The sunlight poured through the tall windows, spilling gold across the marble floor and the faint scent of polished cedar drifted in the air. Emilia stood stiffly, her shadow long and sharp beneath her. For the first time in her life she felt as though she was facing a giant ghost, a very powerful one at that. She clenched a handful of her dress, and drew in a deep breath, steadying herself.
"Fatima, from today onward, y-you are hereby released from your duties as the children's nanny." The words hung heavy in the air. Fatima's lips parted, but no sound came at first—only a faint tremor in her hands as she clasped them before her apron. The subtle change in her expression—shock, then disbelief—was painful to watch. Emilia's chest constricted, her pulse thrumming in her ears. She had rehearsed this conversation a dozen times, yet now that Fatima was standing before her, she couldn't even form the questions that burned in her mind. What happened to you? Why are you here like this? How did things come to this?
"I–is it something I did, Your Grace?" Fatima's voice cracked, trembling like a leaf in wind. "Have I caused you distress in any way?" Tears spilled freely down her cheeks, catching the light as she fell suddenly to her knees with a muffled thud. Emilia flinched. "Please forgive me, Your Grace," Fatima sobbed, clutching at the hem of Emilia's gown. "I did not intend to displease you. Please don't throw me away. I'll work harder—whatever mistake I made, I'll fix it—just, please, don't send me off. I have nowhere to go."
Her words bled through her eyes—eyes so full of fear that Emilia almost broke then and there. Nowhere to go? You have an entire kingdom waiting for your return, Emilia shot back in her mind but before she could speak, a small, high voice pierced the tension as the door swung open. "Mama! There you are! Oh!"
Emilia turned sharply. A tiny boy stood framed by the doorway, curls in disarray and cheeks flushed from running. "Cadhiel," Emilia said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "What have I told you about wandering off without a chaperone? And always knock before entering a room."
He slumped, head bowed, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his tunic. Emilia sighed. The boy was barely tall enough to reach the doorknob, yet somehow caused more chaos than the entire household staff combined.
"Mama… why Fati on the floor? Are you punishing her?" His tiny voice wavered, but his eyes burned with defiance. "I won't let you hurt my Fati!" Emilia froze. What in the world…?
Cadhiel dashed forward, planting his small body between them, arms spread wide like a fledgling shield. Emilia had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. She could see herself in him—stubborn, fiery—but painfully earnest. "Step away from Fati, Cadhiel," she ordered, her tone sharp as glass. "No! I no want to!" he shot back, chin quivering.
"Wonderful. Just what I needed." Emilia muttered to herself, shaking her head in frustration. "I—I going to protect her fwom you! Mama can spank Cadhiel instead, I won't cry." he shouted, his words tangled with hiccups. Emilia's patience wavered between exasperation and heartbreak. She looked to Fatima for help, but the woman only stared back, eyes vacant, lips trembling as if trapped in another world.
Then—
"Pardon the intrusion, Your Grace," came a firm voice from the door. A knight stood there, armor glinting in the morning light. Cadhiel turned toward Fatima, worried as his little hands wiped her tear-streaked face. "Fati, are you hurt? Did mama hurt you?" The knight bowed slightly. "Urgent news from the capital." He leaned close, whispering the rest.
Emilia's eyes widened. The change in her face was startling—hope, relief, perhaps even joy. Fatima blinked, bewildered by the sudden shift. Could it be? Duke Dimitriu returning home? Cadhiel sniffled, patting Fatima's head. "Don't cry, okay? I share my candy with you later. Okay?"
Emilia's heart softened, tears pricking her eyes. My sweet boy. "Fati," she said quietly, turning back to the kneeling woman. "How would you like a room of your own?" Fatima blinked. "A room… of my own? But may I ask why, Your Grace?"
"You deserve a bit more comfort," Emilia replied. "You've been moved from the stables to the maids' quarters already, but—" she paused, gentling her voice, "I want you to have a proper place here. Somewhere you can be alone and at peace. It's the least I could do for someone of your standing."
