The forest fell quiet after Tyler left. Leaves whispered overhead, and Stephen stood alone in the moonlight, clutching his mana sword. His breath came out slow and misty in the cold air.
"Alright," he muttered, squaring his shoulders. "Let's see what this cheat code can really do."
He sliced the blade through the night, trailing light with every swing. Mana sparks scattered, flitting around him like tiny fireflies. He moved faster, each strike sharper, smoother—he almost couldn't believe how natural it felt.
Then his attention snapped to magic. Blue light burst from his palms as he layered barrier after barrier, floated rocks, fired off elemental bolts—one spell tumbling into the next. The Mentis Libranium spell from earlier had done its job. Every word, every gesture, every theory simply clicked into place in his mind. He didn't have to think—he just knew.
"Ha!" He blasted a tree in half and grinned, lowering his arm. "This spell's insane. No side effects. Instant knowledge."
He couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, cheat code is right."
Time to try firearms. He dug out two sleek silver pistols, designed for mana bullets, and conjured up glowing targets. He fired shot after shot, faster, steadier, barely feeling the recoil. Every bullet hit home, the air crackling with leftover energy.
Night stretched on, hours slipping away. He barely noticed. Only when dawn's first light started tiptoeing through the trees did he realize he'd been out there all night.
He slid his sword back into its sheath, wiped sweat from his brow, and sighed. "Better get moving before someone starts asking questions."
He snuck back into his room just as sunlight crept across the floor. Quiet as a shadow, he slipped in through the window. The books? Gone. All that knowledge sat neatly in his head now.
He stretched, yawned, let himself smile. "Time for Stephanie to make her grand return."
Kicking off his boots, he glanced at the mirror and murmured the transformation spell. His face softened, jawline fading, lashes growing, body shrinking into the graceful form of Princess Stephanie.
"Perfect," she said, her voice light and sweet. "No one's going to suspect a thing."
She flopped onto her bed, sank into the sheets, and fell asleep in no time at all.
A few hours later, she heard that familiar knocking at her door.
Knock. Knock.
"Your Highness?" A maid's voice drifted in. "Time to wake up. Your morning bath is ready."
Stephanie let out a quiet groan but pushed herself upright. "Ah, yes! I'm awake," she called, her voice light and sweet.
The maids glided in, bowing as they went. They started the usual routine—drawing the bath, filling it with warm, scented water and flower petals. While they worked, Stephanie whispered a spell under her breath, just loud enough for herself.
"Femina totalis," she muttered. Magic tingled through her, smoothing out every trace of her real self, the parts she needed to hide.
She watched her image settle in the mirror—the illusion now solid and seamless. Flesh and voice, everything fell into place. She grinned, satisfied. "That should do it."
One maid piped up, cheerful, "The bath is ready, Your Highness."
"Thank you."
They helped her out of her gown, hands gentle and practiced, chatting quietly among themselves as they washed her.
"The Princess's skin is so soft," one whispered with a giggle.
"She's glowing as always," the other replied.
"I heard Her Majesty is really proud of her lately."
Stephanie laughed, playing along. "Oh, you flatter me. I'm still learning."
After the bath, they wrapped her in towels, dried her hair, and brushed it until it gleamed like gold. Then they started dressing her.
And that's when the pain crept in.
The corset came next. Tighter. Tighter. Every pull squeezed the breath from her chest. She bit her lip, refusing to make a sound.
"A little tighter, please," one maid said, firm.
"Her Highness has to look perfect for breakfast."
Stephanie's vision went hazy for a second. She forced a smile. "Perfect… yes, perfect…"
A maid caught the tremor in her voice. "Are you alright, Princess?"
"Of course!" she said quickly, though her words wobbled just a little. "Just a bit… tight, that's all."
They laughed, finishing their work.
When they finally stepped back, she stood before the mirror, trying to breathe, eyes wide at her reflection. The gown was stunning—dark blue velvet, golden lace, long flowing sleeves that shimmered with every move, soft white fur at the edges.
She looked radiant. Regal. No one would ever question it.
"Oh, Your Highness," one maid sighed, "you look like the moon itself."
Stephanie smiled, even as she whispered a small spell to loosen the grip around her ribs.
By the time they finished with her hair and makeup, she looked every bit the perfect princess.
"Shall we take you to breakfast, Your Highness?"
"Yes, please," she answered, her voice bright as morning.
Morning sunlight spilled into the palace corridors. Servants bowed their heads as Stephanie passed. Guards snapped to attention. Cooks glanced out from the kitchen, grinning.
