Tyven paused, staring down at the roses he held. Wait—hadn't the gardener given them two each? Yes. Two for him, two for his younger brother, Tyler. Four roses in all. But at the table sat five princesses, laughing together over their tea. Four roses, five princesses. That meant one would be left without.
He exhaled softly. That didn't seem right.
At the same time, Tyler looked ready to cause trouble. Spinning a rose between his fingers, eyes sparkling, he sauntered over to the princesses.
"Well," he said, all effortless charm, "we can't just let these roses go to waste, can we?"
Before Tyven could say a word, Tyler was already at it. He stopped before Danielle and, with a wink that might have melted half the kingdom, presented her the first rose.
"For you, Princess Danielle," he said, smooth as velvet.
Danielle's cheeks turned bright red. "M–me?"
Tyler grinned, the kind of smile that could get away with anything. "Of course."
Danielle blushed even deeper, so flustered she knocked over her teacup. The porcelain hit the floor with a gentle crash, tea spilling everywhere.
Clarisse gasped. "Oh!"
Danielle slapped a hand to her mouth, mortified. "I—I'm so sorry!"
Tyler only laughed. "No need to worry, Your Highness. The rose looks perfect—and so do you."
Honestly, Danielle looked about ready to faint.
Tyven pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're impossible…" he muttered.
Tyler barely seemed to notice. He turned to Estella, who'd been quietly observing from the end of the table. "And this one," he said, holding out his second rose, "for the calmest one here."
Estella blinked, surprised. "For me?"
Tyler bowed slightly. "For you, Your Highness."
Estella accepted the rose with a small nod. "Thank you. I'll take good care of it."
Stephanie just stared at Tyler, mouth hanging open. "You…" was all she managed.
Tyler's grin just widened. He looked like he couldn't be happier.
At last, Tyven stepped forward. He drew a steady breath and walked to Anastasia, whose sharp eyes never left him.
"For you, Princess Anastasia," he said, offering his rose.
She took it, but regarded him warily. "Strange," she murmured. "Why aren't any of you giving one to Stephanie?"
Tyven ignored the question and turned directly to Clarisse. "And this one's for Princess Clarisse."
Clarisse's eyes shone, clearly moved. "Thank you, Lord Tyven."
But Anastasia wasn't about to let it slide. She scoffed, giving Tyven an irritated glare. "You know, that's actually pretty rude. Just pretending you didn't hear me."
Tyven's jaw clenched. Before he could retort, Anastasia stood and walked over to Stephanie. She gently tucked her rose behind Stephanie's ear and said, "She should have this."
Stephanie went rigid. "Anastasia—"
"She's more worthy than any of you realize," Anastasia said firmly, lifting her chin.
Tyler snorted, muttering, "She didn't deserve it… because he's a bo—"
Stephanie slapped a hand over his mouth before he could finish.
The courtyard froze—utterly silent.
Every princess stared, aghast. A princess touching a knight mage, right on his mouth? Scandalous didn't even begin to describe it.
Stephanie realized her mistake a heartbeat too late. She jerked her hand away, scowling as she wiped Tyler's spit off her palm. "Gross," she muttered, wrinkling her nose.
Tyler just grinned, licking his lips in mock amusement. "That's one way to shut me up, Your Highness."
"Don't push your luck," Stephanie snapped, glaring at him. She straightened her dress, trying to look unbothered.
She took the rose from behind her ear and handed it back to Anastasia. "Honestly," she said, voice more steady now, "this rose suits you better than me."
Her tone softened as she dipped into a curtsy. "Thank you, Anastasia. And thank you, Knight Mages, for your time."
She nodded to her maids. "I'm going back to my chambers. I have a private lesson with Jane soon, and I need to prepare."
"Of course, Your Highness," one of the maids replied, bowing deeply.
Stephanie offered her sisters a polite, quick smile. "Have a pleasant evening."
As she turned to leave, Tyler tossed her a smug little grin—the sort that screamed, 'You may go now, tiny princess.'
Stephanie's jaw tightened. She stomped her foot in frustration and stormed off, refusing to look back.
Danielle whispered, "She seemed upset…"
Anastasia crossed her arms. "What he needed was a slap. That's what he needed."
Tyler just laughed, shaking his head. "Trust me, I've had worse."
After Stephanie left, the tea party tried to continue, but the mood had shifted—everyone more curious than concerned with manners.
Danielle, cheeks still pink, leaned toward Tyler. "Um… Lord Tyler? May I ask you something?"
"Of course, Princess."
She hesitated. "Where are your weapons? Knights always have swords or shields, and mages have staffs, but your uniforms… there's nothing."
Tyler glanced at Tyven, who gave a small nod.
"Our weapons aren't ordinary steel," Tyven explained. "They're magic—fused with ancient technology from the Cerzt clan."
Danielle tilted her head. "Magic weapons?"
Clarisse's eyes practically sparkled. "Could we see them?"
Tyven nodded and started unbuttoning the side of his frock coat. Their uniforms really were nothing like a regular knight's—no armor, no heavy cloaks. Just a navy-blue frock coat, gold embroidery, Cerzt crest on the chest. Elegant, but strangely futuristic.
