Delilah approached with a soft knock and a warm smile.
"Mighty sorry to disturb you both, but breakfast is served. Princess Astrid and Sir Xavier are waiting for you."
"We'll be right there," Dylan replied before turning back to Lyra, his eyes filled with determination. He clearly wasn't ready to let her go without an answer.
"Why do you want me to become the Queen? What's in it for you?" Lyra asked, her voice low, her gaze averted.
"Nothing," Dylan said gently. "I just want you to be happy. And I know you're the best choice—the only choice—to help your kingdom."
Lyra's expression didn't shift, her voice barely a whisper. "They're doing fine without me. Let's just go."
As she moved to open the door, Dylan caught her arm, his touch light yet firm. He leaned closer, his voice tender. "You can ask for help, you know. If you need it. Anytime. I'm here for you, Lyra. Always."
Her lips parted as if to respond, but all she managed was a soft, "…I know." Without another glance, she walked away.
After breakfast, the four of them lingered at the table, enjoying lighthearted conversation. For the first time in what felt like ages, Lyra and Astrid were laughing together. The hours flew by until they realized it was nearly noon. Just as they were wrapping up, Nabal's trusted aide arrived to summon Lyra.
"The Duke requests your presence in his office, Princess," he announced.
Lyra's brows furrowed briefly. Why would Uncle Nabal want to see her? Then it struck her—it must be about the trade discussions. Glancing at Dylan, she rose from her seat. To her surprise, he stood as well.
"Why are you following me?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.
"Just because," Dylan said with a shrug, a playful smile tugging at his lips.
Suppressing a sigh, Lyra couldn't help the small, amused smile that crept onto her face as they walked toward the palace.
As they entered the grand administration building, Hubris spotted them and quickly approached.
"Good morning!" he greeted cheerfully, his attention shifting to Dylan. "You left the party early last night. I hope you enjoyed yourself?"
"I tend to retire early," Dylan replied politely. "Thank you for hosting."
"Where are you two off to now? Mind if I tag along?" Hubris asked, his curiosity evident.
"Uncle Nabal called me to his office," Lyra explained. Hubris's brows lifted in surprise.
"You? Why?" he asked, his tone bordering on incredulous.
Lyra didn't bother answering, and Dylan's expression made it clear he wouldn't entertain the question either.
Before Hubris could press further, Nabal's aide interjected. "This is a private matter. Only authorized personnel may enter."
Hubris bristled, his voice rising. "Private? It's just her and Father. What's so secretive?"
"I'm sorry, but you may meet the Duke at another time," the aide said firmly.
Hubris grumbled but eventually relented. As Lyra walked past him, he leaned in, his voice a venomous whisper. "Don't act too high and mighty. Don't get your hopes up."
Lyra's eyes narrowed, a sharp retort on the tip of her tongue, but Hubris was already walking away. Dylan noticed her tension and leaned closer.
"What did he say?" he asked softly.
"Nothing," Lyra muttered, dismissing it. But Dylan's jaw tightened. He wasn't convinced.
Inside Nabal's office, the Duke handed Lyra a stack of documents, his expression warm yet serious. "Everything you need is here. I trust you'll do well. Good luck."
On their way back, Lyra's mood had noticeably lifted. She pored over the documents, her excitement palpable. Dylan chuckled, finding her enthusiasm endearing.
"You're cute when you're excited," he teased, earning a flustered glance from Lyra. Before she could respond, he asked, "Can I ask you something? Be honest with me."
"Of course," she said brightly, still caught up in the thrill of her work.
"Why don't you want to become Queen?" Dylan's tone was gentle but probing.
Her smile faded, her expression darkening. "What's so good about being a Queen?" she muttered.
"Father told me you were passionate about politics. That you were a natural leader, even as a child," Dylan pressed.
"I used to be," Lyra admitted. "But I've learned it's better to escape this hell quietly."
"So, you're just going to abandon your people?"
"…I doubt they even remember I exist," she said bitterly.
Dylan shook his head. "I wouldn't be so sure. Why not meet them? See for yourself."
Lyra hesitated. "It's not just that," she whispered. "Being a Queen is… lonely."
Her voice broke on the last word. Dylan's expression softened. For the first time, he called her by her name.
"Lyra…"
The moment was broken by a voice calling out.
"Lyra! There you are!" Hubris's voice rang out as he approached.
Dylan's irritation was clear. His time with Lyra had been interrupted again. He stood stiffly as Hubris greeted him and asked, "What were you two talking about? It looked serious."
"Trade discussions," Dylan replied curtly.
Hubris's brows rose. "With her? That's not her job."