"Good morning, Princess Stephanie!" they called.
She waved, matching their cheer. "Good morning!" Her smile stayed steady, her voice bright. But inside, she felt weighed down—exhausted from endless training, studying, and the unyielding pressure to be flawless.
Just a little longer, she told herself. You can't slip now.
A faint shimmer danced across her skin—a small magic trick to hide the tiredness in her eyes and the paleness of her cheeks.
She entered the grand dining hall. Everyone was already there—the Emperor at the head, broad and commanding, with the Empress, Phoenicia, beside him, her composed face hardly masking the worry in her eyes.
The table stretched long, lined with concubines and their daughters—Clarisse, Danielle, Estella, Anastasia—all beautiful and self-assured. Their golden hair shone in the light, their eyes sparkling in hues from green to gray.
The room hushed as Stephanie walked in. Every gaze turned to her.
"Sorry I'm late," she said, offering a quick curtsy before taking her seat between Anastasia and the Empress.
The Emperor lifted his wine, set it down, and nodded. "Let's begin."
Servants moved around the table, setting out bread, fruit, meat, and tea. For a while, the only sounds were forks tapping plates and the soft swish of gowns.
Breakfast with the imperial family was always like this. No one dared speak until the Emperor did.
Stephanie carefully sliced her bread, sending a small smile to Anastasia, who smiled back.
After what felt like ages, the Emperor finally spoke.
"How are your studies progressing, my daughters?" His voice filled the room.
Everyone straightened in their seats.
Clarisse answered first, confidence bubbling in her tone. "I'm doing well, Your Majesty. Training is going excellently."
The Emperor nodded. "Good."
Danielle spoke next. "I'm focusing on politics, economics, and strategy, Father. I hope to contribute more at the next court assembly."
"Excellent."
Estella lifted her chin. "I've dedicated myself to magic lately. Keeping the palace wards strong."
"A wise pursuit," the Emperor said, almost smiling.
Then Anastasia spoke, her voice gentle. "I've been watching over the people, Father. Ensuring their homes are safe and their loyalty to the crown remains strong."
"Well done, Anastasia," he said, sounding genuinely pleased.
Now it was Stephanie's turn.
"And you, Stephanie?"
She met his gaze, then looked down slightly, her smile soft. "I've been working hard with Mother. She's teaching me so much about etiquette and leadership. I'm grateful for her guidance."
The Emperor let out a warm laugh. "You make me proud, my daughter. All of you do."
The room seemed to relax as he raised his glass again. "Continue your efforts. The competition approaches—may the best among you prevail."
He stood, and everyone quickly rose.
"Your Majesty," they all said together, bowing low.
He glanced around once more, then turned to the Empress. "Come, Phoenicia. We have court today."
"Yes, Your Majesty," she replied quietly, following him out.
As soon as they left, the atmosphere shifted. The concubines exchanged smiles—some warm, some edged.
Those with daughters looked proud, nearly glowing. But a few faces remained pale and tight-mouthed—concubines whose sons had been killed by the Emperor long ago. Bitterness flickered in their eyes as they looked at the others. Their children hadn't been as fortunate.
"So unfair," someone muttered, barely audible.
"Quiet," another hissed. "Walls have ears."
The noblewomen filtered out, some leading their daughters by the hand, others trailed by maids.
Anastasia turned to Stephanie with a gentle smile. "You look lovely today, as always."
Stephanie laughed, a little softer. "You too, Sister. Radiant as ever."
Clarisse tossed her hair over her shoulder. "We all are. That's what makes this game so interesting."
Danielle rolled her eyes. "You and your games…"
Estella just sighed, already moving toward the door. "I'm heading to the tower. The enchantments need maintenance."
One by one, they drifted away, voices and footsteps echoing through marble halls.
Stephanie lingered a moment with her attendants, letting out a quiet sigh.
"Let's go," she whispered, her smile gentle, her eyes tired.
The maids fell in behind her as she walked away—the perfect princess once more, hiding countless secrets behind her gentle voice.
The maids followed Princess Stephanie, barely making a sound, as she drifted back to her room. Sunlight was everywhere—flooding in through those giant crystal windows, making everything look almost too perfect. The hallway was basically a museum, portraits of royal ancestors judging you from the walls, as if anyone could live up to those stony faces.
Once inside, the maids did the whole curtsy thing—super formal, as usual—before they made a beeline for her wardrobe.
"Your Highness," one of them whispered, like she was telling a secret, "Her Majesty wants you at tea with your sisters later. Should we get your gown ready?"