Fatima's head cocked to the side, staring at Emilia inquisitively. "I beg your pardon, your grace?" Emilia flinched, her eyes quickly darting away as she awkwardly cleared her throat. "I mean you are my children's nanny, and you take such great care of them too. So, I cannot have you sleep so far away from them. I will also need to change your…wardrobe as soon as possible. A nanny's presentation is as crucial as her job."
Emilia's cheeks flushed as she struggled with the lies that kept slipping out of her mouth, feeling more flustered as she continued to prattle on. The heaviness on Fatima's chest ebbed, she felt relieved to see Emilia's change of heart. I owe my thanks to Lord Cadhiel, she thought, bowing her head to Emilia. "Your Grace was generous enough to deem me a useful nanny. I am satisfied with just that, duchess. I fear taking more of your kindness will make me become greedier." "Nonsense! You are allowed to be as greedy as you want." Emilia huffed, crossing her arms. "But…your grace." Fatima stammered.
"Call me Emilia," she interrupted softly. "P–pardon?" Fatima gasped, taken aback by the suggestion. The world seemed to still. Even the sunlight dimmed for a heartbeat. From behind, Cadhiel gasped. "Mama wants to be Fati's fwend?" Emilia smiled faintly, extending her hand toward Fatima. "Yes. I'd like for us to be very close from now on." "Yay! Mama and Fati fwends!" Cadhiel cheered, clapping his hands. "Cadhiel happy!"
Fatima hesitated, glancing from Emilia's outstretched hand to her shining eyes. A trap… surely it must be a trap, she thought. And yet, for the first time in a long while, her trembling fingers reached forward, clasping Emilia's warm hands.
**
The clang of steel echoed through Dominique's sunlit courtyard, the scent of polished bronze and sweat thick in the midday air. Nathaniel's boots struck the marble tiles with sharp precision, each step heavy with authority. His piercing gaze swept over the din of leather armored knights sparring in pairs. One adjusted his pauldron, another fumbled to tighten a strap. None dared to meet his eyes for long.
"Your footsteps are too heavy, and your stance—flawed in every way." His voice cut through the air like a blade. "Arch your back, do not slouch." He halted before one knight, eyes narrowing. "You leave yourself wide open. Again!" The knight flinched, picking up his sword in haste. "Yes, sir!"
Across the courtyard, a few of the soldiers exchanged uneasy glances. "His Highness could freeze the sun if he glared at it long enough," one whispered. "Leniency's certainly not in his vocabulary," another murmured, wiping his brow. "Careful," a third hissed, eyes darting toward Nathaniel. "I think he can hear us."
Nathaniel's lips curled into a cold smirk. "It seems I've been rather benevolent toward you all," he said, tone dripping with mockery. "How about—" "Your Imperial Highness!" A panicked voice cut him off. All eyes turned to see Uwol, sprinting across the courtyard, face pale, breath ragged. "Saved by the bell," the group breathed, shoulders relaxing.
Nathaniel lifted a hand, halting the chatter. "Catch your breath, Uwol. What's the matter?" The young knight doubled over, gasping. "Sir Leonardo… and Lady Ulissa… inside the mansion—" He pointed toward the grand villa, his trembling hand betraying more than urgency. The courtyard fell silent. Even the breeze seemed to pause, carrying only the faint rustle of the villa's banners.
**
The air in the guest room was thick with the scent of antiseptic and crushed herbs, clashing faintly with the sweet perfume of flowers drifting from the courtyard beyond. Nathaniel stood beside the bed, his gaze fixed on Ulissa's still form. Her skin, once warm with vitality, was now swollen beneath a web of bruises. Each shallow rise of her chest seemed a fragile victory against the stillness that gripped her. A faint sheen of sweat clung to her brow.
