The wind howled outside, swirling with the falling leaves as the sun's fading light fell on the locked window. Lyra, still in her negligee, lay on the creased bed, hugging her pillow. Her gaze was fixed outside, though her eyes were unfocused, lost in thoughts of Dylan and his recent behavior.
She did feel at ease with him, but where did the line between comfort and affection lie?
Her sister's question from last night replayed in her mind.
"Do you love Dylan?" Astrid had asked suddenly.
Lyra had choked on her drink, her cheeks burning.
"...Out of nowhere?"
"I'm just curious. Do you admire him?"
"...Not in that way."
Astrid had hummed thoughtfully, her sharp gaze making Lyra feel exposed, as if she could see through her.
"Why do you keep staring at me like that?"
"Nothing."
"Tell me. I know you're thinking something weird again. What is it?"
Sighing, Astrid had remarked, "It feels like you two are in love."
Flustered, Lyra had retorted quickly, "Sister! It's not like that. It's only been a few days since we started hanging out. There's nothing to it. He doesn't..."
Her words faltered as she recalled his embrace the previous night. Had he been about to kiss her? Or was it just her imagination? Shaking off the thought, she continued.
"He doesn't like me that way... I think."
"Is that so?" Astrid's nonchalant response only made Lyra more irritable.
"It's really not like that."
"Whatever you believe."
Biting her lip, Lyra muttered, "I don't even know what it means to fall in love..."
"Neither do I..." Astrid's distant smile seemed to hold deeper meaning, and Lyra realized she was referring to her own experience.
Tightening her fists, Lyra softly called, "Astrid..."
"I'm going to bed. It's late. Good night." Astrid turned to leave.
Burying her face in the pillow, Lyra tried to make sense of her emotions. Just what did it mean to have feelings for someone? She was lost in thought when a sudden knock on the door snapped her back to reality.
"Come in," she said grimly.
It was Delilah, with Mary in tow. Both were practically bouncing with excitement.
"Princess!" they exclaimed in unison.
"You won't believe this!" Delilah cried.
"Oh my gosh, he got what was coming to him!" Mary added.
Lyra raised a hand, signaling them to calm down.
"Okay, slow down. What happened?"
"Last night, at Hubert's house, there was a huge fight," Mary explained. "It started because of a drunken man, and soon enough, everyone was involved. The whole house got chaotic."
Delilah chimed in, "A lot of people were injured, but the worst of it was Sir Hubert."
They both giggled, and together they said, "Apparently, he's... impotent now."
Lyra's face twisted in confusion. "What does that mean?"
"It means he can't have children anymore," Mary clarified. "His... thing... got crushed."
"What..."
"He's unconscious right now, at a private royal clinic. But Lady Medea is furious. That man who caused it? He's in deep trouble. Lady Medea might have him killed."
"We should try protecting him," Delilah added.
"Do we even know who he is?" Lyra asked, still processing the news.
"Princess?" They both turned to her, noticing her frozen expression.
Dylan's words flashed in her mind.
Praise me. I did a good job.
Her face flushed crimson.
"Princess? Are you okay?" Delilah asked.
"...Yes," Lyra replied, clearing her throat. "I have a meeting. I need to get ready."
"Won't you have breakfast first?" Mary asked.
"What time is it?"
"It's around noon."
"The meeting is at noon! I overslept!" Lyra snapped. "No time for breakfast."
"Very well," they both said, nodding.
At noon, Lyra stood before the large, 8-foot doors leading into the round meeting room. Inside, diplomats, scholars, and council members from both kingdoms were gathered. The walls, unlike the golden interiors of the palace, were dominated by rich woodwork. In the center of the room stood a large round table reserved for the royal family, nobles, and council members. The surrounding seats were arranged in descending tiers, all facing the table.
Lyra took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. It had been seven years since she last spoke in public, and her heart raced in her chest. As she peeked inside, most of the seats were filled.
