Please note that Tapas no longer supports Internet Explorer.
We recommend upgrading to the latest Microsoft Edge, Google Chrome, or Firefox.
Home
Comics
Novels
Community
Mature
More
Help Discord Forums Newsfeed Contact Merch Shop
Publish
Home
Comics
Novels
Community
Mature
More
Help Discord Forums Newsfeed Contact Merch Shop
__anonymous__
__anonymous__
0
  • Publish
  • Ink shop
  • Redeem code
  • Settings
  • Log out

Dominance of Veiled Hearts

Ch36: Something worth living for

Ch36: Something worth living for

Jan 31, 2025

Dominance of Veiled Heart

Chapter 36


“Your Highness,” Nixon greeted as the prince strode into his pavilion, every movement sharp, deliberate, as if carved from command itself. The scent of metal and sweat followed him, clinging to the room like the echo of a battlefield. “Have you received the letter from His Majesty, the Emperor?”


The prince paused mid-step, fingers moving to the clasp of his armor. “I did.” His voice was dry, heavy with disdain. “Another summon, I presume. Let me guess—it’s about the incident in Terrado or that little courting rule I recently enforced.”


Nixon hesitated, glancing briefly at the edges of the prince’s dark silhouette. “Your Highness, I thought it prudent to have the historian deliver the message directly—”


Michaelli froze. Just for a second. But it was enough. The air thickened like a storm about to break. His head turned slightly, and the edge of his golden eyes caught the light. “Why?”


The question was soft, but it reverberated through the room like thunder beneath the earth.


“There’s a possibility he was sent by the enemies, or worse... the rebel, Yvethra,” Nixon said, voice faltering under the prince’s gaze. “But if the letter remained intact, then that—”


“Nixon.”


The name landed like the drop of a blade—cold, clipped, final.


The prince turned to face her fully, removing his chestplate with precise, unhurried movements. Every gesture oozed quiet authority. “Tuk is my responsibility. Not yours. Consider this your warning.”


His words hung in the air, sharp and unrelenting. Nixon stiffened under the weight of them, bowing her head.


“If you can find someone capable of replacing his role,” Michaelli added, his tone turning glacial, “then, by all means, do as you please.”


“Apologies, Your Highness.” She bowed deeper, hands tightly clasped, and exited with footsteps light but hurried—like a soldier retreating after a failed advance.


Alone, the prince peeled off the rest of his armor, the metallic clink echoing faintly in the quiet. Now dressed only in his undershirt, he moved toward the adjoining room, his figure disappearing behind the curtain of steam and silence.




“How is it?”


Michaelli’s voice sliced clean through the stillness of his pavilion.


Controlled. Measured. Dangerous.


From the gloom, Shadral emerged like a ripple in the dark, crows screaming overhead as dusk choked the sky.
“Your suspicions were correct, Your Highness. Shall I handle it?”


A slow smile curved on the prince’s lips. Not warmth—never warmth.


“No. Not yet,” he said with a soft chuckle, barely audible. “It’s been a while since someone this bold approached me. Let’s see how far she thinks she can go. For now, I’ll play along.”


His fingers drummed slowly on the edge of a parchment—a report that bore secrets worth empires.


“But keep watching her,” he added. “Don’t blink.”


“As you command.” And just like that, Shadral melted back into the shadows, gone.


Michaelli remained, eyes lingering on the paper. The so-called “historian” danced in his thoughts like a puzzle missing one crucial piece.


Clever. Very clever. But why?
How long can she keep up this charade?
If she truly comes from Yvethra...


His expression hardened.


Yvethrans were notorious—masters of illusion, beast tamers, impossible to catch. If that was truly her origin, she was far more dangerous than he’d first imagined. But she was also too valuable to lose.


Smart. Strategy. Insight... She had it all.


He leaned back slowly, letting silence flood the room. Let her think she’s winning.


For now.


All I need to determine is her true intention. Is she after my life, the scroll’s power, or the empire itself?



[[ Tuk's POV ]]

That night, Tuk lay restless, tangled in thin sheets that clung to her skin with sweat, offering no comfort.