His fingers curled at his side, the nails biting into his palm. Across the room, Leonardo paced in sharp, restless strides, the floorboards creaking under his boots. His shaky sighs came heavy, impatient—almost desperate. Nathaniel had never seen him so undone before, his usual composure stripped away.
What on earth has him so worked up? Nathaniel thought, his jaw tightening. "How is she?" His voice came low and tight, amber eyes turning toward the old physician hunched over his satchel. Doctor Halston — gray hair sticking to his temples, mustache damp with sweat — gave a small, weary cough before answering. "I've treated the fever and applied salves for the bruising, Your Highness. She'll be asleep for quite a while yet."
Nathaniel's brows drew together. "Any fractures? Broken bones?" "None," Halston said, almost in disbelief. He dabbed at his forehead with a crumpled cloth. "It's a miracle, really. But her body's been through a lot — she won't be moving on her own for some time." Nathaniel's eyes lingered on Ulissa's hand, limp against the sheets, before he straightened. "Keep a close eye on her. Update me on every change in her condition." "Yes, Your Highness."
Without another word, Nathaniel turned. The hem of his coat brushed against the tiled floor as he strode toward the door. "Follow me, Leo." Leonardo paused his pacing, casting one last glance at Ulissa before hurrying after him. The door shut behind them with a soft, echoing thud, leaving only the whisper of the courtyard breeze and the rhythmic sound of Ulissa's breathing.
**
Earlier that morning, when Leonardo returned Ulissa to her father, Chief Ulsef, the old man's grin was broad and deceptively warm. His teeth flashed white beneath his white beard as he clasped Leonardo's arm. "You have my thanks, warrior. And my gratitude comes with a reward." Leonardo bowed lightly, refusing with quiet grace. "Your thanks is enough." He left before Ulsef's smile could curdle into something else.
The sun climbed higher, spilling its gold across the rooftops of the village as Leonardo took a detour toward Ulala's hut. The air around her dwelling was heavy with the scent of herbs and smoke; strange symbols carved into the tattered wooden door pulsed faintly in the noon light.
"I have been waiting for you, o great one," the old seer rasped as he stepped inside. Her blind eyes gleamed—cloudy, yet burning with an unplaceable light. The folds of her wrinkled face twitched with the echo of a smile. Leonardo stood still, uneasy beneath her gaze. "Then tell me what it is you've seen."
Their conversation unraveled into riddles and half-truths, but one phrase lingered, heavy as a curse. "When fate comes knocking at your door, do not hesitate to answer. Your memories will return at the right time. Until then, wait patiently, young king."
The title stung him—young king. It clawed at the hollow in his mind where his past should have been. When he emerged from the hut, the sunlight seemed too bright. His horse snorted, restless. As he prepared to leave the village, a roar of voices rolled through the air. Cheers. Laughter. Applause. He turned his head.
A crowd had gathered before the chieftain's home—men, women, children—all shouting in savage delight. Leonardo pushed through the press of bodies, the stench of sweat and dust thick in the heat. Then he saw her. Ulissa.
She hung from a wooden pole, wrists bound above her head, her toes barely grazing the dirt. Her face was swollen, streaked with blood and tears. Around her, five men in sackcloth masks circled, swinging heavy bundles of linen filled with rocks. Each blow cracked like thunder against her flesh. Ulsef and his kin stood nearby, their faces twisted in cruel amusement. Leonardo froze. His breath caught in his chest, disbelief giving way to fury.
Before reason could intervene, his arm moved—knife flashing in sunlight, cutting through the rope. Ulissa fell, and he lunged forward, catching her before she struck the ground. Gasps erupted from the crowd. He hauled her over his shoulder and ran toward his waiting stallion. In one fluid movement he threw her onto his horse, leapt up behind her, and spurred the beast hard. The world around them blurred. Shouts chased after them, fading into distance.
