The soft morning light seeped through the sheer crimson curtains, falling gracefully on Silas' eyelids.

He stirred, the cool silk sheets still pressed against his cheek, and for a second the bliss of the thick, cloud-like mattress managed to distract him from the dull pain engulfing his entire body.

His sight still clouded with sleep, Silas sat up, turning to look at the tall, arched windows. The entire room was bathed in hues of amber and rose, like something from a dream. Compared to the previous night, he could now see all the details a little bit better: everything was laced with opulence, each piece of furniture a testament to quiet luxury, from the carved wooden panels lining the walls to the high ceilings arched inwards. Even the air smelled regal — lavender and roses, with a hint of sandalwood.

At last, his eyes fell on the couch where Lucian had slept, only to find it empty.

He was gone.

Silas sighed, the knot in his chest loosening just enough to let him breathe. Flashes of the evening rushed to his mind — the ointment, the careful hands, the last chilling sentence Lucian had said before leaving:

“I want this Kingdom to end with me.”

Exhaustion had gotten the best of him, but now that he could think a bit more clearly, nothing made any sense. From the lies the Prince had told his mother to that sudden confession — could he truly believe a word that had come out of his mouth?

Besides, why would a Royal endanger his own wealth? He did not trust him. He had no reason to. And yet, the sliver of anger that had coated Lucian's tongue as he spoke seemed genuine.

But perhaps, Silas was simply naive. The only thing concerning him was that he still had no clue what he had actually agreed to.

He looked down at his chest, studying the bandages. They had stayed in place, proof of a correct application. Even his pain had grown fainter — still present, but much less sharp.

Before his mind could roam any further, footsteps echoed from the hallway, inching closer and closer to the Prince's chambers.

Then, the door cracked open, and the waft of air that came in carried with it the scent of fresh bread and honey.

Lucian stepped in, his robe loosely tied around his waist and his hair pulled back, still damp from what must have been a recent bath. Behind him, Riven followed, carrying a polished silver tray covered by a cloth.

"I see the sleeping beauty has awoken," Lucian hummed, throwing himself onto the couch and observing as Riven handed Silas his breakfast. "Eat — you're going to need the energy."

Instantly, it seemed peculiar to him how much Lucian's entire persona had shifted in just one night. All of that tension, that anger, apparently dissolved. As if it had never been there in the first place.

He knew it had not been a dream. But he also knew it was for the best not to press any further. Not now.

Silas stared at Lucian, and then at the meal: two golden rolls of milk bread, a small jar of honey, and one of some sort of citrus marmalade — something so rare he had only ever heard of it in whispered stories. Confections of the sort were only ever destined for the extremely wealthy, and he was painfully aware of it.

His hand hovered above the food, his mouth already watering almost instinctively.

"Oh, do not be shy. We were almost caught trying to sneak that plate in for you. Or shall I say, Riven was."

Lucian grinned at the servant, who shot him an annoyed look before resting against the windowsill.

They both stared at Silas, and after one more moment of hesitation, he began shoving the delicacies into his mouth, his hunger louder than his pride. He did not want to eat what they had to offer, but at the same time, he knew he needed strength — especially in a place so foreign.

And most of all, it was the only way to sedate the hollow pain growing in his stomach.

With his cheeks full, he glanced at Lucian, swallowing hard before speaking. "What did you mean when you said I'd need the energy?"

The prince's eyes thinned into small cuts, his lips stretching more than usual. "I already told you. Your training, of course."

The Prince's private garden could only be described as something out of a fairytale. In the middle stood a white iron gazebo, its roof draped in thick strands of ivy. All around it, he could see shrubs of white and red roses, carefully curated and well-maintained, with a handful of butterflies drifting lazily across the petals.

The grass had been recently cut, its fresh smell still lingering all around.

Lucian walked ahead of them, and stopped right in front of a long table with a chair on each end. It was fully adorned, as if ready for a grand meal, with ceramic plates and crystal wine glasses.

He gestured for them to sit, and they both obliged, one more willing than the other.

The entire time they had been walking toward the garden, Lucian had ignored all of Silas' questions, purposefully making the latter grow more and more frustrated by the second.

