Three months ago, England.
The ballroom was a temple to excess.
Gold everywhere—dripping from chandeliers, framing ancestral portraits, inlaid in the marble floor in patterns that probably cost more than a small country's economy. The walls were deep crimson velvet, and the air tasted like aged wine and the particular musk of old money trying very hard to smell like power.
Nobles clustered in their evening wear, all red—crimson gowns, scarlet suits, ruby cufflinks catching the light. A sea of imperial color, buzzing with the low hum of anticipation that came before something important happened.
Everest stood near the back wall, the only stain of black in the entire hall.
His silk robe moved like water when he shifted his weight. His long hair was tied in its usual bun, though a few strands had escaped to frame his face. His golden eyes caught the chandelier light and reflected it back with unsettling brightness, making him look less human and more like something wearing a human face particularly well.
He felt every stare on his skin.
Some curious.
Most hostile.
All wondering the same thing: Why is the bastard foster son here?
He smiled—easygoing, pleasant, the smile that said "I belong here more than you do" without saying anything at all.
He was very good at lying.
A sharp tug at his sleeve nearly made him drop the smile.
Seriously-who-
Dorothy Alexander Terissa materialized at his elbow, grinning like she'd just stolen something and gotten away with it. She was tall, athletic, built like someone who could and would tackle you in a hallway for fun. Her jet-black hair was pulled into an elegant updo that she'd probably already messed with twice. Her sapphire eyes sparkled with mischief.
"Yooo, Everest—" She leaned in conspiratorially. "So when are you doing it?"
He turned to her slowly, one eyebrow raised in perfect aristocratic confusion.
"Doing what, exactly?"
"You know." She gestured dramatically, nearly hitting a passing noble. "The whole walking-up-the-stairs, taking-her-hand, sweeping-romantic-moment thing. The drama."
"Dorothy." His voice was patient, amused. "You watch too many dramas."
She puffed her cheeks out indignantly. "Maybe you don't watch enough of them. Honestly, Everest, do you have any sense of romance? She's been gone for two years—"
"I'm aware."
"—and you're just gonna stand here like some kind of brooding statue?"
He let the smile widen, just enough to be infuriating.
"Fine then. I'll give her a pleasant surprise."
Dorothy's eyes narrowed. "You're planning something."
"I'm always planning something."
"That's what worries me."
Before she could interrogate him further, the herald's voice boomed across the hall:
"PRINCESS LISSELOTTE ALEXANDER TERISSA HAS RETURNED FROM HER STUDIES ABROAD!"
The crowd exploded.
"Glory!"
"GLORY TO THE EMPIRE!"
"Glory to His Majesty!"
"THE PRINCESS HAS RETURNED!"
The chandeliers seemed to shiver with the force of it.
Everest moved.
He cut through the crowd with the kind of smooth inevitability that made people step aside without realizing they were doing it. Some glared. Some whispered. He ignored them all.
The grand staircase waited ahead—wide enough for ten people to walk side by side, carpeted in plush red that probably cost more than his entire wardrobe. Gold railings gleamed on either side.
He started climbing.
At the top, the massive golden gates groaned open, and light poured through—pure, white, blinding. It flooded the hall like a physical thing, drowning out the chandeliers, painting everything in stark contrast.
A silhouette appeared in the doorway.
Slender.
Graceful.
Descending with the kind of controlled elegance that made you forget how to breathe properly.
She moved like gravity itself had decided to be gentle with her.
Everest continued ascending.
They met halfway.
The light caught her fully now, and the entire hall seemed to hold its breath.
Lisselotte Alexander Terissa was devastatingly beautiful in the way that felt almost unfair. Her golden hair cascaded down her back in waves that caught the light like liquid sun. Her sapphire eyes were clear and bright and sharp enough to cut. Her face had the kind of perfect symmetry that made painters cry. The simple evening gown she wore hugged her generous figure in ways that were elegant and tantalizing and somehow still appropriate for a princess.
She looked like the kind of woman wars started over.
Everest extended his hand, his smile soft and welcoming and completely calculated.
"Welcome back, Lady Lisselotte."
She stared at his hand for half a second—just long enough for him to notice the hesitation—before taking it.
Her fingers were warm.
"Thanks for having me," she said.
Her voice was melody made flesh, but there was something stiff in the words. Rehearsed. Like she'd practiced them in front of a mirror and still didn't quite believe them.
Terrible actor, Everest thought fondly. Absolutely terrible.
Hours later, his balcony.
The festivities had ended. The masks were coming off.
Almost.
The balcony outside Everest's room stretched wide, floored in smooth marble that was cool even through his slippers. The railing was ornate iron, painted white, with climbing roses winding through the gaps. The night sky was absurdly clear—stars scattered like someone had spilled diamonds across black velvet.
The air was gentle. Cool. The kind of night that made you believe the world might be kind.
They sat side by side on a cushioned bench, shoulders touching, breathing in sync without meaning to.
Lisselotte had changed into a simpler red evening gown—though on her, "simple" still looked like something you'd see in a portrait. Her hair was down now, spilling over her shoulders.
Everest still wore black. Always black.
The silence stretched between them, comfortable and dangerous at once.
He broke it first, because it was expected.
"I missed you."
She turned to him, and something flickered across her face—something real and raw and quickly buried.
Then she leaned in close, breath warm against his ear, and whispered:
"Me too."
He flinched violently and spun toward her—ready to scold her for being inappropriate—and found her face right there. Inches away.