Stephanie just nodded, all sugar and grace. "Yes, please. And let's go with my favorite—the blue one."
The maids traded these looks, like, oh boy, she picked the good one, and got moving.
Honestly, getting dressed in this place was a ritual. First up: ditch the breakfast gown. That meant slowly, painstakingly unlacing the thing (corsets—ugh, the worst invention ever). Stephanie actually let out a sigh when they finally freed her. She stretched like a cat who'd just gotten out of a tight box.
"Ahh," she groaned, kind of dramatic but who could blame her. "That feels...like actual heaven."
Her maids cracked up. "You look stunning in everything, Your Highness, but, yeah—corsets are basically medieval torture devices."
They pulled her blue gown out of the wardrobe. It was gorgeous, honestly—like, straight-up sky at dawn, with gold threads that caught the light and made it look almost magical. Layers on layers: velvet so soft you could nap in it, shiny satin, and silk that moved like water. The sleeves puffed at the shoulders—just a little, nothing ridiculous—and then flowed out into these wide cuffs trimmed with gold.
This one wasn't even corseted (thank the fashion gods). It was a tea gown, which meant comfort and elegance could actually coexist. High waist, full skirt, farthingale underneath to give it that fancy shape—classic princess stuff.
Stephanie grinned, all warm and genuine. "Perfect," she said, like she was letting the secret slip. "There's a reason this one's my favorite."
Lira, who was always the peppy one, beamed back. "Of course it is. You look like the morning in that color."
Another maid was gently running a brush through Stephanie's hair, and she chimed in, "You always pick light colors. They match your kindness."
Stephanie just laughed. "Maybe. Or maybe I just really like the sky."
Once the gown finally sat right (seriously, who knew silk could be so stubborn?), the maids got busy with the perfume and makeup. The smell hit her first—sugary-sweet, flowery, with this sandalwood kick that made the whole room feel like a high-end garden party. And get this: the perfume? Smuggled in from way out west and apparently worth more than a couple hundred sheep. Ridiculous.
"Careful," Stephanie piped up, teasing as one of the maids almost let a drop fall. "That's half a flock on your hands."
They all cracked up at that. The sound bounced off the walls—way too loud for a bunch of girls fussing with hairpins.
Next came the jeweled flowers in her hair. A dusting of blush on her cheeks. She snuck a peek at herself in the mirror and—just for a second—her smile wobbled. Weird, seeing herself like this. She looked... flawless. Actually too flawless. Not like some scruffy kid trying to play dress-up, but a real princess. All grace and serenity, eyes calm as still water, face carved out of moonlight or whatever nonsense poets say.
She let herself sigh inside. Oh, the irony. She made a better girl than she ever managed at being a boy.
But hey, she could still pull out that heart-melting smile. Never failed.
"Well," she said, voice soft but steady, turning to her crew, "let's hit it. My sisters are probably tapping their feet already."
The maids curtsied so low it was a miracle their spines survived. "Yes, Your Highness."
The imperial garden was basically a riot of color. Sunlight everywhere, creeping through vines and blossoms. Fountains doing their sparkly thing. Birds gossiping above the marble gazebo, which was, honestly, ground zero for every tea party ever.
Stephanie moved with the kind of grace that only came from way too many etiquette lessons, skirts whispering with each step. Wherever she walked, servants and guards bowed, all stiff and proper.
About halfway through the garden, she clocked two guys hanging out near the main path.
She slowed down. Uh-oh.
One was instantly familiar: Nathaniel Tyler Von Cerzt. She almost rolled her eyes. Of course he'd pop up now, smug as ever. But the other one…
Taller, built like he could bench-press a horse, probably around her sister Anastasia's age—eighteen, maybe? His eyes were this wild blue-green, same as Tyler's, but his hair had more attitude. Dark, with gold and bronze streaks, pulled back in a neat tail. He had that knight energy: chill, but you knew he could snap into action.
Stephanie stopped dead. Her maids skidded to a halt behind her.
She gave the two a once-over, one eyebrow arching. "So, who's this?" she said, tone casual but, yeah, still very princess-y. "And why are you both loitering in my garden?"
Tyler spun around, and his grin was so smug she wanted to laugh. He bowed, all formal, sinking way lower than usual. "Your Imperial Royal Highness," he said, syrupy smooth. "Pardon us. Let me introduce myself. Nathaniel Tyler Von Cerzt, from the Cerzt clan. This is my brother, Matthew Tyven Von Cerzt."
Tyven matched his brother with a sharp, perfect bow. "An honor, Your Highness."