"Are you alright?" a deep, familiar voice broke her concentration.
She turned to see Dylan, watching her closely. Even though they weren't standing close, his presence made her recall last night, when their lips almost touched. She quickly turned away, mumbling, "I'm fine."
Dylan, too, seemed distracted by the memory, his ears turning red. He cleared his throat and asked, "Do you need some water?"
"No, thank you," she replied.
Noticing her nervousness, Dylan reached out to pat her hair, but stopped mid-motion when she flinched. Instead, he gave her a thumbs-up and smiled.
"Best of luck."
"Thank you," she said, managing a smile before taking another deep breath and stepping inside.
As she entered, all eyes shifted toward her. Most of the people in the room were seeing her for the first time, and the whispers started immediately. Lyra stared at them, waiting for them to bow. As a royal, she expected it, but it seemed the reminder had slipped their minds.
She didn't move. Her expression remained blank, waiting. A few of them noticed and bowed to her respectfully. She nodded in approval. Soon, everyone else followed suit, including Dylan.
She smiled and spoke, her voice ringing through the room.
"Shall we get started?"
After the meeting ended, praise flowed in from every direction for Lyra. Fortunately, all the councilmen from Anomia present were from the Princess's faction, offering their full support and encouragement. The nobles who belonged to no faction were equally impressed, surprised at how smoothly Lyra had conducted the talks and organized everything.
Dylan, sitting beside her, beamed with pride as he fondly gazed at Lyra. They both heard the murmurs of those leaving, and she caught his gaze, turning to ask,
"What's wrong?"
"I feel proud of you. You did a great job," he replied.
She chuckled and humbly responded, "It was thanks to everyone's effort. I'm just glad I didn't disappoint anyone."
"You could never do that," he said confidently.
Lyra smiled shyly in response as she gathered her files. Dylan, still smiling, asked,
"Can I come to dinner at your palace?"
"What about Uncle Nabal and Aunt Medea?" she asked.
"It seems they have prior engagements," he answered.
"They do?" she asked, confused.
"I'm not sure. But they will because I have a prior engagement."
"Then why are you asking me?"
"This is my prior engagement," he grinned.
Lyra laughed. "You're always welcome. However, I won't be there for dinner. But don't worry, my sister will keep you company."
"Where will you be?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I have a prior engagement," she replied.
Dylan narrowed his gaze, surprised. He knew Lyra didn't leave the palace grounds, but then it clicked. She left the palace disguised as Madam Belle, though she didn't know he was aware of that.
"May I come as well?" he asked.
Lyra paused, considering him for a moment before refusing, "No. I apologize, but if it were any other time, I would have agreed. However, tonight I need to meet someone. It would be rude if I brought someone along."
"Him?" Dylan's curiosity flared at her use of the word.
Before he could ask more, Lyra waved him off and left.
That evening, Xavier, having gone to the city to deliver Dylan's letter through a secret messenger, returned to find Lyra cloaked and sneaking out. He would have never recognized her if it weren't for his skill in identifying people. She walked with such grace and elegance, her plain attire still radiating nobility.
He reported this to Dylan, who immediately rose to follow her.
"Why do we have to trail her? It's not gentlemanly, your highness," Xavier remarked.
"I'm not a gentleman when it comes to her. Let's go," Dylan replied firmly.
Xavier raised an eyebrow. "Are you perhaps curious about who her highness is meeting?"
"No," Dylan said, but his tone suggested otherwise. "If she thought it necessary, she would have told me who he is. But she didn't. This is wrong."
"I said I'm not curious," Dylan snapped. "Let's just go."
As they wandered through the city, they found themselves lost at first. But when they finally found their way, they saw Lyra chatting cheerfully with a woman at a nearby stall. Dylan watched quietly as everyone around Lyra treated her with great affection and respect, something he hadn't witnessed before. People treated her as though she were their daughter or younger sister. Lyra seemed unaware of how much she was loved.
