The palace of House Zeppelin was a labyrinth of privilege and power.
Within the sprawling Royal Palace of Aerthos, each prince had been granted a residence befitting their station.
Though all belonged to the royal household, each branch of the family occupied its own secluded wing complete with private attendants, gardens and reception halls. Their quarters reflected the personalities and ambitions of those who dwelled within them. Every royal child had their own household, their own guards, and above all, two servants who answered to no one but them—a butler and a maid entrusted with every aspect of their daily lives.
For the Second Prince, Viola Zeppelin, those roles were filled by Afloc and Heather.
Afloc was a tall, lean man with silver-streaked hair and the kind of professional composure that came from decades of service. His movements were precise, his expressions carefully controlled. He opened doors without being asked and anticipated needs before they were voiced.
Heather was younger with bronze skin, her hair pulled back in a fishtail lait. Her gold-brown hazel eyes were sharp, missing nothing. She moved with the quiet efficiency of someone who had long ago learned that the best servants were invisible.
Together, they formed the backbone of Viola's household.
"Right this way, Lord Rivas," Afloc said smoothly, his voice level and devoid of any personal warmth.
They led Rivas Oberoi through the winding corridors of the palace, past guards who bowed as he passed, past servants who averted their gazes.
The evening breeze carried the fragrance of blooming flowers through the palace gardens.
They eventually arrived before an elegant summer pavilion with white silk curtains overlooking a tranquil koi pond. Lanterns reflected upon the water while ivy climbed marble pillars that had stood for centuries.
Inside, Queen Amara and Prince Viola were enjoying evening tea.
Rivas approached and bowed. "Your Highness. Your Majesty."
"Lord Oberoi." Queen Amara smiled warmly.
"It has been some time."
"Indeed.'' Rivas said with a smile.
"Please, join us."
"My thanks."
Heather silently pulled out a chair while Afloc poured another cup of tea before retreating several paces. Rivas accepted the invitation, settling into the seat opposite Viola.
Her white dress contrasted beautifully against the blooming hydrangeas surrounding the pavilion. Soft curls flowed over her shoulders while side-swept bangs concealed her right eye almost entirely. The visible gold-yellow eye regarded him calmly.
Too calmly.
There was refinement in every movement. Elegance in every gesture, no wasted motion, no unnecessary expression.
That was what made her dangerous. People who displayed every emotion were predictable. People who concealed every emotion were terrifying.
'Like Alaric Dukker.'
The thought alone caused irritation to boil inside him.
'That snake.'
His composure flickered as his lips unconsciously tightened. Queen Amara noticed immediately.
"Is something troubling you, Rivas?" she asked, her voice gentle but probing.
Rivas blinked and recovered quickly, his smile smooth and practiced.
"Forgive me, Your Majesty. The stress of today's proceedings appears to have gifted me a migraine."
"A shame." Viola spoke softly.
"I hope the tea helps."
"It already has."
He lifted the porcelain cup and took a measured sip.
Viola watched him over the rim of her own cup. Her gaze was steady, assessing. She had been watching him since he arrived, cataloging his movements, his expressions, his micro-reactions.
'She's sharp,' Rivas thought.
After placing her own cup down, Viola folded her hands neatly upon her lap.
"Now Lord Rivas... to what do we owe the honor of this visit? You did not come all the way to our wing merely to complain of a headache."
Rivas let out a low chuckle, leaning forward slightly.
"Come now, is that any way to speak to your old mentor? We are close associates, Prince. I essentially helped raise you from a child. Can't an uncle drop by to check on his favorite niece during a festive occasion?"
Viola smiled.
"That is true. Happy Hydrangea Festival, Uncle."
He inclined his head.
"And to you."
A brief silence followed. Then—
"Now," Viola continued smoothly, tilting her cup. "That being out of the way... why did you really come?"
Rivas sighed inwardly leaning back against the plush cushions of the pavilion chair.
He had taught her this—the ability to see through pleasantries, to cut to the heart of the matter. It was a skill he had honed in her over years of careful cultivation. She had become a master of it and now those lessons had come back to challange him. He felt equal parts proud and irritated.
He considered her.
Viola was gifted—not just in the way that nobles were taught to be gifted, but in a deeper, more fundamental sense. Academically she surpassed tutors twice her age. Politically she understood court etiquette before reaching adolescence. She had been the youngest in the royal family to awaken her Flow, a prodigy in the making. That record had only been broken by the Twelfth Prince, Raileigh, with his Anomaly Class Trait.
