A week had already passed, and for once, Aquila had not seen Zuleika since the incident.
Though word reached her that the Crown Prince had been spending time with her, eagerly inviting the Princess of Nexus to tea and short strolls in the palace gardens.
The very thought grated at Aquila's nerves. Yet, she told herself she need not worry—Zuleika would never bend, not even for Matthew. She knew her too well, knew the fire in her. And yet… she hated how the thought lingered, unwanted.
Her gaze drifted down, softening as it fell upon the blue lily in her chamber. Its petals glistened faintly in the morning light, like a memory trying to hold on.
"I wonder," she whispered, so faint it was swallowed by the still air, "what would Mother think of you?"
Her chest tightened as her mind slipped back. When was it again? That everything turned bitter?
Ah… the day before her fourteenth birthday.
The day her mother—the Empress Athena—died.
Because she trusted a commoner. Because she opened her heart.
The Empire had never been the same since. Even her father, once softened by her mother's ideals, had hardened again, retreating into the coldness of an untouchable Emperor.
"How could I ever forgive them, Mother…" Aquila smiled bitterly, though the weight in her eyes betrayed the sting of memory.
Her mind wandered back—
It was a peaceful day. Athena had been radiant as always, seated with her embroidery while laughing beside her dearest friend, Aena. A commoner, but treated as though no titles existed between them.
"Mother, is it really okay for you to befriend her?" Aquila had asked then, twelve years old, voice uncertain.
Athena only smiled warmly, her needle moving smoothly across the thread.
"Yes, dear. Aena is a wonderful person. You should help me convince your father, you know."
"Convince?" Aquila tilted her head.
Athena's eyes glimmered with quiet determination.
"I want to pass a law—so that commoners will have rights. So they won't be trampled under the weight of nobles."
Aquila frowned. "But wouldn't that cause an uproar among the nobles?"
Zeijidiah, then fourteen, had laughed brightly, his mismatched eyes sparkling with life Aquila would never again see in him.
"Even if it does, Mother will get her way. Father can't refuse her."
Athena laughed softly. "Exactly. And once it becomes law, they'll have no choice but to follow."
"Geez, Mother, you always do whatever you want," Aquila huffed, though her lips curved with a smile.
"Brother, you always side with her!" she accused Zeijidiah, who only shrugged with a grin. Their laughter mingled, bright and whole.
But that laughter would never return.
Before the law could even reach the council chambers, Athena was gone—betrayed by the very friend she trusted most.
Aquila remembered it clearly: walking through the commoner district with only one guard, because her mother refused to frighten people with soldiers. She had been skipping playfully, hand clasped in her mother's.
"Oh, where are the children?" Athena asked, her voice warm as her eyes scanned the small, humble room.
Aena gave a quick, nervous laugh. "They went outside to play."
Athena's smile faltered for the briefest moment. She did not answer right away, but Aquila noticed her mother's eyes sharpen, taking in the slight tremble in Aena's hands as she reached for the kettle.
"I see," Athena finally said, her tone measured.
Moments later, Aena set down two cups on the table—a steaming tea for Athena, and a cup of milk for Aquila.
"Thank you!" Aquila chimed cheerfully, smiling with her usual brightness as she reached for her drink.
Athena's gaze lingered on her daughter with warmth before she lifted her cup. Yet, even as she sipped, her eyes flickered back to Aena—who kept her head lowered, her hands clenching faintly at her apron.
"The law we've been preparing will be passed tomorrow," Athena said with a hopeful smile, her tone full of quiet triumph. "And it is fitting—it will be on this little one's birthday." She pinched Aquila's cheek playfully.
"Mother! Stop it," Aquila pouted, cheeks warming as she sipped her milk.
"Ah…" Aena's voice cracked, breaking the cheer.
Athena's brow furrowed faintly. "Is something wrong?"
"No, Your Majesty," Aena replied quickly, eyes darting to the floor. "I… am just not feeling well."
Athena, ever gentle, smiled in response. "Is that so? Then we shall take our leave earlier today."
"Let's go, Aki." She extended her hand. Aquila slipped hers into it with a bright smile, her heart light once more.
"Mother, before we go back, can we buy a new seed to plant in the garden?" she asked eagerly, her eyes shining.
"Of course, my dear," Athena said, matching her daughter's playfulness. "We'll find one together."
They turned, stepping toward the door. Aquila skipped ahead, her laughter echoing faintly. She ran a few paces outside and stopped, turning to wave.
"Mother? Let's go already!"
But her mother did not move. Her lips parted slightly, as though to speak—but no sound came.
Instead, crimson bloomed across her white gown.
Aquila froze, her young mind unable to process what she was seeing. "M… Mother?"
Athena's body swayed, then collapsed heavily to the ground, blood spilling into the dirt.
Behind her stood Aena—her trembling hands wrapped around a bloodied knife, her face pale with shock at what she herself had done.
The guard reacted instantly, tackling her to the ground and wrenching the weapon from her grip. But Aquila's world had already narrowed to a single, unbearable sight.
Her mother. Motionless.
Step by step, her legs shaking violently, Aquila stumbled forward. Her little hands trembled uncontrollably as she reached out.
"M-Mother…?" Her voice cracked, desperate.
There was no response. Only silence.
Her knees buckled as tears poured down her cheeks, her sobs breaking the air. She pressed her small hands against her mother's unmoving body, as if her warmth could call her back.
