“Your Majesty, may I enter?” Cornelius’s voice drifted calmly through the heavy wooden door.
“You may,” King Roswell responded from within the chamber without a moment's hesitation.
Roswell appeared no older than thirty-five. His oval face was clean-shaven and perfectly composed, as if sculpted from calm itself. His cyan hair was pulled neatly back, accentuating his features and eyes of matching hue.
He wore a tailored royal coat of deep navy and gold, a high-collared mantle draped across his shoulders like the night sky embracing a king. A jeweled clasp bearing the kingdom’s crest rested at his chest, catching the lamplight in quiet brilliance.
Everything about him spoke of rigid discipline—the mark of a man who had learned to rule not only a kingdom, but himself.
Creak.
The door opened with restrained dignity. Cornelius stepped inside, executing a crisp, practiced bow before beginning his report.
“The Princess of Crimvane has arrived to speak with Your Majesty.”
“The Princess of Crimvane?” Roswell repeated, his brows lifting slightly in mild confusion.
“She ordered me to address her as princess,” Cornelius said, his tone turning slightly awkward.
“…”
“And…” Cornelius paused, a rare crack appearing in his otherwise seamless composure. “…she has arrived accompanied only by a man she calls her partner.”
Roswell lifted a hand to his jaw, his thumb brushing against his chin as he sank into deep thought.
Why has she come here so suddenly? And with only a companion at that?
“What is this partner’s name?” Roswell asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“He introduced himself as Noa. Noa Ravel, Your Majesty.”
“…Noa?” Roswell rose from his seat and walked toward the tall windows.
Moonlight poured through the glass, stretching across the polished marble floor like spilled silver and lengthening his shadow.
I have never heard that name… Is he an influential figure from another region?
He methodically searched his memory—noble houses, foreign courts, mercenary commanders, underground factions. Every path ended in dense fog.
Why do I have such a strange feeling about this? Staring out at the moon, he thought to himself.
It was the exact kind of feeling someone of wisdom recognized instinctively—the unsettling sensation of a snake coiling nearby, unseen but close enough to strike.
An unease that had no name, only an oppressive presence.
“Let’s go meet them. We’ll get our answers soon enough,” Roswell decided at last. “Direct confrontation has always yielded clearer truths than blind speculation.”
Before exiting the room, he glanced back at his butler and commanded, “Do not let our other guests cross paths with them.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.” Cornelius bowed deeply, understanding far more than what was spoken aloud. “I will ensure it never happens.”
***
As Roswell walked toward the Royal Garden, escorted by Cornelius, his measured steps echoed softly against the polished stone corridors. The crisp night air greeted him outside, cool and heavily fragrant with the scent of blooming roses.
From a distance, he spotted them—the two figures seated beneath the white marble pavilion.
Vionette’s clothing had changed entirely.
It wasn't the restrictive 'little princess' attire he remembered seeing her in, nor was it a traditional queen's gown meant to project standard royal decorum. It was designed with complete freedom in mind, entirely unbothered by rules of combat, movement, or political authority.
It was simply crafted to her exact personal preference.
And beside her—
Is that the one called Noa? I’ve never seen him before. He doesn't possess any aura either. Roswell slowed his pace, caution tightly threading through his diplomatic composure.
“Forgive me for keeping you waiting. I hope you liked our local delicacies,” Roswell said warmly, wearing an easygoing smile crafted through years of high-stakes diplomacy.
He sat down directly across from them, his posture relaxed, though his eyes missed nothing.
“Those were wonderful.” Vionette looked at him and smiled—not with the hollow courtesy he remembered from her past, but with something energetic and childish. “They're so good I almost wanted to steal some of your palace maids and take them home.”
“Likewise. Appreciate the hospitality,” Noa added without missing a single beat.
Noa didn’t understand politics, nor did he particularly care to master the delicate dance of royal conversation. Even if he did, he wouldn’t have performed it sincerely; this wasn't some theatrical kingly roleplay, despite what Roswell might believe.
When Noa had previously asked Vionette how he should behave, she had simply waved her hand dismissively and said:
'Just go with the flow.'
Hearing the two of them speak so casually to him, Roswell felt an unmistakable sense of dissonance.
“Sorry for the unannounced visit, Roswell,” Vionette apologized lightly.
“Please, do not concern yourself with it at all,” Roswell replied smoothly, letting out a soft, polite laugh. “May I ask who this handsome gentleman might be?”
