Lady Elyria stood before the tall window, the veil-like curtains shifting in the breeze. From there she could see the marble courtyards below—the crowds dispersing, the banners being lowered, the remnants of the spectacle still echoing faintly through the city.Kazuo stood behind her, silent. His eyes didn't follow the view; they stayed on her back, on the composed posture that somehow felt like armor.
Without turning, she began softly, almost as if speaking to the glass.
"When I was little, I watched a gardener tend a rosebush after every storm. He'd cut away the ruined petals so that the plant wouldn't waste its strength trying to heal what was already dead. I used to think it was cruel." She paused, a brittle breath leaving her lips. "Now I understand he wasn't cruel—he was simply practical."
She turned, her eyes meeting his at last. "Tell me, Kazuo—was that what this was? Practical?" Her tone sharpened. "How could you use me like that? We both know you don't seek marriage. I must have misjudged you. You're a selfish man."
Kazuo's jaw tightened. "Don't pretend to take the moral high ground with me."
Her expression faltered, confusion edging into her anger. "What did you just say?"
He took a step forward. "Everything I went through… everything that led to this moment—it's your fault."
"My fault?" she repeated, incredulous. "How dare you say something like that?"
He met her gaze, unblinking. "Have you forgotten that day on the rooftop? If you hadn't let your curiosity drag you toward me, if you'd just kept your distance, I could have lived a quiet, normal life. But no—you had to look closer."
For a moment she simply stared at him. Then, unexpectedly, she laughed—a sharp, bright sound that cracked through the room. "You believe you can live peacefully with eyes like yours?" she said. "Even if I'd never seen you, the world would have. You don't get it, Kazuo—you were born to stand in the center, whether you want it or not."
He stared back at her, the edge of bitterness tightening in his voice. "Maybe. But at least it would've been my choice." He turned slightly, stepping toward the door. "Anyway, I'm done here, Princess."
He had just reached the threshold when her voice stopped him. "Then what if I agree?"
He froze. "…Pardon me?"
She took a slow step forward, the faint click of her heels echoing off the marble."It wouldn't just bind you to the Crown—it would bind you to me. And even though I'm disgusted by the way you used me for your little gamble… I can't deny that, in your place, I might have done the same. In truth, we both used each other—only for different ends."
He turned, studying her face. "You're joking, right?"
But as she approached, he saw something in her expression that made the breath catch in his throat. It wasn't outrage—it was hunger. Intellectual, almost predatory. The curiosity that burned in her eyes was sharp enough to wound.
Her blue eyes, once radiant and serene, now gleamed with something far colder—an intelligent malice that shimmered like ice under moonlight. That blue, once the symbol of grace and nobility, felt sinister now, like the surface of still water concealing something vast and dangerous beneath.
For the first time, Kazuo saw what Setsuna had warned him about: beneath the grace and poise, Lady Elyria was far more dangerous than her father. He understood it now with painful clarity. Cedric ruled through control and narrative, shaping truth itself to keep his kingdom in line—but Elyria's danger was quieter, coiled, and far more intimate. She was a viper in silk, patient and precise, studying every breath before striking. Where her father mastered perception, she conquered through fascination—and Kazuo could already feel her curiosity winding around him like scales, smooth, cold, and impossible to shake.
"You realize what this would do," he said slowly. "You'd throw the entire capital into chaos. You wouldn't dare."
"Why not? When I said I wanted to understand you, I meant it."
She came closer—so close that he could see the pale shimmer of her breath in the light between them. "Your origin… your magic… your eyes."
Her hand lifted, almost reverently, until her fingertips brushed the edge of his cheekbone. Then, with the softest pressure, she touched the eye that bore the black color—the mark that cursed and defined him.
Kazuo didn't move. Her touch was deliberate, invasive, testing. The air between them thickened with something neither affection nor threat but a dangerous mixture of both.
Elyria's voice dropped to a whisper. "I want to see how deep your truth runs."
And in that moment, Kazuo understood—whatever came next, the real game had just begun.
Lady Elyria's hand lingered for a moment longer near Kazuo's face before she finally drew it back. She stepped back, the hem of her gown whispering over the marble as she straightened to her full height once more.
"Then how about a deal? I will not accept your proposal, and this entire matter will fade before it can poison the capital any further. But in return…"—her eyes flicked to him, sharp and gleaming—"you will remain near my side. You will attend me when summoned. I will require regular meetings with you."
"Meetings?"
Her lips curved, not quite a smile. "Call it what you like. I prefer research. You are the only anomaly of your kind—a man born outside the system who defies its laws. If I am to make any valid study of you, I need proximity. This is the only way I can guarantee it."
He crossed his arms. "And if I refuse?"
Elyria's answer came without hesitation. "Then I will marry you."
The words landed like a blade slid neatly between ribs.
Kazuo blinked once, disbelief sharpening into something colder. "You're no different from your father."
