The following morning, all the palace staff stood in line to greet Lyra. While Solon and Lyra had anticipated this, Delilah was caught entirely off guard, her jaw dropping in astonishment.
Lyra turned to Delilah with a gentle smile and patted her shoulder.
"Congratulations, Delilah. You've just been promoted to head maid and my secretary."
Delilah blinked, her shock evident. "What about me?" Solon interjected, feigning indignation.
Lyra gave him a teasing glance. "She'll assist you, of course. You're always complaining about work, so I thought you could use a little help."
Solon opened his mouth, ready to argue, but Delilah cut in, still wide-eyed. "I…I don't know how to thank you."
"If handling both roles becomes too overwhelming, I'll assign Mary as head maid when she returns," Lyra assured her.
"Thank you, Your Highness!" Delilah exclaimed, about to bow to the floor, but Lyra stopped her.
"None of that now. Just work hard and show me how much you appreciate this opportunity."
"I will!" Delilah beamed, her excitement momentarily dimming as her gaze fell on Solon. She scrutinized his dark circles, messy hair, and dry skin, then let out a sudden shriek that startled everyone.
"Oh, dear! Is this my future? Will I end up looking like that?!"
Solon scowled. "Hey! What's wrong with me?"
"You don't look human," Delilah retorted with a shrug.
"What?!" Solon's glare narrowed, but Lyra quickly stepped between them.
"Enough, you two. No fighting," she chided before addressing Delilah. "Now, please show the new staff around and explain their tasks."
Delilah nodded eagerly. Lyra turned to the assembled workers. "Thank you for coming on such short notice. I assure you that you'll be fairly compensated with bonuses and adequate holidays. After your orientation, please enjoy some refreshments I've arranged over there. If you have any questions, feel free to ask Delilah—or come to me directly. Though I'll usually be in my office, Delilah can guide you to me if necessary. Additionally, if you need anything for your lodgings, write it down, and I'll ensure it's provided."
The staff bowed deeply, expressing their gratitude, as Lyra motioned for Solon to follow her.
"Where are we heading, Your Highness?" Solon asked as they walked.
"We've got a lot to do. First, we're recruiting Butler Henry."
"He quit when Medea came to the palace. What makes you think he'll return now?"
Lyra smirked. "He will. Trust me. If not, we'll move on. After that, we're going to Aunt Katherine's house."
"Why?"
"I need an advisor."
Solon raised a brow. "Are you choosing her because Medea despises her?"
"That's part of it," Lyra admitted, "but mostly because I trust her. She's given me excellent advice before and has a knack for managing public affairs. I need her expertise."
"Let's hope she agrees. But if we're going to see Henry, why are we heading to the main palace?"
"I need to speak to my father first. In the meantime, prepare the refreshments with Mika and Jackson."
"Understood," Solon replied, veering off.
Lyra hurried into her father's chambers, where the King was still lounging in bed. Without ceremony, she placed a document before him.
"Sign this," she demanded.
Startled, the King blinked. "What's this about? I've barely woken up!"
Lyra folded her arms, her tone firm. "You got angry at me because you want me to become a strong Queen—someone who keeps her emotions in check no matter what. Someone levelheaded and resilient. Isn't that right?"
The King hesitated. "Well…yes, but—"
"Good," Lyra cut in. "I'll prove I can be that Queen. But I need your support. Announce me as second in command after you."
"But what about Nabal?"
Lyra's eyes gleamed with determination. "According to the codebook, Uncle Nabal and I hold equal power now that I've started my Queen training. In fact, as the royal heir, I outrank him. He can keep his duties—I'll simply assist as part of my preparation."
King Derek sighed, reaching for his seal. "You do realize two lions can't rule the same domain, don't you?"
Lyra smiled, taking the signed paper and handing it to a servant. "I know. And there won't be."
After leaving the palace, Lyra headed to meet Henry, the old butler who had been like family. He had faithfully served the royal household until Duchess Medea dismissed him on her first day, accusing him of plotting harm against the princesses. Lyra had despised Medea's actions and made a vow to bring Henry back someday.
After his departure, Henry began working as a tailor at his daughter's boutique. Though sewing wasn't his expertise, he had learned enough to assist her.
When Lyra and her companions arrived at the boutique, they were directed to the back of the shop. There stood a tall, scrawny figure draping fabric over a mannequin. His long, silver-white hair, tied in a low ponytail, shimmered like silk, and a single round glass rested in his eye, secured to his coat.
"Henry."
The sound of Lyra's voice made him turn abruptly, his eyes widening in astonishment. Though he had occasionally seen Lady Belle from afar and recognized her as Lyra, neither had approached the other in years.
"Your…highness…Crown Princess Lyra…" he stammered, barely believing his eyes.
"How are you, Henry?" Lyra asked warmly.