For the first time, Roswell looked directly into Noa’s eyes. There was no light reflecting in them—only a deep black sclera and striking purple irises resting at their center like a dark star swallowed by an eclipse.
Noa placed a hand over his chest and offered a small, remarkably respectful bow. “I’m Noa Ravel. Pleasure to meet you, King Roswell.”
That was perfect, right? Noa mentally replayed his own movements, proudly recalling the noble etiquette he had read about in novels.
“Please, the pleasure is entirely mine,” Roswell corrected gently, wearing his humility like a layer of armor.
That answer explains nothing, Roswell thought, taking a slow sip of his tea as his mind calculated the variables. But… I cannot press too hard for answers just yet. It is far safer to let the information surface naturally.
What the hell? Why is this guy acting better than me? Vionette stared at Noa in pure disbelief. It’s not that deep, bro.
Roswell shifted his gaze back to Vionette. “May I know the reason you’ve traveled all this way?”
“Well, I'm not gonna lie to you, dude, we just happened to be passing through the area and wanted to have a chat—hehe.” Her tone was casual, but beneath the surface lay a sharp edge.
I came here for two reasons. Vionette’s eyes locked onto Roswell with predatory focus. This 'talk' is the first reason—planting the seed. And the second is...
“And—”
She lifted the fine porcelain cup to her lips, taking a small, elegant sip. The faint sound of the cup clearing the saucer was barely audible, yet the atmosphere in the garden instantly shifted.
“—to discuss forging a formal treaty with your kingdom.” She placed the cup back onto the table with deliberate, absolute care.
Roswell did not look confused. There was, after all, a massive event currently unfolding in the north-central region.
Is Crimvane making their move as well? This is troublesome… But what unsettles me more is her. He stared back at those blood-red eyes. Though it wasn’t frequent, I had met Vionette in the past—back when I was still a prince and her parents were alive. In all of those memories, she had been distant, polished, and almost… mechanical. She was a hollow doll princess who did nothing but follow her mother's commands, completely devoid of this carefree, playful, and unusually sharp persona.
“You understand what I mean, right?” Vionette asked, leaning back against her marble chair.
“Of course.” Pulled abruptly from his thoughts, Roswell nodded calmly.
Crimvane making a treaty with Eryndor? Is that the seed she’s been talking about? Noa enjoyed his little mystery solving game inside his mind.
“I understand, and I am well aware of what is happening in our region,” Roswell said, closing his eyes briefly in contemplation. “But I will require a few days to finalize a decision.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it, man. Just take your time,” Vionette said, waving her hand dismissively. “Just send a message over when you’re done thinking.”
So she was expecting a delay... Roswell noted, studying her unchanged expression.
“It’s getting late,” Noa interjected suddenly out of nowhere.
Vionette glanced back at Noa and smirked. “Alright then, we will be taking our leave, Roswell. Please make your decision wisely.”
Both of them stood up and began walking toward the exit of the castle courtyard, while Cornelius stepped forward to properly escort them out.
And then—
“Ohhh~ If it isn't that cursed kingdom’s little queen.” A slithering, arrogant voice cut through the quiet paths from their left.
Everyone turned instantly toward the disruption.
A man in his mid-twenties stood there. He was tall and powerfully built, his broad frame filling a crimson-and-gold royal coat with effortless dominance. His dark red hair was swept back neatly, revealing features heavy with a natural, unyielding arrogance. Pure confidence radiated from his posture—the kind born from overwhelming strength, privilege, and rarely ever hearing the word ‘no’.
Behind him stood a contingent of heavy knights clad in polished steel armor trimmed in deep red, their capes bearing a prominent royal crest.
This was the Second Prince of the Aurelyth Kingdom.
“Prince Cassion of the Aurelyth Kingdom,” Vionette replied, a flash of deep annoyance cutting across her face. “Oh, great. You were here too?”
Who the hell is this guy? Noa observed from the sidelines. I feel like an NPC at this point. Throw me into some of these scenes too! He turned his gaze fully toward Cassion. Let’s see… massive muscles, red hair, arrogant tone. Yep. He’s a muscle-head.
How… how are they here? Cornelius’s eyes widened in sheer panic. They are supposed to be taking dinner in the grand hall right now.
“Why? Are you here to destroy this kingdom too?” Cassion asked, tilting his chin upward as a sinister, mocking grin spread across his face.
“As if your own kingdom is in a stable state because of you,” Vionette snapped back, her irritation visibly mounting.