But it wasn't just her Flow that made her valuable. Beyond her intellect, she possessed a chilling charisma and an uncanny, predatory ability to read the micro-expressions and true motives of everyone around her. If groomed properly, she would become the perfect ruler—a monarch who could govern the people with a gentle hand and an unyielding will.
But that wasn't why Rivas had chosen to become her primary patron, funneling money, influence, and secret backing into her bid for the throne.
There were forces in this world far older and stranger than the conventional twenty-two Traits. These were the physiological, spiritual organs known as the Arcane Eyes. They were rare, appearing only in those of exceptional lineage or extraordinary fortune. Those who possessed them wielded abilities that transcended the normal limits of the Trait system.
Viola Zeppelin was one of the very few living mortals born with such a power. Her inheritance was the Arcane Eye of Distortion. True to their name, they granted her the terrifying, absolute ability to distort anything and everything—bending physical matter, spiritual energy like Flow and Anti-Flow, spatial dimensions, and even twisting truths and events themselves.
And Rivas was planning on using her. Specifically, he intended to harness her reality-bending perception to track down and identify ancient House Zeppelin relics, believing it was the sole key to locating the elusive fragment of the Oblivion Cube that his 'god' had commanded him to retrieve.
As his thoughts drifted back to ancient relics and hidden magic, a sudden, dark thought stabbed into his mind.
'Wait... wasn't Alaric's daughter also born with an Arcane Eye?'
The mere association made Rivas's face twitch in frustration once more.
"Lord Rivas?" Viola's voice broke through his thoughts. "You frowned again."
"Are you certain you're well?" Queen Amara asked.
Rivas blinked, snapping back to reality.
'I must be losing my edge,' he thought furiously, swallowing the bitter taste in his mouth.
'To let my composure slip twice... I am more stretched thin than I realized.'
He forced a broad, charming smile, lifting his cup and draining the remaining tea in a single motion.
"Forgive me," he said, setting the cup down. "The stress of the day has affected me more than I realized."
He shifted his posture, turning his attention to the perimeter where Afloc and Heather stood like marble statues. He knew he could trust them—or, at least, he trusted their absolute, fanatical devotion to Viola.
"The matter at hand," Rivas began, lowering his voice, "concerns the succession."
Queen Amara leaned forward, her elegant fingers resting on the table. Afloc and Heather remained entirely motionless, though their focus sharpened instantly.
"The King refused to name an heir today," Rivas stated plainly.
"He stalled. And based on my intelligence, he intends to drag this out through the festival, culminating right after the Continental Congress of Nations ."
"An agonizingly slow timetable," Amara remarked coldly.
"He is trying to buy time for his failing body to heal, or hoping a miracle will solve his succession problem for him."
"Miracles don't run empires," Rivas countered smoothly.
"Which is why we cannot wait for him to act. We must force the hand of the board. We need to position Prince Viola in such a light that the common people—and the lesser nobility—will actively demand that she be named the next monarch."
Viola raised a delicate eyebrow. "And how, precisely, do we manufacture a public mandate of that scale?"
"Simple," Rivas smiled, a sharp, predatory expression.
"By crushing the Revolution."
Silence descended upon the summer hut. Queen Amara and Viola stared at him. Heather who had moved to refill her queens cup stopped pouring tea and even Afloc's expression changed by a fraction.
Before Viola could speak, Rivas raised a single hand, stopping her. "Allow me to finish."
He stood up from his chair, pacing slowly toward the edge of the pavilion as he laid out the architecture of his plot.
"If we manipulate the underground radical cells—the very revolutionists who have been plaguing the city—and push them into launching a reckless, highly visible assault on the capital's infrastructure, they will terrify the populace."
"That is wildly implausible," Queen Amara interrupted sharply, her eyes flashing with skepticism.
"The Royal Knights and the Enforcement divisions are patrolling every square inch of Aethelberg during the festival. Even agents of the Inquisition are lurking behind the scenes. A major insurgent attack would cause any of these bodies to act," Rivas said, cutting her off.
"Exactly. That's where you come in Prince Viola."
Rivas turned around, closing the distance between himself and the seated prince. He stopped right beside Viola's chair, reaching down to gently hook a finger under her chin. He tilted her face upward, forcing her to look up at him.
Viola did not blink. She met his intense, burning gaze with absolute, chilling calm, her visible eye unreadable as stone.