Soon, Lyra turned into a dark, quiet alley. Instinctively, they followed her. But as they turned the corner, a sharp object grazed Dylan's cheek, leaving a small scratch. Both he and Xavier, trained in military combat, instantly drew their swords. Xavier pointed his blade at the back of Lyra's head, while Dylan's sword was pressed to her stomach. Before any of them could make sense of the situation, Lyra hissed,
"Who are you, and why are you following me?"
Recognition dawned on Lyra's face as she swiftly withdrew her knife, her breath catching in her throat.
"Dylan..." Her voice trembled.
"Dylan, indeed." His tone was laden with surprise.
Dylan's sword lowered cautiously, as did Xavier's, though his posture remained tense.
"Good heavens!" Lyra exclaimed, her hand flying to her cheek where a thin trickle of blood began to form. "Are you hurt? Please, tell me, does it sting?"
She gingerly touched the bleeding wound, her gaze flickering to him before she suddenly took a step back, a wave of realization crashing over her.
"I... I must apologize," she stammered, the edges of her words laced with unease. "I nearly injured you."
A soft chuckle escaped Dylan's lips. "No harm done. But what, pray tell, were you doing here? Why... were you following me?"
"I was not following you," she insisted, her voice slightly raised. Yet the words didn't carry the conviction she hoped they would.
"Then explain to me, why are you here?" he pressed, his eyes narrowing in playful scrutiny.
"I wished to explore the city," she offered, though her tone lacked the ease of a casual answer.
"Ah, so it was not mere happenstance that your aide spotted me leaving the palace and immediately relayed the news?" His eyes danced with the faintest glint of mischief.
Lyra's eyes widened as she recalled the shadowy figure. "You saw him?"
"Indeed," he replied, his gaze softening, before adding, "I did not think it would be you."
Lyra considered his words, a flicker of something like amusement crossing her face. "So you were following me, after all."
"Wouldn't you be curious too?" he said, stepping closer, his voice laced with earnestness. "A princess, who so willingly locks herself away, suddenly choosing to walk freely in the world—well, one cannot help but wonder why."
Lyra's gaze softened, her lips parting as she glanced at the bustling city around them. "I described it to you before, Dylan. It is stifling within those palace walls. So, I come here—to this simple life. To help others. It... it eases my mind."
She motioned to both men, inviting them to walk beside her, though there was a new wariness in her step.
"Has anyone recognized you, Belle?" Xavier's voice had a subtle edge to it as he, too, appeared concerned.
"I don't think so," Lyra responded with a small shrug. "I go by Belle when I'm out here. Call me that, please." She smiled, almost shyly.
Dylan couldn't help but grin. The name seemed to suit her perfectly. "Then, by all means, call me Dylan."
"Very well," she replied, though her smile hinted at something more—a touch of warmth, of kindness that filled the air.
The trio moved through the market, passing vibrant stalls of vendors calling out to passerby. Lyra, feeling the sting of the moment fade, led them to a small pharmacy where she gathered ointments and a roll of bandages.
Once outside, she halted, glancing around for a suitable place to tend to Dylan's injury. She found a public bench and gestured for him to sit.
"Once again, I must apologize for the inconvenience," she murmured, handing him the bag.
Dylan's brow quirked. "I'm afraid I cannot see the cut. No mirror, you see. Would you mind...?"
Lyra's face flushed, and though she was flustered, she did as requested, unrolling the medicine and tending to his wound.
"You could've asked Xavier," she muttered, though the playful accusation was softened by the color rising in her cheeks.
Dylan, ever amused, chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "And would you have obliged so graciously, I wonder?"
She grumbled, her fingers delicately applying the medicine, though she couldn't deny the odd sense of satisfaction in helping him.
Her breath caught as she absentmindedly blew on the cut to soothe it. Instantly, both their faces flushed crimson. "Ah—force of habit," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.
