As the limousine crested a final hill, the horizon didn't just open—it exploded. Before Olivia lay a sprawling metropolis that looked like a jagged crown of glass, steel, and light. Her jaw dropped, her warrior's composure shattering.
"What... what is this place?" she whispered.
"This is the heart of the Steel Duchy, Your Highness," the butler replied, his voice brimming with quiet pride.
They entered the city, and Olivia felt her head spinning in a vortex of chaos. The streets weren't just roads; they were arteries of a living, breathing creature. The butler began to point out the impossible sights.
"Those large buildings with the glass fronts are Malls and Supermarkets, where goods from across the world are gathered. Those poles lining the streets are Streetlights, powered by a force we call electricity. That grand structure is a Movie Theatre, where we project stories onto screens; and beside it, the Radio towers that carry voices through the air."
Olivia saw children carrying satchels into massive, dignified buildings. "Those are our Schools and Universities," the butler explained. "Here, your birthright is secondary. One's Merit, the knowledge they learn, and how they apply it—that is the only true currency. A Scholarly Degree is a more powerful title than 'Baron' or 'Count' within these walls."
They passed Hospitals and Clinics, where the butler spoke of Drugstores, Pharmacies, and Lab Institutes that cured diseases without a single healing spell. They saw Fuel Stations feeding the metal beasts of the road, and vibrant rows of Restaurants, Hotels, Lodges, and Parlors.
"Even the poorest citizens here," the butler noted, "possess more wealth and comfort than the middle-class merchants of your Capital. There are limitless job opportunities for those willing to work."
Olivia watched a Police Station, where men in the same black armor she had seen at the gate stood watch. She saw TVs flickering in shop windows—moving pictures without a scrying mirror. It was a form of Alchemy, she realized, but one that stripped away the mystery and replaced it with cold, hard Logic. It didn't require mana or ancient runes; it required understanding.
Her gaze fell to the two letters in her lap. A seed of doubt began to sprout in her mind. If this place was so powerful, so wealthy—why was it called a "desolate wasteland" in the Capital?
She looked at the cold, wax seals of her father and her brother, Edward. She remembered their unreadable, frozen expressions as they banished her. Was it a lie? she wondered. Did they send me here to rot, or did they send me to the only place in the world that could challenge the Empire?
Olivia gripped the letters tighter, her heart hammering against her ribs. The "trash" she had been discarded into was looking more like a throne of iron.
******
The limousine hummed softly as it wove through the bustling streets of the inner city. Inside, the silence was no longer heavy with despair, but with a growing, frantic curiosity. Olivia's fingers trembled as she finally broke the wax seal of the first letter. It bore the heavy, draconic crest of her father, Emperor Henry Trayagon.
"Olivia," the letter began, the handwriting as sharp and uncompromising as the man himself. "By now, you likely still believe I have betrayed you. You likely think I threw you to the wolves to satisfy your sister's greed. I do not care what you think of me. My only concern was that I could not allow a scumbag like Robert Greenwood to tether himself to my daughter."
Olivia's breath hitched.
"I chose to send you to a better man, in a place where your strength will actually mean something. Your sister believes she has won a great prize, but Amelia has simply thrown away a diamond to clutching a piece of painted gold. Stay safe. Do not shackle your heart to fools again."
Olivia stared at the parchment, her heart hammering. She quickly tore open the second letter—the one from her brother, Edward. His writing was hurried, blunt, and carried the familiar sting of his protective arrogance.
"To my 'Renowned' sister," it started with a palpable scolding tone. "Your taste in men is officially a disgrace to the Royal Bloodline. To choose a sniveling alchemist like Robert over a true gentleman like George Steel is a lapse in judgment I cannot overlook. Stop being so naive, Olivia. It does not suit a Royal to be blind to the character of those around them. Be more attentive. Try not to let your guard down just because a man can brew a potion."
A single tear hit the paper, followed by another. Olivia didn't wipe them away. They weren't tears of sadness or the sting of exile; they were tears of overwhelming, jagged joy.
She hadn't been discarded. Her father's stone-cold expression and Edward's unreadable silence hadn't been malice—they were a mask. They had looked at the crumbling, magic-obsessed Capital and the vibrant, logical superpower of the North, and they had chosen to send her here. They had traded her "trash" for the greatest secret in the world.
"Princess? Is everything alright?" Sophia asked, her voice laced with concern as she saw her mistress crying.
Olivia looked up, her ruby eyes blazing with a new, fierce light. She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, her posture straightening into the commanding silhouette of the War Princess once more. The heartbreak was gone, replaced by a burning anticipation.
"I am more than alright, Sophia," Olivia said, her voice steady and sharp. She turned to the Steel butler, who was watching her with a calm, observant gaze. "How much longer until we reach the Manor? I find myself quite eager to meet my new fiancé."
"We are just turning into the private estate grounds now, Your Highness," the butler replied, gesturing ahead. "Master George has cleared his schedule for your arrival."
Olivia looked out the window as the limousine passed through a second set of gates, leading toward a manor that combined the elegance of a palace with the structural perfection of a fortress. She tucked the letters into her tunic, right against her heart.