"Oh, I'm quite different, I am more like my late mother."
Kazuo stilled. Her mother? The thought stirred something buried in memory. Come to think of it… I've never once heard or seen a queen. In the lower crescent, no one spoke of her. She must have passed away long ago.
Elyria tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. "Well then," she said softly, "what do you say, Kazuo?"
He hesitated, the silence between them drawn thin as wire. Nothing about this felt simple. Accepting her offer meant stepping from one cage into another—but refusing it might tip the fragile balance of the capital into chaos. For all his cruelty, Kazuo knew King Cedric would never endanger his people; control was his god, and order his weapon. But she was different. There was no predicting how far her curiosity might reach, or what she might destroy to satisfy it. He drew a slow breath, eyes narrowing on her.
"And you believe your father—the king—will simply accept this?"
She gave him a look that was almost tired. "He's in a meeting with the High Council. He'll be back in a few hours. If he returns, we'll meet him here." Her voice was steady. "I'm tired of secrecy, Kazuo. He spies on me anyway—confrontation is cleaner. We'll wait until the sun sets and then bring him face to face with this."
They waited. When the king returned he did not rise to meet them; he remained on the throne until they were close enough to be a private audience in a public room. When he finally leaned forward and uncrossed his legs, the motion looked small and practiced, like closing a book. His voice, when it came, smoothed the marble air. "Well," Cedric said, looking first at Elyria and then to Kazuo, "what is the outcome of your wish?"
Elyria stepped forward and explained—calm, precise, with none of the theatrics of a petitioner. She laid out the bargain plainly: she would refuse the marriage in public, the matter would close as if never asked, and in exchange Kazuo would remain near her—formally attached, available for study, summoned at intervals so she could observe, question, and catalogue him. She framed it as research, as duty, as curiosity. Her words were courteous. Her eyes were not.
Cedric listened without expression. When she finished, there was a long silence; the torches guttered like held breaths. Then the king tilted his head, and something almost like amused interest crossed his face.
"I see," he said at last, his gaze settling on Elyria. "So, you wish to become a player on the board yourself. The game was meant to end with the tournament—but this, my dear daughter, changes everything."
He rose from the throne and descended the dais, the soft ring of his boots marking each word. "You have some nerve, Kazuo, to pull such a stunt." The words were not a threat—merely fact, cool and cutting.
Cedric's gaze shifted to Elyria, his tone hardening. "And you! I told you many times, Elyria, to stop your research. And yet you never did. I see now that forbidding you only feeds it." He sighed through his teeth, something like reluctant calculation glinting beneath his calm. "So here's what we're going to do. I'll allow your request—if the marriage is dropped. I knew this would happen eventually. Kazuo isn't after power; I can see that much. But you'll promise me two things."
He raised a hand, counting them off in the air. "First, your meetings will happen only when the two of you are present together—no aides, no private sessions. I am to be informed of every encounter, and everything you learn, I will know as well. Second—you are never to pursue research into the Sacred Beasts."
The last words hung heavy in the hall, the syllables edged with something darker than command. Kazuo's expression didn't change, but a spark of unease coiled in him. The Sacred Beasts… Does that mean King Cedric knows something?
Elyria's lips curved faintly, though her eyes never lost that sharp, blue glint. "I understand," she said. "It isn't as if I could ever get rid of your guards watching me anyway." She turned slightly toward Kazuo. "But I will find out the truth behind him—one way or another."
The words were calm, but they landed like a blade's promise. Cedric said nothing; he only studied his daughter, perhaps realizing that compliance was not the same as obedience.
Kazuo watched her in silence, the flicker of torchlight softening her profile—the same delicate, serene face he'd seen the day they met, framed in silver hair and royal composure. For a moment, he wondered if that version of her had ever truly existed at all. The gentle, curious princess who smiled from the balcony—was that warmth ever real, or had it always been a façade crafted to hide the hunger he now saw in her eyes?
Whatever the answer, he knew one thing for certain: he had not escaped a cage. He had only traded one for another—and this one smiled when it closed its door.
Cedric turned his gaze from Elyria to Kazuo, the weight of authority settling back into his voice.
"And you," he said evenly. "Our deal has reached its end. Even though I'm still angered by your reckless stunt, I will keep my word. As promised, I'll lift all movement restrictions—you are free to walk the capital. You may go to the Lower Crescents, and I guarantee you this: neither your old gramps nor your friend will ever be harmed by my command."
Relief flickered across Kazuo's face, loosening something deep in his chest, though he didn't allow himself to smile.
Cedric's tone hardened. "But do not forget—you now bear a noble's title and serve within my Royal Guard. From this day forward, you fight for me. This is publicly known and sealed by law. Do you understand?"
Kazuo met the king's eyes and nodded once. "I understand."
It was the price he had to pay. Nothing in this world came without cost—if one wished to gain something, something else had to be sacrificed.