The prince draped the long garland of threaded jasmines over the statue's shoulders, letting it coil gently down like a woven shawl of fragrance. He stepped back, tapping his chin with a thoughtful hum.
"Did it fall short?" he muttered under his breath, head tilting slightly as if the balance of the bloom still wasn't quite right.
Zuzu exhaled, his eyes drifting from the over-adorned statue to the prince's fingers red at the edges, faint lines of thread cuts etched across them like the quiet price of devotion.
"Your Highness…" he started, a bit hesitantly. "Is this statue a goddess, or something you're secretly worshipping?" He folded his arms. "You've spent all night threading those jasmines to that ridiculous length, and now you're asking if it falls less?"
He gestured toward the figure with a tired flick of his hand. "You've completely buried in jasmine. There's no statue anymore—just a heap of blossoms that smells like an entire forest bloomed in one place."
"Really?" the prince replied, swiftly turning to him, voice light.
Zuzu held his expression steady, unimpressed. "Hmph."
The prince studied the statue again, fingers absently brushing a loose petal from the hem of its stone robe.
"Still," he murmured, "I think she would have liked the scent."
Zuzu blinked, then muttered beneath his breath, "If she were real, she'd probably ask you to stop drowning her in flowers and take care of your fingers instead."
The prince chuckled softly, but didn't answer, his attention already lost again in the silent bloom of white.
After a pause, the prince left the statue behind and quietly walked to the edge of the fountain, its surface still under the late afternoon sun. He sat down, his fingers trailing idly along the cool stone.
Zuzu followed, pacing in front of him with increasing agitation, hands behind his back and brow furrowed. "Everyone will be returning very soon," he said, the words hanging in the quiet.
"Is that so? And where did you get this report?"
Zuzu sighed. "Your Highness, the palace walls may be carved from jade and silence, but they do have ears. You know this. Or have you forgotten already?"
The prince stood now, walking a slow circle around the fountain's edge, his tone calm but far away. "I haven't. That's why I've been thinking… of ways to welcome them back. After all, they've endured calamities on their own."
Zuzu came to a stop, hands on his hips. "Your Highness, why are you like this?"
"Like what?"
Zuzu stepped forward. "Why do you care so deeply for them?" he asked, his voice lower now, more pointed. "They never treated you like family. Not even as a cousin, let alone as their Crown Prince."
"For years they ignored you, avoided your company, acted as if your affection was something to be dismissed or laughed at. And I'm not talking about the Seventh Prince—he's the opposite. He practically growls at anyone who gets too close to you, including me."
The prince fell silent for a moment before speaking, "Zuzu… they're still just children—naive teenagers, barely fourteen," he said quietly. "None of this is truly their fault. When everything went wrong, they were only a year old. How could they possibly bear the blame for that?"
He exhaled slowly, "I should treat them with care. Every single one of them. They're children, after all."
"Exactly!" Zuzu snapped. "Which means they should've shown more respect to someone who always treated them with kindness. Instead, they treated you like a shadow that didn't belong to their light."
The prince didn't respond right away, and extending his hand fingers touching surface of the fountain water. Finally, he said, "Some wounds heal slower. But if I stop offering warmth, how will they ever learn where to return when it gets cold?"
Zuzu's expression remained unchanged but said nothing as he continued like,
"The Seven Dawn Petals of the Imperial Palace," the prince murmured, tilting his head slightly.
"Even though I hold the title of Crown Prince, it doesn't change the truth, they are heirs too. Each of them will one day hold dominion over key provinces of the empire. Shouldn't I start repairing our relationships now, while there's still time? Tell me… am I wrong?"
Zuzu blinked, momentarily caught off guard, then nodded with fervent enthusiasm. "No, Your Highness is absolutely right. Strengthening those bonds now is essential. After all, once you ascend the throne, they'll each hold power over crucial domains of Shenghara. Be it political, military, or spiritual, they'll wield influence within the Three Courts. That's why you must ensure they respect your authority. Keep them close so they don't stray… just like His Majesty—who keeps everyone under control, at his fingertips, standing alone at the pinnacle of power."
"Perfect," Daita cut in, raising both hands with flair. "I'm completely on your side. I'll even help you twist their thoughts and guide them right into your perfectly crafted snares. Ah finally, I've waited years for this."
"Perfect," Daita cut in, lifting both hands with flair. "I'm completely on your side. I'll even help you twist their thoughts and gently guide them straight into your perfectly crafted snares. Ah… I've waited years for this."
