After the meeting, we went straight to Prince Ashen's office along with Zein and Beatrix. I took a seat, the recent debate and the smug faces of the senators still burning in my mind.
Why do people crave to become senators? It's not for service. It's not for justice. It's certainly not for the Empire.
It's for the gold, the influence, the title they can flaunt like a crown they never earned. They walk into the chamber not as servants of the people, but as merchants of their own greed, trading favors behind closed doors while the streets starve outside the palace gates.
They parade themselves as lawmakers, yet half of them cannot even recite the laws they swore to uphold. They call themselves leaders, yet they have never once stood in the mud with soldiers, never walked among the farmers who bleed under the weight of harvest taxes, never listened to the merchants who collapse under corrupt tolls. They don't know the lives they ruin—they don't want to know.
It is easier for them to sit on velvet chairs, signing documents with careless hands, stealing from the treasury in clever disguises. They gorge themselves on feasts paid for by the very people they exploit. They measure success not by how the Empire prospers, but by how much land, coin, and influence their families accumulate.
They are selfish, cruel, thieves—yes—but worse, they are cowards. They hide their crimes under the veil of politics, thinking themselves untouchable, untarnished. But corruption leaves a stench no perfume of power can mask. And history—history never forgets. Every empire that rotted from within was destroyed not by enemies at the gates, but by the gluttony and arrogance of its own rulers.
And I see it now, so clearly. The senators who raise their voices against philosophy, against wisdom, against truth—they are the very same men who fear knowledge. Because knowledge strips them bare. They fear that people will learn to question, to demand, to recognize the theft disguised as governance.
They want power without responsibility, wealth without labor, titles without sacrifice. They are parasites of the Empire, bleeding it slowly while pretending to heal it. And yet, they dare call themselves leaders.
My dark thoughts were abruptly cut short by Beatrix.
"Ugh, I didn't even do anything in the meeting, but I feel so exhausted," Beatrix complained dramatically, flopping into her seat. "Anyway… you all don't have plans, right?" she asked, glancing at the three of us.
We exchanged looks in silence.
"What if we sneak out, go to the capital, and grab something to eat?" she suggested, her eyes already sparkling with mischief.
My heart skipped. That makes me excited—oh my gods, I can go to the capital again.
"No. Too dangerous," Zein answered flatly.
"Come on! It's just once," Beatrix shot back, rolling her eyes. "As if we're all gonna die? Hello? THAT prince right here? As if he's not the strongest swordsman in the Empire."
Prince Ashen's eyes flicked toward her, cold and sharp. "Strength does not mean recklessness. If anyone saw Dravina in the capital, even if with her veil, it would not just be dangerous—it would be catastrophic."
Beatrix shrank a little in her seat but still pouted stubbornly. "Ugh, fine…"
But then Ashen's gaze slid toward me, lingering longer than it should. I hadn't realized how bright my eyes must have looked at the thought of freedom—of food stalls, of crowded streets, of a taste of ordinary life.
He exhaled, slow and almost reluctant. "...But perhaps, if it is done carefully…"
Beatrix gasped. "I KNEW IT! He's soft for you!"
"Silence," Ashen cut her off, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips. "If we go, it will be under my terms. No wandering. No revealing who we are. One mistake, and we return immediately."
Beatrix clapped her hands together like a child given candy. Zein just buried his face in his palm. And me? My heart was already racing ahead of all of them—straight into the streets of the capital.
They're so strict—as if I didn't just kill Mrs. Flavian's ally, I muttered inwardly, biting back a smirk.
Prince Ashen didn't say a word, just stepped closer until his shadow swallowed mine. His gloved hands lifted the veil mask—dark silk, embroidered with faint gold threading—and he placed it carefully over my face. Only my eyes remained visible.
The fabric was cool against my skin, soft but suffocating. I could still see him through the thin mesh, his expression unreadable yet… strangely gentle.
"Keep it on," he said, adjusting the edges so it framed my eyes perfectly. "Your eyes alone are enough to give you away."
Give me away? Oh please, Your Highness. They'd be lucky to even see me coming.
He fastened the clasp under my chin, his fingers brushing against my jaw for just a second longer than necessary. Then, with that same calm authority, he pulled the cloak around my shoulders—hood up, identity erased.
The empire would see only a shadow. And yet, even hidden beneath layers of secrecy, I couldn't help but think—They're so scared of being seen. While I? I've already faced what they're all afraid of.
Beatrix used her carriage for our escape, her plan as flawless as her confidence. She even handled the guards herself, speaking with that charming, sugar-coated authority that could convince anyone she was simply out for an "afternoon errand." Before we knew it, we were already on the road to the capital—our laughter drowned by the rhythmic sound of the horses' hooves.