Dylan, despite himself, found the gesture endearing. His own ears turned red, the absurdity of the situation only deepening his affection for the young woman beside him.
"How long must we wait for this to heal, I wonder?" she muttered as she finally applied the bandage, a sense of relief evident in her voice.
"Shall we go?" Dylan stood, stretching his arms, though his eyes never left her face.
"And where do we venture now, Belle?" he asked, his voice low and teasing, but with an unmistakable sense of fondness.
"Will you join me?" Lyra asked softly, but there was a quiet confidence in her tone. "There is someone I must meet."
"Who is he?" Dylan asked, curiosity piquing once more.
Her expression brightened, and for a moment, it seemed like a thousand stars flickered in her eyes. "His name is Solon. A librarian... and a former administrative officer. I wish to hire him as my aide, for I cannot handle the paperwork alone. But, Dylan—" Her voice caught with excitement, and she looked at him eagerly. "You must see the library. It is magnificent!"
Dylan chuckled softly. "I see. The library excites you more than the man himself."
Her laughter was soft, but there was a sparkle in her eyes as she spoke of the library. "There are so many ancient books! It is a place unlike any other, filled with treasures from all over the world. Maps, scrolls, ancient texts—I could spend a lifetime there."
Dylan's heart skipped a beat. She was enchanting, the way her voice lifted with such joy, the way her whole being seemed to come alive in that moment.
He sighed softly, his gaze softening as he realized how much he admired her. "Well, then. Lead the way, Belle."
The city gradually gave way to quieter streets as they ascended toward the hill where Solon awaited. Dylan slowed his pace, wanting to ask a question, though he felt a slight unease in his chest.
"Belle," he began, lowering his voice, "I must know... What of your people? They love you, cherish you. Yet, you've told me you wish to distance yourself. Why is that?"
She froze, her eyes narrowing. "You're wrong, Dylan. They love Belle, not me. There is no difference."
"Is that so?" He took a step closer, his voice gentle, yet firm. "Do you not care for them? Your people?"
Her gaze faltered, and she looked away. "I am not abandoning them. Not in the way you think."
"But you are leaving them behind, Lyra," he countered softly, his voice carrying a trace of sadness. "You would hand them over to your Uncle and Aunt, knowing what they will do to the kingdom?"
Her frustration was evident, her words loud and sharp. "You do not understand. I am not the answer they need. Not anymore."
"Then who, if not you?" His voice softened, almost pleading. "You are their answer, Lyra."
Her face flushed with emotion, her voice rising in frustration. "My people? What do you know of my people, Dylan?"
She snapped at him, her eyes flashing with something he couldn't place.
His expression was calm, unwavering. "Am I not allowed to care?"
"..."
Lyra stood momentarily silent, unsure how to respond. Before she could gather her thoughts, Dylan's voice cut through the air.
"You say you do not care for them, that they are not your people. And yet, here you are—helping them, caring for them. Tell me, are all your smiles and gestures toward them nothing but a facade?"
"Do not put words in my mouth," she retorted, her eyes narrowing. "You know that is not the case."
"Then what is?" he asked, his gaze unwavering.
"Why are you confusing me so?" she muttered, frustration edging her voice.
"I wish you would be honest with yourself," Dylan replied, his tone soft yet firm.
Biting her lip, Lyra turned her attention toward the grand house before them. It stood high above the city, a testament to a bygone era with its traditional architecture, long abandoned by most in favor of more modern designs. Yet, despite its outdated appearance, it exuded an undeniable warmth, a welcoming aura.
"Solon maintains a library here," Lyra explained, her fingers pressing the bell as she spoke.
She rang it once, then again, and again, before turning to Dylan.
"Though he is a librarian, he does not enjoy working. Most days, he sleeps. That's why I must ring the bell repeatedly."
On her seventh attempt, the door creaked open.
