I sat at the vanity beside the window, gazing at the sky—just as bright and cheerful as any other day. Birds sang sweetly, dancing under the golden sun. Yet a bright day doesn't always mean a joyful one—at least, not for me.
I turned to the mirror before me. There, I saw a familiar face—eyes as blue as the sky outside, sharp yet gentle. I combed my hair as if smoothing strands of silver silk.
All this makeup and beauty is just a tool, I thought.
A soft yet firm voice reached my ears.
"Are you ready, Michella?"
I turned to see a face nearly identical to mine. My maidservants say her beauty could blind suitors. Legend has it many men have fought for her heart.
My mother—Graciella Valeri—was indeed perfect. Intelligent, stunning, dignified, and a direct descendant of the former Duke Desvyl. Still, I wish I could inherit her composure.
"I'll be ready shortly, Mother."
"Good. Don't take too long. The Verstra sons dislike waiting," she reminded me. "That's just how northerners are."
"Understood, Mother."
She turned and left with her attendants. The echo of her heels faded down the grand corridor.
Soon after, a girl my age—fairly pretty, dressed modestly yet suitably for nobility—approached me.
"Princess Michella, aren't you being a bit cold toward Lady Valeri?" she said, taking the comb from my hand and continuing to brush my long hair. "Couldn't you at least smile a little when speaking to her?"
I sighed softly.
"Celine, you know I dislike her manner, don't you?" I replied calmly.
"Lady Valeri is always like this—and she is still your mother. She surely wants what's best for you."
"Best? Is offering me up to strangers truly what's best for me?" I countered, just as calmly.
Celine fell silent for a moment, then resumed brushing.
"Things haven't gone smoothly for Lady Valeri since you caused trouble with the Duke Nelvour's son," she recalled. "I still remember how furious she was."
I smiled faintly. "Pleasant, isn't it? She showed an expression I rarely see."
"I didn't say it was pleasant. But I'm glad you enjoyed it." I saw Celine return my smile in the mirror.
"I did enjoy it."
Celine stopped brushing and gently patted my shoulder. "There. You look as beautiful as always."
"This beauty is just a tool for my mother, you know?"
Celine smiled. "Beauty is a weapon for every woman, Princess Michella."
I returned her smile. It felt comforting to have someone nearby to talk to so casually.
I stood and faced Celine.
"Alright, I'll be off now. Pray that I don't look too beautiful for them, alright?"
"Of course—but I doubt they'll resist falling for you. Especially after seeing the angel before them."
"Seems that way," I replied. "What will you do this week?"
"I think I'll visit Garliand Arena."
"I just remembered—the tournament to choose Lucidus's wielder is happening there, isn't it?"
"Exactly. I'm certain your cousin, as the House Valeri's representative, will win and draw the holy sword." Celine smiled slightly. "After all, he bears the name of Hero Leonard."
"Truly a heavy name," I said briefly, then walked out of the room toward the grand hall.
"Good luck, Princess Michella."
I waved to her and continued down the white corridor adorned with gold. The sound of my high heels echoed—just like my mother's earlier.
After a few minutes, I reached the staircase leading down to the great hall below. Its ceiling soared high, adorned with golden lion heads on each side, their gazes fixed downward as if watching guests. There, I saw my mother seated before three young men. Their servants and knights stood behind them.
"Long live Princess Michella!" one of them called out. "We were just speaking of you."
The one who noticed me appeared my age. He sat between his brothers, dressed in light blue robes with white accents—typical of northerners.
I offered a formal smile and descended the spiral stairs. Fortunately, my red gown with golden trim didn't hinder my steps. They exchanged quiet words until I reached the hall floor.
I walked toward them, and they immediately rose to greet me.
"Princess Michella of House Valeri," they said in unison, placing their right hands over their hearts and left fists behind their hips—a noble's salute.
Even northerners have manners and know how to adapt.
I returned their greeting by lifting my gown slightly and crossing my left foot behind my right.
"Gentlemen of House Verstra." I walked to sit beside my mother, and they reseated themselves.
I observed them while maintaining my polite smile. These men seemed dignified—nothing like the rumors.
I suppose all nobles are the same.
I studied them one by one. The man on the left appeared the eldest—gentle yet firm features, short but thick mustache and beard. Likely in his early twenties. His wavy hair covered his ears, and a scar marked his left cheek.
Next, the one in the middle—the one who'd noticed me. His hair was slightly shorter but equally wavy. Confident, smiling—typical of someone our age.
And the youngest on the right—shy, insecure. Yet his brown hair and sharp black eyes mirrored his brothers'.
"Princess Michella. Allow me to introduce myself—I am Drean, the eldest son of Duke Verstra." The oldest spoke in a deep voice. "I'll be frank. Our visit is solely to strengthen ties with House Valeri's heir. I have no intention of marrying you, Princess Michella."
I was honestly surprised. My mother probably was too—but when I glanced at her, her expression remained calm. She was used to such bluntness.
"I-I'm Boreas. I'm only ten. So I'm not ready and don't quite understand these matters," the youngest added.
I nearly cheered—relieved I wouldn't have to entertain them. But one remained—the middle brother.
He shook his head and spoke calmly, "You two—didn't Father teach us not to state intentions so bluntly?" He sighed. "Forgive us, Princess Michella and Lady Valeri. My name is Clein. We didn't mean to be so direct."
"No matter. You're young—it's natural," Mother replied coolly, though smiling. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must attend to other matters."
She rose and left with a servant, leaving me alone with the Verstra brothers.
The eldest and youngest stood, bowed, and exited. Only Clein remained, standing before me with a respectful bow.
"Princess Michella, as an apology, may I accompany you to the Lucidus tournament this week?"
I was intrigued—and surprised. It was as if he knew I wanted to go but lacked a good reason to tell Mother.
I smiled at him and replied, "That sounds interesting, Lord Clein. I hope we enjoy it."
===
Loud bird calls woke Neze from his sleep. He glanced around his room—still messy, but not as bad as yesterday. He rose from his creaking bed, grabbed a large cloth sack and his sword, and headed for the door.
He opened it—and was blinded by the bright morning sun.
"Good morning, sleepyhead. You took your time getting ready."
A man's voice, accompanied by the sound of sharpening steel, came from Neze's right.
"Gio. Did I oversleep? Why didn't you wake me?" Neze asked, rubbing his eyes.
"You slept deeply, kid. I didn't have the heart to wake you," Gio replied. "Besides, it's better we leave in the morning—after proper rest." He sheathed his freshly sharpened sword.
"Did you sleep outside?"
"Someone had to guard the chamber of the Sleeping Prince, didn't they?" Gio chuckled.
Neze scowled—but had no retort. He'd been exhausted last night, packing what little he owned.
"We'll leave when you're ready, kid."
Neze closed the door of his small home and looked back. He was about to leave the place that held all his childhood memories with Neysie.
He knew it was time to depart—to walk a new path.
He exhaled, then inhaled deeply. His hand tightened around the strap of the sack on his back and the sword at his hip.
"Let's go."