"You never know if you are the prey or the hunter, not until death arrives." 

— An Old Royal Adage

And so time passed, and we attended the tea party. In recent nights, Ambrose had stopped coming to the room altogether. He had the servants check to ensure I wasn't skipping my meals, leaving the massive bed entirely to me—I'm not complaining, actually; sleeping alone is pretty nice. But it shouldn't go on like this either. Was he angry with me for not trusting him, as if I had pushed him away on purpose? No, he is a man, after all. We have surely reached the end of his coddling.

At the table in the garden, beneath the canopies and amidst the chirping of birds, conversations with a sharp tone that violently contrasted the beauty of the flowers were taking place. The spring rains had begun, but they only poured heavily after the late afternoon. The grass looked more vibrant than before, satiated with water but not drowning in it. Porcelain teacups clinked on silver trays, while noblewomen, perched on velvet cushions beneath pastel parasols, scrutinized me from the corners of their eyes.

"Princess Deyanira?"

"Hm?" I pulled my distant gaze from the swan pond afar and lowered it to my tea. I took a small sip, as if I had merely been waiting for it to cool.

"You aren't speaking at all," said a countess dressed in lavender hues sitting to my left. "Is this why you never attended social events during your maiden days as well?"

"It was not my preference." I tilted my head gracefully. "But your party is quite... refined. Truly lovely." My smile was feigned, yet flawless. I was drawing a curtain over their venomous curiosity, which overshadowed the truth of how beautiful the garden was.

But the topic would inevitably shift from me to Ambrose—the real drama.

"Is His Majesty treating you well?" someone asked while adding a slice of lemon to her tea. "As you know... he is a distant man." Her words were as sour as her taste.

"Distant?" I raised a single brow. Naively, as if I had never noticed this before, yet with a slightly condescending expression. "Yes. We are curious, who will his second wife be?"

Then she added, with a smile as thin as a rose petal: "Princess Amorette, I hope you are not angered that we brought up this topic?"

Amorette was beside me. Her posture was perfectly upright like that of a queen, but her gaze was like ice. "If the Princess is not angered, it is not a problem for me," she said.

Someone else chuckled softly. "Unfortunately, this is the fate of us all. Strong heirs will need to compete. His Majesty must certainly take more wives..."

What?

A momentary cool breeze caressed my skin, but the warmth inside me had frozen solid. I gripped my teacup tighter.

"His Majesty has stated that he does not want another wife." My voice was elegant but sharp. "At least for now, there is no need for such a thing to be discussed."

Silence.

"His Majesty will not take more wives?" someone said, trying to suppress a laugh. "Do you hear what you are saying?"

"We are speaking of an heir. And correct me if I am wrong—Princess, you are incapable of bearing children."

As she said this, it was as if she were plucking the wing off a bee resting on a flower. Slowly, as if savoring it.

"Perhaps... to ensure you continue to perform your duties, His Majesty told you a little white lie?" someone said while smelling a bouquet of roses.

"No, there is no need for that," another chimed in. "She is obligated to perform her duty anyway."

"Ladies," said the eldest among them, adjusting her glasses, "the Princess said 'for now.' Perhaps she meant 'he does not want one yet'."

And finally, Amorette spoke as she placed her cup onto her floral saucer: "We are talking about my brother. He is the owner of the throne." It was as if she, too, had validated their words.

At that moment, I noticed the rippling in my teacup. My hand was trembling. My foot, too, trembled slightly, like someone unsure of the stability of the ground they stood upon.

Ambrose himself said he didn't want a second wife. Yes, he will not take one. My ears hear him, and they hear you too. I cannot bear children, but just as Ambrose said, I can never truly know that. I have never 'performed my duties' either—nor was I forced to. Why would he lie? Yes, if he forced me, I would absolutely kill him. Your brother, right, perhaps he will no longer be the owner of the throne...

"Do you believe Ambrose is lying?" I asked with a look of feigned surprise. I did not attach a title before his name, so they wouldn't think I was as low-ranking as them. And perhaps for the first time—to remind them that I was higher than an equal.

"My tea has gone cold." I stood up gracefully. "I believe I have overstayed my welcome."

Amorette was about to stand as well, but I stopped her. "You stay, Princess. This is your party. Enjoy yourselves."

And I walked away. I am sure you are sweating in fear that my curse might rub off on you. Carrying their whispers that floated like falling blossoms on my back.

But inside me, another flower was blooming: Anger.

