The next morning, sunlight streamed through the palace windows.
Lyria sat at the small table near her window, hair brushed to perfection, her expression perfectly composed, and mind a big mess.
She hadn't even gone to the dining room for dinner last night.
She'd simply told a maid to bring her a meal, "Please bring my meal here. I'm… very tired."
And they had, leaving a tray laden with roasted vegetables, bread, and a small dessert she hadn't even touched.
She'd eaten barely half the meal, stared at the ceiling for an hour, and fallen asleep fully dressed, hugging her pillow like it could explain her bad life choices.
Now it was morning, and she was awake, clean, and absolutely no closer to understanding what had possessed her yesterday.
She exhaled slowly, then flopped backward on her bed. "What was that," she whispered to herself.
Her mind replayed it for the hundredth time, the heat, the chaos, the blinding flame, and right in the middle of all of it, her own voice blurting the worst possible thing at the worst possible time:
I have a crush on you.
She groaned into her pillow. "Why did I say that? Out loud? To her face?"
"She's literally the Demon King's right hand! She throws fireballs the size of carriages! She nearly burned me alive, twice!"
Her voice rose with each sentence, frustration and disbelief tangling into something dangerously close to laughter. "And what did my brilliant brain decide to do? Confess! Because nothing says survival like romantic honesty in the face of death!"
She sat up, hair falling into her face, eyes wide with exasperated self-awareness. "Saints above, I'm a disaster."
A glint of blue caught her eye. On the nightstand beside her bed lay what remained of the pendant now reduced to a handful of glittering shards.
She picked up one of the fragments carefully. The runes had gone dull; the crystal at its core was cracked beyond repair.
"Great," she muttered. "My father's probably going to ask how the expensive experimental prototype ended up looking like I chewed it."
She turned the pieces over in her hand, then sighed. "Should I say it fell? No, that's suspicious. Maybe it 'malfunctioned'? Or I tripped down the stairs while wearing it? No, too tragic. 'Oh, Father, I was testing its durability!' No, that's worse."
She dropped her face into her hands. "Maybe I should just fake amnesia. That sounds peaceful."
Bells rang faintly in the distance, announcing breakfast.
Lyria stood, straightening her posture and pretending she hadn't just spent ten minutes arguing with herself like a guilty child.
Her reflection in the mirror was the picture of royal composure: silver hair braided neatly, a pale gown of lavender and ivory, not a single scorch mark left on her skin.
No one would ever guess she had been fighting a demon general yesterday.
No one ever will, she thought firmly.
She adjusted her collar and moved toward the breakfast tray still sitting near the window.
A servant must have replaced it earlier when she was having a bath, because everything was fresh, the scent of honeyed bread and berry jam filled the air.
Normally, Lyria would have enjoyed the view: the palace gardens in bloom, the distant glitter of the river winding through Ardenthal. But today, her eyes kept drifting to the shattered pendant.
Her fingers drummed against the table. She didn't even hesitate, she thought. I told her I liked her, and she just… burned through it like it meant nothing.
The memory still made her chest tighten.
Did she think I was lying?
Maybe Naya had thought it was a trick or a distraction before an attack.
Maybe that's why she'd looked at her like that: blank, composed, calculating.
Lyria poked at a piece of fruit on her plate, frowning. "You'd think surviving would make me feel accomplished, not heartbroken."
The thought startled her enough to make her laugh, a dry, self-aware sound that filled the quiet room.
"Oh gods, listen to me. I'm not heartbroken, I'm just… concussed from the trauma of being nearly roasted alive by my crush. That's all."
Her fork clinked against the plate. She took a sip of tea and tried to focus on the taste instead of the spiral of thoughts that refused to die.
Yesterday had been supposed to be a test, a chance to measure herself against one of the strongest beings in existence.
And, to her credit, she hadn't done terribly. She'd survived longer than any other human who'd reached that floor. She'd even made Naya move and fight seriously.
But that had not been Lyria's objective, Lyria just wanted to talk to the general and become lovers but no the general just wanted to kill her.
Lyria ran a hand over her face. "I really thought that was it. I really thought I was done."
She remembered the moment before teleporting: the unbearable heat, the rush of fear, and that strange calm in Naya's voice when she'd said, 'This is mercy. Don't come back.'
Lyria's throat tightened slightly.
"She was serious," she whispered.
Of course she would. Because whatever this was, it wasn't finished.
A knock at the door made her jump. "Your Highness?" came a maid's voice. "Are you joining the royal lunch today?"
"No!" she called back quickly, too quickly. "Just having mine here again. I'm… still reading."
"Very well, Your Highness."
Footsteps retreated down the hall.
Lyria slumped against the table, groaning softly. "Still reading," she mimicked under her breath.
"Yes, absolutely. Reading about bad decisions and emotional turmoil."
Her eyes drifted back to the pendant fragments.She reached for them again, arranging them in a small circle on the table as if she could somehow put them back together by willpower alone.
"You did your job," she said softly. "You saved me. Even when I was an idiot."
She sighed, leaning back in her chair. "And now I have to somehow explain your untimely demise to my parents. Fantastic."
Her father would probably smile and say something like, 'I'm glad you learned something from it.'
Her mother would give her that terrifyingly calm look that meant she was calculating exactly how long to lecture her.
The idea made Lyria's stomach twist.
She bit her lip. "Maybe I can tell them it just… overheated?"
Her inner voice snorted. You overheated too, genius.
"Not helping," she muttered.
Still, the more she thought about it, the more she realized she couldn't keep pretending.
The pendant was gone, and she needed protection if she planned to go back and she would go back. The thought was both terrifying and inevitable.
Maybe she was reckless.Or maybe she couldn't stand the thought of leaving things like this.
Because Lyria was curious. Curious about Naya Blackwell, what did she like, have she ever fallen in love, what does she like to eat or hate eating?
Lyria wanted to know.
Her teacup trembled slightly in her hand. She set it down, staring at the rippling surface. "I can't stop thinking about her," she admitted quietly.
The words hung in the air like a confession.
Outside, a bird chirped obliviously. The world moved on, unaware that its princess was sitting at her breakfast table debating whether she was infatuated or simply losing her mind.
"Probably both," she muttered.
She reached for a slice of bread, spreading jam across it with unnecessary aggression. "Fine. Let's make a plan. A logical one. No impulsive teleportation, no confessions mid-fight, no getting almost barbecued again. I can do this."
The confidence lasted about three seconds before she slumped again. "I cannot do this."