The night breeze swept through the Chilsela villa, carrying with it the mingled scents of sea salt and flowers. In the dimly lit kitchen, two maids wiped the last sheen of water from the counters. The rhythmic swish of their rags was the only sound breaking the hush.
"She has been unresponsive for three whole days. I'm worried." one murmured, wringing her rag until droplets fell like tears into the sink. "Lady Fatima is strong," the other replied, forcing a hopeful smile that faltered beneath the kitchen lantern's flicker. "She'll pull through. She always does." Their voices faded into the quiet hum of the night.
Upstairs, the guest room was steeped in lavender smoke and half-shadow. Fatima's eyelids fluttered open to a ceiling blurred with white haze. Her pulse beat sluggishly, her head throbbing like distant thunder. Where… am I?
She pushed herself upright, the silken sheets whispering against her skin. The room was familiar—the ornate hearth, the framed oil paintings, the carved mahogany posts of the bed—but everything felt foreign, dreamlike. "Ow… my head," she groaned, pressing a hand to her temple.
The faint glow of candlelight trembled against the walls. Incense curled through the air in ghostly ribbons. A sound, soft at first, then heavier, crept from the dark corner near the hearth. A floorboard groaned. Fatima's breath hitched. "H-hello?" Her voice barely broke the silence. "I-is someone there?"
The answering sound was slow, deliberate footsteps. Heavy enough to make the floor tremble, each one closer than the last. She scrambled to her knees, standing atop the bed, heart hammering against her ribs. Her gaze darted toward the corner— And then she saw them. Eyes. Two faintly glowing amber orbs cutting through the dark. She gasped, her heartbeat thudding faster.
Her throat tightened as a figure stepped into the dim light, tall and broad-shouldered, his presence swallowing the air around him. "It took you long enough." The voice, deep, calm, smooth as smoke—struck a chord deep within her memory.
The man emerged fully now: long crimson hair cascading down his back, a golden cross earring glinting against his slightly tanned skin. Every line of him seemed sculpted from marble and fire. "W-who are you?" Fatima stammered, clutching at her nightgown as realization and dread crashed together in her chest. "Why have you brought me to this place?"
His lips curved, not into a smile, but something sharper, almost wounded. "I'm disappointed, princess. Five years… and you've already forgotten me. You even bore another man's child, how cruel of you."
Her mind reeled as her frantic movements ceased. No. It can't be. Her bare feet touched the cold floor as she stepped down, trembling. The scent of his skin, the burn of his gaze, the impossible sound of his voice—all pointed to one familiar presence, yet there was no resemblance.
"Na–Nathan? Is that…you?" she whispered, taking gingerly steps toward him, disbelief and longing twining in her throat. "In the flesh," he said softly. Her hand rose, almost against her will, brushing his cheek. Warm. Real. The touch cracked something inside her. A sob escaped before she could hold it back. "You…you came back unscathed. Thank the heavens!" She sniffled before throwing herself into his arms, and he caught her, strong and steady, the heat of him wrapping around her like a long-forgotten dream.
"I missed you so much, Nathan," she wept into his chest, her shoulders trembling. His embrace tightened, silent, unyielding. "I'm so glad you're back." She sobbed, her voice muffled against his chest. For a heartbeat, the world outside ceased to exist—only the scent of lavender, the whisper of her tears, and the echo of a promise resurrected in the dark.
**
The morning air slipped through the open window like a cool caress, carrying with it the scent of dew and wild jasmine. Sunlight filtered in pale gold beams that danced lazily across the carpeted marble floor, catching the motes of dust that swirled in the stillness. A bird's song—a bright, lilting melody—seemed to coax her gently from slumber.
Fatima blinked into wakefulness, stretching languidly beneath the linen sheets, her body still heavy with sleep. What a beautiful morning, she thought drowsily. Then, as her mind began to stir, unease flickered at the edge of memory. That dream…
Her breath hitched. The warmth of another's body—his body—lingered on her skin like an invisible imprint. She could almost feel the brush of his fingers, the press of his breath at her ear. Her pulse quickened, and she pressed a trembling hand against her chest. No. Ridiculous. "It was just a dream… a very vivid one too. My goodness!" She reassured herself, letting out another yawn.