Every detail suddenly intimate and overwhelming: the faint flush on her cheeks, the way her lips trembled slightly, the sapphire eyes that held too much emotion and not enough skill to hide it.
"L-Lisselotte—"
She moved closer.
He scooted back.
She followed.
"Lisselotte, what are you—"
She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him directly into her chest in an embrace that was warm and soft and absolutely suffocating in the best and worst way.
His brain short-circuited.
Oh heavens. This is how I die. Smothered by a princess. What a way to go. I don't want to die—
She finally released him after what felt like a full minute.
He shoved himself back, face burning, hair completely loose now and falling around his shoulders in disarray. He tried to glare at her.
"W-What is with you today?!"
Lisselotte stared at him.
Then she started laughing.
Not a polite princess laugh. Not a calculated performance. A real, genuine, uncontrolled laugh that bubbled up from somewhere deep and refused to be contained. She laughed until she was gasping for air, until tears gathered at the corners of her eyes, until she had to wrap her arms around her stomach because it hurt.
Everest stared at her.
Then, despite everything—despite knowing better—he started laughing too.
They laughed like children who'd forgotten how. Like people who knew something terrible was coming and were trying desperately to outrun it with sound. Like the only alternative was crying and neither of them was ready for that.
The laughter echoed across the balcony, spilled into the gardens below, disappeared into the night sky.
When it finally died, they sat in the aftermath, faces flushed, eyes wet, expressions unreadable.
The stars looked dimmer somehow. Like they'd turned away.
Lisselotte turned to him slowly.
Everest turned to her at the same moment.
And they both said, at the exact same time:
"I am going to Stellar High."
The words hung in the air like smoke.
Everest's vision blurred. The stars bled together into streams of light. His mind started screaming—a cacophony of panic and rage and something that felt like grief but worse.
No. No no no no—
"Y-You can't"
In this world, there were three phrases no one wanted to hear from a loved one:
I am sick.
I am mad.
I am going to Stellar High.
Because madness was a disease. A pandemic that had nearly ended humanity during the Third World War. And Stellar High was where you went when you were mad—when you'd crossed into something supernatural and couldn't come back.
Everest had been hiding his madness since he was eight years old.
He'd lied to doctors. To his foster family. To the entire empire. Because getting caught meant disposal or containment, and he'd worked too hard to survive for that.
But Lisselotte—
Lisselotte was supposed to be normal.
"Everest—"
Her voice sounded distant. Underwater.
"Everest! HEY!"
He snapped back into himself, gasping.
She was staring at him with wide eyes—concern and confusion warring on her face. Then something else crept in.
Pity.
He hated that look.
"Everest..." Her voice was soft now. Careful. Like she was talking to something fragile. "Are you telling me I should... go against the law? Not turn myself in?"
She hesitated, and he saw her trying to harden her expression. Trying to look cold. Failing completely.
"Just like you did?"
The world collapsed.
"Like hell it's anything like mine!"
His voice came out ragged, furious, broken. His throat was already raw from earlier—he'd pushed himself too hard today, talked too much, felt too much—and now it was shredding itself.
"Do you have any idea how hard it's been!? To live like a criminal for years!? To have nobody to tell—nobody who would listen to a madman's story—"
He was shaking now, hands clenched into fists.
"—least of all you! Actually, wait—would you have even listened!?"
The question came out like an accusation.
Lisselotte met his eyes.
And said, very quietly:
"No."
The honesty was worse than any lie.
His anger surged higher, hotter—
"That's RIGHT! You wouldn't! Nobody would! So don't you dare compare your case to mine. I—I had my reasons—"
"Then why enroll now?"
Her voice cut through his fury like a blade.
"If you've been hiding it for years, why—"
He tried to answer. Tried to scream the truth at her. Tried to say anything—
But his throat gave out.
He collapsed into violent coughing, body convulsing, one hand clutching his chest. His vision swam. Pain lanced through his ribs—old injuries, chronic weakness, the frailty that had plagued him his entire life.
He crouched down, let the fit tear through him, and distantly wished he could cry.
He'd run out of tears years ago.
When he finally looked up, gasping, he saw her face.
Disgust.
Pure, unfiltered disgust, flickering across her expression before she could mask it.
She tried. She really did. Her face shifted into something softer, something concerned—
But he'd seen it.
"Everest..." Her voice was gentle now. Too gentle. Falsely gentle. "You know you've always been frail. Don't push yourself too hard."
A pause.
Then her expression shifted again—hardening, closing off—and when she spoke next, her voice was cold:
"But I'm not a criminal."
The words came out clipped. Rehearsed. Like she'd practiced this speech too.
"I won't commit a crime. You've betrayed us—me, my father who sheltered you, our entire family, the empire—"
Her voice cracked. Real emotion bleeding through.
"—the whole damn world. Why did you do this to me?!"
She was nearly shouting now, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes.
"You know I'm terrible at choosing sides and now I have to pick between you and everything I love. How is that fair?!"
Ahhhhh
Everest said nothing.
Just stared at her.
Then smiled—weak, hollow, utterly broken.
"So you can't after all," he whispered.
Lisselotte flinched like he'd struck her.
Silence settled between them, heavy and final.
In the distance, the palace clock began to chime.
BONG. BONG. BONG.
Midnight.
The spell was breaking.
Lisselotte looked at him one last time, sapphire eyes swimming with tears she refused to let fall.
Her voice came out barely above a whisper:
"I... I choose... the world."
The bells drowned out everything else.
But those four words echoed louder than any bell ever could.