"That is when you step in, Princess. That is when you use your gift—your Eye of Distortion—to rewrite the physical and situational truth of the events. You will distort the narrative so that the military's delayed intervention is re-woven, making it appear as though you personally spearheaded the breakthrough, intercepted the strike, and saved the city from ruin."
He paused.
"The people need not remember who acted to end the crisis. They need only remember...that it was Prince Viola Zeppelin saved them." Rivas whispered softly, a wicked grin touching his lips.
Viola stared up at him for a long, silent moment, feeling the steady pressure of his hand. Without a shred of intimidation, she slowly reached up, took his wrist, and gently lifted his hand away from her chin, releasing herself from his grip.
She turned her head slightly, signaling to Heather with a flick of her fingers. Heather instantly stepped forward, silently pouring a fresh cup of tea.
Viola took a delicate sip, letting the hot liquid settle before she looked back up at him.
"That's a very interesting plan you have devised Lord Rivas. How, pray tell, do you plan to draw out the revolutionists and force them to dance to your tune?"
"Do not worry about that," Rivas said smoothly, stepping back with a confident smirk.
"I have arranged everything."
She studied him carefully.Then she nodded.
"Very well, Lord Rivas," she said softly. "I will trust you with this plan."
Rivas offered a sharp, theatrical bow.
"As always...you honor me."
Minutes later Rivas departed the pavilion. The moment he disappeared beyond the hydrangea path his pleasant smile vanished.
'Naive child.'
She was still a child, despite her gifts. She thought he was acting in her best interests. She didn't realize that his patronage was merely a means to an end. He almost pitied her.
Almost.
The Revolution already danced upon strings he controlled. He would ensure the palace would descend into calculated disorder.
His people would infiltrate the Royal Treasury. And when the dust settled, he would have the fragment of the Oblivion Cube.
'And Viola will be left with nothing but the crown I gave her.'
He chuckled. Everything was proceeding exactly as intended.
Back in the pavilion, Afloc and Heather broke their silent vigil.
"Are we genuinely going to allow Lord Rivas to carry out this reckless scheme?" Afloc asked, his voice tight with skepticism.
"He is blatantly using us as a blunt instrument."
Queen Amara let out a heavy, tired sigh, slumping slightly against her seat. She shook her head.
"Who does Rivas think he's fooling? It is painfully evident that he has a deeply hidden ulterior motive. He is sweating beneath that polite mask of his. Something massive is happening, and he is using us to clear a path for his own treasonous ambitions."
Queen Amara turned her anxious gaze toward her daughter.
"Viola... do you really want to go through with this? If his little game blows up in our faces, you will be the one held politically accountable by the King and the high Lords. It could ruin everything."
Viola remained completely unbothered. She hadn't even touched her fresh cup of tea. Instead, she turned her head upward, gazing out past the white silk curtains of the pavilion toward the evening sky, where the pale silver moon was just beginning to rise over Aethelberg.
"How beautiful the moon is tonight," Viola murmured softly, ignoring the political danger entirely.
Heather and Afloc exchanged another glance.
"Your Highness," Heather said carefully, "should we prepare for—"
"Distortion," Viola said simply. Her smile widened just a fraction, reaching her eyes with a terrifying, ethereal confidence.
"If anything goes wrong, I can simply distort the future until it bends in our favor."
She pushed herself up from her chair, brushing a nonexistent speck of dust from her dress.
"Besides, I am entirely exhausted by all this tedious political talk. My mind feels heavy."
"Shall I draw a bath for you, Your Prince Viola?" Heather asked.
Viola's eyes lit up with genuine excitement.
"Oh, yes! Mother, you remember those rare, exotic bath spices and aromatic salts brought in by the Rustmark Trading Company last week? I had Afloc get me some from the shipment. I hear they do wonders for skin radiance."
Heather turned toward the exit. "I shall go prepare the bathing chambers immediately."
Afloc bowed sharply. "And I shall inspect your bedchambers and ensure your linens are turned down, Your Highness."
"Splendid," Viola beamed.
Queen Amara laughed softly.
"Is that what concerns you after discussing a revolution?"
"It concerns me very much."
The Prince and the Queen linked arms as the two of them strolled out of the summer pavilion together, giggling lightly over the prospect of scented oils and relaxation—acting precisely as two carefree royal ladies, entirely unbothered. Behind them the moonlight shimmered peacefully across the pond. As though nothing was wrong.