The palace didn't do subtle. It rose above the city like it had something to prove—white stone, gold-lined edges, and banners that snapped in the wind. By the time the escort reached the main gates, word had already spread.
A crowd had gathered. They weren't rioting, but they were close enough to whisper.
"The ones who killed it…?"
"The Executioner…"
"Are they even human…?"
The gates groaned open. The procession moved through, measured and deliberate. Inside, everything shifted. Guards lined the halls like iron statues. Servants stepped aside, their movements precise, their glances wary.
The doors to the Royal Hall swung wide. The space was vast—high ceilings, polished floors, and pillars that made people feel smaller than they actually were. At the far end sat the throne.
King Joseph Straut didn't need to move to command attention, but he stood anyway.
"Welcome."
His voice carried cleanly across the hall. Controlled. "To those who stood where others could not—you have my gratitude."
He stepped forward. His gaze passed over the group, not lingering, not revealing. "You protected my daughter's dignity from those who sought to take it. And you saved the people of Lin Fu from a threat beyond their reach."
Silence followed. Heavy and respectful.
"For that," the King inclined his head, "you have the thanks of this kingdom."
No one moved. No one cheered. Then, movement came from the side.
Princess Iyo stepped forward. She didn't wait for an announcement.
"Father—"
There was emotion in her voice, an urgency she couldn't quite hide. She stopped a few steps away from the group, her eyes searching them, one by one. She needed to know.
"Which one of you…" her voice softened, "is the one who saved me?"
The question hung in the air, stripped of formality. No one spoke. For a moment, the hall held its breath. Then, Andrew stepped forward.
"Your Highness," he said, his voice flat and honest. "She is the one who saved you. My party wasn't even there that day."
He gestured toward Yuna.
The hall shifted. The Princess's gaze followed his hand—and stopped. For a second, nothing happened. Then, everything did. Confusion, recognition, and finally, disbelief.
Her eyes widened. Not because she doubted him, but because the reality didn't match the legend. This wasn't a towering warrior or a scarred knight. It was a girl. Bandaged. Quiet. Looking like she didn't belong in a palace at all.
The Princess blinked. Her thoughts raced, trying to align her expectations with the person standing before her. Then, warmth replaced the shock. A faint color rose to her cheeks.
Before anyone could stop her, she moved. She closed the distance in quick, unmeasured steps and stopped right in front of Yuna. Up close, there was no doubt. Those eyes. That presence. This was the one who had stood between her and ruin.
The Princess reached out and took Yuna's hands in her own. She held them gently, as if they were made of glass.
"Thank you…" her voice trembled. "For saving me."
The blush was impossible to hide now. It wasn't dignified, but it was real. The entire hall watched in a silence so thick you could taste it. This wasn't a formal exchange anymore. It was personal.
The Princess held on a little tighter, as if letting go would make the moment disappear. And for a heartbeat, the distance between a Crown Princess and a nameless savior ceased to exist.
King Joseph Straut noticed. He had ruled long enough to read a room before a word was spoken. He watched his daughter, a faint pause in his posture—the only sign that things had just gotten complicated.
"I see," he said quietly.
Across the hall, the silence cracked into whispers.
"The Princess…"
"She's holding their hands…"
"Is that…?"
Even the guards struggled to keep their faces neutral. Andrew watched the Princess, then Yuna, his eyes sharp.
"Well," he muttered to Shield Guy. "That explains a few things."
"Yeah," Shield Guy whispered back. "I don't think that's just gratitude."
At the center of it all, Yuna remained still. She wasn't flustered. But something inside her reacted—a feeling, warm and unfamiliar. It wasn't her own; it was coming from the person holding her hands. Pure. Unfiltered.
Yuna felt it like a current passing through still water. Her spirit stirred. She didn't understand it, but she knew it wasn't a threat.
She smiled. It was a soft, natural smile—the kind you give a lifelong friend found unexpectedly.
Princess Iyo's breath caught. The warmth deepened. Around them, the whispers grew. Everyone in that hall, from the King to the lowest servant, could see it. This wasn't just admiration. This was something that had taken root without permission.
King Joseph let it continue for exactly one breath longer than necessary. Then, he moved. A single step forward.
"Princess Iyo."
His voice wasn't raised, but it cut through the room like a blade. The Princess paused. She didn't look ashamed, but she was aware. Slowly, she loosened her grip, stepping back just enough to be proper. A faint blush lingered.
"My apologies, Father."
The King nodded once. His gaze shifted back to Yuna, measuring her. "You have done this kingdom a great service. It would be improper to repay that in haste... or in a public spectacle."
He glanced toward the court. "I would prefer to speak with you further. In a more… private setting."
It wasn't a request. Andrew shifted behind Yuna, listening intently.
"For now," the King gestured, "our guest will be given proper rest and care."
The hall responded instantly. Guards straightened, servants moved, and order returned. The moment was contained, placed back where it belonged. But it couldn't be undone.
Far from the marble halls, life moved at its own pace.
The inn was quiet. Da-li stood behind the counter, an open ledger in front of her. The abacus beside it hadn't moved in minutes. Eunha sat nearby, her small legs swinging as she crunched on something sweet.
Suddenly, Da-li's fingers stopped. Her eyes didn't change, but her posture went rigid.
A ripple. Not physical, but felt. Like a thread being pulled across a great distance.
"…Hmm."
Eunha looked up. "Ma?"
Da-li didn't answer. She was looking inward, through distance and time. She felt a presence. Two, actually. One was cold and ancient—awake. The other was bright and new, burning with a heat that hadn't existed before.
Da-li's fingers finally moved. *Click.*
"…So it happened."
"What happened?" Eunha asked, tilting her head.
"She met someone," Da-li said, her lips curving into a ghost of a smile. "Someone who will matter."
Eunha stopped swinging her legs. Her gaze sharpened. "Oh? So Aneki is in love?"
Da-li looked at her daughter. Then, without a word, she fed her another sweet. "You talk too much for your age."
She pulled Eunha onto her lap. It was a maternal, warm gesture, but Da-li's eyes were miles away.
"…Love, huh…"
The word hung in the air. Outside, the night was quiet, but beneath the peace, something had already begun. And both of them knew it.