Everyone's eyes, save for the maids, were fixed on Leonard as he stepped into the art gallery. The commotion reached his ears the moment he crossed the palace threshold. Yelling, the clatter of broken porcelain, the sharp, desperate pleas of women—it all drew him like a lodestone. His midnight eyes scanned the room, and what he saw made his frown deepen: his half-sister, Princess Naiya, was screaming at a group of kneeling maids, her voice sharp enough to cut stone.
Leonard's hand twitched at his side, but he almost turned away, deeming it inconsequential. Until… his eyes fell on her. A girl with red hair, kneeling, her back straight despite the fear written across her delicate features. Something inside him sparked—not irritation, not annoyance, but protective, fierce anger. The girl had done nothing, and yet she suffered.
He moved, his steps deliberate, silent despite the heavy floorboards, until he stood just inside the doorway. The entire room seemed to tense, even Naiya's voice faltering for a brief moment.
"Nothing is going on here, brother Leonard," Naiya said softly, her tone forced, carefully measured.
Leonard's eyes narrowed. She never addressed him this way—never so… formal, so deliberate. The lie dripped from her words, veiled but detectable to someone who knew her as well as he did. His gaze swept the room once more. All the maids, save for Sandra, were colored. His suspicions sharpened: Naiya had likely already learned of the maid he brought to his chambers last night, and this… this was her attempt to root her out.
"Everyone get out," Leonard said softly. The authority in his voice brooked no argument, no hesitation.
The maids scrambled to their feet, relief flooding their faces. Heads bowed, they moved in synchrony toward the door, silent in their exit, the faint echo of footsteps blending with the stillness left behind. Dydra lingered just a moment longer, her mind racing. She leaned toward the maid closest to her.
"Who was that?" she whispered, barely audible. Whoever it was, their position, their presence, commanded fear from the princess herself.
"That… that was the Crown Prince Leonard," the maid whispered back, her voice quivering with awe and excitement. "I've heard… he's as terrifying as they say. And handsome—so handsome…"
Dydra's lips pressed into a thin line. She had heard of Leonard, of course—who in the castle hadn't—but she had never seen him. And the stories… they did not do him justice. Her mind flicked to the market, the man who had been lashed so mercilessly… and she realized the bloodline, the power, the protection. "Blood is indeed thicker than water," she murmured under her breath, the words tasting bitter.
Inside the gallery, Leonard's steps carried him toward Naiya with a predator's quiet precision. The princess instinctively took a step back with each measured footfall, her back eventually pressing against the cold marble wall. Nowhere to go. The shift in the air, the silence pressing down, weighed heavier than any words.
"You know better than to cross me, little sister," Leonard said softly, the words low but heavy with authority, laden with unspoken warning. His presence dominated the space, his tall frame eclipsing her entirely. Naiya's lips pressed into a thin line, and for the first time in what felt like hours, the fire in her eyes faltered.
Without another word, Leonard turned and walked from the gallery. Naiya's hands shook as she grabbed the nearest painting, hurling it to the floor in frustration. "Mean nuisance!" she cursed, her voice trailing as she stormed out, leaving the room in uneasy silence.
Leonard closed the gallery door behind him, the click of the latch echoing in the empty corridor. His boots came off with deliberate slowness, the movement almost ritualistic. Fingers unbuttoned his shirt with quiet efficiency, tossing it aside. Trousers followed, slipping to the floor before he stepped into a warm, prepared bath.
The water embraced him like a familiar ally, his upper body resting against the marble edge as his eyes closed. Thoughts of the red-haired girl flooded him, vivid and unrelenting. Her dark skin, her ocean-blue eyes, the way her hair caught the light… and memories of another woman, his mother, gentle, smiling as she knotted his tie. Warmth, safety, nostalgia.
Then, a memory sharper, darker: a rainy night in the forest. Dydra standing in a black dress, soaked, ocean-blue eyes glinting with defiance. "Little fox," he whispered, the words barely audible, reverent even in memory. The rain had clung to her form, outlining the shape of her body, an image that refused to leave him even as he let the bathwater carry away the weight of the day.
After a long moment, he rose from the water, muscles tense, resolve hardening. Fresh clothing replaced the wet garments, the scent of cedar soap clinging faintly to his skin. His mind was still occupied, the red-haired maid a persistent shadow in his thoughts.
He moved to a corner of the room, fingers pulling a light brown rope meant to summon a servant. A maid quickly arrived, bowing deeply. "Your meal, my lord?" she asked, voice trembling slightly. Leonard's nod was enough.
Sandra appeared moments later, her sharp eyes taking in Dydra and Oryen. "A very important guest needs his meal," she said, voice clipped. "You," she gestured to Oryen, "assist her. Once finished, take her to serve him." Without waiting for acknowledgment, Sandra moved away to inspect the other maids.
Oryen's brow furrowed, silent frustration etched on her face. Dydra, however, steeled herself, following instructions to the letter. The route the maid led them down seemed familiar—eerily so. A shiver passed through her as she realized where they were headed: the same room she had been in the previous night, the same room that held the man who had haunted her dreams.
Finally, she stood outside the door, balancing the tray on one palm, other hand loosely clenched. She tapped gently, the sound echoing softly against the thick wood.
"Come in," came the faint, smooth voice from within.
Dydra twisted the doorknob, pushing the door open carefully, stepping inside. Leonard sat on the balcony, legs crossed on the sofa, eyes drinking in the beauty of the land beyond. The sunlight slanted across his sharp features, and for a moment, Dydra felt frozen, as though the entire world had narrowed to the space between them.
"My lord, I've brought your meal," she said, stepping forward, placing the tray on the table, and bowing before turning to leave.
"Stay," Leonard said, and the single word froze her mid-motion.
Dydra's heart skipped a beat. She froze in place, her eyes instinctively dropping to the floor. The air thickened, heavy with unspoken power, the faint scent of cedar and musk filling her senses. The silence stretched, oppressive, as Leonard didn't move, didn't eat, didn't speak further.
Then came the words that made her blue eyes widen, the soft command loaded with authority and subtle expectation:
"Sit with me."