Later, as the rhythm of galloping hooves slowed and the trees swallowed the noise of pursuit, Ulissa stirred weakly in his arms. Leonardo sighed as the memory faded from his mind, realizing the trouble he'd found himself in.
"I think I may have stirred some friction that could lead to a much bigger issue, your highness," Leonardo said, his voice low, burdened. "I truly am sorry. I acted without thinking and—" The prince raised a hand to silence him, his gaze calm but glinting like tempered steel. "What would have been worse is if you had left her there after seeing that. Had you done that, I would have lost all respect for you, Leo. Do not trouble yourself. I'll handle the political consequences."
Leonardo fell silent. He always carried himself like a man who lived five steps ahead of fate, calculating, precise. This rashness unsettled him. It wasn't in his nature to lose control of his actions. Yet, there was something about Ulissa's suffering that had ignited something deeper—something human and protective.
Nathaniel sighed, reclining in his seat. "I'll open a secret investigation on Ulissa and her family. Would you like to take the lead? Or, if you prefer, you can sit this one out. You aren't required to partake." Leonardo straightened, eyes glinting faintly. "That won't be necessary, your highness. I have already conducted one in advance."
The prince arched a brow, though his faint smile betrayed no surprise. "Of course you have. I'd expect nothing less from you." He rose from his his seat, turning toward the glass window. "I'll be leaving for Uluka in two days' time to settle things." He added, tapping Leonardo's shoulder as he walked past him.
**
Chief Ulsef's quarters were dim and earthy, the air heavy with the musk of damp clay and burning resin. Shafts of sunlight filtered weakly through bamboo curtains, striping the mud walls in pale gold. It was warm inside, stifling almost — as if the room itself was listening, waiting.
"I came to make you aware that you now have five of your own in my court, Chief Ulsef," Nathaniel said, rising from the low stool. His tone was polite, clipped — diplomacy veiled in formality. "Now that I've said everything I wanted to say, I shall depart."
Ulsef's laugh came low and coarse, a sound like gravel sliding over stone. "Your subordinate must have been greatly startled, Your Highness." His white-locked head tilted slightly, the motion slow and measured. "It's nothing to fret about," he continued, "This is merely the way our family disciplines our disobedient children."
He gestured toward a clay cup beside him, steam curling lazily from the fermented drink within. "Please, have a seat and drink with me, Your Imperial Highness." Ulsef gestured toward the empty seat before Nathaniel.
Two guards — towering men with braided hair and ash smeared across their faces — shifted their weight near the door. Their presence pressed against Nathaniel like a silent wall. Not a word spoken, yet the message was clear: you will not leave until he allows it.
How predictable, Nathaniel thought, his smirk widening. Ulsef leaned back in his carved wooden chair, its legs creaking beneath his bulk. The firelight played over the white markings etched across his chest, symbols of victories long past. "In the matter of my daughter," he began, his voice smooth now, almost oily, "I take it you're here to bargain with me, Your Highness. As you may already be aware, my flowers are quite costly."
The words hung between them like the smoke rising from the brazier — cloying, persistent, offensive. He spoke of her as though she were a commodity, one more trinket among his trophies. "If your goal was to coerce me into marrying her," Nathaniel said, meeting Ulsef's gaze, "you should have at least shown some leniency during your… disciplinary ritual."
Ulsef's eyes narrowed, his smile faltering. The air seemed to tighten, drawing the heat from the fire into a single tense silence. "You may not be aware of this," the prince added, his voice soft, deliberate, "but I'm not very fond of damaged goods, chief." His jaw twitched. The guards straightened, uncertain.
Nathaniel turned and walked toward the door, each step deliberate against the packed earth floor. "See to it she never again sets foot in this place. I do not keep failures in my court." Ulsef's voice echoed from behind him. The bamboo curtain rustled as he pushed past it, sunlight spilling over him like a blade drawn from its sheath. Behind him, the chief said nothing — but he could feel his stare, cold and calculating, even as the curtain fell closed.