The moon was already setting when the girl with the bruised cheek threw herself on her knees before the Treasurer of Fitasentia. Her red hair was disheveled, and her eyes held genuine tears—large, heavy ones that fell onto the stone floor with a soft patter.

"Please, take me with you!" Her voice trembled, her fingers clutching the edge of his expensive cloak. "I can't work here anymore!" 

The Treasurer wrinkled his nose as if at a foul smell. He was about to push her away with his foot but paused—extra hands wouldn't hurt. Someone had to help care for the prince on the road. And if something happened to him...

Remembering the terms of the agreement, he felt a cold sweat run down his back.

"What's your name?" he grunted.

"Lipa," the girl whispered, bowing her head.

The Treasurer snorted. A stupid name. But her arms looked strong, and her eyes were submissive.

"Fine. You'll assist. But if you fail—I'll feed you to the wild wolves."

Lipa bowed even lower, hiding her face.

"Thank you, your mercy."

When the Treasurer left, she slowly rose. The tears were gone as if they had never been. And at the corners of her lips, a faint, barely noticeable smile twitched. 

***

Moe drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the lacquered table. An interesting story was taking shape. He automatically poured himself more of his favorite Iltalian tea from a porcelain pot. According to the servants' reports from the day of the banquet, nothing suspicious had happened in the palace—no one had seen or heard anything. Moe had read that report, and also the one he'd obtained when he'd accidentally caught that guy—lithe and insolent, like a black forest cat. But something didn't add up.

According to the report, the daughter of one of the delegates had indeed requested herbal tinctures, but they weren't lethal and were often used in women's personal care. The maid who had served supper recounted fearfully that she had poured the wine from the same bottle she had served other lords from, all of whom were quite alive and happy about that fact. He wanted to think that this black Cat had suddenly decided to finish off the prince, but somehow, it was hard to believe. Another heavy sigh escaped Moe's chest.

With a scraping sound, he pushed back his chair and stepped out onto the balcony. The night air was cool and fresh after the stuffy study. Somewhere in the distance, the lights of the departing delegation flickered—they were taking with them not only grievances but also Lipa. Faithful, reliable Lipa, who had so convincingly asked him to hit her... He gripped the railing, remembering how, after three hours of persuasion, he had reluctantly, finally, fulfilled her request. One shouldn't hit women. But she had insisted—for authenticity's sake.

His thoughts returned to the banquet. To Errol. And to Prince Yujin.

Yes, the prince was handsome—elegant, with fine features—but to Moe, he seemed rather shabby and too soft. And was that worth going crazy over? If one were to choose a man, better someone insolent, agile, with a ready laugh, black hair, and eyes that burned like gold... Moe frowned, shifting his shoulders in annoyance. That was the last thing he needed! And he returned to his study.

***

The moon hung over the courtyard like a huge pale disc, flooding everything around with cold, silvery light. Errol sat on the stone steps, feeling neither the night's chill nor his own fatigue. His fingers convulsively gripped the hilt of a dagger—he didn't even remember drawing it from its sheath.

"How could I have let this happen..." His lips twisted in a silent snarl.

He replayed that evening in his head again and again. Every step, every word. He should have stayed with Yujin, not left him even after he had dozed off. He should have personally checked his chambers, personally tasted the wine... He had sent a trusted servant to escort Yujin to his rooms—but the servant had only said fearfully that when he arrived, Yujin was already gone.

Bitter saliva filled his mouth. Errol swallowed, feeling pain tighten around his throat like a noose. Without Yujin—that brave, tender youth with eyes the color of spring foliage—his entire world lost its color. What was a crown worth now? What did power matter if he couldn't protect the only one he had ever loved so passionately?

"If something happens to him..." The thought burned like a whip strike. But no, he wouldn't allow it. He wouldn't let it happen. Let the whole world stand against him—he would break through any barrier to keep him safe.

Spies had already been sent to follow the delegation. The best ones were on their trail. And soon, he himself would set out, once he settled all affairs here. He would do everything to make them be together again. To kiss his sugar-sweet lips and hold him in strong embraces once more.

"My sprite, I will snatch you even from death's claws," he declared decisively into the emptiness. "You will be mine. Forever."

***

Golden rays of dawn broke through the foliage, casting playful reflections on the carriage walls. The forest air, filled with the scent of pine and fresh grass, streamed through the slightly open window, but Philomena paid no attention to this beauty. Her fingers dug into the folds of her dress, leaving creases on the silk.

"This wasn't how it was supposed to end!" she thought furiously, looking at her brother's pale face, limp against the pillows. He looked almost beautiful—long golden lashes casting shadows on his cheeks, lips slightly parted. As if he were simply asleep. But this "sleep" was ruining all her plans.

She clenched her teeth until they ached. Everything had been planned down to the smallest detail! She had even arranged it with the maid, explaining it was just medicine for her brother, a few drops in the soup!.. The poisonous mixture she had prepared was only supposed to paralyze his legs, not kill him. And this milksop would have immediately withdrawn from the marriage. And then—her triumphant appearance, when Prince Errol would realize the alliance with Fitasentia was still possible... through a union with *her*. After all, many had seen them leave the banquet together! Rumors were already spreading.

But this idiot Yujin had to go and fall into a coma! And now that insolent ultimatum from Raumliveria... Philomena nearly choked on her rage. How dare they dictate terms! How dare they demand *him*, as if she, Philomena, with her beauty and intellect, were nothing!

The carriage jolted over a bump, and Yujin's head lolled helplessly. One of the maids adjusted the pillow beneath him, casting a frightened glance at Philomena. She merely wrinkled her nose in contempt.

"Let him sleep," she whispered venomously under her breath, gazing out the window at the passing trees. "Maybe he won't wake up at all."

The thought suddenly didn't seem so bad. If Yujin didn't regain consciousness... It would mean Errol would have to find another way to preserve the peace. And then she, Philomena, would hold all the cards.

The corners of her lips twitched in a hint of a smile. So things weren't going according to plan now—she would still show that arrogant prince who the real queen was. There was a long road home ahead. Plenty of time to devise a new plan.

And then... at their next meeting, Errol simply wouldn't have a choice.