Swan lifted her head, suddenly aware of how brightly the lanterns illuminated the tent. She glanced around, noticing the increased activity outside. The tents, busier than during the day, were now filled with servants and soldiers, some wearing armour and uniforms she hadn’t seen before. Confused, she turned her eyes to Atlion. 

Before she could speak, a maid approached and gestured for her to follow her into the tent. Swan looked at the unfamiliar maid, then back at Atlion, but he had already turned away and paid no further attention to her. 

“I’m here to help you change.”

This maid, unfamiliar to Swan, was wearing a formal uniform, different from the one worn by the maid who usually looked after Mirabella. Observing the unusually bright lanterns, the sudden increase in guards and the maids bustling about, Swan realised that someone of great importance must have arrived. 

Feeling uneasy, Swan stood still and watched the maid in silence. In a calm and collected tone, the maid announced her intentions before undoing the front of Swan’s dress. Swan hunched her shoulders slightly, quietly watching the maid’s actions. 

The maid rang a bell, calling for water and towels from the servants outside. Meanwhile, Swan’s eyes fell on the neatly folded dress lying on the bed. She stared at it, lost in thought, as the preparations continued around her. 

The dress was made of the same fine fabric that Swan had once seen Atlion’s cousin wear. Its deep pink colour was striking and bold, almost too eye-catching. It would stand out even more against Swan’s pale skin. Had this been chosen to Atlion’s liking? 

Swan’s eyelids quivered slightly as she swallowed nervously, her expression blank. She looked down at the maid and watched in silence as she carefully cleaned her body. 

***

Renéee sat beside her sister Josietine, her eyes puffy and swollen from crying. Her once flawless, radiant face now wore a dull, lifeless expression. She didn’t even have the energy to glare or scream, as she often did when she was upset. 

Her eyes, mostly fixed on the ground, occasionally glanced at Calyps before dropping again. 

She had once believed that with Josietine, Calyps and others to support her, she could overcome anything. But faith alone wasn’t enough to change reality. For the past two days, she had watched as her only personal guard was flogged, punishment for insulting the Crown Prince’s wife and daughter. 

Had Renéee been a knight like Josietine, or even a man, she might have accepted the punishment herself. But as a noblewoman, it was inconceivable for her to suffer the brutal lashes that had shredded her guard’s back. Such punishment was simply not an option for someone of her status. 

Renéee had loved him unconditionally since childhood. Her feelings were so deep that she once said she would gladly give her life for him. To her, he was more than just a Guardian. But Atlion, with calculated precision, understood exactly what Renéee feared most. 

The emotional toll on her was immense. Not even the long-awaited arrival of Calyps, the man she adored, could lift her spirits. Perhaps she had hoped that her beloved second cousin would chastise Atlion for his fixation on a mere peasant. Normally, she would have been at Calyps’ side, chatting away without pause. 

“Excuse me…” 

The modest banquet prepared in honour of the Regent Emperor was illuminated by the glow of lanterns inside the hastily erected tent. One of the maids assigned to accompany Swan leaned over and whispered in a steward’s ear. Atlion glanced down the dimly lit path and saw his wife approaching. 

“Countess Cattleya has arrived.” 

The Crown Prince of Solam. King of the people of Kadalan and Bezalin. Protector of Harbanen and Master of the Black Mountains. King of the Spear and the Shield. Lord of Cattleya and Randes. The great and the noble, the most dignified and absolute ruler on earth, destined to inherit all of Solerium. 

Calyps studied his brother, the man adorned with all those illustrious titles. It was said that he had lost his memory and disappeared into obscurity, as if he had forgotten everything. But when his lieutenant found him and tried to bring him back, he was said to be perfectly lucid. 

Could this be true? Calyps’ pale grey eyes shifted to the woman sitting nearby. She had rosy cheeks and a youthful appearance that could easily be mistaken for a maiden. It was hard to believe that she had given birth to a child. Perhaps the difference wasn’t insurmountable, but still… This woman should be the mother of his brother’s child. Her aunt would have been apoplectic if she had ever found out. 

As for the child, she was already causing a stir. Perhaps feeling the weight of his gaze, the woman lowered her eyes. Dressed entirely in crimson satin, she cut an impressive figure. Though far from the standards of Renéee or her mother, the Marquise of Amien, there was an undeniable elegance about her. 

And what about himself? 

“I heard there were delays on the road to Solam, so I decided to take matters into my own hands.”

For three days he had been consumed by the news that his brother was alive. The lack of a body had meant they couldn’t bury him in the underground chapel next to their father. His mother, already deeply broken, had continued to spiral, and Calyps had been left to drift. But now his brother stood before him, very much alive. 

A flood of emotions washed over him. What more could he say? He had neglected his duties, unable to concentrate on governing, overcome by the hope and excitement of discovering that his brother, whom he thought lost forever, was still alive. 