Then, as if it were nothing, a transparent glow flashed in Tyven's hand, and a long, polished firearm appeared out of thin air. Engraved with strange sigils, it looked like it belonged in two different centuries at once. "This," he said, "is a matchlock arquebus, crafted at the Imperial Royal Foundry. It runs on runic energy, not powder."
Tyler followed suit, conjuring his own weapon; his was a sleeker musket with the Imperial seal carved along the barrel. "This is a matchlock musket—reloads faster, shoots farther. Both run on magical conduits."
Clarisse gasped, eyes wide. "They're… incredible. Guns powered by magic?"
Tyven's pride showed. "That's only the beginning."
He pulled out more weapons from nowhere: a wheel-lock pistol, a caliver, even a compact wall gun, each one glowing with its own enchantments.
Clarisse couldn't look away. "They're beautiful," she whispered.
Anastasia rolled her eyes. "Showing off, are we?"
Tyven's expression darkened. "You sound like someone who's never seen real battle."
Anastasia bristled. "I know arrogance when I see it."
Just as things were about to escalate, Tyler clapped a hand on Tyven's shoulder and muttered, "Easy. We're not here to impress them, remember?"
Tyven took a breath and put his weapons away. "Fine."
Still, Anastasia's smug little smirk lingered in his mind—and it made his blood simmer.
When the conversation faded, Tyler stood and gave the princesses a brief bow. "If you'll pardon us, Your Highnesses, we need a moment to talk."
The brothers moved to the edge of the garden, away from listening ears and marble columns.
Tyven folded his arms. "What is it?"
Tyler leaned casually against a pillar. "Just curious which princess you're planning to stick with today."
Tyven arched a brow. "Does it matter?"
Tyler grinned. "Of course it matters. We don't want to both end up chasing the same girl."
Tyven considered, then smirked. "Anastasia."
Tyler stared. "Really? You already can't stand her."
Tyven shrugged. "Exactly. Someone has to remind her how to treat people. I'll 'accompany' her—mostly to teach her some manners."
Tyler laughed. "Wow, you're actually ruthless."
"She called me arrogant," Tyven replied, his voice cold. "Even the Emperor respects the Cerzt clan. She needs to learn her place."
Tyler just shook his head. "Alright, fine. I'll go with Danielle."
Tyven glanced over. "Makes sense. She seems pretty interested in you."
Tyler flashed a grin. "Well, who can blame her?"
When they returned, the princesses looked up.
"We've decided," Tyven announced. "Today, I'll be with Princess Anastasia."
Anastasia tensed, her expression falling. "You… what?"
Tyven smiled at her, calm as ever. "You heard me, Your Highness."
She muttered, "I'd rather run away."
Danielle, on the other hand, seemed about to burst with happiness as Tyler said, "And I'll be with Princess Danielle."
She tried to hide her excitement, but her hands were already clasped. "Really? That's wonderful!"
Tyler shot her a wink. "Just for today. The Emperor wants us to switch things up."
Tyven nodded. "Yeah. We'll all swap tomorrow."
The brothers exchanged a look—Tyven all stone-faced, Tyler still wearing that sly smirk—as the day's plan took shape.
The real contest was just beginning.
The soft thud of Stephanie's slippers faded as she and her maids trudged down that endless corridor to her rooms. Sunlight spilled through the stained glass, splattering the marble floor with weird patches of blue and gold. You'd think a palace this beautiful would be distracting, but nope — Stephanie was still brooding over Tyler's smug, stupid grin at the tea party. The nerve.
"Your Imperial Highness," Eloise, her maid, piped up gently, "we've got your afternoon clothes and lunch ready, just as Her Majesty ordered."
Stephanie just nodded, picture of enthusiasm. "Yeah. Alright. Let's get this over with."
At her chamber doors, the guards did the whole deep bow and swung them open. She stepped into the familiar scent of roses and lavender — honestly, way better than the cloying perfume at court. Her maids scattered, each already on autopilot.
"Your smock first, Your Highness," Eloise said, holding up a linen chemise as soft as a cloud.
Stephanie ducked behind the dressing screen, and another maid handed her the next layer: a kirtle in pale silk and velvet, that fancy blue shade that probably cost someone their sanity to dye. Way comfier than that stiff tea gown, thankfully.
Then came the overgown — sapphire blue, fur lining, probably worth more than some villages. The maids fussed with the sleeves, careful not to wrinkle it.
A plain white coif was plopped on her head, hair braided tight underneath. Indoor slippers. A pearl ring, slim silver bracelet — just enough jewelry to look royal, not enough to feel smothered.
"You look divine, Your Highness," one of the younger maids whispered, starstruck.
Stephanie gave her mirror a tired little smile. "Divine, huh? I'd trade it for a day off and some pants."
Cue soft giggles from her little army of attendants.
Not long after, a servant wheeled in lunch — roast chicken, bread, fruit, and milk. Pretty basic, but she ate like she was on stage, every bite slow and dainty. Perfect Imperial princess mode, even though inside she felt like she was carrying around a bag of rocks in her chest.