The Onyxariel. Its screech still echoed in her ears—a sound not just heard but felt, vibrating in her bones like an old war drum.


The stench of blood clung to her nose, metallic and fresh. She could still hear the clash of weapons, the sharp cry of steel against talon. Marceau. Homonhon. All of it came back in a relentless flood—fragments of war she’d tried to bury. Severed heads, the thunder of hooves, screams swallowed by smoke.


And that beast.
 A creature so massive it could end a life in a single gulp. Its eyes still burned in her memory.


I hope I never see anything like that again, she thought, squeezing her eyes shut. But sleep didn't cradle her.


She ran, but the nightmare always found her. Blood squelched beneath her feet, and the earth was covered in severed heads—grinning, familiar. Their mouths opened, whispering things she didn’t want to hear.


She gasped awake, drenched in cold sweat. Her heart pounded like a fist against her ribs.


The pavilion was still. The warriors lay curled in their own spaces, breathing in sync with the night. For a moment, Tuk just sat there, letting the silence settle over her like a second skin. Then she stood and slipped out, barefoot into the forest.


The moon was full, high, and too bright to feel real. The scent of earth and moss filled her lungs—raw, real, grounding. Cicadas hummed in the distance. Crickets chirped.


She walked until the trees parted and the lake opened up before her. Its surface was still, smooth as glass, reflecting the stars and the moon above.


She didn’t hesitate.


The lake welcomed her like a baptism. The cold hit her like a slap, but she let it, hoping the shock would cleanse something deeper. She dove under and came up gasping, her hair clinging to her face and shoulders, beads of water racing down her skin.


She floated on her back, hair fanned out like seaweed, the stars above winking through blurred lashes.


And then—a flicker of light.


At first, she thought it was a trick of her tired mind. But then another flicker came. Then another.


Fireflies.


Tiny, golden lights began to pulse around the lake’s edge, dancing like slow sparks. They blinked and flitted through the air, soft and glowing.


She blinked, stunned.


Not because she’d never seen fireflies before—she had, once, but only through a screen.
Through high-resolution videos and motion graphics, she used for inspiration. She remembered sitting at her desk in the city, replying to impatient clients, correcting button alignments, adjusting hover states, and redlining designs that would never look quite right on mobile.


Deadlines. Edits. Client feedback like: "Make it pop more."
 All she ever had were screens. Forests were backgrounds. Fireflies were stock footage.


And now—this.


The real thing, blinking softly in front of her, reflected in the moonlit lake. A scene no UI would ever render properly. It was too imperfect. Too alive.


Tuk let herself cry, quietly. Not from fear this time, not from exhaustion.
But from something else.
Something like awe.


She tilted her face to the sky again, water trickling down her temples, her chest rising and falling. The fireflies drifted lazily around her like tiny stars that had wandered too far from home.


She felt, for a rare moment, weightless.


She could live in a mountain like this. Alone. Quiet. Maybe with a proper roof and food, but no monsters. No beasts.
Just trees, stars, and fireflies.




The next morning, anticipation hummed through the camp like static. Word of the hunt's dedication ceremony spread like fire, and nobles gathered in tight clusters—silken sleeves brushing, polished boots shifting in dew-soaked grass, whispers thick with speculation and barely hidden envy.


Atop a small wooden platform, the announcer stepped forward, his cloak fluttering slightly in the breeze. He unfurled a scroll with deliberate precision, each flick of his wrist drawing the crowd tighter with expectation.


“I dedicate this hunt,” he proclaimed, his voice crisp and resounding, “to Lady Evelyn.”


Gasps fluttered through the audience. All eyes turned to the edge of the crowd, where a young woman blinked in stunned silence. Lady Evelyn, dressed in a gown of soft cream and sage green, looked as though someone had thrown cold water over her.


Jealousy bloomed instantly, subtle as thunder. Faces twisted in polite smiles, but their eyes gleamed with resentment. This wasn’t just flattery—it was elevation. In a world built on bloodlines and power, the prince’s notice was more dangerous than any curse.