Stephanie tilted her head, giving them the suspicious royal stare. "Cerzt clan, huh? That's the mage family, isn't it?"
Tyven nodded, cool as ice. "Yes, Your Highness. The Emperor called for us. Our clan was summoned to serve under imperial command."
Her eyes narrowed, sharp as a dagger. "For what, exactly?"
Tyven squared his shoulders, voice steady. "By His Majesty's decree, the Cerzt brothers are here to protect and guide the five princesses. We're to serve as knight mages—guardians and teachers, for your succession."
The maids behind her did that little gasp thing. Stephanie just blinked, pretty sure she'd misheard.
"Knight mages?" she echoed, folding her hands. "I mean, I know about knights. I know about mages. But both?"
Tyler's smirk got even cockier. "Not many of us around, Your Highness."
Tyven jumped in, polite as always. "If I may explain?"
He launched into it. "The Empire's got three pillars: regular Knights—swords, Aura, you know the drill; Mages, who keep the magic barriers and toss lightning or whatever; and Knight Mages. We're the bridge."
Stephanie listened, curiosity bubbling up.
"Knight Mages use mana weapons—guns, but made with magic. We're trained to fight and cast. Keep order where normal knights just can't."
Tyler butted in, now basically beaming. "Our clan's got both bloodlines, so we get the honor. I'm the youngest—twelve. Tyven's eighteen."
Stephanie blinked again. "You're twelve?" she said.
Tyler just grinned, bowing again. "Your Highness, skill doesn't care about age."
Stephanie arched a brow, lips twitching. "Brave words for you."
Tyler let out a low laugh, shooting her that look—the one that always spelled trouble, the one she'd seen a hundred times back when nobody else was watching them spar after dark. Some snappy comeback hovered on his tongue, but nah, he swallowed it. Not here. Not with all these fancy strangers around.
Tyven clocked the weird vibe and stepped up, all proper and polished. "Don't worry, Your Highness, my brother jokes around, but the guy's legit. The Emperor wouldn't have dumped him here if he wasn't."
Stephanie's posture softened a notch. "Fine. I'll take your word, Sir Tyven… and you, too, young Cerzt."
Tyler flashed a crooked grin, dipped into another bow. "You honor us, Princess."
"That's what I like to hear." Stephanie's voice mellowed out, somehow bossy and graceful at the same time. "Now, if you'll excuse me—I've got sisters waiting."
"Of course." Tyven stepped aside, smooth as ever.
Tyler, though... Yeah, he couldn't help himself. He threw her a parting glance as she glided past. "Hope your tea's decent, Your Highness," he called, just loud enough, smirking like a rogue but still all respectful.
Stephanie hesitated, barely, and looked back—caught his eyes. For half a heartbeat, the edge of her mouth lifted. Blink and you'd miss it. Only he wouldn't.
Then she was off again, blue dress trailing behind her like a piece of the sky, headed for the gazebo.
The maids shuffled after her, gossiping in hushed voices about the Cerzt brothers and how ridiculously good they looked in uniform.
Once the coast was clear, Tyler let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, leaning against the cool marble rail. His grin just kept spreading.
"She's got quite the poker face, huh?" he muttered, mostly to himself.
Tyven gave him a sideways look. "You act like you already know her."
Tyler shrugged, but the smirk stuck around. "Not really. She's… something else, though. Not what I pictured a princess would be."
Tyven raised an eyebrow, all older-brother wisdom. "Try not to get us exiled."
Tyler snorted. "Can't make any promises."
Meanwhile, Stephanie finally made it to the tea gazebo, where her sisters were practically drowning in lace, pastries, and floral arrangements.
Anastasia looked up first, all big-sister energy. "Late again, Steph."
Stephanie put on her sweetest smile and slid into her chair. "Sorry. Ran into a couple surprises."
Clarisse's eyes lit up. "Oh yeah? Spill."
Stephanie poured herself some tea, took her time with the first sip. "A couple Cerzt brothers. They're supposed to guard and train us or something."
Estella nearly dropped her scone. "Cerzt? Like, the knights who do magic?"
Danielle just nodded, thoughtful. "Guess the Emperor's got more in mind for us than etiquette lessons."
Anastasia smirked. "Maybe he's gearing up for a war."
Stephanie stared into her teacup, watching the surface ripple. "Or something even bigger," she whispered, almost too quiet to hear.
The sisters just looked at each other, and for a second the air felt heavy. Like they all knew—deep down—that their lives were about to get flipped upside down, and there was no going back.
TO BE CONTINUED...