Later, the truth was revealed. Not only the knife—but poison in the tea. Every sip had already doomed her before the blade fell.
The betrayal was absolute. Aena—once trusted, once loved—died by her own hand in her cell that very night.
But for Aquila, there was no closure. Only a gaping wound that never healed.
From that day forward, laughter vanished from their home. The Emperor grew cold again, his heart closed to the ideals Athena had once kindled. And for Aquila—the girl who once believed in light and kindness—hatred took root.
Hatred for commoners. Hatred for trust. Hatred for weakness.
Because love, she had learned that day, kills.
She brushed the thought away when her eyes caught a figure beneath her chamber balcony. There, seated gracefully at the fountain's edge, crimson dress catching the faint shimmer of sunlight—was Princess Zuleika.
Aquila's lips parted in surprise. Before she even realized it, her body was already moving.
"Your Highness—? Where are you—" her maids called after her, but she didn't hear the rest. She was already running.
Her heart pounded as her feet carried her down the corridors and out into the courtyard. A strange lightness stirred inside her—was this happiness? Why? She couldn't explain it. She only knew she had to be there.
By the time she reached the fountain, she was breathless. Sweat clung uncomfortably to her skin, and she hated it—the heat, the stickiness, the summer sun. Normally she would complain, avoid it entirely. But now… none of it mattered.
Her eyes fixed on Zuleika, who sat unaware, her delicate hands turning a page of the book resting on her lap. Her profile against the glistening fountain made her look almost untouchable, serene in her own world.
Aquila's chest tightened. What was she doing? What was she expecting? Why had she run here like some reckless child? She wiped the sweat from her cheek with the back of her hand and pressed her lips into a thin line.
Is it because she reminds me of Mother? she wondered bitterly. The same ideals, the same light in her eyes… Or is it pity? Do I see Mother's ghost in her?
Her thoughts tangled until Zuleika finally looked up.
Their eyes met.
Aquila jolted slightly, caught unprepared, her throat tightening as if words had been stolen from her.
Zuleika tilted her head faintly, curiosity flickering in her crimson gaze. "Princess Aquila?" she asked softly, her voice breaking the silence between them.
Aquila stood there, frozen—half a step forward, half a step back. Torn between leaving and staying, between keeping her mask intact and letting her heart betray her.
Aquila didn't know what to say. "H-how was your maid, Cess?" she asked, looking away, her voice stiff as she stood a few paces off.
Awkward silence stretched. She darted a glance at Zuleika, patience thinning, but Zuleika only looked at her in confusion—lips parting as if she had just seen a ghost.
"Oh… Cess is okay now," Zuleika answered softly, gaze lowering.
"I see." Aquila replied, the words clipped, hanging uselessly in the air.
The silence returned, heavier than before. Aquila drew in a shaky breath, furrowing her brows and biting her lower lip as if the words might escape her. Zuleika lifted her head, eyes wide, innocent—waiting.
"I'm… sorry."
The apology was quiet, pressed between clenched teeth. Her hands clasped tightly behind her back, knuckles white.
Zuleika's lips parted, closed, then parted again—searching for words. "Pardon?" she blinked.
Aquila's frustration slipped through. She glared at her. "For what those nobles did to your maid."
Again, silence fell.
Inside, Aquila knew. If Zuleika chose not to forgive her, if she refused to accept the apology—then so be it. She would bear it.
Then—
"Pfft—"
Her head snapped up. Zuleika hid a hand against her lips, but laughter spilled anyway, soft and unrestrained.
In Aquila's eyes, she gleamed. That face, that mouth, that teasing—infuriatingly gentle—voice. And then came her laugh, bright as the sun through summer leaves. The curve of her lips, the ease in her expression, those crimson eyes that glowed with defiance and kindness alike…
Oh… how beautiful.
"Why do you apologize? It isn't you," Zuleika said lightly. "It should be those nobles who wronged Cess."
Aquila clasped her hands tighter behind her back, eyes dropping. "Still… I—" She faltered, fumbling for words. "Back at the commoner district…"
Zuleika hummed. "I know you had your reasons, Aquila."
The words jolted her. Her gaze widened though she kept it fixed on the ground. Then she heard faint footsteps approach, slow but sure.
"It will never justify what you've done," Zuleika whispered, low enough for only Aquila to hear. "But you can make the best of it."
Her next words pierced deeper. "I will forgive you… only if you change for the better—and end your cruelty." She smiled then, softly, like spring after storm.
Aquila didn't understand. She never did. Why Zuleika? Why her mother? Why did they forgive so easily? Why smile when wounded, why offer light to those who didn't deserve it?
Why? I don't understand.
And yet—something inside her yielded. The years of guilt she carried, the rage, the bitterness—it cracked, crumbled, fell apart in the warmth of this one person standing before her.
There's nothing more beautiful in the world than Zuleika.
Not the sun, not the moon. You lied, Mother. Even the ocean's setting sun cannot compare. Not even the entire galaxy shines as brightly as this girl, whose very presence radiates light.
She is not just the Princess of Nexus, nor the so-called Jewel Princess.
A thought drifted through Aquila, her mother's voice lingering.
"One day, Aki, you will also find someone who could be your savior."
"My savior?"
"Yes. They will see the truth in you, no matter how dark the mask you show them."
Back in the present, Aquila looked at her—truly looked.
If this is what a savior looks like… then let me fall, let me break, let me burn—for I would rather be damned a thousand times than be saved by anyone else but her.