But in her heart, she was already certain—
He wasn't.
That night, when Zoltan reached his chambers, he was surprised to find a herald waiting for him. The man bowed deeply before speaking.
"Your Highness, His Majesty summons you."
Zoltan's brows furrowed. His father rarely called for him at such a late hour. He quickly straightened his attire and followed the herald through the dimly lit corridors of the palace.
When he arrived at the emperor's private chambers, the guards stationed at the entrance bowed and pulled open the grand doors. Zoltan stepped inside and immediately bowed low.
"Your Majesty."
Emperor Aurelius sat at his ornate desk, his expression unreadable at first. But as he looked upon his son, there was a hint of pride in his eyes.
"You have grown up, Zoltan," the emperor said, his deep voice carrying both authority and warmth. "Today, you have proven that you are capable—not just of wielding a sword, but of governing."
Zoltan kept his gaze steady. He had spent his entire life preparing for this moment, but he did not expect it to come so soon.
The emperor leaned forward, folding his hands before him. "Tell me, do you have any place in mind?"
Zoltan hesitated for only a second before replying with a bow. "I will follow His Majesty's command."
The emperor studied him for a moment before letting out a small chuckle. "A careful answer. You have learned well."
He did not elaborate further, nor did he reveal any decision. Instead, he simply nodded. "You may leave now."
Zoltan bowed once more, preparing to retreat, but the emperor spoke again.
"Rest well tonight," Aurelius said, his voice calm but firm. "Tomorrow, you will ride in the hunt."
Zoltan nodded. "I understand, Your Majesty."
With that, he took his leave, his mind whirling with thoughts.
The hunt was not just a pastime for the nobles—it was a test. A test of skill, endurance, and, more importantly, hierarchy.
After leaving the emperor's chambers, Zoltan returned to his own. One of his attendants was already waiting for him, bowing deeply.
"Your Highness, the bathwater is ready. Would you like to take a bath?"
Zoltan chuckled, his tired eyes glinting with amusement. "You've finally become smart, huh? For once in your life, you knew what I wanted before I had to say it myself."
The servant bowed his head, suppressing a smile as Zoltan stepped into his private bath chamber. Steam curled in the air, the scent of rare herbs and oils mingling in the warmth. Zoltan undressed and sank into the large marble tub, letting the hot water soothe his muscles. His eyes closed, the weight of the long day easing off him.
Just as he was beginning to relax, he felt it—a pair of hands sliding over his abdomen.
Zoltan's eyes snapped open, and in an instant, his instincts took over. An assassin, he thought.
With lightning-fast reflexes, he grabbed the intruder and twisted their arm behind their back, shoving them against the edge of the bath with a force that sent water splashing onto the marble floor. His grip tightened around their throat as he prepared to strike the final blow—
Until he saw her face.
Mireya.
His concubine.
Shock flickered through his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by cold fury. Instead of letting her go, he tightened his grip around her delicate throat. Mireya's dark eyes widened, her hands clawing at his wrist as she gasped for air. Her body trembled in his grasp, and for a brief moment, she truly believed he would kill her.
At the last second, Zoltan shoved her away. Mireya slumped against his chest, coughing weakly, her breath ragged. But before she could recover, he pushed her off him.
"My prince…" she whispered, her voice trembling.
Zoltan's glare was sharp enough to cut through steel. "Who summoned you?"
Mireya hesitated, her lashes lowering. "It was… Princess Zephyrine."
Zoltan's anger flared at the mention of his sister's name. His fists clenched, his jaw tightening as a storm of emotions swirled within him. He knew Zephyrine was cunning, but this? This was an outright provocation.
His voice was like ice. "Never do this again. And never approach me."
Mireya's lips parted in disbelief. "But, Prince… I am your concubine! If I do not approach you, what am I supposed to do? Serving you is my duty!"
Zoltan's smirk was laced with disdain. "When did I accept you?" He turned away, grabbing a robe and tying it around his waist. "If you wish to serve someone, then you may serve the one who accepted you."
With those parting words, he strode out of the chamber, leaving her drenched and gasping behind him.
The moment he was gone, Mireya's trembling act faded. Her weak expression melted away, replaced by a slow, knowing smirk.
She leaned back against the marble tile, tilting her head.
"Exactly, my prince," she murmured, her black eyes glinting. "I am serving the person who accepted me."
As soon as Zoltan stepped out of the bath chamber, he found his attendants leaning against the door, their ears practically pressed against the wood.
At the sight of him, the attendant nearest to the door flinched, his face draining of colour. He immediately straightened, bowing low in panic.
Zoltan's golden eyes narrowed dangerously. "I thought you were getting smarter. But it seems you've only grown dumber." His voice was sharp, cutting through the heavy silence. "Tell me—who allowed you to make decisions on my behalf?"
The attendant fell to his knees, trembling. "My prince, forgive me! I only—"
"This will be the last time." Zoltan's voice was deathly calm, but the weight behind it was suffocating. "If you repeat this mistake, your head will be gone."
The servant swallowed hard and lowered his forehead to the ground. "Understood, my prince."
Without another word, Zoltan turned and headed to his bedchamber, exhaustion creeping into his bones. He wanted nothing more than a night of undisturbed sleep.
But fate had other plans.
Just as he was about to drift off, a loud commotion erupted outside his door.
Someone was shouting his name.
Zoltan's eyes snapped open, irritation flashing across his face. He pushed the covers aside and strode out of his room, his patience wearing thin.
The scene that greeted him was chaotic.
His attendants were struggling to remove Mireya from the door. She clung to the frame with desperation, her voice ringing through the corridor.
"My prince! Please—don't send me away!"
The moment Zoltan stepped into view, the attendants immediately released her, falling to their knees in fear. Mireya, seizing the moment, rushed behind him, seeking shelter under his presence.
Zoltan's gaze darkened, his jaw tightening. "What is happening here?"
Mireya, her eyes red-rimmed with unshed tears, gripped his sleeve delicately. "My prince, your attendants… they want to send me away!"
One of the attendants immediately raised his voice in his defence. "My prince, we were only trying to escort her out of the chamber and to her chamber—"
Mireya's tear-filled eyes met Zoltan's as she cut them off. "Prince, the entire palace watched me enter your chambers. If you cast me out in the middle of the night…" she bit her lip, trembling. "Where should I put my face? Can I still live in this palace?"
Zoltan's expression remained utterly indifferent. He simply turned away and made his way back to his bedchamber, leaving Mireya staring after him in disappointment.
Just as he was about to step inside, he halted, tilting his head slightly.
"Arrange for her to sleep somewhere," he ordered the attendants, his voice cold and full of anger. "But do not—under any circumstances—let her into my bedchamber."
The servants hurriedly complied, bowing as they prepared to escort Mireya away.
Before entering his chambers, Zoltan cast them one final warning.
"And remember—if word of what happened tonight spreads… the first to lose their tongues will be the both of you."
The attendants shuddered in fear, hurriedly lowering their heads.
Mireya, on the other hand, smiled softly as she watched him retreat.
"Thank you, my prince."
Her voice was sweet, filled with gratitude. But in the flickering candlelight, her dark eyes gleamed with something far more dangerous.