Noon has arrived, and we are having lunch, still tucked away inside the room where I remain in hiding. It's moments like these that remind me how effortless life must be for a prince—wherever he goes, nobles and servants cater to his needs without question. No explanations, no justifications—just quiet, unwavering obedience.
I sit at a small dining area within the room, dressed in nothing but his oversized shirt. A sliver of golden sunlight filters in through the slightly parted curtains, casting warm streaks across the polished floor. Most of the windows remain veiled, heavy ceiling-to-floor drapes shielding us from the outside world. No servants are permitted inside, a rule strictly enforced. Earlier, it was the prince himself who retrieved our meal, personally rolling in the trolley to ensure no one discovered my presence.
As I take another bite, I glance at him. He sits beside me, meticulously slicing the meat on my plate as if it's the most natural thing in the world.
"Your Highness, don't you have a schedule to follow today?" I ask between bites, raising an eyebrow. "You've been absent since this morning."
He doesn't pause, continuing his careful work with a look of nonchalance. "Important matters were handled days ago. I only have minor things left to oversee. Nothing urgent," he says smoothly, his confidence unwavering. "A single day of absence won't cause the kingdom to collapse."
I narrow my eyes. "Isn't that still negligence of duty?"
At that, he puts down the knife with a dramatic sigh and turns to me, his expression shifting into something almost melancholic. "I'm human too, Aerin," he murmurs, a feigned sadness in his voice. "Am I not allowed to take a single day to myself?"
Though his tone is teasing, I catch something beneath it—something quiet but real. A longing, perhaps. A weight he carries behind his easy charm.
I roll my eyes, but I don't press further. Instead, I let him continue slicing the meat for me, pretending not to notice the subtle truth hidden in his words.
As I pick at my food, the silence between us is oddly comfortable—until, of course, the prince decides to stir trouble.
"You know," he starts, his voice light but purposeful. He leans back slightly, gazing at me with that mischievous glint in his eyes. "Since earlier, you've been calling me 'Your Highness' again." His head tilts, expression unreadable yet entirely focused on me. "I thought we had already moved past such formalities?"
I pretend not to hear him, taking my time chewing my food, my attention deliberately fixed on my plate.
But he doesn't let it go. Of course, he doesn't.
"Aerin," he murmurs, his voice dipping into something lower, almost intimate. "We have been far more personal than what mere titles suggest. We've—"
I immediately shoot him a glare, already predicting where this was heading. "Don't say it," I warn, my cheeks growing warm.
His smirk only widens. He leans in slightly, his tone carrying the unmistakable lilt of amusement. "We have already seen each other's bare bodies," he whispers as if sharing a scandalous secret. "Shared warmth, indulged in—"
"You're shameless!" I said, cutting him off. I nearly choke on my drink, coughing as I glare daggers at him.
He laughs, a rich, unbothered sound, clearly enjoying my flustered state. "And yet," he continues, eyes twinkling with mischief, "despite all that, you still insist on calling me 'Your Highness' when it's just the two of us." He sighs, shaking his head with exaggerated disappointment. "It almost feels like you're trying to put distance between us."
I hesitate, fingers tightening around my fork. "That's not—" I begin, but the words falter on my tongue.
He notices. Of course, he does.
"Then say my name," he challenges, his gaze unwavering.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat, suddenly finding the arrangement of my food fascinating. "It's just… a habit," I mumble, idly pushing my food around.
He smirks knowingly. "Habits can be broken."
I exhale, glaring at him before relenting. "Fine," I say, hesitating before muttering, "Rolland."
His expression immediately shifts. The amusement fades into something unimpressed, as if the name itself left a bitter taste in his mouth. "See? That wasn't so hard," he says, before adding flatly, "But not that."
I blink. "What?"
"Call me by the name you created for me."
My stomach flips. He remembers that? I hadn't even meant to give him that name—it had slipped from my lips out of nowhere, born from a hazy, thoughtless moment when I wasn't in my right mind. I hadn't been thinking, hadn't meant anything by it. And yet, somehow, it had stuck. A name with no meaning, no reason—yet now, it felt like something only I was allowed to call him.
I roll my eyes, trying to suppress the small, unwilling smile tugging at my lips. "You're impossible."
"Say it, Aerin," he coaxes, his voice smooth as silk.
I exhale dramatically, as if put upon. "Alright…" My voice softens, the nickname slipping past my lips before I can second-guess it. "Rollo."
The shift in his expression is immediate—his smirk melts into something warm, something dangerously tender. His fingers reach out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his touch lingering just slightly.
"You're adorable when you're flustered," he murmurs, his thumb grazing my cheek ever so briefly. "Call me by my name more often, Aerin. It suits you better than all that formal nonsense."
I don't respond right away. My throat feels tight, my heart drumming a quiet, steady rhythm.
But when I finally do, it's softer. More genuine.
"Alright… Rollo."
His satisfied smile is enough to send warmth curling in my chest.
"Oi, Vanishing Prince! I know you're in there! Open this door, or I swear I'll blast a hole straight through it!"
A thunderous bang rattles the door, followed by an impatient, sharp voice that sends my entire body into panic.
