The morning weighed heavily on the royal palace.
The sky was veiled in a thin gray haze, as if it already knew that the Crown Prince was about to depart on a mission unlike any other.
A single knock sounded on Roland II's office door… then Murad stepped inside.
He stood before the king's desk in silence, hands clasped behind his back, his features drawn tighter than they should be.
The king lifted his gaze slowly, then spoke in a low voice—quiet, yet cutting through the air:
"You understand the importance of this trip… don't you?"
Murad nodded. There was nothing to add.
But the king continued:
"The city of Belleville is on the brink of chaos. The protests are growing, people have lost trust in the local authorities, and certain parties are using that to inflame things further."
He stepped forward and picked up a sealed paper stamped with black wax.
He handed it to his son.
"Open it only after you arrive. You'll understand then why I chose you, specifically."
Murad couldn't stop himself from asking:
"And… is there any direct danger, Father?"
The king looked at him for a long moment… so long that Murad found himself holding his breath.
Then he said clearly:
"The danger is not in the streets… but in the eyes that will be watching you."
Murad's heart tightened, but he nodded silently, obediently.
Before he left, the king added:
"Make the people trust you. That is your real mission."
Murad stepped out of the office—and the moment the door closed behind him, he found Iris standing in the corridor, unnaturally still.
She looked as if she had been waiting for him on purpose.
She walked toward him, her eyes frozen in quiet worry.
"I heard you're leaving tomorrow," she said.
"Yes."
Without a word of preamble, she grabbed his arm:
"Murad… don't take John with you."
He froze. He hadn't expected her to start like that.
"Iris…"
"Please, listen before you refuse. Belleville is an angry city, and people there trust no one. You'll be going as Crown Prince, and every step will be interpreted. John… is not from this kingdom."
Murad inhaled slowly.
"And he is the prince of Florida. He knows exactly what he's doing. That's why I need him with me."
Iris's breathing quickened slightly.
"Murad… you're putting him in danger."
He gently removed her hand from his arm, speaking with quiet strength:
"Being away from him puts me in danger."
She fell silent.
She looked at him for a long moment—a look only a sister who knows more than he says could give.
Her voice dropped to a whisper:
"I'm not against the two of you. It's just… you're all I have left. And John… he's your friend and the Crown Prince of Florida, and I care for him too, but… don't take on more than you can carry."
Then she stepped back and said:
"Fine. Let him go with you… but under my conditions."
Murad raised a brow.
"And they are?"
She lifted her fingers, counting:
● "He travels as a research trainee, nothing more."
● "He does not sit beside you in public."
● "When you speak as Crown Prince, he listens—only listens."
● "And if I feel for one second that his presence endangers you… I'll send him back myself."
Murad's weak smile wasn't mockery… it was gratitude.
"Accepted."
He headed to the villa where he found John in the small reading room, sitting on the floor with a book he hadn't turned a page of in fifteen minutes.
Murad entered without knocking.
John looked up, and immediately smiled—tiredly, in a way Murad knew too well.
"Murad… did something happen?"
Murad approached him and sat down in front of him, their knees nearly touching.
"We're leaving tomorrow."
John's smile vanished.
As if someone had extinguished a light in his eyes.
"So soon…?"
"The situation can't wait."
John lowered his head, and for the first time… he looked afraid.
"Murad… what if I'm not right for this? I don't know what to say or not say. What if I make a mistake… in front of people? What if I cause trouble for you?"
Murad lifted his hand and cupped John's cheek—slowly, as if afraid he might break him.
"You're not a burden. You're the one part of this world that lets me breathe."
John shut his eyes, as if trying to anchor those words inside himself.
He whispered:
"And if… something happens to you there?"
Murad leaned closer, their foreheads touching.
"Then you'll bring me back… you always do."
John didn't reply.
But a small tear gathered at the corner of his eye, and he wiped it away before it could fall.
By evening, the palace had turned into a hive of movement.
Soldiers, officers, cars, maps, luggage, carts… everyone waiting for the Crown Prince's orders.
Iris stood in the courtyard watching silently.
When Murad stepped out in his formal attire, she approached and kissed his cheek.
"Come back to us, my brother."
"I promise."
John was already in the car waiting for him, dressed in simple dark clothing, a small bag beside him. He looked tense… but steady.
Iris raised an eyebrow, as if to say: At least he followed the rules.
The head of the royal guard—a massive man with harsh features—approached and bowed slightly:
"All is ready, Your Highness."
Murad nodded, then looked up at the palace.
The windows were glowing with light… as if the ghost of his brother, Rayan, stood behind them, watching him.
He breathed deeply.
Then climbed into the carriage.
John sat across from him, his fist trembling slightly.
Murad extended his hand without speaking.
John hesitated for a second… then placed his hand in his.
Belleville was nothing like the capital—like night compared to day.