When she finished, she dabbed her mouth and stood. "Let's go. Lesson with Lady Jane."
The maids followed as she made her way to the massive double doors of the library. Two guards, armored up, spears crossed, looking like they'd eat nails for breakfast. They spotted her and instantly stepped aside, bowing so deep it looked painful.
"Her Imperial Highness, Princess Stephanie."
She nodded, doors creaked open, and bam — library time.
The place was cool, smelled like old paper and dust. Shelves everywhere, sunlight pouring in from a glass dome overhead. In the middle? An oak table, with Lady Jane already sitting, the picture of strictness.
Jane had silver hair pulled back tight, glasses perched on her nose, eyes sharp enough to cut glass. Back straight, that whole "don't mess with me" vibe.
Stephanie dropped into a curtsy. "Good afternoon, Lady Jane."
"Good afternoon, Your Highness," Jane answered, face unreadable. "Are you ready… for your thousand-question test?"
Stephanie froze for a split second, then straightened up. "Yes. I am."
Jane's smile barely twitched — not friendly, just… measuring. She pointed to the stack of papers beside her.
Stephanie's eyes went wide. Five hundred sheets. Seriously?
"Five hundred pages," Jane announced. "Both sides — you get a question on one, an answer on the other. Your answer? An essay. Five hundred words, minimum."
Stephanie just stared. "Each one? Five hundred words?"
Jane nodded like this was perfectly normal. "That's one thousand questions, one thousand essays. You write both. No copying. No help."
Jane started pacing behind her, heels clicking, voice like ice water. "Every question starts with how, why, or what happened. All about your readings: philosophy, history, strategy, politics, ethics."
She stopped, hand flat on the table. "You have thirty days. No erasing. No grammar mistakes. No smudges. Mess up? Rewrite. Got it?"
Stephanie swallowed, throat desert dry, and nodded.
"You get breaks every twenty pages," Jane continued. "Eat, walk, nap, whatever — but these pages never leave this library. No peeking at books once you start. Her Imperial Majesty approved all of it."
Stephanie didn't bother arguing. Not like anyone ever beat Lady Jane anyway.
Stephanie's heart hammered in her chest like a drumline. This wasn't just about being smart—this was a marathon. Patience, grit, chasing some impossible standard of perfection. Ugh.
Jane just lounged there, looking pleased, before dropping another bomb. "There's also a second task."
Stephanie nearly choked. "Wait, another one?"
Jane gave her a sly little smile. "A project. Make something original, with magic. Show me you're clever and inventive. Like this—" She pointed at a sparkly gadget beside her. "It's a lens I made ages ago. It'll catch lies in someone's words, drag out hidden truths, even peek at dreams and secret wishes."
Stephanie's eyes got huge. "Seriously? It does all that?"
Jane just laughed, low and easy. "Of course. But you? You need to invent your own thing. Don't copy me. I want something that screams you."
Stephanie let out a long breath, nerves catching up like they'd missed their ride and had to sprint. "And… after the thirty days?"
Jane crossed her arms, unmoving. "Done or not, you turn in everything—papers, artifact, all of it. You'll get your results in two months. After that, you get two months off to, I don't know, nap or climb a mountain or whatever."
Finished or not. That phrase just kept bouncing around inside her head like a rubber ball.
The maid—quiet as a shadow—stepped forward, handing Stephanie a new quill and jet-black ink. Jane nodded at the mountain of blank paper. "Your time starts now."
Stephanie stared at the paper for a second, catching her wobbly reflection in the ink bottle. Her hands shook, but she dipped the quill anyway. "Alright," she muttered. "Let's do this."
First line. Careful, slow. She wrote her first question, then answered it, her handwriting small and neat. Every letter mattered. She wasn't playing around.
Across the table, Jane watched like a hawk. Not just what Stephanie wrote, but how she sat, if her hand trembled or her shoulders sagged. Was she steady under pressure, or about to break? Jane was here for the whole thing.
Time melted away. The clock ticked, but it didn't matter. Blank pages disappeared under Stephanie's writing. The air grew thick with the scent of ink. Every so often, Stephanie would pause, squeeze her eyes shut, breathe deep, then dive back in. Her hand cramped, but her letters stayed straight.
Jane's lips twitched, just the barest smile. This one's got grit.
By the time the sun slid down the sky, golden light spilling over the desk, Stephanie's jaw was set, eyes sharp. Twenty pages finished.
She set aside the quill and flexed her aching fingers, exhaling like she'd just run a marathon.
Jane finally spoke. "You can take a break now, Your Highness."
Stephanie gave a tired, crooked smile. "Thanks, Lady Jane."
She stood, sneaking a glance at the stack—twenty done, four hundred eighty left. Mount Everest looked easy compared to this.
Still, there was a spark in her eyes. The same one that made old tutors mutter, This kid's going to surprise us one day.
The test was on. And Stephanie? She was in it now—a quiet, stubborn battle against the clock, her nerves, and her own doubts.
To be continued...