Leda’s mother, who was born in Mainz, believed that when her daughter opened her eyes for the first time, the lake of Marine itself was reflected there. She named the child Leda for the deep, watery hue of her eyes.

Leda was also the name of a mysterious spirit said to have stolen the heart of a god. She recalled the story her mother often told while brushing her hair.

“Long ago, there was a god who fell in love with the spirit Leda, who dwelled by the lake of Marine. But Leda did not return his feelings, so the god devised a secret scheme. Before a great black eagle, he transformed into a beautiful swan. Leda, who loved swans dearly, rushed to save the helpless creature from its pursuer. Yet in her arms, the swan changed once more—into the god himself, who embraced her tightly.”

By then, the swans had drifted to the center of the lake, gliding serenely. Their white feathers caught the water’s light and gleamed with smooth brilliance.

When her walk ended and she returned to the square, the cathedral’s spire reflected the sun, now higher in the sky, scattering rays across the plaza. The stained glass—said to be the work of the genius Raphael—poured its dazzling colors over every corner.

What a beautiful place.

Leda murmured hazily as she lowered herself onto a bench. Exhaustion pressed in after so much wandering. Her eyelids grew heavy, her body languid in the warmth. Her straight posture tilted slightly, and her fingers slowly slackened around her handbag.

***

Sunlight streamed through the open window. The thin white curtains swayed up and down with the summer breeze.

Far beyond the window lay fields where flowers bloomed in profusion, fed by spring rains and early summer sun. The scent of green trees drifted from the lakeshore. Ripples spread across the lake’s surface, reflecting the soft summer light, stirred by the swans gliding through.

At that moment, Angelo Meyer, the young duke of House Meyer, hurried into the room, his face bright with delight.

A figure, perched on the windowsill with a cigarette in hand, sensed the presence and stepped lightly down. Standing against the sun, the man’s voice carried a trace of laughter as he greeted Angelo.

“Mainz hasn’t changed at all.”

Black hair, glossy in the noon sun, fell smoothly over his brow. His features were sharp and sensitive, his white skin like finely wrought porcelain. Golden eyes, deep as honeyed amber, blazed with brilliance. He was Jupiter Schwarz, Prince of the Greitz Empire.

“What brings you here so suddenly?”

Angelo asked, pausing for a moment, unsettled by the unreal sight before him.

Even two years ago, before leaving Mainz, his cousin’s looks had been striking enough. But now, after returning from the Empire and all he had done there, Jupiter radiated a colder, more dangerous beauty than ever.

“I only came to confirm something.”

Jupiter gave a short laugh, flicking his cigarette into the ashtray, answering with careless indifference.

“Confirm what? What are you plotting this time?”

There was unease in Angelo’s tone. Jupiter was not one to come without purpose.

“After killing so many, I find myself with little left to do.”

“Jupiter!”

Angelo cast a glance around, then signaled discreetly to a servant standing in the corner.

“Leave us for a while.”

The servant bowed deeply and withdrew at once. Only after he vanished down the corridor did Angelo let out a breath of relief.

“How can you speak so recklessly? You must watch your tongue here.”

“Watch it? Do you mean ordering my pitiful brother to his death? Or snuffing out the breath of that presumptuous empress?”

Jupiter’s words spilled without restraint, twisting into a cruel smile. He had ended the lives of countless enemies in the Empire, including the Empress herself. His timid younger brother, judged unworthy of death, had been locked away in a secluded palace.

“You may not be safe yet. Do you mean to get yourself killed in a foreign land before you even become emperor?”

“Not particularly. But if I died now, too many would rejoice. My father might even rise from his sickbed to dance.”

The prince’s tone was laced with bitter scorn.

The Emperor of Greitz, Chronos I, had collapsed under the shock of his eldest son’s deeds. He had not risen from his bed since, wasting away in endless muttering.

“I’ll take a walk through the city.”

Jupiter declared as though issuing a decree. He unfastened a few buttons of his neatly closed shirt and ran a hand through his hair, tousling the always-perfect black strands into disarray.

With his hair falling over his forehead and his attire loosened, the prince looked less like an imperial heir and more like a decadent young noble come to enjoy the festival.

“I never knew Your Highness was fond of festivals.”

