Lyra sat at her desk in the solitude of her private library, the soft glow of candlelight casting flickering shadows over the maps and letters strewn before her. For weeks, she had been meticulously piecing together fragments of information, navigating the delicate threads of whispers and rumors that wove through the palace and beyond. Public sentiment was shifting—gradually, but unmistakably—and Lyra was determined to seize the moment, steering the tide to her advantage.
The rumors linking her and Dylan had spiraled into a force of their own, untamed and relentless. Yet, rather than addressing them outright, Lyra let her actions speak. Every time she appeared in public, her demeanor exuded quiet resilience, her expression bearing the weight of betrayal with an elegance that resonated deeply with the people. This unspoken anguish stirred empathy, casting her as a victim of an unforgivable violation of privacy.
Her calculated silence proved more potent than any rebuttal. Outrage simmered among the citizens, who fiercely guarded their crown princess's dignity. Speculation morphed into collective fury, and hushed murmurs became a thunderous demand for accountability.
The Breaking Point
The unrest culminated one late afternoon when chaos erupted at the palace gates. A group of enraged nobles and commoners pushed through, their destination clear: the offices of the kingdom's most prominent newspaper. The editor, a stout man with darting, nervous eyes, found himself cornered in his workspace, faced with the crowd's fervent demands.
"Enough of this madness!" a nobleman roared, his voice reverberating through the room. "You have disgraced the crown princess with your invasive reporting. We demand to know who orchestrated this treachery!"
The editor's composure faltered as he stammered, "I…I was merely following orders! The letters came anonymously. I had no choice—"
"Lies!" shouted a merchant from the rear. "Who delivered the letters? Speak now!"
Cornered and trembling, the editor confessed, "It was a woman… a palace maid. She came twice with the documents. I didn't know her name, but someone called her Rosa as she left!"
The revelation sent ripples of fury through the crowd. "A palace staff member?" a noblewoman hissed. "Such betrayal cannot go unpunished."
The mob's anger surged as they stormed back to the palace, demanding justice. It didn't take long for Rosa to be dragged from her quarters by the guards, her panicked cries echoing through the grand halls.
"Please, listen to me!" Rosa pleaded, struggling against the guards' iron grip as they hauled her to the courtyard. "Let me explain!"
Her desperation was met with a wave of scornful accusations. "How could you betray the crown princess?" a noblewoman spat. "You're a disgrace!"
Tears streaming down her face, Rosa turned her gaze upward, toward the balcony where Lady Medea stood watching the commotion unfold. "Lady Medea!" she cried, her voice cracking. "You know the truth! Help me!"
Medea's expression was inscrutable, her eyes cold as they met Rosa's desperate gaze. For a fleeting moment, it seemed she might intervene. But then, with a faint smirk, she turned and disappeared into the shadows.
Betrayal etched itself deeply into Rosa's features. "No!" she screamed, her voice raw with anguish. "You can't leave me like this! Medea, please!"
The Punishment
The guards' grip tightened as they began dragging Rosa toward the prison. "You've committed treason," one growled. "You'll face the consequences."
Rosa collapsed, her sobs shaking her frame. "It wasn't me!" she cried. "I only delivered the letters! I didn't write them! Please, you have to believe me!"
But her cries fell on deaf ears. The crowd dispersed, their thirst for justice momentarily quenched as the traitor was led away.
Lyra's Reaction
From her vantage point on the balcony, Lyra observed the scene unfold, her expression unreadable. Rosa's screams echoed in her ears, yet they elicited no visible reaction. This moment had been inevitable—a necessary step in exposing the rot within her palace walls. Still, a faint unease settled in her chest, a reminder of the complex web of deceit she was unraveling.
Mika, standing silently at her side, broke the silence. "She didn't act alone, Your Highness. Someone else orchestrated this. Rosa was merely a pawn."
Lyra's jaw tightened as her gaze lingered on the courtyard below. "I know," she said softly. "But she made her choice when she followed orders without question. The palace cannot afford leniency now."
Mika hesitated, then inclined his head. "And Medea? She abandoned Rosa completely. Should we investigate her next?"
Lyra's eyes narrowed, a steely resolve glinting in their depths. "Not yet. Let Medea believe she's won. Her time will come."
"As you wish, Your Highness. But the people will want answers soon. They'll demand to know if someone higher up was involved."
Lyra turned to him, her expression softening as she placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "And they will have those answers when the time is right. For now, we let the investigation run its course. The truth will surface."
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Lyra retreated to her study, the weight of the day's events heavy on her mind. Sitting at her desk, she picked up her pen and began to write a letter to Dylan.
