A few months had passed, and yet another chaotic day dragged on. As usual, I stumbled into the historian's office, still reeling from the swordsmith’s brutal assessment, which I had pretended to understand. The advice to 'fake it till you make it' is not effective to me. My body felt like it had been pummeled by a battering ram, and my brain was no better off.

There was something different in the air today—a thick tension, like the moments before a storm. The historians, usually so calm and composed, were restless. It was clear they were gearing up for a debate that could easily end in someone flipping a table. I just prayed it wouldn’t be me. All I wanted was a chair, a bit of peace and quiet, and perhaps a snack to soothe the sting of the swordsmith's cutting critique. But with the atmosphere being what it was, I’d be lucky to walk away with my sanity intact.

The door creaked open, and in strolled the prince in all his terrifying glory. He moved as if he owned the place—which, of course, he did. His presence was like a dark storm cloud, heavy and unavoidable, the kind that you just knew would ruin everyone’s day. With an air of casual arrogance, he made his way over to Sir Leon’s ornate chair, popping grapes into his mouth like this was all some leisurely affair. Every move he made was deliberate, oozing cold, calculated confidence.

The room buzzed with nervous energy. Historians who were typically poised scrambled to avoid his gaze, as though meeting his eyes might burn holes into their very souls. His secretary, ever-watchful and silent, trailed behind him, flanked by two hulking warriors who looked like they could crush bones with a mere glance. Their presence chilled the room, making the once warm space feel frosty, oppressive, and suffocating.

I sank deeper into my chair, hoping to disappear. With the prince here, the day had officially spiraled into a nightmare.

Just great! I thought, slumping into the now-uncomfortable seat. The only thing missing to complete this disaster was the prince making my life more difficult—and, knowing my luck, that was probably next on his agenda.

“What does it mean?” The prince’s voice, sharp and precise like a blade, cut through the murmurs of the historians. His gaze fixed on Leon, who stood pale and visibly trembling under the prince's scrutiny.

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“This scroll contains hidden more symbols unlike the rest, Your Highness. I believe we’ll need more time to properly translate it,” Leon explained pointing at the copy of the scroll in his hands, his voice steady but strained, like a bowstring on the verge of snapping.

The prince’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, his calm demeanor vanishing in an instant. “More time?” His voice dropped to a venomous whisper, suffocating the air around him. “You’ve had time. And now I’m told you need more? With extra heads, no less?” His contempt was palpable, each word a razor-sharp dagger aimed at both Leon and me.

Leon attempted to apologize, his voice faltering. “I apologize, Your Highness, we—” But he didn’t get to finish. With a flick of his wrist, the prince sent a small, sharp object whizzing through the air. It happened so fast that I didn’t even realize what it was until Leon gasped, clutching his cheek as a thin line of blood appeared.

The prince had thrown a grape stem. The absurdity of it hit me first, but then came the horror. Leon’s gasp shattered the silence as a thin line of blood welled up on his cheek. The room seemed to freeze, the faint drip of blood unnervingly loud in the oppressive quiet. My stomach churned. How could something so small—a stem—cause harm?

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the prince. In that moment, he wasn’t just powerful—he was something else, something cold and calculating. The kind of person who could turn anything, even fruit, into a weapon. My skin crawled. He wasn’t just terrifying. He was worse. He was unpredictable.

Leon, visibly shaken, stammered, “I… I understand, Your Highness. We will do everything in our power to meet your expectations.”

The prince’s eyes glinted with cold fury. “Don’t disappoint me again, Leon,” he hissed, his voice low and menacing. The weight of his words pressed down on the room, as if the very walls were closing in on us. Without another glance, he turned and strode out, his warriors trailing behind him, leaving the room in an oppressive, suffocating silence.

I exhaled slowly, not even realizing I had been holding my breath. 'I want to go home...' The thought echoed in the back of my mind as the door clicked shut, sealing us in the stifling silence of the office. 

The room felt more like a tomb than a place of work. The historians stood frozen, fear etched deep into their faces. Leon, usually so composed, seemed to crumble. His legs buckled, and he sank to the floor, his hand trembling as he wiped the blood from his cheek. I rushed to his side, my own hands shaking as I tried to steady him. My eyes fell on the grape stem lying innocuously on the floor—such a small, harmless thing, now a terrifying reminder of the prince's power.

"I'm sorry, everyone," Leon whispered, barely audible. "The prince has given us an impossible task."

The weight of the situation bore down on me, guilt gnawing at my insides as I glanced at the solemn faces around me. I never meant for things to turn out like this, I thought, feeling my heart sink beneath the burden of our shared fate.

Desperation clawed at me. I had to suggest something—anything. This wasn’t just about avoiding the prince’s wrath—it was about survival.

