street.
It was nothing like the Revaz capital of Feltogora.
There, the streets were cold, proud, and heavy with formality. Here—here, it was alive. Vibrant in a way she had not anticipated.
For a brief moment, Aquila felt disarmed by it, almost forgetting the weight she carried.
From time to time, a passerby would pause, offering a simple, respectful compliment about her beauty. None seemed to recognize her—not with the cloak drawn loosely around her shoulders and the casual clothes she wore.
And yet, each remark made her feel both seen and unseen all at once.
As if, for this fleeting morning, she could exist as someone ordinary.
Then, almost unknowingly, her wandering steps carried her to the plaza.
There, the heart of the town pulsed with life—people dancing, music echoing, laughter spilling across the square. Bright banners hung overhead, and tables were lined with food and drink. Aquila could not name what kind of celebration it was, whether a festival, a feast, or some other occasion, but to her eyes it was something foreign, something wondrous.
Her gaze drifted over the crowd, and she caught sight of something that struck her deeply: nobles and commoners, mingling together without distance, without restraint. They laughed, drank, and danced side by side, no barrier dividing them.
Her chest tightened. This—this was something her mother, the late Empress, had once wished to achieve. To see it here, alive before her eyes, felt both bittersweet and painfully beautiful.
Suddenly, a figure brushed against her shoulder.
Aquila's reflex was immediate—her brows furrowed, her gaze sharpening into the cold glare she had been taught to wear. But when she realized it was only a commoner boy, she quickly softened her expression, pressing it away before it could settle.
The boy bowed in a fluster, muttering apologies before thrusting a small treat into her hand—a steaming, golden crisp potato—then darted back into the crowd before she could utter a single word.
Aquila blinked at the food in her palm, the warmth of it bleeding through the paper it was wrapped in. She studied it with cautious curiosity before lifting it to her lips.
The first bite surprised her.
Crispy on the outside, soft on the inside, and seasoned with salt—it was simple, yet full of flavor she had never tasted before. Her eyes brightened despite herself, lips curving faintly as she continued eating until nothing was left but crumbs on her fingertips.
Her steps carried her to a nearby bench, where she sat down quietly.
The music swelled in the distance, children's laughter rose and fell, dancers spun beneath the sunlight, and voices blended into a melody of life.
Aquila let herself listen.
It was peaceful. It was warm. It was full of colors.
It was already night when Aquila returned to the Coral Palace. The knights stationed at the gate merely bowed and let her in without question.
Her footsteps echoed faintly against the polished floor as she wandered the halls, idly tracing the palace's unfamiliar paths. Then—she stilled.
A faint sound. A stifled breath.
Her brows furrowed. She followed it, moving quietly, her steps instinctively cautious, almost stealthy. The sound led her out through another archway and back into the open air. Aquila frowned at the palace's strange, winding design, as if it carried secrets within its very stones.
And there—by one of the pillars—stood a figure.
Too familiar. Too hauntingly familiar.
The sight rooted her in place, heart twisting painfully. The figure she once swore to despise, the one she had cursed again and again before. And yet… seeing her now, the hatred felt distant, hollow. Something else stirred in its place, something she could not name.
Her sharp eyes softened in alarm. Zuleika stood hunched against the pillar, one hand clutching at her chest, her breaths uneven, shallow.
Without thinking, Aquila stepped forward, hurried but careful. She reached out—her fingers trembling—yet stopped just before making contact, pulling her hand back as hesitation seized her.
Her lips parted. Her voice, uncharacteristically gentle, slipped out.
"Zuleika…?"
Zuleika's lashes fluttered as her blurred vision settled faintly on the figure beside her. Her lips moved, but no sound came.
"What's wrong?" Aquila asked softly.
To Zuleika, her voice was steady, though her chest tightened. She hated this voice once—hated the familiarity of it—but now, strangely, that hatred had vanished, replaced by something she could not yet grasp.
Zuleika tried to steady her breathing, but her body staggered. Aquila's hand twitched, aching to help, but still she resisted—until finally, she whispered, low and uncertain:
"May I… touch you? Just so I can support you?"
It was a small thing. Yet it was everything.
Through her hazy vision, Zuleika's eyes softened. Her lips parted as she gasped for air, and then—slowly—she nodded.
Aquila's heart lurched. With care, she slipped her arm beneath Zuleika's, bearing part of her weight as though she were the most fragile thing in the world.
"Where is your chamber?" Aquila asked, her tone more command than question, though worry laced every word. "If you cannot speak… just point. Or lead. I'll figure it out."
Her gaze flickered over Zuleika's trembling form. She looked nothing like the princess Aquila had once faced in the Empire. That Zuleika had been radiant, untouchable, a jewel set high where no hand could reach.
But this Zuleika—this Zuleika looked breakable. A fragile piece of glass that might shatter if left unsupported.
With effort, Zuleika lifted her free hand and pointed weakly toward a dimly lit hall.
Aquila nodded, tightening her hold ever so slightly, and together, they began to walk.