The palace gardens were too perfect. Every petal, every hedge, every pebble, terrified to be out of place. The morning sun poured over the marble paths, and the air was chilly, but it just made the perfection harder to look at.
I sat on a carved bench beneath a flowery arch, chin propped in palm, pretending to admire the fountain. Truthfully, I'd run out of things to pretend about days ago.
The other noble children around, were being loud, again—giggling over pastries, comparing jewels, or talking about whose family owned more land as if their fathers weren't possibly dying at the boarders.
{They just keep surprising me with how ignorantly dense they are.}
The Dowager had gathered all of us here, the precious heirs–children of founding houses. The prodigies. Ones with names worth remembering — all safely tucked in the palace like endangered species. In case of the worst, she'd said.
"A safehouse," I mutter watching a young boy chase butterflies. "It's warehouse of the future. That's what the palace had become."
It had been a week since we arrived, and I'd already eaten enough to last me through winter. I stopped tasting the food somewhere around the third breakfast. Yet they kept bringing more—cakes, fruit, custards I couldn't pronounce. The others, my siblings included—ate like starving festival pigs. proving everything I'd expected of them.
They said keeping us well fed, would keep our nerves calm. They probably mis-spoke, because all I felt was sleep.
Theo sat on the grass a few steps away, playing with cards that definitely weren't his. "You're not eating?," he said, glancing up.
"I'm full."
"You said that yesterday."
"I was full yesterday."
He shrugged, with a small, teasing grin creeping in. "Are you plotting something?."
"Yes, I'm plotting how to escape lunch."
He laughed, loud and honest. It cut through the noise behind us—through the fake politeness and forced smiles. But even his laugh felt small against the weight pressing on my chest.
Beyond the palace walls, things weren't safe. People were fighting for theirs lives and homes Smoke rose from those distant lands, but the sky here didn't care. it was bright, blue, and the air smelled of sugar and flowers.
Three trading ports had fallen within the week—two in the north, one in the east. The west—Eloria—was holding for now. Barely.
We sent Father a letter every morning, and he replied every night. His handwriting was still neat, it was all the proof I needed that he was alright. I reread his words every chance I got. I'd never admit it to anyone else, but I missed him.
As beautiful as they are, peaceful days never last.
Especially when someone's banging on the door.
"Iris."
The familiar voice made me look up.
The Dowager Princess stood a few steps away, elegant as always, dressed in shades too fine for morning. Her smile was perfect, but her eyes were sharp—as usual.
"Your Grace!" I stood quickly "Good morning."
"Your siblings are playing by the orchard," she said, glancing at the children. "You should join them once in a while."
"I'm quite fine here, Your highness."
" mm" she observed me for a while —quietly, then almost fondly. "You remind me of Her Highness," she said, coming closer. "The late Empress. She hid her feelings too—though she was a little better at it."
My throat tightened, as I tried to keep composed. "Thank you..?."
"Oh, don't be so stiff, child." Her tone softened. "It's all right to feel. Especially now."
I didn't answer.
" It's alright," she said, her tone was soft and tender, she pats my head "Sometimes, silence is easier"
.><><><.
The council chamber gleamed under the pale morning light. Gemlights pulsed from the walls—amber and sapphire veins glowing faintly, feeding on the ambient influence in the air. Outside, the clang of weapons echoed from the training field, a constant reminder that the peace they argued over was already cracking.
Seventeen noble heads crowded around the map-strewn table. Silks rustled. Rings clicked. Armors clinked. The faint hum of mage-guards lined the walls.
"Reinforcing Althais was reckless," Marquess Veron snapped, disdain in his tone. "You threw men into an unwinnable skirmish, Duke Hampton."
Sylvester's eyes remained on the map. "We held the crossing for two days longer than predicted. That saved three hundred civilians."
"Three hundred hungry mouths don't win wars," Veron said. His ring glinted—a polished piece of veronane. "Resources do."
Baron Harland scoffed. "Ah yes, the mining lord's solution. Throw coin at the problem and hope the rocks grow legs."
Laughter rippled, short and nervous.
Veron's lips curled. "My rocks don't rot, Baron. Your daughter's duchy only grows weeds and sentiment."
Silence followed—the thick kind.