The capital wasn't that far from the Imperial Office, yet every passing minute felt like freedom itself. The air was alive—filled with noise, chatter, and the scent of food I'd never even seen before. When we arrived, we stepped down from the carriage, each of us blending into the crowd like any ordinary citizen.
For the first time in a long while, I wasn't a name. I wasn't a title. I was just… me. And it felt liberating.
People passed us without recognition, though a few turned their heads—probably because of our clothes or maybe because Prince Ashen's presence had that silent gravity that drew attention no matter what he wore. We ignored the stares and continued walking, tasting the world we were never allowed to touch.
Then suddenly, a small figure dashed out of nowhere. Before I could react, she collided right into me.
A little girl—maybe six or seven—fell to the ground and immediately looked terrified. "I-I-I'm sorry… I didn't mean to," she stammered, bowing her head so low her messy hair almost touched the ground. Her friends froze nearby, equally frightened.
Prince Ashen knelt down without hesitation. His voice softened, calm and reassuring as his hand gently patted the girl's head.
"It's okay," he said. "Be careful next time, alright?"
The little girl's eyes lit up, relief flooding her small face. "T-t-thank you…" she whispered before running back to her friends. I watched her go, oddly touched. That small moment—the sincerity in her voice—felt warmer than any sunlight I'd ever stood under.
"Alright, alright—ooh! Let's try this!" Beatrix's excitement cut through the moment as she pointed toward a stall selling candied fruits glistening under the light.
We followed her, and the first bite felt like a spark of joy bursting on my tongue—sweet, sticky, unfamiliar. I couldn't help but smile. "This is… so good," I murmured, and Beatrix laughed, already reaching for another skewer.
We wandered through the busy streets, sampling food after food, until we passed by a grand theater. Its entrance was surrounded by colorful banners and a lively crowd. Beatrix gasped dramatically.
"Oh, come on—we have to watch that!" she said, clutching my arm like a child seeing fireworks.
Zein just sighed, but his lips curved into a small smile. "You're impossible," he muttered, but still followed her lead.
As we joined the line, Beatrix and Zein volunteered to buy the tickets and snacks.
"Don't go anywhere, okay?" she said with a playful grin before disappearing into the crowd.
And just like that, it was only me and Ashen again.
The noise of the city seemed to fade around us—the laughter, the shouts, even the chatter of the line. Just the two of us standing there, side by side, under the soft golden glow of the capital lights.
As we stood in line, a small group of girls—maybe around seventeen or eighteen—lined up beside us. They looked harmless at first, giggling and whispering to each other. But then I caught the way their eyes lingered—on him.
They clearly didn't recognize who he really was, but Prince Ashen's presence was hard to ignore.
Murmurs filled the air between them:
"Did you see him? He's so handsome." "Yeah, and he smells so good." "Oh my… he's so tall. Totally my type." Then another one whispered, "Ooh, I think that's his girlfriend."
Ashen and I exchanged glances—his amused, mine… not so much.
"Should I ask his name?" one of the girls said softly. "I don't think they're together," another replied with a giggle.
My gaze instinctively darted to Ashen, and I glared at him coldly. I didn't even know why I did that. Maybe because I hated how they looked at him—like he was some prize they could just claim with a smile.
I mean… yes, he is handsome. He's tall. He's smart. He's literally everything they just said and more. But hearing it from other girls? Yeah, it didn't sit well with me.
"Why?" he asked suddenly, turning to me with that low, knowing voice of his.
"Why what?" I replied, keeping my tone flat as I looked away, pretending to be completely unbothered.
He smirked slightly. "You glared at me."
"I didn't," I said quickly, though my heartbeat betrayed me.
Ashen chuckled under his breath. "Then why do you look like you're ready to kill someone?"
I crossed my arms and turned my back to him, trying to hide the way my cheeks felt like they were on fire.
"Keep dreaming, Your Highness," I muttered, and he only laughed softly—quiet, smug, and entirely too pleased with himself.
Beatrix and Zein finally arrived—Zein loaded with several paper bags while Beatrix strolled in, holding only four tickets and not a single trace of guilt on her face. Poor Zein looked like he was questioning every life decision that led him here.
Prince Ashen took a few of the bags from Zein without saying anything, his movements calm, almost effortless.
"Uhmm—" Beatrix began, fidgeting. She threw a quick glance at Zein, who ignored her completely. "Say it," she whispered. "You say it," Zein shot back flatly. "I can't!" she hissed.
Ashen finally turned his gaze toward them, one eyebrow slightly raised. "Is there something I should know?" His tone was calm—too calm—the kind that made Beatrix visibly gulp.
"Well…" she laughed nervously. "While we were buying the tickets, they asked for our names."
"And?" I asked, already feeling suspicious.
Beatrix awkwardly handed over the tickets. "Sooo… we kinda used our real ones."
I blinked. "You what?" I snatched the ticket from her hand, and there it was—clear as daylight:
'Kaein Vesperianth''Dravina Elyndralis'
Oh, for heaven's sake.