Startled, Henry began tidying the space as if preparing for royalty, but Lyra stopped him.
"It's fine. There's no need for that. I'm here to bring you back."
"...Back?"
"Yes, back to the palace. I need you to manage everything again."
"You mean…in my old position?"
"Exactly!" Lyra said, her excitement evident.
But Henry's expression faltered. Noticing his hesitation, Lyra softened her tone.
"Is something wrong?"
"I'm sorry, Your Highness, but returning will be difficult for me."
"Why? Don't worry about Medea—she'll be gone soon."
"That's not the issue. I think there's been a misunderstanding. It wasn't Duchess Medea who dismissed me. I resigned after a fallout with the King."
"What?" Lyra's voice carried both disbelief and indignation. "What did my father say? Whatever it was, I'll fix it!"
"It's not that simple, Your Highness. I've made peace with my decision. I refuse to revisit the past or step back into the palace."
Lyra's voice trembled with emotion. "But you promised to be there for me when I'm crowned Queen."
Henry's smile was gentle but firm. "And I will be. I'll watch you with pride, but from here—not by your side."
Lyra stared at him, her mind flooding with memories of his younger self. Though his smile hadn't changed, time had left its mark on him. Taking his hand, she pleaded softly, "I need you. Just like old times."
"I know you'll make an extraordinary Queen, Your Highness," Henry replied. "But what you truly seek isn't my presence. It's the haven of the past—the peace and simplicity that's now out of reach. Life moves forward, and we must do the same. My hands tremble threading a needle, and my vision is weaker than ever. I wouldn't serve you as I once did.
"I've built a new haven here with my family, and I'm happy. You should be, too."
A small boy peeked from behind a curtain, his brown spiky hair and Henry's familiar eyes catching Lyra's attention.
"My grandson," Henry said, motioning him closer. "He's part of my new heaven."
Lyra's expression softened, and she nodded. "Are you truly happy, Henry?"
"I am," he affirmed with a smile.
"Then I'll be happy for you. But one day, when I stand before the nation as their Queen, I'll salute you for your service. I hope I'll make you proud."
"You already do," Henry said with a small bow.
As Lyra left the boutique, Solon was waiting for her outside.
"So, is Henry coming back?" he asked.
"No," Lyra replied, her voice firm yet wistful. "He won't."
Without missing a beat, she issued her next command. "I need you to find a local construction team to renovate the palace."
"Which palace?"
"The main one."
"Isn't that under Duchess Medea's authority?"
"I have more authority than she does," Lyra stated sharply. "If she has any objections, she can take them up with me. I'll handle her. The designs are on my office desk—restore the palace to how it looked a decade ago. Use the exact materials."
"Understood."
"And delegate your workload to Delilah. Hire two additional assistants as well—trustworthy ones. I trust you'll make the right choices."
Solon nodded. "Anything else?"
"Yes. While you handle these tasks, I have one more stop to make."
She turned to Mika and Jackson.
"You two will assist Solon. Mika, stay with me for now."
Though Mika hesitated, Lyra reassured him. "I'll be fine. Let's get to work."
As they parted ways, Lyra and Mika made their way toward a familiar bar.
The bar was bustling with activity, its lively crowd filling the space, yet maintaining a surprising level of respectfulness.
Lyra, concealed under a hooded robe, walked straight to the counter. She lifted her hood slightly, just enough for the bar owner, Merson, to recognize her.
His eyes widened in shock upon seeing her. Without hesitation, he led her to a private parlor room away from the crowd.
Seated opposite each other, Merson offered refreshments, which Lyra politely declined. She spoke directly, her tone commanding yet laced with sincerity.
"I know you recognize me as Crown Princess Lyra," she began. "Let's skip the formalities. Today, I am here as your future queen with a request."
Merson, clearly taken aback, glanced at Mika, Lyra's companion, before cautiously responding.
"What can I help you with?"
"You are well-respected in this part of the city," Lyra explained. "I want you to organize a campaign where people can anonymously submit their complaints. Identities must remain confidential, but the complaints must be written. Of those, any regarding Duke Nabal or his family must be delivered to me by the end of each day. Complaints unrelated to them can be sent to the complaint office opening tomorrow. I will personally oversee it every morning. Can I count on you?"
Merson hesitated. "It might be difficult. People are afraid of writing official complaints against them."
"That is precisely why they will remain anonymous," Lyra assured him. "The people trust you. Your words carry weight, and if anyone can encourage them, it's you."
"And how long am I to do this?"
"For now, don't worry about a deadline. Mika will collect the complaints every night. If you need assistance or hear anything troubling, inform him, and he will relay it to me. Do you accept?"
After a moment of deliberation, Merson nodded. "I heed your command, your highness."
Lyra smiled, a rare expression of relief crossing her face. "Thank you for your efforts."