Tall buildings, yet lifeless.
Wide streets, yet coated in dust.
Faces… exhausted in a way that pierced the chest.
Murad stepped out of the carriage when the convoy halted. He descended first, then John—hesitant, trying to appear calm.
Murad leaned toward him and whispered:
"Stay close to me."
John nodded, swallowing his nerves.
Across the square, a group of local officials appeared, led by a short, heavy man in a luxurious coat that didn't match the place at all.
He bowed hurriedly:
"Your Highness, it is a great honor—"
Murad cut him off coldly:
"Spare me the flattery. Show me the real situation."
The man flushed, visibly wishing to run from the confrontation—but he had no choice.
They led them through the main street toward the municipal building. With every step, Murad saw:
● barefoot children
● houses without windows
● merchants displaying goods on the ground
● police officers shouting at passersby
The scene was shocking—even for John, who thought he'd seen poverty before.
But here… poverty was mixed with fear.
John whispered, barely audible:
"This place… feels abandoned."
Murad replied, in a voice just as low:
"It wasn't abandoned… it was robbed."
They entered the meeting hall.
The air was suffocating, and the smell was a strange mix of old paper and cigarettes.
Murad sat at the head of the table, and John stood a step behind him—just as they had agreed.
The officials began speaking:
"The situation is under control, Your Highness… the protests are temporary…" "The economic decline is due to the weather…" "People are exaggerating the problems…"
Murad raised his hand. Silence fell instantly.
Everyone stopped.
He looked at them one by one… with a sharpness he hadn't used since Rayan's death.
Then he said:
"Where is the city's budget going?"
Silence poured over the room. Faces froze. Eyes fled.
Murad repeated the question… his voice low, but lethal:
"Where… is the budget going?"
One of the officials stuttered:
"We… we need time to review—"
Murad slammed his hand on the table, the heavy sound vibrating through the hall:
"I didn't ask you to review. I asked you to answer."
John's hand trembled slightly. He had never seen Murad this ruthless.
Murad added:
"Starting tonight, all of your financial accounts will be frozen. And starting tomorrow, I will meet with the people… not with you."
Shock rippled through the room.
One of them tried to object:
"But Your Highness the Crown Prince… this will create cha—"
Murad approached him, step by step… Looked straight into his eyes:
"You are the chaos. The people… they are the only truth here."
After they left the building, and after an hour of inspections… sunset began turning the city into a canvas of heavy shadows.
Murad was tense, angry, walking with quick strides.
John struggled to keep up.
Until Murad suddenly stopped at a narrow alley.
He turned to him.
And whispered:
"I wasn't prepared for this sight."
John stepped closer, his voice warm despite the cold air:
"Mourad… you can't fix everything in one day."
Murad shook his head…
"But I'm the heir to the throne… and this is my first mission. The people here look at me as their last hope… And I—"
The words halted. His voice cracked, for the first time in years.
John placed his hand on Murad's chest, directly over his heart.
"You're… not a machine. And not a king yet. You're a man trying… and that's enough."
Murad didn't move. He kept staring at John, as if seeing something new in him.
Suddenly, Murad grabbed John by the collar of his shirt—gently, yet firmly—pulling him close until their breaths intertwined.
John tried to speak… but couldn't.
Murad whispered:
"You keep me from falling."
And he closed the distance.
He kissed him…
A soft kiss… Warm… Under the faint light of sunset… In a worn-out city that had forgotten what love meant.
A kiss that wasn't desire… but confession.
When they slowly pulled apart, Murad kept looking at him:
"Stay close to me tomorrow… no matter what."
John replied, his voice steady:
"I will. Always."
When their long walk through Belleville's streets came to an end, the royal guards led them straight to the secondary palace—a vast, old building with a black iron gate engraved with the emblem of the Kingdom of Florida. Yet it looked somewhat neglected, as if it hadn't witnessed a royal visit in years.
Murad stood before the towering gate, examining its worn-out details.
John whispered: "It was supposed to look… grander."
Murad replied quietly: "That's how you know corruption reaches the walls before it reaches the people."
As they approached the entrance, a tall man wearing a dark coat appeared, standing still at the courtyard's threshold. He stood with an unsettling confidence, as if he had been waiting for them.
He bowed slightly when Murad passed:
"Your Highness, Crown Prince… Welcome to Belleville Palace."
But his tone held no respect… only something heavier: A hidden threat. A warning. Or perhaps… a challenge.
Murad raised his eyes to him, reading his features with the gaze of a prince who knew how to judge men from the first glance.
John, meanwhile, felt a silent shiver crawl down his spine. There was something off about this man… something neither natural nor reassuring.
Murad and John entered the palace, and the iron gate closed behind them with a heavy, echoing thud that rolled through the empty corridors.
And the chapter closed with:
"Murad did not know that his first night in Belleville Palace… would be anything but peaceful."