Tuk paced the length of her chamber, arms crossed tightly over her chest. She wasn’t panicking—no, she refused to call it that—but her thoughts twisted into a tangled mess of worst-case scenarios. She’d been through some tight spots before, but this? This was beyond anything she had prepared for.


    The scroll had reacted to her. In front of Michaelli. In front of everyone. And now, her only means of defense was clutched in the prince’s hands, a prize he was no doubt already devising ways to use against her.


    She stopped mid-step, running a hand down her face. This wasn’t in the plan.


    The nobles were going to be out for blood. Duke Velmar’s daughter had been scorched by the very magic embedded in the scroll, an accident that the court would never let slide. Even if it was a minor injury, a noble was still a noble, and the Velmar family would be relentless. Tuk had no doubt that someone would move against her soon—whether it was a political maneuver to discredit her or something more... permanent. This was why she didn’t want to be an enemy of a duke. Now, she had somehow become a villain in their minds.


    She needed a way out. She needed control.


    Her gaze flicked toward the door. Leon.


    For a fleeting moment, she thought about reaching out to him. He would help her. He always did. But she knew the truth—Michaelli would have anticipated that. The prince had a way of getting ahead of her every move, turning her instincts against her before she even had a chance to act. If she tried to rely on Leon now, he would only be dragging her into the crossfire.


    She exhaled sharply and shook her head. No. She couldn’t afford to be sentimental. She was on her own.


    And yet, even as she plotted her escape, another thought clawed its way into her mind. What if she could control it? The power she had felt coursing through the scroll—it had responded to her. That had to mean something. If she could wield it, maybe she wouldn’t need to run. Maybe, for the first time since she’d been thrust into this world, she could have real leverage.


    The idea sent a shiver down her spine. She hated how much she liked it.


    But she wasn’t the only one who had noticed. Michaelli had seen her reaction. And if there was one thing she knew about the prince, it was that he never let things go.


    The summons came quicker than she expected the next day.


    Tuk barely had time to compose herself before she was escorted into the prince’s study. The room was dim, illuminated by the glow of oil lamps, casting flickering shadows along the bookshelves. And there, sitting behind his desk, was Michaelli, idly turning the scroll over in his hands.


    His golden-brown eyes flicked up to her as the door shut behind her. A slow, knowing smile curved his lips. “You’ve been pacing.”


    Tuk stiffened. “I have not.”


    "I see you''ve grown accustomed to lying," He leaned back in his chair, lifting the scroll. "This little incident has caused quite a stir."


    Tuk bit the inside of her cheek. “About the scroll, I can explain.”


    “Oh, I’m sure you can. But the real question is—do you even understand what happened?” He tapped the scroll against his fingers, his gaze sharp. “Tell me, Tuk. How did you make it react?”


    Her pulse jumped, but she forced herself to remain still. “I didn’t do anything.”


    Michaelli hummed, unconvinced. He set the scroll down on the desk and slid it toward her. “Then do it again.”


    Tuk’s mouth went dry. Shit.


    He was testing her. Again. Toying with her like a cat deciding whether to finish off a twitching bird or let it flop around for entertainment.


    If she reached for the scroll and nothing happened, he’d know she had no control. If it reacted again—if she could make it respond at will—she would have to face the implications.


    Power. Or escape.


    It felt disturbingly like déjà vu, a cruel rerun of the first day he had dangled the scroll in front of her. But this time, she wasn’t some wide-eyed fool.


    Tuk exhaled slowly, flexing her fingers before hovering them just above the parchment. The air crackled with anticipation—static, humming, as if the scroll itself had leaned in for a better look.


    A beat. Then another.


    Nothing.


    No flicker of energy, no mysterious hum, no conveniently dramatic glow. The scroll lay there like an unimpressed spectator at a bad magic show.


    Michaelli’s face remained impassive, but she noticed the faint twitch of his fingers against the desk—like a man watching dice roll toward an uncertain outcome. “Curious,” he murmured. “It seems to like you, but not on command.”


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    Tuk yanked her hand back as if the scroll had personally insulted her. “Maybe It’s just a coincidence.”


    His lips quirked, amusement flashing in those unnervingly gold eyes. “Is it?”


    He let the question linger, stretching the silence between them like a drawn bowstring.


    Then, just as she opened her mouth to protest, he leaned in. Close. His voice dipping into something softer, something almost... conspiratorial.


    “I''ll believe you, then.”


    Tuk’s breath caught in her throat. A completely irrational, traitorous response. But before she could pull herself together, Michaelli was already watching her, gaze flickering with something unreadable.