She rose to leave, her resolve unwavering as she exited the bar to return to the palace.
The following morning, preparations for Lyra's first formal meeting were underway. The maids were busy showing her an array of dresses, but Lyra felt awkward amidst the sudden flurry of attention. She kept offering her gratitude, unsure how to adjust to the change.
Amid the commotion, Layla, one of her attendants, handed her a letter.
"A letter has arrived from Helios," she announced.
Lyra's face lit up as she eagerly took the letter, her eyes scanning its contents. It was from Princess Astrid. After reading it, her gaze drifted back to the tray, disappointment subtly shadowing her expression.
"Is there another letter?" she asked softly.
Layla hesitated. "I don't believe so, your highness."
Lyra's pout was brief but visible, prompting Layla to add quickly, "I'll check again. Perhaps there's one more."
Lyra offered her a kind smile. "Thank you."
As she stepped away to change, Layla turned to Delilah, another trusted confidant. Whispering, she asked,
"Do you know whose letter the princess is hoping for?"
Delilah smirked knowingly. "Why do you ask?"
"She seemed disappointed. I just thought perhaps—"
Interrupting, Delilah replied with a teasing grin, "I'll let you in on a secret. If you ever see a letter from Helios with a 'D.' marked on it, prioritize it. That's the one she waits for."
"'D?' Who is that?"
"All in good time. For now, no more questions."
Lyra emerged, dressed in a semi-formal black outfit paired with tailored pants. Her hair was styled in a neat half-ponytail.
When asked about accessories, she made a bold request:
"Bring me my crown."
The room fell silent, stunned by her words. Lyra hadn't worn her tiara since her mother's passing. Her refusal had extended to her elder sister, Astrid, who had vowed not to wear one until Lyra did.
Her unwavering stance snapped everyone out of their shock. Delilah, brimming with emotion at Lyra's newfound strength, bowed deeply.
"Of course, your highness!"
The moment was transformative. Lyra's request for the crown marked the beginning of her reclaiming her rightful place—not just as a leader but as a symbol of resilience and grace.
A Few Days Later
The monthly council meeting, headed by Duke Nabal, was scheduled to begin at 11, though Lyra knew it would not truly start until noon. This habitual tardiness among the council members was something Katherine, her newly appointed advisor, had anticipated.
"Enter five minutes past noon," Katherine advised with a knowing smile.
"Why?" Lyra asked, her brow furrowing. A stickler for punctuality, the suggestion irked her.
"A Queen must always make an entrance," Delilah interjected, her tone light but purposeful.
"Exactly," Katherine agreed. "It's not just about being present—it's about commanding attention. Authority is felt, not just seen."
Lyra nodded, clenching her hands into fists as her resolve solidified. "Understood."
At the designated time, she stood poised outside the grand council doors. With a steady breath, she gave the knight her signal.
The knight pushed the doors wide open, announcing in a booming voice, "Entering Her Highness, Crown Princess Lyra Belle de Anemoi!"
Lyra stepped into the room with measured grace, her presence alone commanding silence. All eyes turned to her, stunned—not just by her unanticipated attendance but by the gleaming tiara that adorned her head. The jeweled crown caught the light, its brilliance making her authority undeniable.
"Lyra?" Duke Nabal broke the silence, his voice faltering. "What brings you here? This is an important meeting."
Lyra offered him a serene smile. "Precisely why I'm here, Uncle. I've come to join you. My apologies for being late; I was here before noon, as scheduled, but found the room… empty."
The subtle jab made several council members shift uncomfortably, their gazes darting away. Even Duke Nabal, typically unshakable, stiffened.
A councilman from Lyra's faction rose quickly, offering her his seat, but Lyra waved him off. "That won't be necessary. Surely our palace isn't so impoverished as to lack an additional chair," she said pointedly, her gaze drifting to the Duke's ornate red chair at the head of the table.
The unspoken challenge hung in the air. Lyra's intent was clear: she would preside over the meeting alongside her uncle.
Though visibly irked, Duke Nabal forced a tight smile, motioning for a servant to fetch a matching chair for her. Once seated, Lyra folded her hands in her lap and addressed the room with calm authority.
"Shall we proceed from where you left off?"
The man presenting the current report cleared his throat nervously and began again, frequently glancing at Duke Nabal for reassurance.
Once the report concluded, Nabal clapped his hands together. "Very well. It seems matters are progressing smoothly."
"What about the resource shortages?" Duke Axel interjected.
Nabal waved a hand dismissively. "We'll resolve it by increasing taxes on the merchant class by 3%. It's a small adjustment—barely noticeable to them—and it will provide us the funds we need."
"How wise," chimed Baron Frederick, one of Nabal's loyalists. "We should implement it immediately."
