The midmorning sun beamed brightly in the sky, contrasting with the cold breeze blowing across the private airstrip.
It was the kind of day where the world felt oddly balanced—sharp sunlight, crisp air, a sense of possibility in the atmosphere.
At this particular corner of the airport, only those with the highest clearance were allowed, for this was no ordinary day.
A sleek convoy of twenty identical black cars rolled up to the secured section of the airport, each car carrying members of the Royal Guard.
The cars lined up in a perfectly orchestrated fashion, each gleaming under the sun as if performing for a crowd.
The onlookers, though distant behind barricades, felt the importance of the moment.
Above them, 'Her Majesty 1,' the official aircraft reserved solely for the royal family, made its final descent.
Its polished fuselage reflected the blue skies as it approached the runway.
"Air control, this is Her Majesty 1, carrying aboard Prince Arthur III, requesting permission to land," the pilot's voice crackled through the radio.
"Permission to land granted," came the swift reply from the control tower.
On the plane, inside the private royal quarters, Prince Arthur III lay soundly asleep, the soft hum of the engines soothing him.
He had been away from home for two long years on a diplomatic mission, forging peace with a rival nation.
The toll of diplomacy weighed on him, making rest his greatest escape.
Outside, the wheels of the aircraft extended as the large bird readied itself for landing.
The massive plane descended with grace, touching the runway with barely a tremor.
Inside the plane, Gregor, the head of the royal guard, approached the prince's quarters.
He stood tall and firm in his black uniform, a man dedicated to his duty with a fierce loyalty.
Gently, he knocked on the door before stepping in. "Your Majesty, we are about to land."
Prince Arthur stirred in his plush bed, his body heavy with the weight of exhaustion.
Slowly, he opened his eyes, blinking against the dim light of his private chamber.
Rubbing his face, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, taking a moment to stretch.
His muscles ached from the long flight.
Outside, the security team in the waiting convoy sprang into action.
Tens of uniformed guards stepped out of the vehicles, forming a straight line along the tarmac.
Their formation was flawless, a show of discipline and protection for their prince.
Gregor descended the steps of the plane first, his sharp eyes scanning the area.
He was met by his junior officer, who saluted crisply.
Despite the fact that every inch of the airport had been thoroughly inspected multiple times, security protocol dictated that they check again.
Gregor and his team combed the area, ensuring no threats lurked in the shadows.
After a thorough check, he was satisfied.
"Your Highness, you may exit now," Gregor announced with a bow, waiting at the base of the steps as Prince Arthur emerged.
Arthur descended with regal grace, his long black coat billowing slightly in the breeze.
As his boots touched the ground, the lined-up guards snapped to attention, heads bowed in deference.
Once the prince reached the ground, they raised their heads in unison and saluted.
It was a synchronized show of respect, but Arthur hardly paid it any mind.
His thoughts were elsewhere, on the kingdom he was returning to and the challenges awaiting him.
"This way, Your Highness," Gregor said, leading the prince to the back of the convoy.
The vehicles were all identical—a strategic move to confuse anyone who might have ill intentions toward the royal family.
Arthur stepped into the third car without a word, his mind still lost in a fog of jet lag and political affairs.
But while the prince was being ushered back into his kingdom with the kind of pomp and circumstance befitting royalty, across town, a different drama was unfolding.
In the heart of the bustling city, the shrill sound of an alarm pierced the air.
Inside a small local bank, chaos erupted as Lani sprinted out of the entrance, a bag stuffed with money slung over her shoulder.
Her long black hair flew wildly behind her as she ripped off her mask, casting a quick glance over her shoulder.
"Stop her!" a security guard yelled, bursting out of the bank.
Three more guards joined the pursuit, their heavy boots pounding the pavement as they chased after her.
Lani cursed under her breath, her breath coming in rapid gasps.
She darted through the crowded streets, her high heels clicking against the pavement.
Why had she worn heels today of all days? Stupid.
With the prince's arrival in the city, most of the main roads had been closed off to ensure the convoy could travel uninterrupted.
Barricades were in place, manned by additional security, and the streets were packed with citizens eager to catch a glimpse of the returning prince.
Desperation fuelled Lani's actions as she vaulted over one of the barricades, narrowly avoiding the outstretched hands of the pursuing guards.
At that very moment, the prince's convoy turned the corner, moving slowly down the cleared road.
The citizens cheered as the fleet of black cars made its way through the heart of the city, their prince safely inside one of them.
"Get out of the way!" one of the security guards shouted, but Lani didn't hear him.
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, drowning out all other sounds.
Fear pushed her legs forward as she sprinted into the road—right into the path of the convoy.
One of the cars came to a screeching halt, tires skidding against the asphalt.
Inside, Gregor's head snapped toward the prince. "Your Highness, are you alright?"
"I'm fine," Arthur replied calmly, though his eyes were fixed on the scene outside his window.
There, crouching against the door, was a young woman, her face flushed, panting heavily.
She was desperately trying to open the car door.
"Open it," Arthur commanded, his curiosity piqued.
The doors automatically unlocked with a soft click, and without hesitation, Lani yanked it open and scrambled inside.
She didn't even register where she was, so focused on hiding from the guards that she bent down, pressing herself into the seat.
Her head dipped so low it landed right against Arthur's lap.
Arthur's eyes widened in shock as he felt her head brush against him.
His body went rigid, and he clenched his fists, trying to maintain control.
The sensation of her head moving ever so slightly against his lap was… distracting.
"Drive," Arthur barked, his voice tight with restraint.
Gregor, sensing something amiss, signaled for the convoy to resume moving.
As the car lurched forward, Lani finally sat up.
And that's when it hit her—where she was. She wasn't hiding in some random car.
She was in the car. The one carrying the prince.
Her face drained of color.
Her hands flew to her mouth as she gasped in disbelief. "Y-y-your Highness," she stammered, her voice barely a whisper.
Her heart pounded harder than when she had been running from the guards.
Before anyone could react, Lani did something no one would have expected.
In a blur of motion, she grabbed the door handle, flung the door open, and hurled herself out of the moving vehicle.
"Stop the car!" Arthur shouted, his voice filled with urgency.
He immediately stepped out, his eyes scanning the street for any sign of the mysterious woman.
But she was gone. Vanished into the crowd like a ghost.
Arthur stood there, momentarily stunned.
Not even the most highly trained members of his security detail had seen which way she had gone.