She swung her legs off the bed, her feet touching the chill of the floor. "I must get ready for work," she muttered, trying to banish the haze of forbidden images clouding her mind. But as she reached for her wardrobe, confusion prickled through her.
The doors creaked open—and she froze. The shelves were bare. Every dress, every cloak, every stitch of clothing had vanished. Only the faint scent of lavender sachets lingered where fabric should have hung. "Where are my clothes?" she murmured, a laugh of disbelief slipping from her lips. "What in heaven's name…"
She turned, calling halfheartedly, "Ivy? Clover? It's time to get up for work." Her voice sounded oddly small in the quiet room. Silence answered. Her head throbbed with a dull ache as she trudged about, her movements sluggish and heavy. Each yawn seemed to stretch longer than the last. But then something—several things—began to feel wrong. The light through the window was sharper, colder. The walls seemed unfamiliar, painted in shades she didn't recognize.
And then— "Pleasant morning to you, princess." The voice. Deep. Familiar. Too familiar. She turned, eyes wide. He stood in the doorway, one hand resting casually on the frame, his expression carved in that same knowing smirk that haunted her dream.
Her breath caught—then tore free as a sharp shriek. She stumbled backward, feet tangling in the sheets, and crashed to the floor. "Ow—damn it!" The pain jolted her fully awake, and she clutched her elbow, staring up at him with wild disbelief.
"She's awake," Nathaniel said coolly, turning his head slightly. "You may come in, Doctor Hayden." A second shadow moved beyond the doorway. Footsteps—measured and heavy, echoed across the floorboards as another figure approached. Her heart pounded so hard she could hear it in her ears. No. No, this can't be happening.
Nathaniel's amber eyes gleamed in the morning light, his smirk deepening. "Still think it was a dream?" And in that instant, as the doctor stepped into view, she realized the truth—last night had not been a dream at all.
**
The air still smelled faintly of mint and disinfectant when Nathaniel strode into the room, boots clicking against the marble floor. Doctor Hayden was just tucking away his stethoscope, scribbling in his ledger with the calm detachment of a man who very much wanted to not be there anymore.
"Well? How fares her baby?" Nathaniel asked, leaning lazily against the doorframe, arms folded, his voice smooth but sharp at the edges. Baby? What baby? Fatima blinked, straightening on the bed like a cat whose tail had just been stepped on. Her ruby eyes widened, and her mouth opened slightly in stunned disbelief. "I beg your pardon, your highness?" Doctor Hayden stammered, adjusting his round spectacles that had begun to slide down his nose.
"I was told she was with child," Nathaniel said flatly, his piercing gaze fixed on the poor doctor as though he'd personally orchestrated this alleged pregnancy. Fatima's jaw dropped. Is that what's been eating him all this time? He thinks I'm pregnant? Her heart thudded in her chest—half with outrage, half with the thrill of his attention. Unbelievable. I've been melting every time he looks my way, and he's over there thinking I am with child? Would I be thrown into prison for smacking some sense into a crown prince? She glared at him, but he averted his gaze.
"I regret to inform your highness," Doctor Hayden said delicately, "that Miss Fatima is not with child, nor are there any signs that she ever was. If anything, she's in better health than I've ever seen her." "Oh, good heavens," the doctor muttered under his breath, flicking his gaze nervously between the pair as he dabbed a cloth on his forehead. She looks like she's about to erupt. Hastily, he thrust the medical report into Nathaniel's hands, grabbed his satchel, and backed toward the door. "If there's nothing else, your highness, I'll take my leave. A pleasure, Miss Fatima."
Before Fatima could even respond, the poor man was gone—practically sprinting out the door as though chased by a hurricane in heels. "Thank you for your services, Doctor Hayden," Nathaniel said curtly, not taking his eyes off Fatima. "I too am leaving, your highness," she announced, hopping off the bed with a swish of her skirts. The crisp linen brushed her calves, and she made sure to slam her heels against the tile—just to punctuate her irritation.
