In the quiet solitude of her room, Princess Lumielle sat on the windowsill in a daze that only seemed to sensationalize her beauty. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, casting a warm glow on the smooth curve of her shoulders and the delicate hollow of her collarbones, exposed by the off-the-shoulder dress she wore.
Shifting slightly, the princess leaned forward to retrieve the wooden music box resting by her toes. With a delicate motion, she wound the small lever protruding from the side, then set the cherished trinket back into place, hugging her knees as her jade-green gaze fixed intently on it.
The device was crafted in the form of a miniature piano, its surface adorned with shimmering mana crystals and other precious gems. As the internal gears hummed to life and the piano's top board gradually opened, the sculpted figure of the Mithrilcrest Deer that stood atop the panel simultaneously levitated several inches into the air, its antlers bathed in a soft, radiant glow as it eased into a graceful gallop.
As the soft melody filled the room, Lumielle's expression gradually darkened. Her eyes, once bright and glossy, dulled as she turned toward the expansive courtyard outside. But just as she was about to lose herself in the familiar ache of her thoughts, a faint giggle caught her attention.
In the garden below, she spotted a mother and child, playing happily together. Their joyful laughter and tender exchanges weighed heavily on her heart, already burdened with a quiet loneliness. Without even realizing it, Lumielle found herself projecting her own memories onto the scene, seeing herself as the child and the mother as her own, the one she had never truly known. But there was one painful flaw in the illusion—no matter how hard she tried, no matter how much she willed it, she couldn't bring her mother's face into focus—not even a glimpse.
As she stared at the distorted image of her fabricated memory, at the blurred features of the woman twisting in her mind, a familiar anger flared up within her. The helplessness that accompanied it was unbearable, and tears began to well in her eyes. She quickly turned away from the window, her breath shallow with frustration, and stood from the windowsill. With a determined shake of her head, she slipped into her shoes and set her gaze firmly on the door.
The one person who could bring clarity to these memories was her father. But now he was bedridden, his once steadfast resolve shattered by the crushing weight of his depression. His failure had opened the door to evil, and now their kingdom teetered on the brink of collapse—everything her ancestors had built, threatened by the forces that had infiltrated their ranks. The weight of it all pressed heavily on her shoulders.
Allowing her anger and frustration to fuel her strides, Lumielle marched out of her room and made her way toward the king's bedchambers in a separate tower within the castle's keep. Yet, in her emotional haze, she had forgotten the painful truth: seeing her father—her own flesh and blood—had become nearly impossible since the man's once commanding voice had been silenced and utterly replaced by another.
"Step aside," she commanded hotly, her gaze cold and unwavering as she glared at the two guards blocking the door.
"My deepest apologies, Your Highness," one of the men replied regrettably, "but we've been given strict orders to prevent anyone from entering, even members of the royal family."
Lumielle clenched her fingers into tight fists, refusing to back down. "This is absurd!" she exclaimed. "I am the princess, and the king is my father—what do you mean I can't see him?"
"I'm sorry, Princess," added the other man. "But these are the orders we've received."
Lumielle took a confident step forward, her neatly trimmed eyebrows furrowing in defiance. "By whom?"
"By me," came the smooth, authoritative response as the door to the king's bedchambers swung open.
Lumielle's frown deepened as the king's trusted advisor stood in the door. "…Grand Chancellor Cassius."
"Princess Lumielle," the man began, his tone laced with just enough respect to be considered courteous. "As I'm sure you know, my voice carries the weight of the king's will, and his words are law—even for you."
"That hardly justifies why I am barred from seeing my own father," she retorted, her tone filled with accusation.
The man regarded her from over the bridge of his nose, his patience evidently wearing thin. "The king's illness has taken a turn for the worse," he said, his voice hardening. "For his own health, I've been forced to severely limit his interactions to ensure he gets the rest he desperately needs."
"But—"
"Your Highness," the man interjected as he raised his hand, carefully smoothing his features into that of concern as a pair of noblemen approached. "You of all people should understand the grave importance of His Majesty's health. Should he succumb to his illness in these trying times, the people would be devastated, and our soldiers would lose the morale they desperately need to face the war ahead."
Lumielle found herself trapped—hopelessly caught in the elaborate web the man had woven. Biting her lip in frustration, she glanced from the sly chancellor to the noblemen who were eagerly awaiting her response.
"I understand that, as a woman, you may long for His Majesty's comfort in these troubling times, but it is of utmost importance that we allow him the rest he so desperately needs."
At the man's treacherous words, Lumielle lowered her head, her shoulders drooping in quiet surrender. Recognizing her defeat, the chancellor offered a brief bow and began to turn away. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have pressing matters to attend to on His Majesty's behalf."
Keeping her expression carefully composed, Lumielle stepped aside, allowing the man to pass. Since her father's illness, opportunities to see him in person had become increasingly rare, and when they did meet, they were always under strict supervision. Every conversation was monitored, denying them any opportunity for genuine connection or privacy.
The same rules applied to everyone, including her siblings. From her observations, only the medical staff and royal attendants were exempt, but even they were bound by unbreakable oaths of silence, their every move watched closely. Trying to pry their lips open to extract any measure of information was as futile as attempting to pluck a star from the night sky.
The princess's frown deepened as she watched a man clad in full plate armor follow the chancellor down the corridor. Lord Reezen…
He was the kingdom's knight commander, a figure revered for his unwavering loyalty and heroic deeds. Yet, since the king's illness, he had become strangely distant and withdrawn. Once fiercely protective of the royal family, he now seemed reduced to nothing more than a shadow, dutifully trailing behind the chancellor without a word.
"Princess Lumielle," said Lord Ignatius, one of the two nobles who had happened upon the scene. It was obvious his ego had inflated several times over since he managed to seize the land of Zorno from his rival. "I understand your concern for His Majesty, but your presence here will hardly change anything."
"Lord Ignatius is correct," agreed the other man, the dignitary who had met with Casimir and sampled his wares. "All we can do now is pray for His Majesty's swift recovery and leave the rest in the hands of the clerics and the gods."
Lord Ignatius's lips curled into a smug smile as he leaned in closer. "Lord Palisson speaks the truth. Frankly, I'm surprised you've the luxury of idling about when your influence in the royal court is clearly diminishing. Have you given up on your claim to the throne?"
The other man scoffed, his gaze appraising her as one would a prize to be won. "You may hold the king's favor, Princess, but the noble houses would never accept you as their ruler. With all due respect… you'd serve your people far better by playing your part as a woman and securing an alliance with a distinguished man from another kingdom—someone capable of providing us with both gold and soldiers for the war to come."
Lumielle clenched the sides of her dress, her head lowering as a storm of anger and frustration surged through her veins, pushing against the fragile grip she had on her self-control.
"H-How dare you… speak to the princess in such a discourteous manner!" Prince Reneal, Lumielle's older brother, retorted, his voice trembling with anger. "Y-You forget yourselves."
The men chuckled mockingly. "And who will remind us of our place, Oh Mighty Prince? You?"
Their laughter rang out, cruel and unrestrained.
Lord Ignatius sneered, his words sharp as daggers. "You're nothing but a spineless coward, fit only to disgrace His Majesty's name. If you were a woman, I'm certain the king would have already sent you off to one of our allies as a prize to secure their favor."
The prince clenched his teeth, struggling to summon the words or the courage to respond. His mind raced, but nothing came to his defense.
As the men walked away, their laughter echoing through the hall, a figure emerged from the shadows where they had been leaning against a column and quietly listening to the exchange. With a confident swagger, the figure stepped forward, drawing attention.