When Calyps heard that it would take some time to get back to the palace, he immediately spurred his horse forward. The thought of his mother, fading away day by day, believing she had lost her husband and now her son, made his hands tremble on the reins and his eyes burn red. But the brother he was finally reunited with was… 

“There were circumstances.” 

His tone was far from cheerful. It had been over a year since they had last seen each other. Calyps remembered the blue eyes that had looked at him once – eyes that had been filled with joy for a moment, only to fade for reasons he couldn’t understand. Even when Calyps had run to embrace him, there had been the same reluctance. 

Perhaps Atlion had felt uncomfortable. A man who valued decorum and dignity above all else might have found such displays uncomfortable, even with his brother. But whatever the awkwardness, he was still his brother. Calyps knew Atlion well. No matter what anyone said, a brother was a brother. 

It pained him to see the weight Atlion carried – a hidden thorn deep in his heart, an invisible burden he seemed to carry all the time. 

Calyps shifted his gaze, watching quietly. 

The woman was not plain – not by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, she was more striking than the noblewomen who had grown up in luxury, untouched by hardship, their hands unstained by work. Even without the elaborate clothing, she would have been graceful and breathtaking. 

Then his eyes moved to Renéee. 

Under normal circumstances, she would have been furious at the sight of a commoner sitting among the nobility. The thought almost brought a smile to his lips. He knew her temper too well. Even now, her expression betrayed just how unsettled she was by the situation. 

Calyps took a sip of wine, his eyes darting between Renéee and the woman his brother had taken as his wife. 

Beauty is like that. Even if you bathed in milk soaked in fragrant oils and applied honey and rose oil to your skin every day, it would mean nothing without natural elegance. But the woman his brother had chosen – the first woman his brother had ever truly acknowledged – was… 

“Have you ever visited Solam?” 

The woman, so frail she looked as if she might collapse at any moment, flinched at Calyps’ question. Her shoulders hunched and her anxious green eyes flickered in his direction. Unable to meet his gaze directly, she glanced briefly at her husband instead. 

She seemed to take comfort in her husband’s presence, which Calyps found amusing. No one in the Imperial Palace – not even her late father – had ever found Atlion more approachable than he. Who could be at ease with a man as cold as a glacier? 

Watching his brother’s restrained reactions to even the boldest teasing, Calyps often pitied the woman who would one day stand beside him. But now… 

“…” 

The woman’s face flushed as she looked back at her husband. Her lips moved slightly, as if she wanted to speak, but no words came out. On the verge of tears, she quickly lowered her eyes again. 

“Swan has never been to Solam.”

Atlion, holding his glass with his usual calm demeanour, answered in her place. Calyps tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into a faint, almost insincere smile. The woman in the pink dress blushed deeply, her entire face blooming like a rose. It hadn’t been a particularly difficult question, but it seemed that the very act of being the centre of attention was too much for her. 

Understandable, considering she was in the presence of royalty. Her flushed face and slightly unfocused eyes betrayed her nervousness. Calyps watched her quietly as she bit and released her lip several times, her gaze often drifting to her husband for comfort. When their eyes met, her startled expression and the faint glimmer of tears in her eyes betrayed her unease. 

“Don’t frighten Swan.”

Atlion said suddenly, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Calyps. His tone and expression, laced with rare emotion, caught Calyps’ attention. 

Calyps watched his brother intently.

They said he’d lost his memory, but perhaps it wasn’t just his memory – perhaps something deeper had changed. Is this really the brother I once knew? 

It was amazing – there were so many unexpected things. Calyps pressed his lips together in thought, then shifted his gaze back to the woman.

What was it about her that had reached him? What part of him had she managed to touch… or how had she even found her way in? 

“My apologies,” he said softly, his tone light. “Did I frighten you? It wasn’t my intention.” 

After a long pause, she finally parted her lips, but no words came out. Pale and visibly shaken, Swan couldn’t even meet her husband’s gaze. She blinked nervously, her expression one of someone struggling to speak but unable to find the words. Perhaps that was to be expected, given her unfamiliarity with the proper etiquette for addressing royalty. But somehow it still felt unsatisfying. 

“Swan doesn’t know royal etiquette.”

“And how did you manage that?”

Calyps asked, his tone casual as he sipped his wine.

“If she doesn’t know how to address royalty, how did you manage it?” 

His voice was calm, almost dispassionate, but there was a subtle provocation in his words. Swan blinked, her tear-filled eyes gleaming as she looked up briefly. 

“She seems quite capable of looking at you.”

Calyps added with a lazy smile, his words carrying the air of a casual joke. 

Atlion’s blue eyes instantly turned icy, fixed on Calyps with an intensity that was neither playful nor irritated. Instead, his gaze was cold and unyielding – a clear warning that the line had been crossed. It wasn’t irritation; it was frost, sharp and cutting. 

Raoul, standing guard at the tent, shifted his gaze uneasily between the two Imperial brothers, unsure of what would happen next. 

Atlion was the first to break the tense silence.