Dylan's eyes flashed. "If it's not the future Queen's job, whose job is it?"
Hubris chuckled darkly. "She's not the Queen yet. Right, Lyra?"
Lyra hesitated, unsure how to respond. Dylan's intense gaze made her want to deny Hubris's words, but she couldn't. "Well…"
"Stop it, Hubris," a new voice interrupted. Wily, Hubris's elder brother, approached with an air of authority.
"What? I didn't say anything wrong," Hubris argued.
Wily ignored him and turned to Dylan. "Mother has invited you for lunch, Your Highness."
"I don't eat lunch, but thank you for the invitation," Dylan replied, trying to avoid further interaction.
Hubris pressed on. "Oh, but you must! Mother and Karen prepared it themselves. It would mean so much to us."
Dylan sighed under his breath. Reluctantly, he glanced at Lyra. "Will you join us?"
Lyra shook her head politely. "No, thank you. I'm not hungry."
"You should come," Wily added. "Even if it's just for a little while."
After a moment's hesitation, Lyra relented. "Alright."
Dylan's eyes widened slightly in surprise. Was it Wily's influence? Why did her agreement bother him so much?
At luncheon, Karen was the epitome of elegance, draped in a resplendent golden feather gown that far surpassed the one she had worn at last night's ball. It shimmered with a brilliance that made the other outfits look almost dull in comparison.
Yet, the meal itself seemed to hold little appeal to the guests. Conversation took precedence as they bombarded Dylan with a flurry of questions—about his choices in attire, color schemes, furnishings, and, of course, the food. Though accustomed to the attention that came with his royal upbringing, Dylan found himself overwhelmed. He had often engaged in the art of speaking to several people at once, but this was different. The scrutiny felt like an unyielding wave, and he longed for respite.
Stealing a glance at the far corner of the room, he noticed Lyra seated with Wily. They appeared deep in conversation, the flicker of laughter passing between them, a sound that felt like a distant memory to Dylan.
"You know, we're meticulously planning a farewell party for the Prince," Wily's voice rang out across the room, breaking through Dylan's thoughts.
"He's barely arrived, and you're already preparing for his departure?" Lyra replied with a raised brow.
"Mother insists it be as grand as possible. Will you be staying longer this time?" Wily pressed, his tone hinting at something unspoken.
"I'm not certain," Lyra responded, her voice dipping into an uncertain note.
Chuckling, Wily added, "I understand. It's exhausting for all of us, but we must attend. Let's hope this party proves as thrilling as Lady Gwen's. No event has quite matched it."
"The one where Lionel drank too much and ended up vomiting?" Lyra teased.
"No, no, the one where Roger kissed Willow, thinking she was his wife, Hailey," Wily corrected with a laugh.
The mere mention of that particular soirée was enough to send Lyra into fits of laughter. Her mirth echoed louder than she had intended, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. Dylan's gaze darted toward her, curiosity piqued. He could feel the annoyance bubbling beneath the surface. Why had Lyra not laughed like that with him?
His frustration swelled, but before he could dwell on it further, Medea's question brought him back to the present.
"I was wondering, Your Highness... are you perhaps engaged?" she asked, her voice smooth and probing.
"No," Dylan answered curtly.
"Doesn't the royal family of Helios have a tradition of engagements at a young age?" Medea pressed, her curiosity seemingly endless.
"Not quite," Dylan replied, his tone impassive. "In Helios, we are free to choose the time of our engagements."
Karen, who had been listening intently, leaned forward with a playful smile. "Then, are you not planning on marriage?"
"I haven't thought much about it. I'm turning 21 this year," Dylan replied with a shrug.
"21?" Karen waved her hand dismissively. "In this day and age, people marry quickly. No one cares about age gaps—whether it's 10 or 20 years. For me, I'd prefer a 5-year gap."
She smiled at him, a knowing glint in her eye. Dylan sighed inwardly. Karen, having turned 16 this year, was clearly hinting at something he was not willing to entertain.
Medea, ever the provocateur, added with a sly smile, "You will marry one day, won't you? Tell me, do you know what you're looking for in a wife?"
Dylan's response was swift and firm. "No."
Hubris, sensing the tension, seized the opportunity to shift the conversation. "Your Highness, with your birthday approaching, will you be hosting a grand celebration?"
Dylan felt a sense of relief wash over him at the change of topic. "I haven't decided yet."
Medea raised an eyebrow, her curiosity insatiable. "I must say, the royal family of Helios has never invited us to any of their celebrations. Why is that?"
Dylan smirked, the corner of his lips curling upward. "What makes you think that? As far as I know, invitations have always been extended—especially for the Princesses."