The announcer continued, voice steady but threaded with implication. “His Highness, the prince, cannot personally attend the dedication due to an urgent situation. However, by his command, this hunt—the pursuit of the Onyxariel—is henceforth dedicated to Lady Evelyn of House Alaric.”


Far from the ceremonial platform, Tuk stood near the forest’s edge, where shadows still clung to the trees and the air was cool with morning mist. She could hear every word clearly, but kept her face impassive. A practiced look, somewhere between indifferent and vaguely amused. She stifled a snort.


Urgent situation? Her eyes flicked sideways.


There, lounging beneath the wide arms of an ancient oak, was Prince Michaelli, his cloak strewn carelessly beside him, his golden eyes half-lidded in the dappled light. If that was urgency, then she was the bloody Queen of Marceau.


This is the legendary hunt dedication? A drama with no climax? She had expected fanfare—maybe a speech about eternal love. Instead, she got a slightly awkward moment and an absent prince.


“I’m giving up on romance,” she muttered. “Clearly, the genre’s abandoned me.”


She let her gaze drift, scanning for a rock or root to sit on. The ground was uneven, but the scent of pine and wildflowers helped soothe her frazzled nerves. Her limbs ached, a dull soreness from the sleepless night and yesterday’s chaos. The forest still carried the scent of iron and pine, but the birds had begun their tentative songs again.


“I should focus on survival,” she said, more to herself than anything. “For some reason, I’ve become a magnet for disaster. Either I’m cursed or the narrative gods are having a laugh at my expense.”


The wind shifted, rustling the canopy above. The leaves danced gently, as if mocking her resolve.


I don’t think I’ve ever thanked him, the "good" part of her brain mused.


How could I? Every word that comes out of his mouth annoys me, the "evil" side retorted with a snarl.


Maybe I should repay him in some way… after all, he has saved me twice now, the good side offered.


No need for grand gestures, the evil side cut in. Offering my expertise is plenty. Yes, that’s it. No extra effort required.

Just stay still, breathe, and do absolutely nothing.


For once, both sides seemed to agree. The good Tuk and the evil Tuk reached a truce. And that, my friends, is how you thank a prince without lifting a finger.


Tuk allowed herself a slow exhale and a small, wry smile. At least she’d gotten even with that treacherous horse for abandoning her mid-hunt. Somewhere out there, its hooves gleamed in the most obnoxious shades of neon pink.


The soft luminescence of the fireflies last night had stirred something she had nearly forgotten. Instead of resting, she’d tiptoed through the darkened camp, tracked down that wretched beast, and—armed with a stolen vial of luminescent ink from one of the historian kits—painted its hooves and braided streaks of glaring pink into its mane.


It had neighed in protest, but she hissed at it like a demon from the underworld until it stilled. Petty? Absolutely. Therapeutic? More than a week’s worth of therapy back home.


“At least that damn horse got what it deserved,” she muttered now, satisfaction curling at the edges of her smile. “Serves you right for bucking me mid-hunt, you hay-munching traitor.”


“Next on the revenge list: Lord Nixon,” she muttered, her tone darkening as she tucked her knees to her chest. “Your time is coming, my friend. Very soon.”


Her eyes drifted back toward Michaelli.


He looked like a painting—reclining in the grass, utterly relaxed, his attention cast somewhere far beyond reach. It was so tempting to throw a shoe at his face, just to wipe that calm expression off. But the consequences of that would probably be terrifying, so… better not.


Tuk lived by a simple philosophy: fight what you can fight, retreat when you can’t.


And that one—Prince Michaelli—was firmly in the do not engage category. A terrifying human best avoided, not challenged.


What is he thinking? she wondered. Why not rest in the pavilion like everyone else, or is this just his version of “me time”?


He had no right being this unbothered. They were supposed to leave soon. Briefings, preparations, the emperor’s summons—none of it seemed to matter to him.


Leaning against a nearby tree, she felt the bark press rough and grounding against her back. Her eyes closed for a moment. Just a breath. A small pause from the weight pressing down on her ever since she fell into this world.


Her old life came back in sharp, fluorescent detail. The glow of multiple screens.


Design mock-ups under revision eighteen.


Clients who couldn’t tell the difference between “bold” and “extra bold.”