Daita's expression shifted, his tone sharp with intent. "But in return," he said, leaning in slightly and lowering his voice just enough to make the moment feel heavy, "you have to promise me one thing."
"Keep me out of palace affairs, and officially accept that I refuse to govern whatever dominion I am supposed to. Let me live out my days as a carefree commoner. no titles, no duties, no expectations. What do you say? Do we have a deal?"
The prince sighed, pressing his palm to his face, shaking his head slowly at the sheer absurdity of it all.
Behind him, Zuzu muttered under his breath, "Here he goes again…"
"Come on, just accept it this time." Daita stepped forward, voice more earnest now. "I'll do everything in my power to make sure you hold all the reins. What's so difficult about removing me from the title of Seventh Prince? When you ascend, you'll be Emperor. Only the Emperor can bestow or revoke titles of succession. And I—" he gestured vaguely, frustration bubbling beneath his tone, "I'm not even a rightful heir. Yet you still—"
"Daita." The prince placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
"That title isn't something I can strip away. It's yours, not because His Majesty gave it to you, but because it always belonged to you. And it always will. You have every right to it. No matter how much you try to deny it, you're not just my closest friend… you're also My cousin."
Daita rolled his eyes and turned away sharply, "I don't have any right to be one. And no—I don't accept anything you say."
The prince sighed deeply and gave a subtle signal to Zuzu, who nodded quickly before hurrying off, disappearing into the distance.
Turning back to Daita, the prince walked toward him, offering a faint, almost sad smile. "If staying away from everything that belongs to the palace is what you truly want, fine. I'll agree at last."
He paused, his tone sharpening just slightly.
"But… you should cut ties with me entirely then. Because I belong to the palace, too."
"Akira…"
Daita's lips parted, but the prince spoke before he could respond more.
"You wanted to live as a commoner, didn't you? There is a way, but only through banishment. If you commit a grave sin, that would be the only way to remove your title and position. However, remember this—once you're banished, you can never return to the palace. No one will ever be able to connect with you again. not even me. It's the law, a rule you are no doubt well aware of."
"But you can change the rule when—" Daita began, but the prince swiftly cut him off.
"Not everything is under the sway of power. Not everything can be bent to one's will. There are no exceptions to the law, no matter how powerful you are or I am. If you wish to rid yourself of your title, you'll have to break the law. You'll have to commit a grave sin. And no matter your status, whether you are a commoner, a noble, or even the crown prince myself, the punishment will be the same. That is banishment."
Daita lowered his gaze, his fist tightening as he suppressed the frustration rising within him.
"I would have committed a grave sin already if severing ties with my friend weren't part of the deal," he muttered, looking up with a faint, resigned smile. The prince nodded, turning away as he began to walk.
Daita's voice softened, barely a whisper to himself.
"Rules? What rules? Laws? What laws—and who even likes them?" he said quietly. "Coming from the one who does the exact opposite of everything he ever preaches to me. But what truly terrifies me is this—one day, instead of me, it will be you who commits that grave sin. Because I know… deep down, more than anyone else, you are the one who longs to escape these palace walls. If not for the chains of responsibility, and the unbearable weight of the pain you carry, I think you would've already chosen that path. Or perhaps… you already did. Perhaps you've been walking it all along."
Saying this, he let out a scoff—then his gaze caught on something ahead.
Daita drifted toward the statue, his steps slowing as his eyes traced the intricate carvings: stone flowers draped delicately across its shoulders, frozen in full-bloom, flawless even in stillness. He tilted his head, studying it for a long moment, before shaking it lightly as a soft chuckle slipped past his lips.
"So… he craves another now, huh," Daita murmured to himself. "The Crown Prince still finds comfort in this? I wonder, which goddess it is that he worships all the time…"
As he lifted his gaze, his eyes narrowed, a sudden sense of familiarity washing over him.
Wait…
He squinted at the statue, studying it more carefully. Those hands. That build. A crease formed between his brows.
Doesn't this resemble someone I know? Have I seen those lines… those curves—before?
He fell silent, mind rifling through half-remembered images, but nothing settled. A low groan escaped him as he dragged a hand through his hair.
"Why can't I remember?" he muttered.
He stared up at the blindfolded statue, one brow arching in quiet amusement.
"Whatever goddess you are…" he said quietly, folding his arms, "if only he hadn't decided to carve you blindfolded and then bury you under all these flowers…"
He let out a soft sigh. "Unpredictable," he murmured.
With that, he turned as if to circle the statue—
"Daita!"
The sharp voice cut through the stillness.
"Daita, what are you doing? Don't touch it!"