"Just a moment." Lyra's voice cut through the room, silencing Frederick's enthusiasm.
Extending her hand, she beckoned for the report. The presenter hesitated, glancing nervously at Nabal, but ultimately handed the documents to Lyra. She scanned them with a practiced eye, the faintest flicker of disapproval crossing her face.
The room was tense, not just because of her interruption but because of her demeanor. The tiara on her head was a clear signal of her claim to authority, but it was her decisive actions that truly unsettled the council.
Lyra meticulously examined the documents before her, unfazed by the weight of the stares she felt on her. Finally, she raised her gaze and declared:
"Instead of imposing additional taxes, I propose increasing exports while reducing imports. Specifically, refrain from increasing taxes on the merchant class. Let me remind you that over the past few years, their taxes have risen by a staggering 69%. That is unsustainable. How do you expect the people to remain loyal when they cannot even afford to live? Reduce their taxes by 17% and instead, levy an additional 3% tax on luxury goods that are imported. Simultaneously, increase exports by 20% and decrease imports by 5%. Only goods that we cannot manufacture domestically should continue to be imported at the current rate. As for luxury items that can be produced locally but are still in demand, those should be taxed accordingly."
A stunned silence swept across the room. Eyes flickered between Duke Nabal and Lyra, torn between acknowledgment of the soundness of her strategy and fear of defying Nabal's authority.
Breaking the silence, Nabal challenged her. "And how exactly do you propose we fund the increased imports?"
Lyra met his gaze, unfaltering. "By reallocating the budget currently being spent on constructing Royal Parlour Houses. These facilities serve no purpose other than to provide noblewomen a place to gossip."
"That budget is non-negotiable!" one council member protested.
"We can't risk backlash from the aristocrats," another chimed in.
"These Parlour Houses allow noblewomen a space to relax and enjoy themselves. They're a source of pride and refinement," Nabal added with feigned indignation.
Lyra's voice cut through the protests, resolute. "Any plan that does not benefit the kingdom is a failure. Redirect that budget to establish five new factories focusing on essential goods we currently lack. Additionally, develop methods to manufacture higher-quality goods at lower costs. I will personally address any backlash from the aristocracy."
The council members aligned with Lyra bowed their heads in agreement, while others glanced anxiously at Nabal. His expression betrayed no emotion, but his silence spoke volumes. After a pause, he smiled and said, "Brilliant! My niece is indeed intelligent. Proceed with her plan, and do not concern yourselves with the noblewomen's dissatisfaction. Lyra has graciously agreed to bear the blame for any fallout."
Though his words carried veiled malice, Lyra smiled in return, unfazed. "Perfect. Now, let's proceed with the next report."
The meeting continued, with Lyra meticulously scrutinizing each report, countering Nabal's decisions when necessary, and allowing only those that served the kingdom's interest. She left just enough of his plans intact to ensure he bore the brunt of their consequences, knowing it would gradually tarnish his reputation.
Later that day, Lyra convened with her faction in her office. She outlined her plan for the reallocation of the Parlour Houses.
"These properties will be converted into recreational learning centers for women," she declared.
"Learning centers?" one advisor echoed, perplexed.
Another raised a concern. "The noblewomen will loathe mingling with women of lower status."
"And how will you convince them this replaces the tea houses they were anticipating?"
Lyra took a deep breath, ready to address their doubts. "These centers will provide opportunities for women to learn skills of their choice, with teachers provided for their benefit. There will also be a café for relaxation, so it serves their original purpose as well. Regarding status divisions, we won't enforce any segregation, but I expect people will naturally gravitate toward the center closest to their neighborhood. This will create an organic status division without our intervention."
Though skeptical, her advisors nodded, conceding the practicality of her plan.
Later, Lyra took Katherine and Solon on surprise inspections of several departments. The state of affairs was worse than she anticipated, with widespread inefficiencies and negligence. Determined to address these issues, she focused on reforming one department at a time.
Nabal, meanwhile, remained surprisingly quiet, dismissing her actions as a passing whim. He believed she would eventually lose interest and everything would return to his control.
But Lyra had other plans. She decided it was time to break her cover and step into the public spotlight.
The carriage rolled to a halt before the Public Complaint Office, an area her family had long avoided. A crowd of citizens gathered, curious about the unfamiliar sight of the royal crest adorning the vehicle. Whispers rippled through the air as a man's voice boomed:
"Announcing, Her Highness, Crown Princess Lyra Belle de Anemoi!"
The murmurs turned to gasps as Lyra stepped out, radiating authority. All eyes fixated on her crown—the Crown, worn for the first time in seven years. It was a clear and undeniable symbol of her rank, one that even Karen and Medea had never been permitted to don.
Her presence here, at this moment, was a declaration: Lyra Belle de Anemoi was no longer in the shadows. She was here to lead.