Dinner at Dominique's villa had unfolded beneath a ceiling of crystal chandeliers and candlelight, yet the air was thick with unspoken things. The table had fallen silent the moment Jasmine requested a private talk with Nathaniel for the next day — a silence that deepened when Dominique dared to ask about the Uluka banquet. No one answered. The question had died between polished silver and wine, leaving only the distant whistle of the wind beyond the villa's glass windows.
Now, in the prince's bedroom, the fire's glow painted the room in molten gold. The scent of smoke, aged brandy, and burning cedar wove through the air. Nathaniel and Leonardo sat opposite one another in heavy armchairs, shadows crawling along the walls like restless spirits.
A glass of brandy gleamed in Nathaniel's hand, untouched. Another sat before Leonardo, its surface rippling faintly from the flicker of the flames. "You've grown quite fond of liquor lately, Your Highness," Leonardo murmured, his tone caught between jest and worry. "It helps me keep the nightmares at bay," Nathaniel replied, though his eyes never lifted from the letter resting beside his glass. He slid the parchment free from its envelope with practiced grace, the sound of it — soft, delicate— almost deafening in the quiet.
Leonardo leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes reflecting the fire. "Do their faces still visit your dreams, my prince?" Nathaniel's fingers stilled on the page. "Every night without fail," he said, voice low, the words heavy as lead.
His eyes began to trace the fine curves of Emilia's handwriting— and froze. His face shifted, calm broke into disbelief, then fury. The brandy glass trembled on the table as he shot to his feet, startling Leonardo who nearly choked mid swallow. His coughing filled the room as he swiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
"What is the meaning of this, Emilia?" Nathaniel's voice came out as a snarl, echoing against the marble and firelit walls. The letter crumpled in his fist, parchment whispering its surrender. "Y-your highness?" Leonardo rose halfway, clearing his throat as confusion flashed across his features. "Has something happened to Princess Emilia?"
Nathaniel turned away, shoulders rigid beneath the weight of invisible chains. "Leo," he said, voice tight, almost shaking, "begin preparations to leave Lithiar. We're going home."
Leonardo blinked, stunned. "At once, sire—but may I ask—?" "You may not." Nathaniel's tone cut sharp as steel. He moved toward the mahogany armoire, its mirror catching his reflection — eyes burning like frostfire, expression fractured between rage and dread. He opened its doors and flung a leather bag on the floor, rummaging through his clothes.
"Your highness," Leonardo pressed, hesitating, "is everything—" "I am exhausted," Nathaniel interrupted. "You may leave for the night." Leonardo's posture stiffened, obedience overtaking concern. He bowed. "Understood, sire."
The prince's hand lifted slightly as Leonardo turned to leave. "Oh — and one more thing." He said over his shoulder. "Yes, Your Highness?" "Escort Lady Ulissa back to her family post breakfast. We'll depart upon your return." Leonardo flinched slightly but nodded. "As you command." His boots clicked softly against the marble as he left, the door closing with a muted thud.
Silence returned. The fire hissed. The scent of brandy hung untouched in the air. Nathaniel stood alone for a breath, then resumed his rummaging through his clothes, flinging them out one by one. The words he'd read burned brighter than the flames before him —Fatima is with child. I must confirm it myself.
His jaw clenched until it ached. A tremor ran through his fingers as he whispered, barely audible, "Fatima… why?" He shut the doors of the armoire so hard that the mirror cracked, his amber eyes glinting with firelight and fury through the splintered glass. Beyond the window, the night wind howled over Lithiar's hills, carrying the scent of rain and the promise of reckoning. "I doubt I'll get any sleep tonight," he murmured, though sleep was the last thing on his mind.
**
"The gall of that woman…" Emilia muttered, her voice unsteady as she pressed a trembling hand to her temple, pacing restlessly at the foot of her bed. "Our exchange left me so upset I can hardly fall asleep." She exhaled sharply.
Her chamber was steeped in moonlight, pale and soft as silk, the shadows long and quiet. On the bedside table lay the silver locket glinting faintly in the dark. She reached for it, feeling its cool weight against her palm. "She called it a cheap trinket," she whispered, shaking her head. "But anyone with eyes can see this was made by no ordinary craftsman."
The circular frame shimmered faintly, every line of its silvery engraving precise and deliberate. The ruby in its center caught the moonlight and bled it back in deep red hues. When she tilted it slightly, a strange metallic chime pulsed within. Her brows drew together. "It can… open?"
