A day had passed. The air between Aquila and Zuleika had grown faintly awkward, like a thread stretched too tight, but Zuleika tried her best to ignore it—forcing little smiles, light words, anything to soften what weighed between them.
"Your brother will arrive later, right?" she asked, her voice carefully casual. Across from her, Aquila sipped her tea with effortless grace.
"Yes." The reply was short, clipped.
Silence stretched again. The two of them sat side by side, sipping tea as if it were their only anchor, though Zuleika's heart ached beneath the calm.
"What's with your knights training so much stricter than usual?" Aquila finally asked, her gaze drifting down to the yard below.
"Oh…" Zuleika hesitated. Should I tell her? No… it won't matter anyway.
"It's because Nexus has been too peaceful. They've grown a little soft," she chuckled lightly, following Aquila's gaze to the yard.
"I don't see Captain Rhys anywhere," Aquila murmured, eyes sweeping the crowd of knights.
"Ah… well, he's guarding the shore right now."
"Guarding? Why? Isn't Nexus already peaceful?"
"Yeah, but still—being cautious isn't such a bad thing." Zuleika leaned back, letting her eyes linger on Aquila's profile.
Ah… she's so beautiful. Did I ever notice she was this beautiful before?
Her fingers clasped tighter in her lap, as if to anchor herself.
Will it be alright… to let her go? I shouldn't be selfish… right?
Her throat ached, like something heavy lodged there. She has her duties to Feltogora. And we're both women… both princesses… how could this ever be?
Zuleika's eyes traced every line of Aquila's face, committing her to memory even as fear coiled inside her.
If I tell her… what then? What would happen? I'm scared...scared that if I speak, I'll lose her touch forever. Afraid that I'll never see this face again.
If this is the last time… then I'll just savor it in silence.
"Oh… that's my brother's carriage," Aquila murmured, breaking the stillness. Her gaze flicked to Zuleika.
At once, Zuleika straightened, masking the lingering emotions with a practiced ease. She looked down to the yard, where the carriage had come to a stop. Zejidiah stepped out, expressionless as always.
"Right… then I'll give you time to prepare," Zuleika said, rising to her feet.
"On your way out, if you see my brother, tell him to come here," Aquila added, her tone innocent—unaware of how carefully Zuleika's composure was stitched together.
"Aye-aye," Zuleika replied playfully, saluting with a crooked grin. Aquila furrowed her brows at the silliness, though a quiet chuckle escaped her.
But once Zuleika slipped past the door, the mask shattered. Her heart constricted painfully in her chest. She pressed her lips together, exhaling sharply to steady herself before walking down the empty hall, each step heavier than the last.
....
Zejidiah entered the chamber quietly, finding Aquila bent over a small bag, folding garments with deliberate precision. She glanced at him briefly before returning to her task.
"How's the Empire?" she asked, her tone casual, though her hands stilled slightly on the fabric.
"It's…" Zeji paused, expression unreadable. "The rebel issue is still unresolved."
Aquila's brow furrowed. "What? What's Matthew doing?"
"He's… struggling," Zeji answered flatly.
"What about Brother Althurd?"
"He disappeared after you escaped the palace. Some say he was sighted in the northern territories."
Zeji moved lazily to the couch, sinking into it as though it had taken all his energy just to come here. His eyes, distant and lifeless, lingered on his sister.
Aquila's shoulders tensed. For the first time in decades, a crisis in Feltogora lingered unsolved. She sat on the edge of her bed, exhaling slowly, brows knitted tighter.
Zejidiah watched her in silence for a long moment before speaking, voice soft but lacking warmth.
"Well… it isn't only us facing crisis. Nexus has its own problem too."
Her head snapped toward him, silver eyes narrowing.
"What are you talking about? This Kingdom is always peaceful." Irritation sharpened her voice.
"You didn't know?" Zeji asked, lips parting just slightly.
"Tell me."
"The Tartagalia Empire has declared war on this Kingdom."
The words struck like ice. Aquila froze, silver eyes widening as she realized she'd stopped breathing. "When?"
"I don't know exactly. But for Nexus…" his tone dropped heavier, "it's looking very bad."
"What?" Aquila muttered, her voice cracking into disbelief. "Then shouldn't Feltogora lend a hand? If Nexus falls, we'll be next."
Zeji's gaze slid to her, detached, unblinking. "Aki… Nexus already cut ties with the Empire. Remember?"
The breath left her chest in a sharp rush. War? Here? And Zuleika… she hadn't said a word.
Suddenly, everything fell into place: the knights training with newfound severity, the sharpened edge of unease woven through the palace halls, the way Zuleika's eyes sometimes carried weight unspoken.
Aquila bit down hard on her lower lip.
And she didn't even tell me? How dare she? Does she think I am—
She shot to her feet, fury and betrayal burning hot beneath her skin.
"Where are you going? We need to leave right away…" Zeji asked lazily, though he sounded anything but urgent.
Aquila ignored him, storming toward the door. She slammed it shut behind her, the echo ringing like a challenge in the chamber's stillness.
Zejidiah's empty silver and gold eyes followed the door for a moment. Then he sighed, tilting his gaze upward toward the coral-painted ceiling.
"She's in love with the Princess, isn't she?" he murmured. His tone carried no judgment, only weary acknowledgment.
A faint shadow softened his otherwise hollow expression as he whispered, "Mother… she really took after you. That strength, that refusal to back down from anything…"
Aquila stormed through the halls, her silver eyes flashing as her boots struck sharply against the coral-tiled floor. Servants bowed and quickly stepped aside, sensing the storm brewing in her aura. She searched every corridor, every alcove, her teeth gritted so tightly it ached.