“We need to work together to decipher the scrolls,” I urged, my voice steady despite the tension in the room. But my plea was met with resistance. I caught a few whispered conversations cutting off as soon as I spoke. Eyes shifted quickly away from me, but I could still feel them watching, measuring. I wasn’t one of them—new to the group, different. No one said it outright, but it was there, just beneath the surface, the constant reminder that I didn’t belong.

“Why should we trust you?” Albert’s voice broke the silence, his gaze hard and unwavering.

I felt the room turn against me in that instant, the unspoken doubts bubbling up. My origin, my place here, everything that made me an outsider. “For what? To boast your skill to His Highness and take all the credit? You’re not that great either,” Easton added, his words dripping with disdain.

My heart sank. I wasn’t trying to steal credit—I just wanted to save us all from the prince’s wrath. But their distrust was like a wall I couldn’t break through.

But I couldn’t back down now. I had to protect Leon and the rest from the prince’s fury. They had done so much to help me adjust to this world—how could I abandon them now? I owed them at least that much.

In the end, only four of us remained, huddled together in the dimly lit room, our breaths shallow and hearts pounding with the urgency of our task. For a week and three sleepless nights, we pored over the scrolls. My vision blurred, letters swimming on the parchment until I had to blink furiously just to refocus. Every breath felt heavy, as though my lungs were weighed down by exhaustion. 

My fingers ached from gripping quills for too long, knuckles stiff and sore. Conversations were reduced to whispers, each word feeling fragile, like a precious secret that might shatter if spoken too loudly. Every insight we uncovered was a small victory, but it came at the cost of our sanity. The tension in the room was suffocating, as if the very walls were closing in on us. I discreetly offered suggestions, subtly guiding them toward the correct translations, careful not to reveal how much I truly understood the words.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, we cracked the code. The most complex scroll, the one assigned to Rowell, was finally deciphered. As the last symbol was translated and the final sentence was read aloud, we all exhaled as if we had been holding our breaths for weeks. Relief washed over the room, and for a brief moment, our exhaustion was replaced by the quiet joy of accomplishment. Their faces, once etched with fear and anxiety, lit up, eyes bright with the victory we had earned together.

But even in that moment of triumph, a shadow hung over my heart. The prince’s power and ruthlessness were ever-present, a cold reminder that our success might only buy us time, and our next mistake could very well be our last. As much as I wanted to savor our achievement, the fear of what might come next gnawed at me, like a dark void swallowing any sense of peace.

Rowell, his voice barely above a whisper, smiled widely and read the final passage again, each word heavy with meaning.

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"Keep thy peace in one’s heart as I live and pay the price for what I desire. May forgiveness bestow upon me, as I leave behind the path for a new journey. With no malice in my intentions, as I shared with the O mighty dragon."

As he finished reading, the words hung in the air like a riddle, their meaning just out of reach. "Peace in one’s heart... a path for a new journey..." What was this scroll leading us toward? The mention of the dragon—it couldn’t be coincidence. 

I watched as Leon leaned back, his eyes wide with wonder and exhaustion. His face was pale, as if his body couldn’t process the weight of our discovery.

"I think we’ve found it," he murmured, barely above a whisper. "The path... the one the prince was searching for."

For a moment, we let ourselves believe it was over. Days of endless work had left us exhausted, but the exhaustion now felt like a hard-won trophy. We lay down, one by one, on the scattered cushions and parchment, giving in to the overwhelming need for rest. The air was calm, our breathing slowing in sync, the room hushed. The world could wait; for now, we had earned this peace.

Whoever said taming a tyrant was easy had definitely never met this prince. Growing up with all those stories—they lied to me. Made me believe princes were supposed to be charming, or at least redeemable. Those northern Duke stories were more real. In those tales, the biggest challenge is awkward banter or a simple misunderstanding that gets patched up with a heartfelt confession. If only that were all I had to deal with but instead, I’m stuck with a prince who could cut us down with a single stem, and the only confession I’m making is that I wish I was back in a world where princes were clueless, not deadly.

In some stories, the prince might’ve been a bit oblivious, but he didn’t make you feel one wrong move away from becoming a human pincushion. He’d sweep you off your feet, not sweep you into a war room and expect you to decode ancient texts while he pops grapes, completely unfazed.

Reality check: This prince isn’t about to turn into a lovestruck puppy. If anything, hinting at rebellion would just bring a storm. Those books lied—big time. If I ever make it out of this, I’m going to write my own story. One where the heroine skips the prince-taming entirely and opens a nice, quiet farm instead.

Who’s ready to join me? First, we’ve got to escape this world. Maybe a soul exchange is the way—so, are you up for swapping with me? 😇