Oct 31, 10:35 a.m. After a night curled around Venus, snoring sweet as a cat by a hearth, Medith and the others slept till near noon. They grabbed a few cloud-soft pastries, then drifted downstairs.

“Medith, if you’ll let me call you that—finally awake.” Elyu stood there in full armor, steel catching light like dawn on a blade. “I thought Venus kept you up.”

“Your Highness Elyu, you’re…?” Milia asked, baffled. He stepped up and ruffled Venus’s hair, gentle as a breeze over wheat.

“It’s rare I come back, and I haven’t seen His Majesty yet. I’ll use this clear day and head to the palace.”

“Thank you for answering our questions even when you’re busy. We won’t trouble you,” Medith said, admiration bright as a lantern.

Elyu smiled, a contagion like spring wind, and Medith relaxed without noticing. “Busy? At most for a while. Soon I’ll be roaming again. Palace life is stale air I can’t breathe.”

Medith was stunned. It was her first time hearing a prince shrug at the palace, the closest seat to the crown and countless people’s dream. To spurn the palace was to spurn the crown, a cold moon he wouldn’t reach for.

“Oh, right—did big brother Paris say anything odd yesterday?” Elyu asked.

Medith’s head snapped toward him. His eyes were gentle, comforting as warm tea.

Only something complicated moved inside them, like silt stirring in a river. “Prince Paris talked about the Eastern Nation’s current strength and shared some life lessons. He didn’t touch politics.” She hid only the final line, keeping that pebble in her sleeve.

“Hahahaha! That’s exactly like my brother,” Elyu said, laughter flying like birds. “The banquet starts at six sharp. Want to tour the palace with me? I’ll show you things you’ll love.”

“Yes! Absolutely!” Milia blurted, nodding like a chick pecking rice.

Elyu gave a knowing grin. “So the Elf Clan doesn’t just love cake—you also chase butterflies.”

Sais and Medith rolled their eyes in tandem, two quick slashes of white. Milia almost burst into tears, her eyes misting like dawn grass.

Paris sat in the garden, staring at the royal tribute tea in Medith’s and Sais’s cups—untouched, smooth as a still pond. He watched a long time and said nothing, stone-quiet.

“Elyu pays his respects, Your Majesty.” He stood in the royal council hall in full armor, a statue brought to life.

“Prince Elyu, no need for formality. Come, let me look at you. Why return without a word?” A beautiful woman’s eyes brimmed with tears like pearls. Time had etched fine lines on her face, a wind over sand kind of grace. Light makeup couldn’t hide the years.

Her face was well-shaped; her skin not dewy, yet fair. A white long dress couldn’t hide curves like gentle waves. Blue eyes like the deep sea, golden hair like poured sunlight. She sat at Ogathas’s left—clearly the queen.

“Oh, a year already… you’ve grown so tall… why are you thinner than last time? Eating poorly out there? Did someone lay a hand on you?” A mother’s worry fluttered like a trapped bird.

“Please rest easy, Mother. I’m doing great. Who’d dare touch the son of the most beautiful Queen Penero and the wise, mighty Ogathas?” Elyu held Penero’s hand, warm as a hearthstone.

“You’ve grown glib again!” Penero clutched his hand tight, as if afraid he’d vanish like mist.

“How long this time? Do you have time to sit and talk?” Ogathas spoke, his good mood glowing like sunrise. Two joys in one day, and his weathered face looked young.

“Sure. I might stay a bit longer. At least three months before I roam again,” Elyu said, smile open as a road.

“Good! I’ve got something to announce soon too. Better that you’re here.” Ogathas raised his cup like a torch. “You there! Make the banquet bigger. I want the whole city awake till dawn! Anyone here who sleeps pays ten times the tax. Deal?”

“Ten? Too little! I bet twenty—His Majesty drops first!” A voice rang out, cups clashing like bells.

“Then I bet thirty—His Highness Elyu goes down first!” Another voice beat like a drum.

“Think twice. I might drink far more than you think.” Elyu’s grin flashed, a drawn blade in sunlight.

“No worries. Thirty times tax is worth it to drink with you!” Laughter fizzed like foam.

“That’s three months of your pay,” someone said, words sharp as a fan’s edge.

“I’ve thought it through!” the man vowed, fist to chest like a pledge.

“Good. For your three months’ pay, I won’t be the one to fall,” Elyu laughed, wind through banners.

“Your Highness, I was joking. Don’t take it seriously.”

“Nope. Back out, and I’ll raise it to three hundred,” Elyu shot back, sly as a fox.

“Hahaha, that’s terrifying…” Laughter rolled like beads on a string.

They joked with Elyu, and the air lifted like festival lanterns. He had none of a prince’s stiffness; he was a traveler of the continent.

“Prince Elyu’s the best—capable, easygoing, warm. With him, rank doesn’t weigh a stone,” someone whispered, silk-soft.

“Yeah. Unlike Prince Paris—he’s suffocating,” another said, awe heavy as thunder.

“I bought a few mercenaries for my fief last time. Prince Paris saw it and nearly stripped my secrets bare,” someone muttered, sweat cold as rain.

“Prince Paris feels like a true sovereign. His presence is too strong,” a murmur sang like a bowed string.

“Dear,” Penero said, gaze tangled like threads, to Ogathas. “Are you really going to do it?”

Ogathas nodded, resolve set like iron. “He isn’t ready to take my country yet, but I believe he can. People and vassals love him and trust him. This old fossil can step down in peace. Do you still want the seat?”

“No.” Penero smiled lightly, a petal on water. They met each other’s eyes and kissed, an embrace sealing like wax.

Elyu finally broke through the nobles’ siege, slipping free like a fish from a net. He found Medith and the others wandering outside, then led them toward the rear of the palace, shade cool as pines.

A noble slipped out while the crowd was thick, moving like a shadow. He wrote a letter, sealed it, and handed it to a member of the Erene Guard. They traded a glance, blades sheathed behind their eyes, and parted.

In under ten minutes, Paris received a letter in his room. The unbroken seal showed a Six Clawed White Dragon, a mark he knew like his own shadow.

He smiled, as if he’d expected the tide. Unhurried, he opened it, long fingers flicking like reeds in wind. He skimmed a few lines, then tossed letter and envelope into the fireplace.

Paris watched the paper go up fast, a moth to flame. A strange smile unfurled—part wicked charm, part self-mockery, part sage seeing through dust, and part unwillingness, dusk-dark.