"Where to?" His voice was calm, but there was a dangerous glint in his amber eyes. "Where else?" she shot back, refusing to look at him. Nathaniel's expression darkened slightly as he took a step closer. "Are you going back to that Tomario fellow?" She spun on her heel, fire flashing in her eyes. "As a matter of fact, yes! Since you seem so convinced I'm carrying his child, I'm going to make your dream come true, your highness!" She stomped her foot, hands planted firmly on her hips, cheeks flushed pink with anger.
From the hallway, Hayden paused for a split second, hearing the explosion. Miss Fatima is either the bravest or the most foolish woman I've ever met, he thought before wisely hurrying away. Nathaniel, meanwhile, didn't so much as flinch. His lips twitched into an infuriatingly calm grin. "I hate to break it to you, princess," he said, his tone teasing and low, "but you're never setting foot in the Kartier estate without me."
Fatima glared up at him, trembling with indignation. "Is that so?" "Indeed," he said, stepping closer, his grin widening. "Now then, shall I escort you to breakfast, my dear?" He extended his hand as though they hadn't just verbally sparred for the past three minutes. Fatima crossed her arms, scoffed, and stomped right past him, the scent of rosewater and fury lingering in the air. "Keep your hand, your highness. I can find my own way to breakfast." Nathaniel's chuckle followed her down the corridor—low, rich, and far too pleased with himself.
**
The ruins of the Kartier estate's annex still smoked faintly under the midday sun. Charred beams jutted from the rubble like blackened ribs, and the smell of wet ash clung to the air, heavy and bitter. Ivy, Clover, and Amie stood in the wreckage, their shoes sinking into soot and cinders, the silence between them broken only by the soft crackle of dying embers.
"I can't believe she's gone," Clover choked out, voice trembling. Her eyes were swollen and red, her hands twisting the hem of her soot-stained apron. Ivy's lips quivered. "We'll never see her again. I don't even want to be here anymore," she said, her voice breaking into a sob.
Amie couldn't lift her gaze from the scorched earth. Her fingers trembled as she clutched the edge of her skirt. "It's all my fault," she whispered, barely audible over the creak of collapsing wood. "I was there—and I froze. I just stood there, trembling like an idiot while she…" Her throat tightened, and she pressed her hand over her mouth. "I'm such a coward. A useless friend."
The three of them sank to the ground near the wreck, the ashes warm beneath their knees. Smoke stung their eyes as a light breeze carried flecks of black dust through the air. The scent of burnt wood mixed with the faint sweetness of crushed roses from the nearby garden—an almost cruel reminder of what had been lost.
Fatima's laughter, her quick wit, her way of lighting up a room—they felt her absence like a physical ache. In the hollow quiet of the courtyard, grief pressed down on them until even breathing felt wrong. Amie's thoughts churned in silence. I should've moved. I should've done something. I'm so sorry, Fati… I'll never forgive myself.
Then came the dull thud of slippers on stone. "What in the blazes are you three doing, standing around like a pack of lost puppies?" Edith's voice sliced through the air, shrill and impatient. Her shadow stretched long across the soot. "Stop sniveling and start cleaning before her grace wakes up and sees this mess!"
The girls startled, scrambling to their feet. "Yes, Miss Edith," they murmured in unison, heads bowed. Edith huffed, muttering under her breath as she turned away. "Good heavens, I swear I'm surrounded by incompetence. If I don't do everything myself, nothing ever gets done…" Her voice faded into the distance, leaving behind only the whisper of wind through the ashes—and the quiet grief of three girls who had lost more than just a friend.
**
The capital pulsed with life as banners fluttered above the crowded streets, every window spilling out laughter and the smell of roasted meat and spiced wine. Inside the imperial palace, chaos reigned. Servants rushed like ants between long banquet tables, silverware clinking, fabrics rustling, voices rising over one another. Even the marble floors seemed to hum with anticipation. The victory festival was only hours away, and every corner of the palace shimmered with excitement—and exhaustion.
With everyone scrambling to make things perfect, Emilia rolled up my sleeves and joined the fray, helping where she could. After all, this wasn't just any celebration. Once the banquet ended, the fighting competition would begin the very next day—the highlight of the festivities. The entirety of Alkaraz was anticipating the showdown between Nathaniel and his childhood friends.
