The gates of Everiven Palace did not creak open like ordinary wooden doors. The gates, made of ten-meter-tall white gold, slid open silently, as if pulled by an obedient ghost.

  The Ashart family carriage stopped in the inner courtyard. Outside the carriage window, Mira saw rows of Royal Guards wearing shining silver armor, standing stiffly like statues at every two-meter interval. Their spears carried a faint static electricity that hissed softly, reminding anyone that the beauty of this place was protected by high voltage.

  "Remember your breath," whispered the woman beside Mira.

  Madame Arlene no longer wore her intimidating black gown. She was now dressed in a dark gray senior maid uniform with a stiff white apron. Her black hair was styled in a low, simple, but neat bun. The chain glasses were replaced with small, round reading glasses that made her look like a fussy yet harmless head maid. No one would guess that beneath that apron, dozens of poisoned needles and a steel fan were hidden.

  "Chin down a little," Arlene corrected while straightening the collar of Mira's Crimson red dress. "Don’t look defiant. Look... awed."

  Mira took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the scent of beeswax and ozone that permeated the palace air. She nodded. Her amber eyes, which usually scanned for threats, dimmed. She summoned that sense of loss—the ache in her chest from Kars’ empty chair—and let it pool in the corners of her eyes.

  The carriage door was opened by a palace servant.

  Mira stepped down. The courtyard floor was made of white marble, polished so smoothly that it reflected the clouds in the sky.

  At the top of the main staircase, Prince Arlen was already waiting. He was not wearing the formal party attire from yesterday. He wore casual royal clothing: a white silk shirt with slightly loose sleeves, black trousers, and knee-high leather boots. His golden hair shone under the morning sun.

  To his left stood Princess Elodie de Valois of Vsnava. The girl looked perfect. Her newly expanded pastel dress was beautiful. Her blonde hair was styled in intricate curls. She held a feather fan with an elegance that could intimidate even a goddess statue.

  And to his right, Lady Iva, Arlen's childhood friend, looked nervous, wringing her own handkerchief.

  "Welcome, Lady Rhea," greeted Prince Arlen.

  His voice traveled down the stairs. Not through the air, but as if through the vibrations of the floor. Mira could feel the sound in the soles of her feet.

  Mira climbed the stairs. Arlene walked two steps behind her, head bowed, carrying a small box containing Mira's belongings.

  When Mira reached the Prince, she performed a curtsey. Not as deep as yesterday. Slightly more hesitant. Slightly more... fragile.

  "Your Highness," Mira whispered. She used the voice tone Arlen had trained her in the night before—soft, with a slight sigh at the end. "Forgive my lateness. The city streets were a bit... crowded."

  Arlen smiled. He stepped forward, closing the distance in their personal space. He reached out, grasping Mira’s fingers clad in black lace gloves.

  "It’s never too late for beauty, Rhea," Arlen said.

  He didn’t kiss the back of Mira’s hand. He held it. His thumb gently brushed the back of her hand. Mira felt a small static shock. It wasn’t accidental. The Prince was injecting a bit of his Thunder Essence, testing Mira's nerve reactions.

  Mira’s old instinct was to pull her hand away and break the Prince’s fingers. But the new Rhea did not do that.

  Mira kept her hand still. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned slightly forward—just a little, like a flower reaching for sunlight, exactly as Arlen had instructed. She lifted her face and looked at Arlen with her wet and mournful amber eyes.

  "You praise too much, Your Highness," she said softly.

  Arlen's eyes widened slightly. He looked pleased. His ego was stroked. This girl did not resist him; this girl submitted to his touch.

  "And let me introduce," Arlen finally released Mira's hand and turned to Elodie. "Princess Elodie of Vsnava. I'm sure you haven't had the chance to meet properly yet."

  Elodie stepped forward. She closed her fan with an elegant snap. She stared at Mira. Elodie's blue eyes were clear, cold, and utterly distant. There was no sign of recognition. No sign that she had just survived an explosion. She was a perfect porcelain wall.

  "Lady Ashart," Elodie greeted with a thick Vsnava accent. "Your dress... is very bold. Blood red. In my country, that color is usually worn by widows in mourning or women who wish to declare war."

  A subtle verbal jab.

  Mira gave a thin smile, letting the corners of her lips tremble slightly. "In Asnaven, Your Highness, red is the color of the heart. The color of life. I wear it to remind myself... to keep beating."

