Ife woke up in the middle of the night because she really needed to use the bathroom, and without thinking twice, she decided to go.

  When she stepped out into the hallway, she didn't think anything of the absence of the guard who usually stood by the door to her room and accompanied her wherever she went.

  And that was her first mistake.

  After taking care of her basic need, Ife started to go back to her room, but halfway there, she felt hungry; not intensely, not painfully—not at all like she was used to feeling. But it was uncomfortable enough that instead of going back to sleep, she decided to go eat.

  But she couldn't just do that; she had already eaten the first portion that the Prince had set aside especially for her, and Ife was sure that they would not give her a second portion, even if she asked very nicely.

  And there was no one to ask; the servants were asleep, the guard was apparently asleep too, and even if the Prince had been awake, she would not have asked him for anything, even if she were dying of hunger.

  So Ife decided to do what she usually did: steal food.

  And that was her second mistake.

  After all, she wasn't going to take much, and this wasn't a small tent for a few people, but a huge royal palace where a lot of food was prepared every day — they would certainly not notice the disappearance of one small bun or a couple of tiny grapes. And mice and rats were not uncommon here; despite the rich decor — or rather, because of it — they literally took over every corner of the rooms.

  Convinced that no one would notice anything, she quietly slipped into the kitchen.

  As soon as she entered, her gaze immediately fell on a bowl with a slightly dried-up bunch of grapes. Delighted that she would be able to taste her favorite fruit, albeit in small quantities, she came closer and began to stuff her cheeks with it, like a rat stocking up on food.

  Suddenly, she heard footsteps behind her, followed by a voice:

  "Well, well, well... what do we have here, a mouse in the kitchen? And such a big one at that..."

  It was a voice she knew well; the voice of Crown Prince Arenor.

  Without thinking twice, Ife decided to do what she was accustomed to doing during her days of begging on the deserted streets: she stuffed all the remaining grapes into her mouth to hide the fact that there was any food in the bowl at all; after all, if it wasn't visible, then it probably never existed.

  And that was her third mistake.

  Although Ife was no longer afraid of death, she still feared the possibility of becoming a victim of the painful torture that the Prince would clearly subject her to if he witnessed her theft.

  She wasn't stupid enough to think that Arenor wouldn't notice her mouth full of grapes, or the juice dripping treacherously from her lips, so she lowered her head as far as she could and hoped that the darkness surrounding them would help her hide the obvious fact of her theft.

  "Hey, hey, hey," Arenor called to her teasingly again. "Come on, dear Airena, why are you so quiet?"

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  "I'm not Airena!" Ife shouted, unable to hold back.

  And that was her fourth mistake.

  "What, what, what did you say?" Arenor continued to tease, completely unperturbed, and even excited by her inaudibility. "I didn't hear you, so come closer and repeat it more clearly," he said, despite the obvious fact that he had heard and understood everything perfectly well.

  But Ife had no intention of doing as he commanded. She knew she was taking a risk, but perhaps she would be lucky and the Prince would forgive her disobedience, because she knew that he would definitely not forgive her for stealing — just as the merchants and buyers at the Night Bazaar had not forgiven her before.

  And that was her fifth mistake.

  And if he didn't forgive her, then she would be able to leave the World of the Living with a clear conscience... but before that, she would definitely punch Arenor in the face several times for repeating the same word three times.

  Lowering her head even further—so low that her chin began to rest on her chest—she turned and ran forward quickly, wanting to get away from here as soon as possible.

  But she completely overlooked the place where the Prince had been standing all this time—he was standing literally in the doorway, so when she ran forward, she literally crashed into him.

  And that was her sixth and final mistake.

  Realizing that she had nowhere to run, Ife simply froze, waiting for the Prince's next move, but instead of grabbing her, torturing her, and ultimately killing her, he just gently hugged her shoulders and softly said,

  "Gotcha."

  His actions and words terrified her much more than the prospect of being tortured to death.

  "Come on, Airena, dear, why are you hiding from me?" he asked with a hint of concern in his voice.

  This time she said nothing; she only lowered her head even further.

  "Why won't you show me your face?" Arenor asked, even more concerned. "Did someone hurt you? Have you been crying?"

  Ife almost lost her temper again and yelled at him; what business was it of his whether someone had hurt her, whether she had been crying, or anything else for that matter?

  "I'm sorry, I don't want to force you into anything, but I need to make sure you're okay," he said, holding her shoulder firmly with one hand, as if afraid she would try to run away, and gently lifting her chin with the other, forcing her to finally show him her face.

  When Arenor saw her swollen cheeks, frightened eyes, and dirty face, he froze in place, like a statue.

  Ife tensed; she was ready. Ready for him to hit her. Ready for him to drag her somewhere. Ready for him to start torturing her. Ready for him to kill her. Ready for him to—

  Arenor's fingers gently, even playfully, squeezed her cheeks, which were stuffed with grapes and covered in sticky juice, as if she were a child who had eaten sweets without the adults' permission and was clumsily trying to hide it.

  ...And Ife was completely unprepared for this.

  The Prince's cheeks flushed bright pink, his eyes sparkled with lights dancing in them, and his hands, like the rest of his body, trembled violently.

  He covered his mouth with his hand and turned away, as if he simply couldn't bear to look at her anymore.

  A few moments of silence, and then a quiet whisper:

  "Why are you so cute?"

  Ife's face contorted in horror. She was extremely confused and, worse still, completely embarrassed by what was happening.

  "Get away from me!" she shouted loudly, causing grape juice to spray from her mouth directly into the Prince's face.

  Recoiling from him, Ife saw the drops running down his skin, and, not wanting to face the consequences of her words and actions right now, she pushed him aside sharply and almost flew out of the kitchen.

  Ife rushed down the hallway without looking back, as if afraid to see Arenor chasing after her.

  Running into her bedroom, she slammed the door behind her and leaned against it with her back, then slid down it completely, sitting on the floor.

  Her face was burning bright red, and her chest was heaving wildly.

  And the reason for this was not fear at all.

  Ife began to pinch herself furiously all over her body, hoping that it was all just a dream and that she would wake up and realize it with relief.

  But that never happened.

  Because all this time it was none other than the real Arenor: Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Apharia; everyone's impossible dream and her walking nightmare.