"What? Are we supposed to just sit and stare at each other?"

Finally, Lucian broke his silence, and as he did so, he grabbed something from the pocket of his coat: a scroll of sorts, neatly rolled and sealed.

As it unfurled, Silas winced — the scroll was long enough to hit the ground. No matter what was written on it, he could already sense that it was nothing in his favor.

"In very few days, you shall be introduced to my family as Princess Selene — and yes, I chose the name myself, therefore it is not up for debate. Considering this—"

"Wait, Princess?" Silas furrowed his brows, everything slowly beginning to click in his mind. From Lucian’s sister’s remarks, to the secrecy behind everything they'd been doing — everything was starting to make a disturbing kind of sense. "Princess?"

"I thought it obvious. Of course, I cannot expect my Father to crown me by marrying a commoner. The only way this is going to work is if you pose as a Princess. And by the end of this training, you shall be perfect at it."

"I never agreed to this!" Silas stood up, causing the table to tremble and Lucian to roll his eyes.

"It is too late to complain now. Are you not a man of your word?" He crossed his arms, an eyebrow raised, as if testing him.

"You tricked me." The boy hissed, beginning to walk toward the Prince before being stopped by Riven.

"Sir Silas, I understand you might feel fooled, but unfortunately, His Highness is correct. It is too late now to argue over this." The servant searched for his eyes, a silent plea to stop as Lucian observed the scene with an amused grin, and Silas reluctantly backed off.

He was not that dense; he had already realized that there was no possible way in which the Prince would have introduced someone like him to the King. But still, he did not expect the full extent of his plan to include him pretending to be a woman — and a Royal one at that.

Despite the anger rising in his chest, he sat back down, gaze fixed on the plate in front of him. He was well aware that he had seen too much of the Palace already to be let go by just protesting. And most importantly, he was not so stubborn as to cost his family the chance at a better life just because he was not willing to put on a dress.

So, he simply gritted his teeth, and forced himself to speak. "Just... keep going."

Lucian nodded, that smirk ever so present on his face, before continuing where he left off.

"As I was saying, considering you will be introduced under the name of Princess Selene, we must train you to behave like a true Princess. Starting today, you will train in etiquette, dancing, reading, and manners." He stopped for a second, gesturing in the direction of the laid table. "And the first lesson is in dining etiquette."

Silas sighed, slumping in his chair a little, and noticed the Prince send him a pointed look.

As if he truly believed he had any intention of making this easy.

"And what is written on the scroll?"

"Just a few guidelines for you to follow. Now, let us begin."

Lucian clapped his hands, before looking around briefly and collecting a stick from one of the shrubs, which sent a chill down Silas' spine. Of course.

He stepped closer to Riven, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Riven will act as a Royal guest, and you shall dine with him while displaying proper manners. You only have to pretend to be having a conversation, so do try your best."

Riven exhaled, reaching for his glass and taking a sip of water, preparing himself for the role. He had desperately wanted to refuse the Prince's request for his assistance, but after careful consideration, it seemed far less dangerous than his actions the day before. And that was already an improvement.

"Your Highness, thank you for inviting me to this beautiful dinner. You look delightful this evening."

"Yes... Thank you?" Silas raised an eyebrow, embarrassment painting his face red as he attempted to look Riven in the eyes, all while being fully aware of his pretending to be a Lady.

Then, the hit came.

He let out a groan, hand flying to his back in seconds, before turning to see Lucian bending over his shoulder, stick firmly held in his palm.

"A Lady must always sit with grace, and never slouch. Again."

Silas bit his lip, forcing himself to show some restraint. He faced Riven once more.

"Thank you."

Another hit.

"What—"

"Come now, you can do better than this. A Lady must always smile when complimented, without showing teeth. And address her guests properly."

The boy clenched his jaw, and then forced a smile — more sinister than sincere.

"Thank you, Lord Riven. It is a pleasure to have you."

Riven stared at him, a single drop of sweat falling from his temple as his gaze shifted between the two of them.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" Behind Silas' back, he could see Lucian let out a small laugh, clearly enjoying every second of this performance.

"Please continue."