    "The nobles want your head," he said conversationally “Duke Velmar’s daughter is said to have suffered burns and fallen unconscious. If she wakes up, she might spin a tale of what happened. If she doesn’t… well. The court will be looking for someone to blame.”


    Tuk swallowed but held his gaze. “You gave me protection.”


    “I did,” he agreed smoothly. “And you still have it.” He leaned forward, fingers drumming lightly against the scroll. “But that won’t stop them from trying to make you untouchable in name only.”


    A chill ran down her spine. She had expected retaliation, but hearing it confirmed by Michaelli himself made it feel far more real.


    He continued, tone as casual as ever. “They won’t come at you with daggers in the dark. That would be sloppy. No, they’ll do worse.” Amusement flickered at the corners of his mouth. “They’ll isolate you, ruin your credibility, whisper about you in corners until even my protection feels like a gilded cage.”


    Tuk exhaled slowly. So that was the game.


    He wasn’t telling her to run. He wasn’t even warning her about death. He was letting her know exactly how they would come for her—and watching to see what she would do about it.


    She could imagine his lips quirking in satisfaction, savoring her predicament. “You sound almost eager to see it happen, Your Highness.”


    “Oh, I am,” Michaelli admitted. “Let’s see if you’re as clever as you claim to be.”


    She hated him. Hated how effortlessly he cornered her. How his every word was a test she couldn’t refuse.


    She shouldn’t have helped him. What an ungrateful brat.


    But worst of all, she hated that he was right.


    That night, Tuk didn’t sleep. She sat at her desk, staring at the flickering candle, the weight of the scroll’s power still tingling in her fingertips.


    She could picture Michaelli’s smirk, relishing her unease.


    Her eyes flicked to the closed door, half-expecting an assassin’s blade to slip through the crack at any moment. The nobles wouldn’t wait forever. If she wanted to live, she had to be vigilant.


    I can’t trust my safety to him alone. I have to act. Use whatever I can.


    Tuk took a slow breath.


    She had made her choice.


    <hr>


    [[ Special Ending ]]


    "You called, Your Highness?"


    Shadral emerged from the dim recesses of the chamber, his presence as weightless as the night air. He was known only as The Veil—a man whose name was a myth, whose face was concealed beneath a mask of polished obsidian. Though sightless, he never lacked vision.


    Michaelli didn’t glance up. He continued tapping a slow rhythm against the armrest of his chair, his golden-brown gaze fixed on the flickering candlelight.


    "What’s the status of the high nobles?"


    "Duke Velmar and Faustus are seething, but they remain bound by the emperor’s decree," Shadral reported, his voice void of emotion. "They’ve shifted their focus to the royal advisor. Something is in motion—I’ll uncover it soon."


    Michaelli exhaled through his nose, unsurprised.


    The nobles were predictable. Rats scurrying in the dark, gnawing at anything they couldn’t control.


    "It seems I’ll need to move her out of sight for a few days," he murmured. "Keep watch over the nobles. The trial will send ripples through the court—some expected, others less so. If anything threatens to disrupt our plans, deal with it. Quietly."


    Shadral dipped his head, the barest movement of acknowledgment.


    "But leave the high nobles untouched—for now," Michaelli added, a slow, menacing grin curving his lips. "What fun would it be if they didn’t attend the finale?"


    The candlelight wavered, throwing fractured shadows across the stone walls. The wind pressed against the shutters, making them creak ever so slightly.


    Shadral nodded and turned to leave.


    "One more thing."


    He halted.


    Michaelli’s smirk faded, his expression unreadable. For a moment, he simply watched the commander, his fingers tracing the carved edge of his desk. Then, his voice dropped just above a whisper.


    "Have someone watch her. Make sure no one touches her."


    Silence.


    A hesitation so brief it might have been imagined.


    Then, a quiet nod. "Understood."


    With the faintest shift of air, Shadral disappeared, swallowed once more by the darkness.


    Left alone, Michaelli leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly.


    Now, he was certain—Tuk belonged to no one. She truly knew nothing of the scroll, and yet, she had made it react. Something no one else had ever done.


    This proved the scrolls still held secrets—secrets only she had begun to unearth.


    She was bold—bold enough to challenge the court, to shield him in plain sight. And that… pleased him more than it should have.


    A fleeting smile ghosted across his lips. His fingers brushed against them before he even noticed. And when he did—his expression darkened.


    A nuisance. That’s all this was. A political maneuver. A necessary safeguard to ensure the agreement remained intact. That’s why he had to move her—just for a while.


    His fingers curled against the armrest, but something in his chest twisted—quick, unwelcome.


    Outside, the crows stirred, their cries low and haunting against the night.