Tuk’s heart pounded, a relentless drum against her ribs. This was her only chance. The prince was offering her an opportunity to ask—there was no way she’d let it slip. This was what she had always wanted: the truth about the scrolls.

“I want to know what the Arcanographica really is, Your Highness.”

The prince studied her for a moment, tapping his fingers idly against the table. The soft, rhythmic sound filled the silence between them, a quiet warning of his contemplation.

“In order for me to protect you from the scrolls, I need to know what they truly are,” Tuk added, her voice steady despite the tightness in her throat. “Not just what we’ve been told—but the real truth.”

Michaelli sighed deeply, the exhale slow and measured, as if weighing the weight of the knowledge he held. He lifted his cup, the delicate porcelain clicking softly against his ring as he took a deliberate sip of tea. The scent of spices and something floral drifted between them before he leaned back in his seat.

“For you to understand, I need to start from the beginning,” he said. Then, his golden eyes flickered with something unreadable, like molten metal shifting under the fire’s glow. “Do you know the history of Marceau?”

Tuk froze. A chill crept down her spine, as if the air had suddenly turned colder.

“N-no, Your Highness,” she admitted, swallowing against the dryness in her throat.

The prince arched a brow, his expression unreadable. “Where did you say you were from again?”

Tuk blinked. “…The Kingdom of Ellis, in Elthor.”

He tilted his head slightly, the movement slow and deliberate, like a predator assessing prey. “You sound unsure.”

Tuk straightened, forcing herself to appear composed despite the weight of his scrutiny pressing down on her shoulders. “Well, since my kingdom is gone, I don’t know how to properly address it anymore. Besides, I currently reside in Marceau. In your palace.”

Michaelli smirked. The curve of his lips was almost playful, yet there was an edge beneath it—something sharp, something knowing. “You’re good at dodging things. With your skills, I suppose anything is possible.”

Tuk tilted her head slightly, uncertain whether it was a compliment or a veiled accusation.

“Even so, not knowing Marceau’s history is suspicious,” he continued, his tone dipping into something quieter, more dangerous. “Everyone knows what this empire stands for, yet you claim you don’t?”

“I’ve never been fond of history, Your Highness,” she admitted, fingers curling slightly against her lap. “I was always too busy surviving the present to dwell on the past.”

The prince regarded her for a long moment before exhaling sharply. The tension in the air thickened, wrapping around Tuk like an unseen force.

“Very well. I’ll tell you myself.”

He set his cup down with a quiet clink, then began.

“Long before Marceau became an empire, it was nothing more than an unforgiving desert, a land where only the strongest survived. Nomadic tribes roamed the dunes, warring over the few sources of water and shelter. Life was harsh, ruled by survival. Weakness meant death. Emotions had no place.”

Tuk listened intently, each word sinking into her bones like a whispered omen.

“Amid this chaos, a powerful warrior, Marcellus Arvad, emerged. Unlike other warlords who sought only plunder and power, he had a vision: to unite the desert under a single banner and bring order to the sands. He waged war not just with weapons but with strategy, forcing rival tribes into submission, laying the foundation of what would become the Land of Marcellus.

Under his rule, desert cities flourished, built on discipline, resilience, and unwavering loyalty. But at the heart of his philosophy was one unshakable belief: love is a weakness that leads to ruin.”

Michaelli’s fingers drummed against the table, the rhythm slower now, more deliberate. “I didn’t learn this from the histories people commonly know. The records of Marcellus’ personal beliefs were hidden, locked away in the restricted sections of the royal library—accessible only to the ruling family.”

Tuk’s breath hitched slightly, but the prince continued.

“Most of the empire only remembers Marcellus as a great leader, a conqueror. But through the lost records, I uncovered his true reasoning.” His voice lowered slightly, the weight of his words pressing against the space between them. “He had seen love destroy men firsthand—a trusted ally who betrayed him for a woman, rulers who made foolish decisions for affection, cities that fell because of reckless devotion. And worst of all, he lost the only woman he ever loved.

Selene.”

The name hung in the air like an unspoken tragedy, thick and heavy with grief.

“She begged him to show mercy on the battlefield. That hesitation cost them everything. And in that moment, he decided: love does not make men stronger. It makes them weak. And weakness has no place in Marceau.”