Angelo sneered, as lively music drifted in through the open window.

“I’m far more romantic than I seem.”

Jupiter offered his cousin a careless salute and flashed his flawless smile—arrogant, unashamed, impossible to hide. Then he turned and left the room without another word.

“…Madman.”

Angelo clicked his tongue, gazing after him, and exhaled slowly.

***

Jupiter strode quickly from the Meyer ducal castle toward the square. The time was drawing near to meet the aide who had just returned from Edelin.

He had seized the imperial palace, and already his mind spun with plans for the next massacre. Spies had been dispatched across the Kingdom of Hanover, probing its every corner.

It was for this: his vision of a perfect empire. A desire so fierce it drove him to kill first, lest he be killed. If killing could be avoided, he would refrain.

But only if it could be avoided.

From the moment he first killed a man, he had thought the same thing. If there was no need to kill, then he would not. But such occasions were rare.

As Jupiter’s gaze wandered idly over the streets of Mainz, it suddenly caught on a woman in a white dress. The graceful movement of her body as she strolled, pausing here and there to look around, reminded him of the swan he had glimpsed from the castle. The soft curves of her slender frame, the way she seemed to glide as if upon water.

At times she halted with a delighted cry, her face breaking into laughter before she moved on again. After wandering tirelessly, she finally sat on a bench, her posture neat and composed—yet little by little, her body leaned to one side.

She was the sort of woman from whom he could not look away.

From her dangling hand, a small handbag slipped to the ground. Passersby cast her a glance, but continued on.

Reckless woman.

Jupiter made his way to the bench beside her. Leaning back, he studied her face as she twitched faintly in sleep. Already, boredom was beginning to creep into his expression.

Then, in the distance, he noticed a small child. Dressed in shabby clothes, the boy watched the woman with a wary look. As if making up his mind, the child began to walk toward her.

Pretending not to notice, Jupiter turned his head. The boy glanced around furtively, then snatched up the handbag in an instant.

As he passed before him at a hurried pace, Jupiter casually stretched out his foot. The boy stumbled, startled, and fell. Jupiter extended his hand as if nothing were amiss.

The child, trembling and close to tears, thrust the bag back before running off, limping as he fled.

Watching the retreating figure, Jupiter realized the absurdity of what he had just done. It was unlike him—an impulse, nothing more.

***

“Isn’t it about time you woke up?”

At the low murmur beside her ear, Leda’s eyes flew open. She quickly raised the hand that had slipped from her lap, her head jerking up awkwardly.

The golden eyes staring down at her filled her widened gaze.

“Wh-what is it?” 

She stammered, springing to her feet.

“Have you no home?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You seem perfectly sane.”

“Pardon?”

“In broad daylight, in a place crowded with people, someone sleeping so soundly is usually one of two things—homeless, or mad.”

How dare he! How could anyone be so rude?

Leda’s voice rang sharp with indignation.

“I am neither a beggar nor a lunatic! I only woke early this morning and grew tired, that’s all.”

“So tired you didn’t notice your bag had vanished?”

Dangling from the man’s fingers was her small handbag.

“That’s—!” Leda reached for it at once.

“I must have dropped it by mistake.”

“You didn’t drop it. It was nearly stolen.”

“S-stolen? My bag?”

“Yes. While you slept, someone tried to take it.”

“Then… are you the thief?”

For a moment, his expression twisted strangely, his brow creasing.

“What?”

“You’re holding my bag, aren’t you?”

“A thief who steals, then wakes the owner to inform them? Amusing. Does that mean Mainz citizens are paragons of virtue? Or simply fools?”

“Then stop teasing me and give it back.”

Her blue eyes clashed with his golden ones.

At that instant, Leda felt a strange vertigo. Her knees nearly buckled, and she braced herself quickly.

His face bore an impassive mask, yet his gaze struck her as dangerous. She had the sense that if she met it too long, she would be drawn in and trapped there, spinning forever.

“Why should I?” 

A trace of mischief lit his features.

“Because it’s mine.”

“Well. I’ve always had an interest in things that belong to others.”

“Then what will it take for you to return it?”

“I’m rather hungry at the moment.” 

With a tilt of his chin, he indicated a nearby tavern. 

“It’s difficult to negotiate on an empty stomach.”