My breath catches. The spoon slips from my fingers, clinking against the plate. My gaze flies to Rollo, but he's already looking at the door, his expression darkening.
"Who is it?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. My heart pounds so loudly I feel like whoever is outside might hear it.
If this person causes too much commotion, someone else might come. Someone who shouldn't. And if anyone finds out I never returned home last night—if they realize I was here, with him—this won't just be a scandal. It will be chaos.
Rollo exhales sharply, as if already exhausted. "Kallen." His voice is laced with annoyance.
My stomach drops. "What!?"
Kallen Baltigorres—the fourth son of Duke Baltigorres from the north. A powerful mage, Rollo's close friend, and his trusted assistant. But more importantly, because he serves the prince directly, he also works closely with my father.
I cannot let him see me here. Kallen knowing I spent the night with Rollo would be a disaster.
As the crown prince's aide, he is dangerously good at his job—sharp, perceptive, and privy to the royal palace's most sensitive secrets. But the real problem isn't just his knowledge—it's his tactless nature, his playful unpredictability, and, most of all, his insatiable love for gossip. He collects whispers like currency, spinning them into tales that spread faster than wildfire. As long as a rumor doesn't threaten the crown's survival, he sees no harm in sharing it freely with anyone willing to listen. And, unfortunately, he loves listening just as much as he loves talking.
If he finds me here, looking the way I do—barely able to stand, wrapped in nothing but Rollo's shirt—by nightfall, the entire empire will know.
I spring to my feet too fast, my legs trembling beneath me. My entire body is sore, weak, unsteady. I barely manage a step before my knees nearly give out. I catch myself on the chair, breathing hard.
Rollo is there in an instant, his arm wrapping around me, holding me upright. My hands clutch his sleeve as I look up at him, my panic surely evident in my eyes.
He understands. Of course, he does.
He turns back toward the door, his voice sharp, unwavering. "Step back. Twenty steps away from the door. Try entering, and I'll kill you."
"Oh? Are you threatening me?" Kallen's voice drips with irritation. "You worked me to the bone last night! I haven't even had a wink of sleep, and now you're playing hide and seek? Do you think I'm in the right state of mind to be threatened, Prince Prick?"
Rollo's grip on me tightens. "I won't repeat myself."
Then, without warning, he lifts me into his arms. My breath hitches as he carries me effortlessly to the bed, setting me down gently.
"We need to leave," I say, gripping his wrist. "Please, do something!"
I must look like a child caught sneaking out past curfew, but this is no mere scolding I'm afraid of. If my father finds out… if the court finds out…
"This may cause discomfort," Rollo says, brushing my hair back. "I'll teleport us somewhere safe. Hold on to me. Don't let go."
Teleportation. I've heard about it—how people get nauseous, dizzy, how it makes your stomach turn inside out. But there's no time to hesitate. I nod, wrapping my arms around his neck, bracing myself.
But then—
A flicker of blue light catches my eye. My stomach drops again.
"Wait!" I stop him, eyes darting to the bathroom. The faint glimmer pulses from the floor, half-hidden beneath my crumpled gown. Then I remember—my transponder.
"Step back twenty steps, huh?" Kallen scoffs outside. "How about I count to twenty? If this door isn't open by the time I reach twenty, I'm blasting it down! What are you even hiding? Don't tell me—are you screwing someone in there?"
My blood runs cold.
"My gown," I whisper urgently, clutching Rollo's sleeve.
He frowns, impatience flickering in his eyes. "Aerin, we don't have time for that—" Without a second thought, he grabs the sheet and wraps it securely around me, completely missing my point.
"Not the dress!" I hiss, exasperated. Who would think about getting dressed at a time like this? "The transponder! It's in the pocket—if they find it, they'll know I was here!"
His expression darkens. Without hesitation, he bolts for the bathroom.
Transponders are purchased with unique codes and embedded magic trails, making them nearly impossible to acquire without proper authorization. Commercially used transponders are strictly regulated by the Magic Tower, ensuring that every device is registered to prevent illicit use. While calls aren't tracked or recorded, the magic trails serve as a means of identification—if a transponder is lost or found at a suspicious scene, tracing it back to its owner is a simple task. You can't just buy one off the market; registration with your name is mandatory.
"...Five… four..."
Kallen is still counting.
"Hurry!" I hiss, my fingers digging into the sheets.
I hear Rollo groan in frustration. "Where the hell is it? Why are there so many layers to this damn dress?"
"Just bring the whole thing!" I snap.
"...Three… two—"
"Got it!"
Relief washes over me as Rollo snatches the transponder from the pocket. He sprints back and wraps his arms around me just as—
BANG!
The door flies open with a furious kick, revealing Kallen—his silver hair slightly disheveled, dark circles under his sharp green eyes, and an expression torn between irritation and disbelief.
But before he can register the scene before him, the air around us distorts. A swirl of colors warps reality itself, the room dissolving into shifting, bending light—
And then, everything snaps.
I stumble, the world tilting violently. My stomach lurches, bile rising in my throat. The moment my feet touch the ground, I shove Rollo away and stagger to the nearest tree, clutching the sheet around my shoulders.
Then, I vomit.
Teleporting sucks.