A delicate click answered her. The locket split apart like a secret unfolding. Inside was a portrait—small, finely painted, the colors softened with age. Emilia's breath caught in her throat. "Fatima…?" She whispered, her fingers shaking. Her heart began to race, a wave of warmth and sorrow washing over her. That sense of familiarity she'd felt earlier now made cruel, perfect sense.
Her thoughts drifted back—years ago, when she was still expected to wed the crown prince of Syphus for the sake of an alliance she never wanted. She had refused, out of pride and love for another—Dimitriu, the man her heart truly longed for. In response, her father had chosen Yurivera, her younger half-sister, to take her place. The guilt of that decision had eaten at her, until she had gone to the coronation herself, unable to bear the shame of her own selfishness.
She had never forgotten what happened that day. The Syphus palace had felt endless—white marble halls echoing with her footsteps, corridors branching like veins. Somewhere along the tour, she had lost her guide. "Hello?" she had called, her voice breaking through the emptiness. "Is anyone there?"
The only thing that answered her despair was silence. Then a voice, light and musical, followed by rushed footsteps until a small girl came into full view in front of her. "Princess Calliope-Rose Fatima Vicksburg D'Syphus." She curtsied, her face beaming in the sunlight. "Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?" Fatima asked as she straightened.
The girl who stepped into the light had looked no older than ten, yet she carried herself with a composure far beyond her years. Her silver hair glimmered in the sunlight that spilled through the glass ceiling; her small smile was patient, knowing.
Emilia had been taken aback—by her grace, by her innocence, by how her presence seemed to warm the air itself. They had spent the afternoon in the palace gardens, weaving flower wreaths and laughing until the sun began to fall. Then Fatima unclasped a delicate silver locket from her neck—the same one Emilia now held—and offered it with both hands.
"Would you like to hold my necklace? Since we're friends now, I think it's safe for you to touch it." Emilia remembered the smoothness of the chain, the faint hum beneath the metal, as though the thing breathed with its own quiet magic.
It was the Syphus royal heirloom, one she had heard whispers about—a locket made for every member of the Syphus bloodline, each enchanted by a mysterious mage. Inside each, a painted portrait that aged alongside its owner. And when the owner died… the entire pendant vanishes.
"Where might I find the craftsman who made this?" Emilia asked. "I'm afraid I don't know, Princess Emilia," Fatima replied softly, bowing her head. "I am truly sorry." Emilia smiled at her kindness. "You're just a child, there's nothing to apologize for."
"But I do know one thing," Fatima continued with innocent earnestness. "If anyone touches this necklace with ill intent, they'll be cursed forever." Emilia went pale. "And you're telling me now?" Her laugh came out half-nervous, half-scolding, as she hurried to fasten the locket back around Fatima's neck. "Please—don't let anyone touch this necklace so carelessly. Keep it with you at all times, understand?" Emilia cautioned, thankful she bore no ill will toward the princess.
"Okay! I'll do as my big sister says," Fatima chirped, eyes gleaming with joy. "I'm not your—" Emilia started, but the girl's laughter cut her off. "Hooray! I have another big sister! Yay me!" she sang, spinning across the garden, her arms outstretched to the breeze.
Emilia stood there, watching the sunlight dance through Fatima's hair, turning it to spun gold. The air smelled of crushed petals and new grass. Fatima's joy was radiant, her laughter infectious, and for a fleeting moment, Emilia felt something she hadn't in years—light, joy, freedom.
Now, staring down at the portrait, Emilia's chest tightened. Her thumb brushed across the tiny painted smile, and her tears began to flow freely, splashing against the ruby. Her knees buckled and she collapsed onto the floor, sobbing and sniffling. "Fati…" she whispered, voice trembling. "You were such a bright little thing. And I… how on earth did I not recognize you?"
The rest of her thought dissolved into silence. The locket gleamed softly in her palm, as if it still held a trace of that summer day—of sunlight, laughter, and a child who had once called her "sister."
**
The morning sun spilled over the villa, scattering its golden light across marble floors and embroidered curtains. In the courtyard, the scent of morning glories mingled with the sweetness of daffodils. Birds flitted among the vines, their wings whispering against the quiet hum of the maids preparing breakfast. But the drawing room told another story.
The air inside was heavy with silence. Nathaniel sat rigidly on the sofa, his long fingers curling around a porcelain cup. The faint tremor in his hand sent tiny ripples through the dark surface of his coffee. Sunlight caught the sharp planes of his face, glinting off the hollow beneath his eyes — shadows born of sleepless nights.
"Is everything alright, Your Highness? Your face is rather…" Jasmine hesitated, her voice soft as the rustle of her silk gown. Worry shone through the delicate tremor of her lips. "I did not sleep well last night," Nathaniel murmured, setting the cup back into its saucer with a muted clink.
