"What the hell am I supposed to think? That damn annoying brat!"
The silvery moonlight slipped through the open window, casting enigmatic shadows across the room. Though the golden glow of the grand chandelier illuminated the room brightly, I found the moon's soft radiance far more comforting.
I slowly got down from my bed.
My whole body ached, but the pain was tolerable enough to walk. Princess Aralia's healing abilities were miraculously far beyond those of an ordinary person.
Six months ago, on the very day I opened my eyes in this world, her body had been poisoned with a deadly venom. Yet, against all odds, she had recovered within just two weeks. Even the royal physicians, who had long abandoned hope, were left in stunned disbelief.
Leaning against the towering pillar of the balcony, I murmured, "Princess Aralia never had a single true ally… or else she wouldn't have met such a miserable fate."
"But, where will I find a reliable person?"
The night wind, cool and fragrant, tousled my long, platinum hair. A slight shiver ran through me; the thin white nightgown did little to shield me from the chill. Yet, I had no desire to return inside. The grand, extravagant chamber felt empty—silent and suffocating, as though there was no one left in the world to confide in.
I sank onto the enormous peacock-shaped swing, gazing at the endless stretch of stars. My mind, however, was elsewhere, recalling the lines from my history assignments on Princess Aralia.
~~~
Princess Aralia had countless enemies, yet not a single friend was ever mentioned anywhere. Perhaps the royal guards never truly searched for her. How unfortunate… Despite being the rightful heir to a powerful kingdom, she must be very alone.
Among her many foes, the most prominent was Prince Dior, the man who claimed the throne after her disappearance. He had both the power and the motive to eliminate her. But why didn't he do so before the official declaration of the next ruler?
"Was it because he was overly confident? Or did he simply miss his chance?"
Next was Queen Elina of the esteemed Bennett family—one of the wealthiest and most influential royal bloodlines in the continent. They ruled the prosperous Alira Kingdom in the northeast of Zahava, known for its topaz trade and luxurious goods like perfumes and cosmetics.
Despite her powerful lineage, Elina had lost the title of Chief Queen to Aralia's mother, Queen Naira. Forced to watch from the sidelines, she harbored nothing but resentment towards Queen Naira and little Aralia.
Becoming Queen Mother by securing the throne for her son was her ultimate goal—one she would stop at nothing to achieve. If eliminating Princess Aralia meant securing her place, she would not hesitate.
Yet, even with such strong motives, killing Aralia would not have been easy. The princess had always been under tight security, and Queen Elina was never granted personal access to her.
If neither Prince Dior nor Queen Elina was behind Princess Aralia's disappearance, there was still one more major possibility—the King of Eirian, Cyrus.
Cyrus had an insatiable obsession with beautiful women. If someone caught his eye—regardless of her status, whether noble or even a sacred priestess, he wouldn't stop until he succeeded in making her his mistress.
His harem housed 368 concubines and six chief consorts. During his time as a prince, while handling a foreign diplomatic matter, he met Princess Aralia. She was only eighteen then—radiant, sharp-witted, and breathtakingly unique. The moment he laid eyes on her, he was captivated.
Wasting no time, he approached her with his usual honeyed words, trying to charm her into submission.
But Aralia was no ordinary princess.
She slapped him hard, humiliating him—right in front of the royal assembly.
The humiliation was unbearable. His pride shattered before the eyes of royals and nobles. That day, he swore vengeance—not through violence, but by breaking her pride, forcing her to become his. From that moment, Eirian became Zahava's sworn enemy, and the border between the two kingdoms was never at peace again.
—--
My vision blurred as a wave of drowsiness washed over me. The cool night breeze was far too soothing, lulling me into a trance.
Yawning, I tried to focus on what I remembered about Cyrus.
"If I recall correctly, Cyrus was eventually defeated and killed by the notorious Dark Prince, who then seized control of Eirian. But what about his wives and mistresses? Were they all slaughtered? Or did the prince take them under his care? And… was Princess Aralia among them—"
I groaned sleepily, "Ugh! I swear, I never want to meet that bastard. Maybe Aralia already encountered him three years ago… and that's why Eirian and Zahava are at war now. Damn it! I don't even have that part of her memories."
My eyelids grew unbearably heavy, making it impossible to stay awake.
I didn't even have the energy to return to bed. Instead, I curled up on the peacock-shaped swing, hugging myself for warmth as sleep overtook me.
But even as I drifted into slumber, distant whispers echoed in my mind:
"Trust no one. You have no friends here, Julie. If you want to survive, you must be strong. You must protect yourself."
I needed an ally.
But where could I find one?
—---
Aralia drifted into a deep slumber on the swing.
Beyond the tranquil silence of her bedroom, the entire palace remained on high alert. Guards patrolled every corner, their vigilance heightened after the deadly attack on Princess Aralia. Under the strict orders of His Majesty, King Orville, the palace gates had been sealed shut. Fear lingered in the air, and security had been reinforced—no one was allowed in or out without permission.
Just beyond her balcony, a towering Pupil tree stood like a silent sentinel, its branches swaying under the cool night breeze.
On one of its strongest branches, a dark silhouette was half-lying, draped in a flowing black robe. His piercing gaze was fixed on the sleeping princess on the swing, his expression unreadable as he studied her delicate features. Below him, countless guards moved in synchronized patterns, their eyes scanning for the slightest threat.
Yet his young and handsome face looked unbothered.
With effortless grace, he leapt onto Princess Aralia's balcony, slipping past the guards without so much as a whisper of sound.
"My, my… She looks so defenceless when she sleeps."
The words were murmured in a deep, velvety voice as he hovered over her. A lock of her platinum hair had fallen across her cheek, and with a slow, deliberate movement, he brushed it away. His lips curled into a faint, mysterious smile before he leaned in, whispering something in her ears.
Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he scooped her up from the swing.
His arms held her with surprising gentleness as he carried her back to bed. Each movement was measured, each step soundless, ensuring she would not wake.
Laying her down, he sat next to her quietly on the bed.
For long moments, he simply watched her—his gaze tracing every delicate curve of her face, as if memorizing her in this rare, vulnerable state. Then, slowly he placed his hands on either side of her, caging her within his strong arms.
Something dark flickered in his golden eyes.
Possession. Desire. Obsession.
Leaning in, his breath fanned against her ear as he whispered, "Like this, I want to trap you forever, Lia. I want to be the only one who sees this side of you… the only one who can hold you like this."
Then, as if he had never been there at all, he pulled the blanket over her and vanished into the night.
His golden eyes, burning like twin fireballs, were the last thing which could be noticed in that darkness.
An illusion? A shadow? a ghost in the veil of night? Or, a forgotten lover?