A man in his late twenties stood before them. His long, raven-black hair was loosely tied in a side ponytail, his dark eyes drooping with exhaustion. As his gaze landed on Lyra, he blinked in recognition.
"Long time no see," she said cheerfully.
The man's lips curled into a brief smile before he seemed to catch himself and quickly returned to his usual expression, a mask of indifference. He patted Lyra's head lightly.
"You're here again to disturb my peace," he remarked in a drawl.
"This time, it's important," she responded, her voice laced with purpose.
"The library closes at five," he said flatly. "It's closed."
"Ah, but I shall receive a special pass, will I not?" she countered. "Besides, I'm not here to borrow a book. I'm here for you."
"Huh?"
His gaze shifted to the man beside Lyra, and he stiffened, sensing something amiss. The air seemed to chill as a piercing, almost predatory glare radiated from the stranger. His hand quickly recoiled from Lyra's hair.
"Who are they?" Solon asked, his voice laced with wariness.
Dylan, ever the commanding presence, stepped closer, his voice smooth as silk. "I am Dylan."
"Your highness!" Solon exclaimed, his voice betraying surprise, his eyes widening as recognition dawned on him.
Lyra and Dylan, along with Xavier, all stared at him in shock. How could he have known?
"It was just a slip of the tongue," Solon stammered, though his face flushed with embarrassment. He quickly backtracked. "I mean, I've read many books. And when you read books, you get to know people. It makes recognizing them easier..."
He faltered under Lyra's sharp gaze.
"Please, do come in," he finally offered, awkwardly ushering them into the house.
"Is the library really closed?" Lyra pressed, eager to show Dylan around.
"Not at all. Go ahead, I'll prepare tea for you."
Xavier, clearly uncomfortable with the growing tension between the group, turned to Solon. "Let me assist you."
"I do not need help," Solon replied curtly.
But Xavier was insistent. "I'll help you. Please, let me."
"...Very well," Solon relented, exasperated.
The group split as Lyra led Dylan to the library.
"So," Dylan began, his voice laced with amusement, "'Your highness'? What about just 'Dylan'?"
"He recognizes your title," she replied, a slight smirk tugging at her lips. "I cannot address you casually."
"But you can. You're royalty too," he teased.
"He doesn't know that," she whispered, though something in her eyes suggested she wasn't so sure anymore. Perhaps, deep down, everyone already knew her true identity. But she kept her suspicions to herself for the moment, diverting her attention to the library instead.
As they wandered the aisles of the library, discussing books and history, Solon and Xavier soon entered, bearing trays of tea and biscuits. The four settled down, preparing to enjoy the quiet evening.
Just as the conversation flowed, Lyra's voice broke the calm. "Everyone knows I am Crown Princess Lyra, right?"
The statement hung in the air, and all three men sputtered in shock, nearly choking on their tea. Lyra studied them all with an unflinching gaze, her expression calm.
"I had planned to reveal it later," she continued casually, "but since you already know, let me get straight to the point. Come work with me as an advisor and aide."
Solon, however, shook his head. "No thank you," he replied bluntly.
Lyra pressed on. "You'll be well-compensated. Plenty of amenities."
"I still refuse."
"Fewer hours? A lighter workload?"
"Still no," he insisted, his voice firm.
"Why?" Lyra asked, confused.
"I do not wish to be involved in petty royal drama," he said, apologetically but firmly. "I apologize if that offends you."
"None taken," Lyra replied smoothly. "I would never involve you in such things. I've distanced myself from them."
"I know, but I like my peace here," he said, his eyes returning to the comforting surroundings.
"Don't be like that," Lyra urged. "What will it take for you to accept?"
Solon's eyes gleamed with mischief. "You know what I want."
Lyra's face flushed. "That? Are you serious?"
"What is it?" Dylan interjected, curious now.
Before Solon could answer, Lyra held up a hand, silencing him. "Solon. Shut up."