Sylvester lifted his gaze. Calm. Controlled. Dangerous.
"Eloria feeds your soldiers and heals your wounded. Your mines can't grow medicine, Veron."
Veron's jaw twitched, eyes steady on the duke. "But your crops won't hold the border when the next wave comes."
General Caine cut through the tension with a sharp. "Enough. The Runebloods have withdrawn east. They're regrouping."
"Then we act first," Sylvester said, tracing a finger along the western line of the map. "Fortify here, here, and here. We'll rotate troops using the influence caravans. Mages double the night watches."
Veron gave a dismissive hum. "And how do you plan to fund this noble fantasy?, Sell more of your… herbs?"
Sylvester's tone never rose, but his eyes burned. "If Eloria falls, who will buy your stones, Marquess?"
The silence that followed was deep and taut.
Baron Harland exhaled loudly, leaning on his cane. "You two will drive me to the grave. Save the biting for the Runebloods, boys."
A few nobles chuckled. The tension thinned—barely.
General Caine cleared his throat. "Scouts confirm the border towns are evacuating. The next wave will be heavier. We'll need every duchy ready."
Sylvester nodded once. "Then we move now. And pray the capital's ready before we are."
Veron muttered something under his breath.
After. The chamber finally emptied, leaving only echoes and the faint hum of gemlight. The air reeked of sweat, ink, and burnt temper.
Baron Harland stood hunched over the map, one hand pressed to the western border as if he could stop it from bleeding. "Gods damn that Veron bastard," he muttered. "He talks more shit than a stablehand. I mean what does he even know of battle."
Sylvester leaned against the table, undoing his cuffs with lazy precision. "You should've seen his face when I mentioned troop rations. Looked ready to choke on his own wine."
Harland snorted, a laugh that turned into a groan. "You always knew how to piss a man off."
"It's a gift," Sylvester said dryly.
"A curse, more like," the old man grumbled. "Half the room wants you hanged, the other half wants your damn job."
Sylvester shrugged. "Let them try. I've buried worse men."
The Baron's cane cracked against the floor. "You arrogant, mule-headed son of a bitch. You think pride will keep your people alive?"
"No," Sylvester said simply. "But fear won't either."
That shut Harland up for a second. He looked at his son-in-law — really looked — and sighed, deep and weary. "You're too damn much like her, you know that? Same fire. Same foolish heart."
Sylvester's jaw flexed. "She'd have told me to fight harder."
"And I'm telling you not to make your children fucking orphans," Harland snapped, voice rough. "Don't play hero, Sylvester. Heroes die ugly."
Sylvester smiled, it didn't reach his eyes. "Then I'll die practical."
The Baron barked a short, humorless laugh. "Gods help you, I'd slap that smirk off your face if my back wasn't killing me."
"Sit down before it does," Sylvester chuckled, tugging a chair closer for him.
Harland sank into it with a grunt. "You think this is funny, don't you? Dancing with death."
"It's necessary," Sylvester said, tone even. "You've seen what's coming firsthand."
"Yes," Harland said quietly. "And I'm scared shitless of it. Not for me—hell, I've lived long enough—but for my grandbabies. For Iris. Theo. They don't deserve to grow up into this."
Sylvester looked away, the faintest tremor in his hand. "They won't. I promised."
Harland studied him for a long beat, then nodded slowly. "Stubborn to the bone."
"Runs in the family," Sylvester said, a smile tugging his mouth.
The Baron smirked back, voice softer now. "Unfortunately."
They stood there—two fools with too much blood on their hands and too much to lose—staring down a map that might as well have been a battlefield.
.><><><.
Hours after lunch–which i skipped–The palace kitchen staff weren't taking the hint. They doubled down on caremel and berry cake, armed with enough sugar to make me question their true intentions.
I sat on a marble bench, caressing the apple pie they forced into my laps. Pretending to admire roses while mentally listing ways I could escape the next suger rush. I'd started to suspect The Dowager was fattening us for a royal display.
I stabbed the pie, a boy a couple feet away, was bleeding my ears for the last ten minutes, describing his horse's useless mane while girls giggled like actual horses.
"You know," a voice came from behind. "It's not the pie's fault that it tastes bad."