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The prince’s voice was calm, but there was something sharp beneath it—a bitterness that lingered just out of reach.

“So, when Marcellus became king, he banned love itself. He established a kingdom where emotions were severed, and only the strong prevailed. Marceau—the word itself meant ‘to sever’ in the old desert tongue.”

Tuk swallowed hard, the realization settling in her gut like a stone.

“The Marcellian Law erased love from society. Marriages became contracts, children were raised without attachment, and any mention of love was punishable by exile or execution. Over time, the word itself vanished—from books, from speech, from history. Marceau became a nation ruled by reason and conquest—where duty outweighed desire, logic overruled passion, and dominance crushed mercy. Thus, from a kingdom stripped of love, Vile Heart was born.”

A heavy silence filled the room, pressing against Tuk’s ribs like an invisible weight.

Michaelli leaned forward slightly, his golden eyes gleaming in the dim candlelight. Shadows flickered against the sharp angles of his face, making him look both regal and unnerving.

“Do you understand now why the word ‘love’ ceased to exist in this empire?”

Tuk nodded slowly—then her breath hitched. Realization crashed into her like a tidal wave.

“Then that means…” She gasped, fingers tightening around the table’s edge, the cool wood biting into her skin. A cold dread curled around her spine, seeping into her bones. “Me introducing the word again using the Arcanographica—does that mean I could be beheaded?!”

The prince smirked, a lazy, amused expression that somehow felt sharper than any blade.

“Your fearlessness and naivety know no bounds.” His voice was a velvety taunt. “I thought you understood the risks when you spoke in my court. But I suppose your bravado comes from sheer ignorance.”

Heat flared in Tuk’s cheeks, both from embarrassment and frustration. She clenched her jaw, refusing to let his amusement rattle her further.

Michaelli took a sip of his tea, the porcelain clicking softly against his lips, before setting it down with deliberate ease.

“You don’t have to worry.” His voice softened, just slightly. “No one will harm you as long as they know you are under my protection.”

Tuk exhaled, though her fingers still trembled faintly against the tabletop. His words should have been reassuring—but why did they feel like a cage closing around her instead?

“T-then… if ‘love’ is such a taboo word, why did the court accept it when I mentioned it back then?” she asked hesitantly.

The prince’s lips curled into a slow, knowing grin. The kind that sent an icy prickle down her spine.

“That,” he murmured, “is because of the Arcanographica.”

Tuk swallowed, unease pooling in her stomach.

“When I conquered Ellis, a once-princess introduced the scroll to me,” Michaelli continued. His voice turned distant, almost pensive, as if recalling something both fascinating and repulsive. “At the time, no one knew what it was or why it existed. But its power was undeniable.”

Without another word, he lifted his teaspoon between his fingers. The silver glinted under the candlelight. Then, before her eyes, it twisted and reshaped itself into a small, gleaming dagger.

Tuk’s breath caught.

Magic.

No—not just magic. A force beyond her comprehension.

“I became a Keeper of its fragment,” the prince said smoothly, twirling the tiny blade between his fingers as if it were nothing more than a toy. “It grants me control over my surroundings as I see fit. It also allows me to sense others who possess its pieces.”

Tuk’s pulse pounded in her ears. So this ‘power’ he always spoke of wasn’t just political authority—it was something far more terrifying.

“But power always carries danger,” Michaelli continued, voice unwavering. “To bring the scroll back to Marceau and study it, I had to convince the court. So, I tied it to the empire’s history.”

He smirked slightly.

“I rewrote the records.”

Tuk’s stomach dropped.

He didn’t just use power—he shaped reality itself.

“I offered the scroll to the Emperor after conquering Ellis, presenting it as a relic tied to Marcellus himself. I knew the court would never accept something so foreign unless they believed it had always belonged to us. And since no one truly knew its origins, it was easy to weave the tale. Marcellus’ name alone was enough to silence doubts.”

Tuk could only stare.

He had manipulated history itself. Twisted it in his favor.

The candlelight flickered, elongating the shadows along the walls, and in that moment, Michaelli felt less like a prince and more like something ancient—something untouchable.

He’s too much, Tuk thought, her hands pressing against her lap to steady herself.

Too much… for me to handle.