"Mama!" cried little Cadhiel, squirming in Ulissa's arms and pointing toward Emilia with an excited grin. Ulissa laughed softly, her voice warm but a little breathless from juggling the boy and her own nerves. There'd been an awkward stiffness between the two women when they first met—formal smiles, polite nods—but the children had a way of melting barriers faster than wine could. Before long, they'd grown close enough to share knowing glances across the chaos.
"You two look like a married couple," Emilia teased, raising a brow and wearing a smirk that she knew would sting just a little. The effect was instant. Leonardo froze mid-step, his hand halfway to a tray of wine goblets, while Ulissa's eyes went wide, a deep flush creeping up her neck. Their gazes flickered toward each other for half a second before turning their heads in opposite directions. The air between them practically sizzled.
"Oh, come on," Emilia said, laughing. "No need to look so tense. I was teasing." She cleared her throat, trying to sound serious, but the grin tugging at her lips ruined the effort. Their relief was almost comical—both of them exhaled at once, shoulders sagging as they busied themselves with anything but eye contact.
Leonardo's ears were bright red, and if Ulissa smiled any wider to hide her embarrassment, her face would split in two. Emilia had never seen him make that kind of expression before—bashful, flustered, human. Guess my brother's charms had rubbed off on him after all.
"This is going to take a while," Emilia sighed, shaking her head with a small smile. Balancing Cadhiel in her arms, she turned and walked toward the open hall, his tiny fingers playing with the braid at her shoulder. Behind them, the noise of preparations swelled again—the clash of dishes, the thrum of footsteps, the faint laughter of two people still too shy to admit what was obvious to everyone else.
The scent of baked bread and rosewater trailed through the corridor as Emilia stepped away, her heart lighter than it had been in days. The coming days promised excitement, and somehow, she knew the real spectacle wouldn't just be on the fighting grounds.
**
The atmosphere inside Nathaniel's carriage was thick enough to choke on. The air barely moved, heavy with the scent of polished wood and whatever expensive cologne Nathaniel had decided to bathe in that morning. Fatima shifted in her seat, tugging at a loose thread on her sleeve just to have something to look at that wasn't him. His eyes—those cool, assessing ones—had been on her for the last five minutes straight.
Nathaniel cleared his throat, the sound slicing through the silence like a blade. "Are you still upset?" he asked, his deep voice softer than expected. Fatima's lips pressed together, the corners twitching downward into a pout that could rival a sulking child's. The message was written all over her face, yet she said nothing. Nathaniel sighed inwardly. From the way she's glaring at the window like it owes her money, I'd say yes. Honestly, I'm surprised she even agreed to come to Alkaraz with me.
"I'm sorry," Nathaniel apologized, voice tight. "I didn't mean to disrespect you in any way. It's just…" His words tangled in his throat like a spool of thread gone rogue. He rubbed his hands together, heat rising to his ears. Why is this harder than talking to a monarch? He thought miserably.
Nathaniel leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his tone suddenly earnest. "When I heard you were carrying someone else's child, I was… furious. Then I tried to understand. I did, truly. But it still hurt." His jaw flexed as he stared at the carriage floor. "It felt like being defeated by an invisible enemy."
Fatima blinked at him. "You should have asked me instead of assuming it was true!" she shot back, crossing her arms with a huff. The prince winced, running a hand through his long hair. Even if I said it in a thousand different ways, she'd still find a way to misunderstand. Still, there was less storm in her eyes now—more drizzle than thunder. Maybe that was progress.
He glanced at the space beside her. Should he move closer? Maybe bridge the gap between them? Or would that end with her trying to get away from him? Before he could decide, Fatima caught his look and narrowed her eyes. "Why are you staring at me like that, your highness? What is it you want?" "You…" He froze. The words tripped over his tongue like startled deer. "I-I mean—I want you to stop being upset with me!"
The words hung in the air, ridiculous and raw. Nathaniel immediately bit the inside of his cheek, cursing himself in silence. Brilliant, Nathaniel. Absolutely regal. Truly the stuff of legends. Fatima blinked at him again—then let out the smallest, most reluctant laugh. "You're still terrible at this, you know that?"
The carriage rolled on, bumping along the road toward Alkaraz, carrying two people who had absolutely no idea what to do with each other—but couldn't seem to stop trying anyway.