He placed an emphasis on the word Princesses, and his eyes flicked toward Lyra. She flinched, her expression one of disbelief, as if the very idea of invitations was foreign to her.
"Oh my!" Medea exclaimed, her surprise genuine. "Perhaps the letters got lost in the post. I shall inquire with my husband."
"I hope you discover the reason soon," Dylan replied smoothly, his words laced with an almost mocking sweetness.
Karen, keen to regain control of the conversation, asked, "I celebrated my 17th birthday last month. Why didn't you attend?"
Hubris followed up with a pointed remark. "Come to think of it, we haven't seen you at any of our events."
Medea added with a teasing lilt, "Perhaps your invitations got lost as well, Your Highness?"
Dylan, with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes, responded, "Oh no, we simply never received any invitations from the Princesses. Had we, I'm sure we would've attended."
Once again, he stressed the word Princesses, a silent challenge in his voice. Karen's smile faltered, her teeth clenched in frustration. Lyra, catching the subtle game, shot him a look—one that betrayed her growing exasperation with him.
At that moment, a maid entered, offering to serve tea.
Medea turned to Dylan with a smile that could only be described as graciously persistent. "Do join us for tea."
Dylan, however, was not swayed. He rose from his seat quickly, his response measured. "I have work to attend to and cannot stay much longer."
Medea, ever the gracious host, replied, "Very well. When you return, we shall enjoy tea together."
But Dylan shook his head, a smile playing at the edges of his lips. "It's fine. I shall have tea with Crown Princess Lyra. I quite enjoyed the tea she made for me last time."
His words caught Lyra off guard. Startled, she instinctively rose to her feet at his gesture. With a subtle smile and a nod, Dylan led her away, leaving the room in a quiet stir.
For some inexplicable reason, as they made their way back, Lyra found herself in a fit of giggles, much to Dylan's amusement. He raised a brow, a teasing smile tugging at his lips as he inquired,
"Why are you so pleased, may I ask?"
"I'm not pleased," she replied, her tone light, "I'm simply astounded by your words. You didn't want to be there, did you?"
"No," Dylan answered, his voice firm. "I don't care for their company."
Lyra's laughter bubbled up once more, and she added with a mischievous glint in her eye, "Yet they seem quite taken with you."
"They're annoying," Dylan muttered, rolling his eyes.
"I see..." Lyra's voice trailed off playfully. "By the way, are you planning to follow me to the back?"
"Is there something wrong with that?" he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly, though the faintest smile played on his lips.
"No," she replied, her voice light and teasing.
They continued to walk together, the easy rhythm of their conversation flowing between them, until they reached the Palace Cantrelle, the residence of the Princesses.
"I wasn't lying when I said I enjoyed your tea," Dylan remarked, a glimmer of humor in his tone.
Lyra laughed, a sound that seemed to fill the air. "When did I ever make tea for you? I didn't even offer you tea when I prepared breakfast for you. So I'm curious—when did you enjoy it?"
A broad smile stretched across Dylan's face as he answered, "Right now."
Lyra couldn't help but laugh again. "Well, if you truly want tea, just say so, and I'll go make it for you."
"Thank you," Dylan said with a grin, his eyes bright with amusement.
Upon entering the Palace, Dylan couldn't help but notice how unusually quiet it was. "Is no one here?"
Lyra tied her hair back into a ponytail as she made her way to the kitchen, and Dylan followed behind her, observing the simplicity of the surroundings. "Sister's off for her usual walk in the garden. Delilah and Mary are busy with laundry," she replied, as she began gathering the ingredients for the tea.
Dylan, unable to resist offering his assistance, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and said, "I'll help you, then."
Lyra gave him a skeptical glance. "You? Making tea? Do you even know how?"
She let out a soft laugh as Dylan, with a determined look on his face, took the teapot from her hands. "Let me remind you, I used to prepare my own meals during Knight training—tea included."
"If you say so," Lyra replied, her voice filled with amused disbelief.
As they waited for the water to boil, Dylan's voice broke the comfortable silence. "By the way, I've noticed… you seem at ease with Wily. It appears that, among your cousins, he's the only one who truly supports you and takes your side."
Lyra's response was a burst of laughter—so sudden and unexpected that Dylan found himself momentarily taken aback. She met his puzzled gaze and answered, her voice tinged with an unexpected solemnity, "It's only been recently that he's started to do that, which is rather surprising considering…"
"Considering what?" Dylan prodded, his curiosity piqued.
A shadow crossed Lyra's face as she looked down, her expression momentarily darkening. "He's the worst one of them all."