Deadlines piling like bodies in a battlefield.


The endless cycle of eat-work-sleep-repeat.


She had run herself ragged in that life. Always chasing stability. Chasing approval. A race where you didn’t know the finish line until it was too late to stop running.


And now here she was. In a world of monsters and sunlight, nobles and nightmares. Strangely, it didn’t feel worse.


Past or present, she thought bitterly, there’s never been such a thing as a good world. Just the one you survive in.


Still, in this world of violence, beauty and beasts with names too ancient to remember, she found herself treasuring these brief, quiet moments. Moments where she wasn’t running. Wasn’t lying. Just breathing.


Even if danger was always lurking, she somehow felt safer under Prince Michaelli’s wings. It was strange—a balance between feeling protected and always being one misstep away from disaster. Life here was like playing a charade with everything on the line.


If I’m cursed, she thought, watching the prince from across the glade… then he must’ve received all the blessings.


Even in stillness, Michaelli exuded danger. That calm wasn’t peace—it was the poised stillness of something lethal. A lion watching the field. Not asleep. Just patient.


I’ll never figure him out, she admitted. But maybe… if I get close enough, I can borrow a little of that blessing. That power. That strange, impossible grace.


She chuckled softly at the thought. Yeah. Sure. I’ll teach him “sharing is caring.” That’ll go well.


The fireflies were gone now, burned away by daylight, but the memory lingered—gentle, glowing. A real memory. Not one made of pixels.


As she stood there, breathing in the damp scent of earth and growing things, a quiet thought rose, unbidden.


Maybe there’s something worth living for here.


Maybe, if she couldn’t go back, she could build something here.


A place. A purpose.


One where she didn’t have to outrun beasts—nor a royal pain who acted less like a prince and more like a thesis advisor sent to grade her life choices, constantly testing her sanity with unspoken questions and pop quizzes on survival.

custom banner support banner
Hey_roxi
Hey roxi

Creator

Okay, I put all my feelings in here so the exhaustion is real. It's too hard, making a living 😩😪

Anyway, I started putting a little papyrus art to place lines I love because, why not? Just trying to experiment here and there, hehe ╰(*°▽°*)╯

Thank you for reading! I hope we all find a place where we can truly live in peace—not just Tuk, but all of us. 💌

#new_chapter #Life_sucks

Comments (9)

See all
Yan Yan
Yan Yan

Pinned by creator

I'm resisting the temptation to advance read, but I can't help taking a peek when I saw that Prince POV :)

2

Add a comment

Recommendation for you

  • What Makes a Monster

    Recommendation

    What Makes a Monster

    BL 74.1k likes

  • Invisible Boy

    Recommendation

    Invisible Boy

    LGBTQ+ 11.2k likes

  • Arna (GL)

    Recommendation

    Arna (GL)

    Fantasy 5.4k likes

  • Touch

    Recommendation

    Touch

    BL 15.3k likes

  • Flower Girl

    Recommendation

    Flower Girl

    Mystery 2.2k likes

  • Dreamers

    Recommendation

    Dreamers

    Romance 439 likes

  • feeling lucky

    Feeling lucky

    Random series you may like

Dominance of Veiled Hearts
Dominance of Veiled Hearts

15.6k views225 subscribers

I ended up in the middle of a war—no magic, no noble lineage, not even the perks of being a maid. Worse? I’m a captive, disguised as a man, and if they discover the truth, I'm dead.

Survival isn’t just about staying alive. It’s about outwitting warriors, scheming nobles, and staying one step ahead of power-hungry royals. If I fail, I become their pawn, or worse, their enemy.

If I'm stuck in this world, I'll do more than survive—I'll dominate.

Updates Every Saturday and Monday—Pacific Time (PT)

[[Straight Romance]]

Main Theme Song: War of Hearts

Cover and Banner Art Designed by Yours truly
Subscribe

85 episodes

Ch36: Something worth living for

Ch36: Something worth living for

168 views 28 likes 9 comments


Style
More
Like
36
Support
List
Comment

Prev
Next

Full
Exit
28
9
Support
Prev
Next