I turned. Ryder Belmont. The Crown Prince's right-hand guard. Swords prodigy since he was six — though right now, he looked more like a prodigy in avoiding effort.
"Aren't you supposed to be guarding His Highness?." I said dryly.
He waved it off. "He's fencing. Surrounded by tutors, advisors, people who call him YourRadiance. His more than safe."
"Then what are you doing here?"
"Saving myself," he said. "From dying of boredom." Slumping into the end of the bench.
I arched a brow " I never said you could sit."
" I didn't plan on asking," he said, leaning back lazily.
My brow twitched for a moment, but I ignored it. I looked toward the group of noble heirs gathered under a gazebo — laughing, sipping tea, trying too hard to look effortlessly elegant. The sun caught on their jewelry and pride alike.
"They're loud," he muttered.
"Maybe you should go somewhere else then," I said. "Noise is the Noble's sport."
"Second only to pretending they care." He continued, ignoring the first part of what I said.
I didn't reply.
Silence stretched between us, the kind that wasn't awkward — just... lazy. I didn't realize how I missed that. I use to have it with-Theo.
Laughter echoed from across the garden. Theo—climbing a tree, no less, with a small chestnut-haired girl cheering him on. Alice–the gardener's granddaughter–, very chripy child, the kind that has never been told no.
Theo was laughing harder than I'd ever heard him, carefree—boyish sure, but real. I didn't know whether to smile or feel guilty.
Ryder followed my gaze. "Your brother?"
"Mm.hm"
"Looks happy."
"Too happy. He's going to ruin that shirt."
"He only gets to be kid once, what's a shirt?."
That hit deeper than I expected.
"He doesn't laugh like that around me," I admitted quietly. "Maybe I've been… making him act too grown."
Ryder tilted his head, studying me with that lazy gaze of his. "Don't feel too bad, my sisters would absolutely lose their minds if I acted my age."
I snorted softly. "You have siblings."
"Yeah, well," he said–grinning, "they're adopted. And yours?"
"Those two can take care of themselves,"
" No!, the brave one! Theo." Alice shouted at Theo, who was hanging from a branch too thin for his weigh.
"Are you going to do something about that?, or... " Ryder paused, for me to continue.
I gave him a sidelong look. "Nope."
"That's your brother." He stated
"He's also a Hampton." I cut a piece-of-pie into my mouth.
.><><><.
"So what did you do?" I asked.
"I drenched him" Gia replied smug.
I chuckled briefly, "and, what happened next."
"He didn't say anything, just walked away." Her tone drops " He deserved it right?"
"Well..-" I started
"Of course he did!" Mia cuts in, looking up from her diary.
Her quill was always scratching every night, Gia was telling me how their afternoon went, while pulling strings of my brain–braiding–, I didn't hate it.
"He shouldn't have ignored us," Mia continued.
"But he didn't technically do anything. Which actually makes me the bully" Gia pauses.
" You made a mistake, just apologize when you see him tomorrow." I said, hoping to fix something.
The quiet retuned. The night air came through the windows, carrying the sweet scent of blooming flowers,and the chilling sensation of the coming winter.
Then—
"I got it!"
Theo's voice cracked through the air like a warhorn. The door slammed open and he came charging in, waving something above his head like a battle flag.
Gia gasped and yanked my hair. "Ow!...Gia!"
"Sorry! sorry!" She retorted.
"Slow your ropes, young man!" Rosie's voice snapped from the hall—exhausted. She swept in after him, fanning herself. "You are not the only guests at the annex!"
Theo ignored her, of course. "I got there first!"
"you nearly bashed a maid!" Rosie snapped.
Mia turned from her chair. Gia dropped my hair.
I just sighed. "Theo, quit overreacting. His letters always come around this time of night."
I held out my hand. "Give it here before you wrinkle it to an unreadable state."
He did. The paper was warm from his grip, the red wax seal shining faintly from hearthlight.
"Well," I murmured, "let's see what disaster he's gotten into this time."
Theo was practically bouncing on his toes, eyes wide as I broke the seal. Gia leaned forward, chin against her knees, Mia kept pretending to write in her diary, though she hadn't turned a page since. Rosie stood by the bed–listening.
Silence.
I read out loud–
"My dear children,
Your letter reached me at dawn again, I read it before anything else.