Then she spotted Eloisa at the far end of the hall. The younger princess brightened immediately, offering a warm smile. But the moment she saw Aquila's expression, that smile faltered into concern.
"Princess Aquila," Eloisa asked softly, tilting her head, "what's wrong?"
"Where is… your sister?" Aquila's tone was calm, measured—but her chest burned, her anger clawing to be unleashed.
"Oh…" Eloisa blinked innocently. "She's at the garden. Said she needed air for a bit."
Aquila took a step forward, ready to leave, but she stopped just to confirm something.
"Is it true… that Tartagalia declared war in your Kingdom?"
Her silver eyes shifted back to the younger princess, who stood with such steady poise.
Eloisa's lips parted for only a heartbeat before she smiled—soft, resolute. "Yes. That's true, Princess."
Aquila's brow twitched, her jaw tightening. The truth, spoken so easily.
"But it's alright," Eloisa added with a light chuckle, a spark of fierce pride in her crimson gaze. "Nexus never bends for anyone."
The words struck Aquila like a blade wrapped in silk—so bold, so sure, while her own heart churned with confusion.
"I see…" Aquila finally whispered, forcing her voice into softness. She inclined her head, and Eloisa mirrored the bow with grace.
Without another word, Aquila turned and continued, her pace quickening, her chest heavy. The garden lay ahead, and so did Zuleika.
When Aquila entered the garden, her breath came heavier than she realized. The fragrance of roses and lilies filled the air, yet none of it calmed the storm within her. Her silver eyes searched, restless, until they found Zuleika—standing at the center of the garden, gazing quietly at a single flower as though the world beyond it did not exist.
Aquila's steps were firm, each one fueled by the questions clawing inside her.
Zuleika turned at the sound, crimson eyes softening with recognition. Her lips curved, her voice carrying a note of innocence.
"Aquila? Aren't you supposed to get ready for your departure?"
Aquila stopped a few paces away. Her jaw clenched, fists tight at her sides. Zuleika, noticing the rigidity in her posture, tilted her head with worry.
"What's wrong?" she asked gently.
The concern in her voice only fanned the frustration burning inside Aquila.
"Why?"
Zuleika blinked, confusion clouding her expression. She waited, lips parting slightly, as though urging Aquila to speak again.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Aquila's voice cracked, sharp as glass.
Zuleika frowned. "Aquila? What are you talking about?"
"That Tartagalia declared war on your kingdom."
The words fell like stones. Zuleika froze, her body stiffening. Her lips parted but no sound came, the silence louder than any excuse.
And that silence—guilty, evasive—made Aquila's chest ache all the more. Why does it hurt this much? Why does it matter so much?
Finally, Zuleika whispered, forcing a small, guilty smile. "Well… you're leaving, so I thought it didn't matter…"
"It didn't matter?" Aquila repeated, her voice edged with disbelief. The words dripped with scorn.
Her silver gaze pierced Zuleika's. "Or do you think so lightly of me that you believed I wouldn't care for something so 'trivial'?"
Zuleika's breath caught. "No, Aquila, it's not like that, I just—"
"Tell me, Zuleika." Aquila cut her off, her voice low, trembling with restrained emotion.
"Just what are we?"
The air stilled. Zuleika froze, her chest tightening so sharply it hurt to breathe. Her crimson eyes faltered, wavering as though caught between truth and fear.
Her heart screamed with answers she couldn't voice.
"I thought we at least somehow made an improvement to our… 'relationship' since we got so close to each other," Aquila continued, her voice taut with restraint.
Zuleika stood there, stunned—confused—caught between wanting to reach out and holding herself back.
Aquila knew it. She knew it all too well—that she wasn't making any sense, that she was clinging to excuses, using Zuleika's silence about the war as something to lash out at. But beneath it all was the truth she couldn't hold anymore: the weight of emotions too much for her chest to bear.
"Aquila…" Zuleika's voice softened, trembling.
"I thought… at least when I held you that night, you trusted me. That what I felt—what burned in me—you felt it too." Aquila's voice cracked despite her best effort, the sharp edge of composure slipping away.
"Was it all nothing to you?" she asked, breath heavy, hands trembling at her sides.
Zuleika's lips parted, her heart leaping forward—"I…"—but then her father's words echoed in her ears.
Distractions. You cannot afford them, not now.
Feltogora was in peril. Nexus bore its own shadows. And Aquila—Aquila had her marriage waiting once she returned home, a chain already forged for her no matter how far she tried to run.
Zuleika's throat tightened as if the weight of kingdoms and empires pressed down on it. She swallowed hard, forcing back the words that clawed at her chest, desperate to be freed. Could she really be what Aquila needed? Could she take her hand and promise to carry her storms, when her own sky was darkening with thunder? Could she ask Aquila to wait—days, months, years—when she herself did not know how long the war would stretch, or if she would even survive it?
She wanted to. Gods, she wanted to. To fight for her, to silence every doubt with the truth that lived in her heart.
To say yes, it meant everything. Yes, I trust you. Yes, I want you.
To throw away her crown, her father's warnings, her duty, and let herself fall into those silver eyes that had already undone her so many times.
Her fingers twitched as if to reach for her, as if one touch could anchor her resolve. But her hand stilled, and the fire inside her sheathed itself, suffocated beneath fear and responsibility.
So she let it burn quietly, painfully, until only ashes remained in her chest.
"I'm sorry," was all she managed, the words frail, betraying none of the war raging inside her. Her gaze slipped away, crimson eyes dimming with resignation, as if even looking at Aquila was too dangerous—too much of a temptation to betray her restraint.
Aquila's breath hitched, her chest tightening as though the apology itself had cut her. Her heart clenched hard, her pulse a storm that had no direction—anger, sadness, disappointment—and above all, the raw, unbearable weight of hurt.