  Elodie raised one eyebrow ever so slightly. "Poetic. Charmant."

  "Enough with the pleasantries," Arlen cut in cheerfully. "Come on. I want to show you your future 'home.'"

  ***

  The palace tour was a display of hidden power.

  Arlen didn’t take them to the flower garden or the library. He led them to the Hall of Storms.

  It was a long corridor with walls not made of stone, but of thick glass containing storms frozen in time. Flashes of lightning were suspended in mid-air, creating a dramatic and frightening natural illumination.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “My ancestor, whom you know as the Stormborn, captured this storm three hundred years ago,” Arlen explained as he walked ahead. His footsteps echoed loudly. “He said, "The true king does not hide from the storm. He becomes its center.””

  Mira, the village girl, looked terrified. She walked, hugging her own arms, avoiding looking at the lightning-filled walls.

  Elodie, on the other side, walked with her chin held high. She tapped the glass wall with her fan. "Impressive," Elodie commented flatly. "But in Vsnava, we prefer to use Intian for painting rather than trapping the weather. It looks a bit... barbaric, doesn’t it?"

  Arlen laughed, his laugh echoing down the glass corridor. "The art is beautiful, Elodie. But art doesn’t win wars. Power does."

  Arlen stopped abruptly. He turned to look at Mira. "What do you think, Rhea? As the daughter of a weapons Artificer, you must appreciate power, right?"

  This was a test. If Mira answered with military enthusiasm, she would seem aggressive. If she answered fearfully like Iva, she would seem weak.

  Mira gazed at the frozen lightning inside the glass. Its light reminded her of Kars' eyes when he activated the three orbs. Mira's chest ached.

  "That power... is terrifying, Your Highness," Mira replied honestly—a honesty that was manipulated. She hugged herself slightly, imitating Iva's gesture but more gracefully. "My foster father made weapons to protect, not to destroy. Seeing this lightning... I just think about how lonely the storm must be, trapped in glass forever."

  Arlen fell silent. He gazed at Mira intently. The answer was not that of a soldier, but of a woman with empathy. A 'healer' of souls.

  "You have a gentle heart, Rhea," said Arlen, his voice softening. He stepped closer, touching Mira's shoulder. "Don't worry. Here, you won’t be trapped. You will be protected."

  Behind Mira, Arlene bowed her head even lower, hiding a faint smile at the corner of her lips. Good, Little Mouse, thought Arlene. You earned a sympathy point.

  ***

  They continued their journey towards the East Wing of the Palace.

  "This is the residential area," said Arlen. "This is where you will stay for the week. I want you to feel comfortable."

  They passed through large mahogany doors. Arlen stopped in front of the first door. "Iva, this is your room. It faces the inner garden. Calm and peaceful, like your soul." Iva bowed in thanks with a relieved expression, then immediately entered as if fleeing from Arlen's aura.

  They walked on. "Elodie, this is your room. Ambassador's Suite. Facing south, towards Vsnava. So you won't miss home too much." Elodie gave a brief nod. "Thank you, Arlen. I hope the bed isn't as hard as a politician's heart." Elodie went inside, closing the door firmly.

  Only Mira and Arlen remained, along with Arlene who faithfully followed behind.

  "And for you, Rhea," said Arlen. He didn’t stop at the usual door. He led Mira to the end of the corridor, up a short spiral staircase to a small, separate tower.

  The Sun Tower.

  The door was made of white wood with a golden sun carving. Arlen opened the door wide.

  Mira stepped inside, and her breath caught. The room was beautiful. Astonishingly beautiful. The floor was made of warm marble. The ceiling was a glass dome with adjustable transparency, allowing full sunlight to pour in. The furniture was made of white wood and golden velvet. There was a spacious balcony that overlooked the entire city of Everiven.

  But to Mira’s trained eyes, the room had a different meaning. It was located in a high tower. There was only one access door. The balcony was too high to jump over without flying magic. And the walls… the walls were lined with thin silver runes that blended with the wallpaper. Anti-Intian Ward.

  This is not a guest room. This is a golden cage. A luxurious prison for a rare bird afraid to fly.

  "Do you like it?" Arlen asked, standing in the doorway, blocking the exit.

  Mira turned around. She put on a look of awe. "It’s... too luxurious for me, Your Highness. I don’t deserve such a high view."