I glanced at Ashen, expecting at least a reaction—but he just looked at the ticket, expression unreadable. No sigh, no curse, not even a twitch. Just a quiet stare that somehow made the air heavier.
"Don't worry!" Beatrix said quickly, waving her hands. "It's all settled! We're seated far from the crowd, okay? Like, really far."
Zein nodded like a soldier facing a firing squad. "And if anything happens, I'll take the consequences."
Beatrix pointed at him in agreement. "Exactly! So if we get caught, he's the one you punish!"
"Excuse me?" Zein exclaimed, scandalized.
I sighed, dragging a hand down my face while Ashen exhaled slowly beside me—clearly using every ounce of royal patience not to explode.
"Unbelievable," I muttered. "We're supposed to be sneaking out quietly, not announcing our royal bloodline on theater tickets."
Beatrix only grinned sheepishly. "Hehe… surprise?"
But then… we let things happen. At least we were enjoying ourselves.
As we stepped into the theater, the faint scent of candles and polished wood greeted us. The golden lights shimmered across the red curtains, and the murmur of the crowd filled the air like a soft hum of anticipation.
Before we could take another step, a man—probably the owner—hurried over and immediately bowed. "Your Majesty, thank you for visiting. We are honored by your presence. We hope you will enjoy tonight's performance."
The word Majesty echoed like thunder.
Beatrix froze. Zein's soul visibly left his body. Even the performers—some of them barely older than children—stopped what they were doing, staring in awe. One young girl, perhaps around twelve, approached shyly, her tiny hands clutching her skirt.
"O-Our lord," she said, bowing so low I almost wanted to tell her to stop. "I hope you will enjoy our performance later."
Whispers began to ripple through the hall like wildfire:
"Is that the princess?" "Her eyes… oh my, her eyes are stunning." "She must be so beautiful under that veil." "They smell divine, like real royals."
I could feel my face heat beneath the mask. Great. Just great. We're supposed to be sneaking out, not starring in tomorrow's headlines.
And yet, Ashen didn't flinch. Not a single reaction. He simply gave a small nod, his voice smooth and composed, carrying just enough authority to silence the room. "Thank you for having us," he said.
The way he said it—firm, calm, graceful—made even the whispers stop for a moment.
Then, without hesitation, he gestured for us to follow. "Let's go," he murmured.
We walked up the velvet stairs, each step echoing faintly until we reached the VVIP seats—secluded from everyone, draped in soft gold curtains.
Beatrix finally exhaled, gripping Zein's arm. "That was so close. I thought I was going to faint."
Zein muttered, "You should've fainted. Then maybe they'd forget you exist."
I just sighed and glanced at Ashen. He sat down gracefully, gaze fixed ahead, as if nothing had happened. I envied how unbothered he could be even when the entire world might be staring.
And maybe, that's what made him even harder to ignore. The lights dimmed, and the murmur of the audience faded into silence. A single spotlight illuminated the stage, revealing a young woman dressed in white silk. She stood beneath a painted moon, her voice trembling as the orchestra began to play.
The story was about a princess—one born in secrecy, hidden by her parents to protect her from the nobles who wanted her dead. My breath caught. Of all the plays in the capital… they had to choose this one.
As the scene unfolded, the princess fell in love with a knight sworn to protect her. He was loyal, fearless—yet forbidden to touch her hand unless ordered by the crown.
A bitter smile formed under my veil. Fate really loves its little ironies, doesn't it?
I stole a glance at Ashen. He sat there, calm and unreadable, one hand resting on his chin. But I noticed the way his fingers subtly tapped the armrest, matching the slow rhythm of the orchestra. He was listening intently—maybe even feeling it.
The actors danced beneath the glow of the chandeliers. The knight knelt before the princess, whispering, "I would rather die as your shadow than live as your king."
Something in my chest tightened. The line echoed inside me like an arrow drawn too tight to release.
Beatrix sniffled softly beside me. "Oh my god, I'm gonna cry," she whispered, wiping the corner of her eye with the back of her sleeve. Zein rolled his eyes. "You cry at everything romantic."
I didn't say anything. My gaze stayed on the stage. The princess in the story took off her veil at the final act, revealing her face only to her knight before she disappeared into the dark forest—her fate unknown, her crown abandoned.
The audience erupted into applause as the curtain fell, but I just sat there… silent.
Ashen leaned slightly toward me. "You didn't like it?" he asked, his voice quiet enough that only I could hear.
I hesitated. "No. I liked it too much."
He tilted his head, studying me with those sharp, knowing eyes. "Because it reminds you of something?"
"Because it reminds me of everything," I whispered back.
For a moment, we just stared at each other—eyes meeting through that thin veil of silk. And though the crowd cheered below us, it felt like the world had gone completely still.