He tried to compose himself, but the stiffness in his shoulders betrayed the storm beneath his calm exterior. Jasmine glanced at Dominique, silently agreeing that this was not the morning to pry. She drew a steadying breath.
"I wanted to ask your advice regarding an offer we received from Duchess Emilia," she began, fingers nervously tracing the rim of her teacup. "As you already know, Julie is… an illegitimate child. I had hoped to raise her quietly, away from the cruelty she might face as a Kartier, but Emilia insists we reconsider. She said Julie deserves her name — that she'd do everything in her power to make it happen. What do you think, Your Highness? Would our daughter truly be safe in her care?"
The question hung in the air like a fragile thread. Dominique shifted beside her, his expression drawn tight with unease. Nathaniel leaned forward, the light catching the amber hue of his eyes. His voice, when it came, was low and deliberate. "My sister never moves without purpose, and when she does, she never fails to get what she wants. Her kindness is never without cause because Emilia doesn't give — she bargains. Consider her motives carefully before you decide."
Jasmine's lips parted in surprise. "I feared as much," she admitted. "But Dominique was so thrilled by the idea…" Dominique gave a humorless laugh, rubbing a hand through his silvering golden hair. "Delayed as it may be, this should've been done when she was born. Julie is my daughter, and it pains me a great deal that she doesn't carry my name." he muttered, avoiding Jasmine's gaze.
Jasmine's eyes softened, though worry furrowed her brow. "We agreed it was safer for Julie to bear my name instead — to keep her far from Gwendolynn's wrath. Ever since word of my pregnancy spread, she's made my life a living torment just as she did in the past. I shudder to think what she'd do if Julie ever set foot in the Kartier estate."
Her hand pressed against her chest, as though shielding her heart from the cruel images flashing through her mind. Nathaniel studied her for a moment, then spoke quietly. "I believe there is a way for Julie to become a Kartier without being subjected to any of Gwendolynn's animosity." he said, letting the words seep into the atmosphere. "And that's through publicity." Jasmine blinked. "Publicity?"
"Gwendolynn thrives on her reputation more than anything else. If we make a spectacle of Julie's entrance into the Kartier family registry, your enemy will be forced to play the benevolent stepmother. Every move she makes will be watched — and judged, she might even see it as an opportunity to strengthen her position in high society. It would trap her in the very image she worships."
Nathaniel's lips curved into a scowl as his thoughts turned inward. Emilia… you're building your army. But this time, you've chosen a child as your weapon. What on earth are you trying to achieve? "Um… Y-your Highness?" Jasmine's voice broke his reverie. "Your expression is… rather concerning."
He straightened, the gleam fading from his eyes. "My apologies, my thoughts went elsewhere for a moment." he said softly. "We must tread this situation carefully lest we put our own daughter's life in danger." Dominique exhaled sharply. "Perhaps she should remain a Sutlin a bit longer." He added. But Jasmine's eyes gleamed with a quiet fire. "I think His Highness may be onto something…"
Nathaniel rose, the sunlight tracing the lines of his fine coat. "I've decided to return home in the coming days," he announced. The room fell still. Jasmine's face paled; Dominique's smile faltered. "W-why so soon, Your Highness? Julie will be heartbroken," Jasmine stammered, voice trembling with genuine dismay.
Nathaniel's expression softened. He hadn't expected the pang her words would bring. "There's something I must confirm," he said, his brows furrowed. "And in the meantime, I will investigate the situation with Emilia and keep you informed." "Very well," Dominique said with a warm smile. "Give my regards to my family… especially my grandchildren." Nathaniel inclined his head. "Of course."
"We'll miss you very dearly, your highness." Jasmine added. "Julie will cry when she learns of this, but she'll be fine. Promise you'll write often?" "I promise." Dominique groaned playfully. "Why do I feel like the odd man out?" "Because jealousy doesn't suit you, my darling," Jasmine teased, laughter returning to her eyes. "Wha—are you calling me pathetic?" Dominique gasped in mock offense. "Your words, not mine." Jasmine sighed nonchalantly.
A sigh escaped Nathaniel as their familiar bickering began anew. "Who's pathetic now?" Dominique teased. "I—I don't know," Jasmine laughed, wriggling in his embrace. "Tell me, darling." Dominique pressed playfully. "Oh heavens, must you start now? His Highness is right here—"
They barely noticed as Nathaniel slipped out of the drawing room. The morning light met him once again in the corridor, and for the first time that day, he allowed himself a quiet smile. To love that deeply, even after everything… what a rare blessing indeed.