And about the your feeding situation Iris, it's not a conspiracy. The Princess is what one might call a stress-feeder," I paused. {A what?}
" Iris?" Gia called,
" when she's anxious, she tries to calm the world by feeding it. It's her way of caring." My eyes dropped unimpressed {Really.} " even if it feels like a siege from the kitchens." I continued "Be gracious. Eat what you can. Compliment the chef if you can. I'm fine, the capital is expected to be crowded soon. Listen to Rosie, don't leave the palace for anything. Theo," I smirked as I called his name, he flinched beside me. "please refrain from borrowing cards from strangers." He stiffened.
" Yes, I told on you"
" Pls just finish reading already" Mia sighed.
" Of course, Gia and Mia, stop stop comparing the palace day-to-day activities with ours, someone might hear you." I paused amused "I didn't tell him that though." Gia and Mia turned to Rosie.
"I did." Rosie said-evenly
"Oh." I turned back to the letter. " And Iris....—Again, I'm worried about you the most. Don't involve yourself in politics just yet. And do more than sleep all day. What?!" I exclaimed " I can hardly sleep in this strange room"
" You've been dosing off at random times of the day though." Theo said.
" But!...know what?, it's fine. I don't care." I continue "Rosie says you've all been remarkably well-behaved," Rosie, Gia and Mia all exchange glances. "which either means she's losing her edge... or you've learned subtlety at last. Either way, I'm impressed, and slightly alarmed. I miss you all. The house feels empty without your noise.
— Father
A pause. Then Gia sighed, "He should've said 'love you all.'"
"Didn't you hear the part where he called us noise," Mia countered,
Theo looked between them. "But he means it, right?"
I smiled. "Of course he does."
Rosie folded her arms. "Well, His Grace's orders are clear. No more wandering, especially you two."
Mia groaned. "We only went to the stables."
"You set it on fire!," Rosie said flatly.
"A small fire!" Mia protested.
I laughed, a sound that felt like it came from someone else.
.><><><.
While the Hamptons bickered—writing back to their Father, Crown Prince Raymond was also have a moment with his Father. He's memories at least.
He sat behind his father's desk, Moonlight slanted across the floor, and the untouched stacks of parchment. Eyes fixed on a half-drawn war map. He hadn't moved in hours.
The door creaked open.
"Goodness, it's like a explosion happened here," the Dowager Princess said, stepping inside—running a gloved finger along a shelf. "Dusty too. You've been hiding here all week."
Raymond didn't glance up. "Studying."
"Lovely," her tone sharp–fast. "But!" Clasps her hands together. " You're twelve, not sixty. At your age, you should be terrorizing your tutors, and courting my sympathy after every punishment."
He exhaled sharply through his nose. "You came to say something, Aunt."
She smiled. "I'm worried about you. Honestly I'd hoped...I thought, that you'd be all over the Hampton girl by now. The Runeblood attack couldn't have been anymore convenient . Your chance to play hero. Again."
He finally looked at her, unimpressed. "People are dying, that's convenient?."
"Mm. Sometimes," she said, tracing the edge of the Emperor's desk, "you should step out of tha 'like father, like son' facade. Just be a boy—think like one, for once." She pinches his nose.
A chill hush rolled through the air.
Then—
BOOM!
The study shook. The shelves toppled, scrolls tumbled, and the chandeliers above rang like glass bells. The Dowager Princess stumbled, Raymond staggered to his feet, grabbing the desk for balance. "What's happening?"
The world outside the window lit up.
A surge of light—bright-crimson, searing, shot into the sky from the far west.
Not lightning.
Not fire.
It was bolder. And angry.
Every tower, spire. the whole Imperial Palace bathed in that eerie glow. The city below stilled–silent, citizens frozen mid-breath. The entire empire could see it.
And in the quiet safety of her chamber, finally asleep. Iris felt it.
It was something that clawed through her chest—familiar, and heart-wrenchingly hot.
Her head jerked up. "Dad!" eyes wide, a terrifying shade of -Black. Gasping.
"What the hell was that…" she whispered.
The windows trembled.Outside, the light still stood.
"Bloody hell," she threw her out of the bed, as realization struck her harder than lighting. "That's Eloria, Dad.."
She turned and rushed out of the room.