Tyche was in the backyard when the thought of him returned.
The space behind the house was small but lovingly kept, hemmed in by a low stone wall softened with age and creeping ivy. Rows of herbs grew in uneven devotion—thyme spilling rebelliously over its borders, rosemary standing proud and sharp-scented, mint creeping wherever it pleased. Near the fence, broad-leafed greens flourished in rich, dark soil, their surfaces still kissed with the day's lingering warmth.
She knelt among them, basket at her side, fingers moving with quiet familiarity as she plucked leaves one by one. The air smelled of earth and green life, of crushed stems and promise. Somewhere nearby, a bird chirped lazily,
unbothered by the world's troubles.
Tyche exhaled.
And then, uninvited, he intruded on her thoughts.
"That arrogant—" she muttered under her breath, tugging a leaf free with more force than necessary. "Cold-hearted, ill-mannered, overgrown menace…"
The curses were childish, she knew. Petty. But they helped.
She scowled at the plant as if it had personally offended her, continuing in a low whisper meant only for the leaves and the soil.
"Who does he think he is, glaring like that? As if kindness were a crime."
The memory of his eyes—dark, sharp, unreadable—made her fingers curl.
Still, as the minutes passed, the tension in her chest loosened. The earlier sting behind her eyes had faded; the swelling had gone down, leaving her face clearer, brighter, as though the garden itself had quietly tended to her. A faint warmth returned to her cheeks, the kind that came from fresh air and movement rather than embarrassment or hurt.
She paused, brushing dirt from her hands onto her skirt.
And then the strangest thought surfaced again.
" I've seen him before."
The realization made her still.
Tyche frowned, staring down at the leaves in her basket as if they might answer her. The feeling wasn't new—it had followed her since that unpleasant encounter, faint but persistent, like a tune she couldn't quite place.
Had she truly met someone like him before?
She shook her head slowly. No. That was impossible. Someone so cold, so rude, so sharply carved from arrogance—how could she ever forget a face like that? A presence like that?
Yet the question refused to leave her.
"If I had met him before", she thought, fingers tightening around the basket's handle, "surely I would remember."
The garden offered no reply—only the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze, and the quiet certainty that some memories did not surface until they were ready to wound.
Tyche gathered the basket and rose, unaware that fate had already begun closing its fingers around her name.
**********
Tyche approached the kitchen, basket in hand, her steps careful on the worn stone path. The warm scent of herbs and earth gave way to the richer aroma of simmering sauces and baked bread.
She paused at the doorway, as soon as heard the muffled voices inside.
"Can you believe my cousin actually entered the draw?" one of the younger helps whispered.
"Really?" another replied, barely containing her laughter. "My friend's sister did the same thing!"
" All my friends entered too, and I'm not exempted," a third chimed in, speaking quickly as if proud.
"Yes! I overheard Mistress Lysandra mention the same about Ouriania's entry," another added, speaking with cautious respect in her tone, yet the amusement in her voice was unmistakable.
"Imagine being chosen, ha!"
A hush of giggles followed.
"And what about Tyche?" someone asked, curiosity and barely hidden malice in her tone.
The rest erupted into laughter.
"She wouldn't be worth it anyway," one of the older helps said, voice dripping with condescension.
"She's just an orphan and basically a maid…"
Another snickered, leaning in. "And look at her eyes! green?, more like unholy if you ask me."
"Not always," someone muttered.
"They weren't like that before she and parents where involved in that accident."
"Exactly," a third added. "I heard the doctor said it might be the course of some illness she got from the river bank where their carriage was found, something that changed her."
"Illness, my foot," another scoffed.
"I don't believe it. There's nothing natural about eyes like that. They're…. Cursed,demonic and Scary."
Tyche's fingers clenched the basket so tightly her knuckles whitened. Her hands trembled. Her chest felt like it was being squeezed from all sides. She wanted to step back, to disappear into the shadows of the doorway, but she could not move.
"Which of the three handsome princes would get to change the lucky girl's life, I wonder?" one of them said teasingly, the malice in her tone sharp and gleeful.
A pause, then another help corrected, with a laugh in her voice, "Don't you mean four?"
Tyche's grip on the basket shook, the contents rattling slightly. Her hands trembled uncontrollably now, and a hot sting formed behind her eyes. She forced herself to remain still, pressed against the doorframe, drinking in every cruel word, every whispered insult.
Even as the laughter rolled around her, a strange, hollow ache took root deep inside—a mix of humiliation, fear, and something fiercer. Something that whispered she could not let this pass.
Tyche's hands were trembling so badly that the basket rattled in her grip. Her chest tighted as their words repeated several times in her head.
She felt rejected like an outcast , unwanted and it shattered her self esteem.Slowly tears escaped her eyes, and rolled down her cheeks. she couldn't bear their harsh words She was about to step away, then
"N-no."she said, her voice shaking
"No!"she repeated again but more audible and firm.
"not anymore, I'm not going to run away from these words especially from people like them" she wiped off the tears on her cheeks, and moved forward. ready to speak, when the next words froze her completely.
"Did she just… call that thing a prince?" one of the helps whispered, her voice barely audible.
Another snapped her head around sharply. "Stop saying such things! He's a member of the imperial family. You know that! Talking like that… it's treason."
But The first wasn't having that "Treason? Are you kidding? That beast… a member of the imperial family?"
Then, one by one, the stories began to spill. Each word made Tyche's stomach twist and her spine shiver.
"I heard he has two long sweeping horns… and a tail as tick as a wip… and claws as long as daggers. and guess what, His eyes are on fire."
"Can you believe he was sent to the battlefield at the age of thirteen? and was placed at the front line! Obviously Normal boys would die, but he… he killed two hundred and fifty men with his bare hands!"
Tyche's chest tightened. Her breath caught. She felt the basket slip slightly in her grasp, though she held onto it desperately. She could hardly imagine such a creature—something definitely not human—existing, let alone being a member of the imperial family.
"And his complexion…" another whispered, eyes wide. "Pitch black. They say he devours humans!"
Panic began to ripple through the group. "What if he is the prince who will take a girl?!"
A sigh of relief passed from one to another. "Don't worry. My grandmother said that for generations it has always been the youngest prince who takes a girl from the village."
"Then it would be Prince Piers!" another said, a giggle escaping her lips, followed by more laughter from the rest.
Tyche could not believe her ears. She gripped the basket until her knuckles burned, trembling with fear, and disbelief.
If even half of what they said was true… how could her aunt, seriously want Ourania to live in the same place with that? A creature of war, with fire for eyes, and claws that could tear men apart?
Her chest tightened even further, and for the first time she wondered what ouriania's say was in the matter of the draw