"Sometimes I wonder," she wrote, "how many sacrifices justice demands. Today, a fragment of the truth came to light, but it came at a cost. Rosa betrayed me, yet I pity her. Abandoned by the one she trusted, she bore the consequences alone. Medea's web grows thinner, but the battle is far from over."
Her hand faltered briefly before she continued.
"I hope you're safe, Dylan. Your presence, even from afar, gives me strength. Please write soon. Yours always, Lyra."
Sealing the letter with her crest, Lyra leaned back, her thoughts drifting to the challenges ahead. Rosa was only the beginning. The real fight loomed on the horizon, and Lyra steeled herself for what was to come.
Weeks passed, and Lyra's relentless pursuit of the truth about her father's demise had reached its somber conclusion. Despite her suspicions, the reality was stark in its simplicity—her father had passed peacefully in his sleep, his heart finally succumbing to years of quiet strain. There was no villain to unmask, no treachery lurking in the shadows, only the inevitability of time and fragility of life.
The weight of this truth brought a peculiar mix of relief and sadness to Lyra's heart. Though the lack of a culprit left her feeling adrift, it also meant she could lift the palace lockdown. With the investigation officially closed, she announced the end of the restrictions, her voice steady despite the emotions swirling within.
The next morning, she took steps to mend the bonds that had frayed during her time of grief. Standing in the palace courtyard, dressed in a flowing gown of midnight blue that shimmered faintly in the sunlight, she addressed the assembled staff and knights. Her dark hair, braided elegantly, seemed to catch the light as she spoke with quiet conviction.
"I know I've failed you in many ways," Lyra began, her voice carrying both strength and vulnerability. "For too long, I allowed my grief to blind me, neglecting the people who've always stood by me. I hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me."
The knights exchanged glances, their eyes reflecting the sincerity of her words. A senior knight with streaks of silver in his hair stepped forward, bowing deeply. "Your Highness, there is nothing to forgive. We have always trusted in your leadership, and we always will."
Lyra's lips curved into a soft smile, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Thank you. I promise I won't let you down again."
Later, as a small token of gratitude, Lyra personally handed out muffins she had baked the night before. Each knight and servant received one, their surprise turning to warmth as they tasted the delicate treats. The gesture, though modest, reignited the loyalty and camaraderie that had wavered during the difficult months.
The following day, Lyra and Astrid departed for the neighboring kingdom of Helios. The journey was pleasant, the landscape shifting from rolling green hills to the golden plains that marked Helios' territory. By midday, they arrived at the grand palace, its gleaming white spires reaching toward the azure sky.
Prince Dylan awaited them in the courtyard, his sun-kissed blonde hair catching the light as he stood with an air of casual elegance. His warm brown eyes lit up when he saw Lyra, though his bow was formal.
"Welcome," he greeted them, his voice smooth and tinged with genuine enthusiasm. "I trust your journey was pleasant?"
Lyra returned his smile with a faint one of her own. "It was."
After pleasantries, Astrid excused herself to oversee the luggage, leaving Lyra and Dylan to stroll through the bustling palace halls. The interior was resplendent—marble floors polished to a mirror-like sheen, tapestries depicting scenes of Helios' history adorning the walls, and chandeliers that sparkled like captured starlight.
"Is all this preparation for tomorrow's event?" Lyra asked, noting the flurry of activity around them.
Dylan chuckled, a sound as light as a breeze. "No, this is all for you and your sister. My mother was so excited about your visit that she ordered the entire palace to be cleaned."
Lyra raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement playing at her lips. "That seems… excessive."
"You'd understand if you saw how much she admires your family," Dylan replied with a smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners.
They soon joined Crown Prince Alexander in the sitting room. Tall and poised, Alexander exuded an air of quiet authority. His dark hair was neatly combed, and a pair of round glasses perched on his nose. Lyra greeted him politely, though her gaze lingered on the glasses.
"Interesting choice," she remarked, her tone neutral but her eyes betraying amusement.
Before Alexander could respond, Dylan interjected with a mischievous grin. "You mean the grandma glasses?"
Alexander frowned, pushing the glasses up his nose. "They're not grandma glasses. They're a specialty design."
Moments later, Astrid entered, her golden hair cascading over her shoulders like a waterfall. After exchanging greetings, her gaze landed on Alexander's glasses.
"Nice grandma glasses," she said with innocent curiosity.
Laughter erupted in the room, even from Alexander, who couldn't suppress a soft chuckle despite his initial irritation.
That evening, after a lively dinner, Dylan approached Lyra as the guests began to disperse. He extended an arm, his demeanor formal but his eyes warm. "Would you care for a tour of the palace?"
Lyra hesitated briefly before nodding. "I'd like that."
