The crooked living room pulsed with tension as the two locked eyes in silent threat.
"I need that potion, Sir Darian," Sylteena said, her voice cutting through the air like a finely forged blade.
Darian straightened. "With all due respect, Your Highness," he said in a slow and deliberate tone, "I cannot allow that."
Sylteena raised a brow, her eye twitching. "Not allow?" she repeated.
Darian took a step forward. "I may sympathize with your world's suffering, Your Highness, but I know what lives in it. And that knowledge feels like damnation."
His red eyes beamed underneath. "I will not partake in your suicidal request just because it makes you feel it can end your suffering."
Sylteena's expression hardened to a frown, her clenched jaw visibly set. "If you stop him, I'll walk out and find another witch who won't hesitate," she said flatly.
Darian's eyes glinted. "You will not find another witch, Your Highness… With all due respect," he managed in a controlled tone. "Not one who has seen the flame and lived to tell it. Not one who knows what it is to summon that creature without summoning death itself."
"Very well, Sir Darian." She drew in a deep breath. "Then I shall walk into the forest. Alone. And I will place myself at the mercy of the forest hound and the Sliqruki. If I survive, then the heavens have chosen. If I fall, then let it be written that I did not sit idle while opportunity passed me by."
She stepped closer. Her voice softened, but not from weakness or fear. "You trusted me, Sir Darian. Your words in the carriage… They were clear. You believed me then. Why do you doubt me now?"
Darian did not answer. There was a brief moment of loud silence as his knuckles cracked.
He only continued to observe the stern glare of the princess before him, unable to ignore the slow-blooming spark he saw in her eyes.
And he couldn't deny it.
It had not been in her eyes since her arrival at the palace. Since she had set foot in the royal house.
Darian looked down and swallowed hard. "Then I shall go with you—"
"No," she interrupted, her voice unhinged. "You will not. No one will. I shall approach the Sliqruki myself. And if you doubt my ability to face what waits in that forest, then from this moment on, I shall handle this quest without you."
He opened his mouth — but she raised a hand. "I have met the creature you fear," she said boldly. "Twice. And it did not kill me. It listened. It watched. And I am quite sure it will do so again."
There was a beat of stunned silence.
The boy, Vanya, popped up from behind Darian, wide-eyed. "You have spoken to the Sliqruki before?"
Sylteena turned to him. "Yes. We have exchanged words."
Vanya blinked, then turned to Darian. "Ahh… that explains it. That explains the entire thing. If she has met the Sliqruki face to face and lived, then there is truly nothing more you can say. She knows what awaits. She has chosen her steps with full knowing."
Darian's fists clenched at his sides. He did not like it. Not one bit. But he was not blind. And he was not deaf to the kind of resolve the princess stood firm on.
He looked at her, long and quiet.
Then finally, with a voice heavy with pride he did not want to feel, he said, "Make the potion."
Sylteena exhaled with a soft smile of relief. "Thank you, Sir Darian—"
"But know this," he cut in firmly. "I trust you. I trust your word, and I follow your command. That is my vow as your loyal guard. But I do not support this decision. Not in heart. Not in soul."
She met his eyes between the thin gaps of his helmet. Her lips curled slightly into a tender expression.
"I will guide you to the edge of the forest," he said. "To the very rim. But no further. Beyond that line… You walk alone."
And she smiled with a nod. "I understand… Thank you," she said.
Darian turned, his voice sipping through clenched jaws. "Vanya?" he called. "How long will it take?"
"At my slowest pace, three hours."
"Make it two. Quickly."
Vanya saluted with two fingers and rolled up his sleeves with a grin. "Ah. My favorite part. Brewing illegal potions in the service of royal insanity."
He skipped to the neck-crooked door that seemed to lead to what might be a kitchen.
Sylteena sighed with loosened shoulders.
• • •
The sun bowed low behind the Welerian palace, casting amber trails across the marbled floors and long, arched windows of the royal halls.