  "You deserve the world, Rhea," Arlen stepped inside. The door behind him closed slowly, leaving Arlene outside the corridor (etiquette rule: servants wait outside while their master speaks).

  Mira and Arlen were alone in the room. Mira’s heart pounded. Don’t resist. Don’t reach for a weapon.

  Arlen walked closer. He circled Mira, like a lion stalking its prey. "Do you know why I chose this room for you?" Arlen whispered into Mira’s ear.

  Mira shook her head slightly, exposing her neck a little.

  "Because here, you are closest to the sun. And to the lightning," Arlen touched Mira's brown hair, twirling it around his finger. "Your eyes, Rhea... those amber eyes. They aren't commoners' eyes. They belong to someone who holds fire."

  Arlen's hand slid down to Mira's shoulder, then to her upper arm. His grip was strong, possessive. "I don't like Iva. She's boring. I don't like Elodie. She's too prickly."

  Arlen pulled Mira close until their bodies touched. Mira could feel the heat of Arlen's body—the unnatural, electric heat. "But you... You are a beautiful blank canvas. A little wild, but moldable. I can feel your potential. If you become mine..."

  Arlen leaned down, his face drawing near to Mira's.

  "...we could burn this world together. Or rebuild it."

  Mira held her breath. She wanted to vomit. She wanted to kick Arlen's knee and break the sticky nose. But she remembered Arlene's words. Be a sweet poison.

  Mira didn't push Arlen. She raised his trembling hand, then placed it hesitantly on Arlen's plain chest. She looked at those electric blue eyes with her teary Amber eyes.

  "I'm scared, Arlen," Mira whispered. She did not use the title 'Your Highness'. She uses his first name—an intimate violation of ethics.

  Arlen gasped. He liked that boldness.

  "What are you afraid of?" asked Arlen hoarsely.

  "Afraid that I will be burned if I get too close to the sun," Mira replied.

  Arlen chuckled. The laugh of triumph. He thought Mira had already fallen under his charm. He released his embrace, but brushed Mira's forehead with a quick kiss—a claim of possession.

  "Don't be afraid. Fire does not burn fire," said Arlen. "Rest. Your servant will help you get ready for dinner later. Wear a white dress. I like white."

  Arlen turned and walked out with wide, confident steps. He felt victorious. He felt the wild bird had already eaten from his hand.

  Then, the door closed.

  Mira stood still for ten seconds, making sure Arlen's footsteps had faded away. Then, her mask fell. That sad and fragile face disappeared instantly, replaced by a cold and disgusted expression. Mira wiped her forehead—the mark of Arlen's kiss—with the back of her rough hand, as if erasing the spit of a beast.

  The door opened again. Arlene walked in carrying a suitcase. She locked the door behind her, then looked at Mira.

  "You're trembling," Arlene said flatly.

  "He's disgusting," Mira hissed. "He looked at me like I was a hunting trophy he had just shot."

  "But you did it," Arlene placed the suitcase on the bed. "He swallowed your bait whole. 'I'm afraid of getting burned'? A clichéd line, but effective for a narcissistic man like him."

  Mira walked to the balcony, gazing down at the city of Everiven below. The strong wind hit her face. From here, she could see to the east. Towards the King's Cliff. There was no smoke there anymore. Only the empty blue sky.

  "He thinks he trapped me here," Mira murmured, her hands gripping the iron balcony railing until it bent slightly.

  "Indeed," Arlene stood beside her, her eyes also looking east. "But he forgot one thing."

  "What?"

  "He forgot to check your servant."

  Arlene raised her hand. Between her fingers, a small shiny object was pinched. The Palace Master Key. She had stolen it from Arlen's pocket when they passed by at the door earlier, with hand speed that even Arlen's lightning-fast eyes couldn't catch.

  "Arlene," Mira turned, the first genuine smile of the day appearing on her face. "You're an amazing pickpocket."

  "Ex-pickpocket. Now I'm Senior Servant Arlene," the woman corrected, slipping the key into her apron pocket. "Now, wipe that disgusted look off your face. I need you to stay as the 'Delicate Princess' during dinner while I search through this entire palace."

  Mira nodded. She glanced at the sun. "Arlen wants me to wear white," Mira said.

  "Then we'll give him white," Arlene replied. "White, the color of a shroud."

  In the golden cage of the sun tower, two dangerous women began to make their plans. The cage might be locked, but the key was already in their pockets.