What followed surprised Dylan. Instead of lightly resting her hand on his arm, Lyra wrapped both arms around it, holding it close. Dylan stiffened for a moment, a faint blush creeping up his neck. Such intimacy was reserved for married couples in his kingdom, yet Lyra seemed blissfully unaware of the breach in etiquette.
"This feels strange," Lyra mused as they walked.
"What does?" Dylan asked, his tone careful.
"Well, escorting isn't a thing in my kingdom anymore," Lyra explained. "It was banned years ago."
"Banned? Why?" Dylan asked, puzzled.
Lyra hesitated before answering. "After my aunt Medea and her daughter arrived, they petitioned to stop it. You see, my sister Astrid used to receive countless requests for every event or ball. She's considered the most beautiful woman in all the kingdoms, and people would travel just for a chance to escort her."
Dylan nodded, not surprised by the claim. He had heard tales of Astrid's beauty, though to him, Lyra had always been the one who stood out.
"But my aunt and cousin were… jealous," Lyra continued. "They couldn't stand how much attention my sister received. So, they convinced my father to ban the practice entirely under the pretense that it was 'unnecessary' and distracted from the purpose of the events."
Dylan frowned slightly. "That's unfortunate."
Lyra shrugged lightly. "It didn't matter much to me. I never received any requests anyway."
Dylan's brows furrowed at her statement. "Never?"
"No, not once," Lyra said with a small laugh, her tone casual, though there was a faint edge of insecurity in her voice. "Astrid was always the one people wanted to escort."
Dylan didn't respond immediately, his thoughts racing. While Astrid's beauty was well-known and celebrated, he couldn't understand why no one had noticed Lyra. To him, she was even more beautiful—her soft features, her bright, expressive eyes, the way her smile carried both strength and vulnerability. But he didn't voice these thoughts, keeping them to himself. "That explains a lot," he said finally, a faint smirk on his lips.
Lyra tilted her head. "Explains what?"
"You've been hidden away all this time," Dylan said. "Between the ban on escorting and avoiding events, it's no wonder most people don't know about you."
Lyra chuckled softly. "I suppose that's true. I never really attended the events or balls at home. Back when Father was alive, I was more interested in discussing politics with him. And after he died…" She trailed off, her expression becoming wistful. "Well, I just stayed in the palace or the library. There didn't seem to be much point in going to events anymore."
Dylan's gaze softened as he watched her. "You really are extraordinary, Lyra," he said quietly.
Lyra blinked, startled by the sincerity in his tone. "What do you mean?"
"You've chosen your own path," Dylan said. "Even when others might have expected you to conform to what they thought a princess should be, you stayed true to yourself. That's admirable."
Lyra's cheeks flushed, and she quickly looked away, focusing on the path ahead. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely audible.
Lyra then leaned back, her voice soft as she began, "You know, my sister Astrid wasn't always meant to step aside. She was the Crown Princess—poised, admired, everything a queen should be. But then she fell in love with this man. A commoner. She gave up everything for him—her title, her future as queen—just to be with him. It was so romantic at first, like something out of a fairytale."
She paused, her expression darkening. "But then… he disappeared. No explanation. Nothing. Years later, we found out he was in Helios—married to someone else. Turns out, Medea had orchestrated the whole thing. She hired him to seduce Astrid, to strip her of her position." Lyra's voice wavered slightly. "Astrid wasn't even angry about him moving on. What hurt her was the betrayal. The lies. That trust, shattered."
Lyra looked away for a moment before continuing, her tone reflective. "But you know what's ironic? Deep down, Astrid knew. She wasn't just in love with him—she was using him too. To escape. To run from the crown she never wanted. Maybe that's why she's at peace now, even after everything. But trust… that's something she's never been able to give so freely again."
Dylan listened intently, his brow furrowed as Lyra's words sank in. After a pause, he said quietly, "That's… a lot to carry. Betrayal like that—especially from someone you love—it changes you. Makes you question everything, even yourself."
He looked at Lyra, his gaze thoughtful. "But Astrid sounds stronger than she probably gives herself credit for. Walking away from a crown, from everything expected of her, even if it was for the wrong reasons… that takes courage. And to not let that betrayal consume her?" He shook his head in admiration. "It says a lot about the kind of person she is."
Dylan hesitated for a moment before adding, "But you know, maybe for some part of her letting go wasn't just about him or the crown. Maybe it was about finding herself. Sometimes, even the pain can teach you who you are."
"That's true." Lyra nodded in agreement.
They then walked in comfortable silence for a few moments, the moonlight casting a soft glow over the garden. Dylan couldn't help but feel a quiet sense of satisfaction as he glanced at her hand still holding his arm. Even if she wasn't aware of the escorting rules, the gesture felt intimate—and he had no intention of correcting her.