The stone paths beneath my shoes were different from the grass in the garden. With every step, a cooler, harder, and more silent atmosphere settled over me. The wind no longer smelled of flowers here—but of iron, earth, and dust.

The training grounds were at the western edge of the palace. Surrounded by high walls, hidden from unauthorized eyes. It was filled with wooden dummies arranged in a semicircle, bales of hay stacked on the dirt ground, and the echoing clangs of steel.

Upon my appearance, a few heads turned toward me, but no one spoke—fear of their General kept them focused on their drills.

Liam, Ambrose's right hand, wore a light tunic over his black armor. He noticed me while wiping the sweat from his forehead and immediately began to approach.

"Princess Deyanira?" he said, his voice polite but cautious. "Your presence in this area is not exactly... common."

I raised my hand slightly. "I was passing through the gardens; the noise caught my attention."

Liam's brows furrowed slightly. His eyes were on me, but his real question lay on the tip of his tongue: Why did you truly come here?

My gaze remained stubbornly fixed on the knights clashing swords. Was my brother Calix like them when they first started out? But the men here were no ordinary Palace Knight candidates...

"I am the one who walked into the middle of a drill, yet no one other than you—attempted to speak to me, not even to offer a greeting," I murmured. My target was Ambrose, but Liam misunderstood my meaning.

"The General's unit is not like other units. If any of them were to look at you for even two seconds, they would be punished—forced to stay for extra drills or expelled from the unit."

I was surprised. I was no longer looking at the unit, but at Liam. "Oh, why is that?"

"To take the life of anyone who crosses their path, of course. They undergo such training that, ultimately, once the order for war rings in their minds, they are programmed to kill everyone outside their own associate. Anyone there who does not bear the signature of our army dies—my advice to you is not to even step within the borders of the training grounds. When they are blinded by battle, even our own people would meet their death... And once that war is over, the war of the monster within them ends as well," he said with pride. "Have you ever witnessed one of our battles before, Princess?"

But before I could answer him, he, Ambrose arrived.

A few paces behind the commanders, he was descending from the elevated stone platform where he oversaw the training. He had removed his coat; his shirt sleeves were rolled up his arms. His sand-covered boots silently pounded the ground.

We didn't meet eyes. But I felt his approach in every cell of my body. Cold. Silent. The voices of everyone tracking his steps with those demanding eyes died away.

"Liam," Ambrose said, his voice deep and commanding. "Leave the perimeter to the patrols. Attend to the third unit."

Liam turned his eyes to me one last time, bowed slightly, and walked away.

I was left alone with Ambrose. Yet it still felt as if there were dozens of paces, years of distance between us. The silence was like a taut bowstring drawn between us.

Ambrose approached slowly. His shadow fell over me. There was something protective in his gaze... but at the same time, a coldness, something almost punishing.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded. This time, there was no title. No 'Princess,' no 'Deyanira.'

"I just... wanted to see," I said, without looking away. "What kind of person you are. Before answering those who talk about me, I wanted to observe you."

The edge of his brow twitched imperceptibly. A brief silence.

"Did you flee here when you couldn't find the words to speak in the palace?" he said, his voice as hard as stone, but not meant to break—it was like a wall built to protect. "Who has been talking about you?"

"I didn't flee." I held my chin high. "I just wanted to see the truth. Whether the man protecting me had turned his back on me or not." I ignored his second question—everyone talks, and he knows it.

The lines of Ambrose's jaw hardened. His eyes met mine for a brief moment—I could feel the fire within him. But he kept his flames hidden. He might have been holding himself back from shouting at me.

"I did not turn my back," he finally said. "But it is difficult to walk on the same side as someone who doubts you behind your back."

My heart clenched. Like a heavy stone. But still, I did not yield.

"Trust is not easily earned." I averted my eyes. "Will you not come tonight either?"

Ambrose took a step back. This time, there was neither longing nor mercy in his eyes... only an exhausted darkness. His shoulders had not slumped; he was still proud. But there was a sharp boundary in his gaze now. Drawn. Not to be crossed.

"I will not come tonight."

His sentence was harsh, but he wasn't shouting. In fact, he said it very calmly, too calmly—as if he were finally vocalizing a decision he had been holding onto for a long time.

"Is this... a punishment?" I asked. The pride in my voice made me strong.

Ambrose shook his head. "No. It is a boundary. Sharing a bed with a man you do not trust makes you uneasy, doesn't it? While you continue to turn your back on me, I cannot entrust my back to you."