Prince Anthony stepped in first through the tall open doors, his gloves off and tucked neatly under his arm. Prince Wilhelm followed behind with a quicker stride, his expression drowsy with exhaustion. He let out a yawn.
Queen Rebecca stood at the threshold of the east wing, her posture wrapped in elegance and her expression warm as her two sons approached.
She opened her arms to bestow a kiss on each of their cheeks — a feather-light peck on Wilhelm, then Anthony.
Her lips then fell to a frown.
"Well," she said softly, though her tone read otherwise. "Your wife left the palace without a word at noon today."
Anthony's brow arched faintly. "And?"
"Sunset greets us, and she is nowhere in sight," the Queen added, her voice drier than sand. "She still hasn't returned."
Wilhelm blinked. "What!?"
"She left willingly," Anthony echoed blandly, pulling off his coat and handing it to the nearest maid. "She'll return. She always does… Sadly."
"Is that all you have to say?" Wilhelm asked with a scoff.
Anthony turned, unbothered, picking a speck of dust off his cuff. "What would you have me do? Panic? I fail to see the need. But if tonight passes and she doesn't return, maybe that will call for a celebration."
Wilhelm shook his head with rolled eyes.
Queen Rebecca gave him a slow, assessing stare that bordered on maternal disappointment. "Do try to be less... Anthony, sweetheart. She is still your wife."
He only smiled thinly, walking toward the edge of the parlor, loosening his collar. "By the way, Mother, you asked about the Council meeting?"
The Queen sighed softly, aware of his clear attempts to change the topic without a hinge. "Yes, the meeting… How did it go?"
"Better than expected," Anthony replied, his tone picking up only slightly. "Lady Clementine prepared the fiscal outline. Flawlessly, I must commend. If I didn't know better, I'd say she's been studying the treasury books in her sleep."
"Lady Clementine?" The Queen's brow lifted. "Councilman Abraham's wife? Since when does she know the nitty-gritty of economics?"
Anthony chuckled, nodding. "I was as surprised as you, Mother. But clearly, the pedophile picked an intelligent one this time. Quite useful that he sent her in his place instead."
Wilhelm then folded his arms, cocking his head. "Are you sure she did it?"
Anthony paused. "What are you insinuating?"
"Not insinuating," Wilhelm replied, shrugging slightly. "Just… curious. Are you sure it was Lady Clementine who prepared the document? Or did someone hand it to her, and she handed it to you?"
Anthony's jaw tensed just a little. "I personally assigned her, Wilhelm. She knows better than to defy my order."
"But of course she wouldn't," Wilhelm said, smiling a little too knowingly. "But what I am asking is—do you think she is capable of the work you presented at the Council meeting today? All single-handedly?"
Before Anthony could bite out a retort, the palace door creaked open.
And the room's attention shifted.
All heads turned as Sylteena walked in — her blonde hair slightly wind-stirred — Behind her came Sir Darian and Philip, whose eyes were cast down in respect to the royal family.
The Queen and sons remained still at the sight before them.
Not at the three figures, no — what rooted every royal in place was what Sylteena carried in her arms.
A bouquet — Not of roses or lilies.
A bold, carefully tied bouquet of Vairlinthas.
Blue-glass petals that shimmered like frozen sapphire, each tainted by silvery frost veins that only grew at the edge of the forest's rim. A flower rare enough to be cataloged in myths and expensive enough to bribe lords.
But more than that — it was Queen Rebecca's favorite.
The princess stopped only a few feet in, her arms cradling the bouquet.
Sylteena curtsied to the royal members before locking her gaze on Queen Rebecca.
"Good evening, Your Majesty," Sylteena smiled warmly. "I brought these for you."
No one spoke.
The Queen's mouth parted, then closed again. Wilhelm blinked twice, as if unsure of what to say exactly.
Anthony's face did not change — but his hand slowly curled into a fist at his side.
Sylteena only smiled.