Oh no! I ordered the staff not to let them meet each other! Seeing the explosive conflict ignite, Roswell hurried forward to intercept them.
“Prince Cassion, calm yourself! This is my territory,” Roswell declared, his brows tightening into a harsh line.
Cassion widened one eye lazily, completely dismissing the king. “Relax, I am calm. I’m just speaking casually to my 'friend' here.” The smirk on his lips remained venomous.
“I see your brain cells are still fighting for third place,” Vionette smiled, happily throwing dry hay directly onto the fire.
“What… what did you just say to me, you bitch?!” Cassion snarled, his volatile pride entirely unable to take the blunt insult.
[Aura Blade]
Slowly, a violent red aura ignited around his clenched fist, flaring outward like a sudden wildfire. He lifted his heavy arm, aiming it directly at Vionette’s face as he took a massive, aggressive stride forward with a wide, unhinged grin.
Coming to a foreign palace with only a single escort is a downright idiotic decision!
None of the surrounding guards moved to stop him, knowing exceptionally well that most would be severely wounded trying to intercept his punch, or that catastrophic royal blame would fall heavily upon whoever shielded her.
Vionette’s eyes widened in that split second, and she instinctively raised her slender arm to block her face, her legs below trembling slightly in terror.
Seeing the attack unfold, Noa straightened his left arm perfectly vertically, aligning it in a flawless parallel line with his rigid body. His palm faced forward, his fingers pressed tightly together. Suddenly, his arm began to be enveloped by a dark purple energy.
But this time, it was not aura. It was—
As Noa was about to unleash his strike, he caught a quick glimpse of Vionette. Her face was thoroughly hidden behind her raised arm, creating a perfect shield of feigned fear.
“!!?”
But then, he saw the true expression hidden beneath those hands—a view only accessible from his position behind her. Her smooth lips were curved upward into a wide, wicked grin, and her eyes were wide, not with fear, but with pure, sinister delight.
It was as if she had been eagerly waiting for this exact event to happen.
Noa instantly recognized the dark mischief playing out, a dangerous fire hidden beneath her terrified act.
He mirrored her hidden expression almost unintentionally, a curve of a smile cutting across his own lips.
The seed! This is the seed! His mind raced, the long-awaited moment unfolding exactly as it was designed to.
Then, just as Cassion drove his fist forward toward Vionette’s face—
“Stop, Cassion!” a woman’s voice shouted from beside the prince’s entourage. “Don’t bully the weak~ Besides, your father won’t be happy about this.”
The woman wore a long black dress that flowed elegantly to the manicured ground, her pale skin contrasting against the dark fabric. Her rich brown hair rested smoothly over her shoulders.
Alena… she’s right. If word of this reaches father, punishment will follow.
Cassion halted his moving hand—or rather, it was forcibly halted. Suddenly, a blinding explosion of pain erupted across his chest.
“Huh?” He looked down slowly, his breath catching.
A solid fist was deeply embedded against his chest out of nowhere, and his aura-infused hand had been firmly grabbed by a vice-like grip, rendering any further movement entirely impossible.
Time seemed to stretch out into infinity, each passing second becoming heavy and drawn out. The manicured ground beneath him seemed to whisper the very warnings he had so blindly ignored.
Intense pain flared through his torso, yes, but more than that—a crushing realization rose within him: he had underestimated the quiet force standing beside the princess.
He looked at the man standing in front of him, his eyes meeting those deep violet orbs, and found a wide, deeply unsettling smile staring back.
Noa’s expression perfectly reflected Vionette’s hidden grin.
“I’ll end you the next time I see you,” Noa said softly, the words carrying a heavy, unspoken promise.
“PHUHH!” A thick spray of blood spilled violently from Cassion’s mouth.
He didn't fly backward from the immense impact because he was being held in place by Noa’s secondary hand, yet the sheer physical weight of the punch felt like a collapsing mountain crashing into his ribs.
THUD!
Cassion’s heavy, muscular body collapsed to its knees, the entire world spinning around him in a disorienting blur.
“Lord Cassion!” a knight shouted in panic.
“Cassion!”
“Your Highness!”
Voices rang out in frantic unison, the royal garden suddenly alive with a suffocating tension that was only now beginning to slowly dissipate.
Vionette watched as the prince dropped heavily to his knees, her hidden smile remaining unchanged beneath the cover of her arms.
And so… heheheh~ The seed has been planted, and a new chess piece has entered the board.
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