“… and that’s 550 Yeas and 0 Nays. The constitution will replace existing laws, henceforth becoming the supreme codex of laws, and the National Assembly dissolved effective immediately.”
The speaker’s words hung in the air, followed by polite, measured applause from the nobles seated in perfect rows. It wasn’t the enthusiastic celebration of a triumph, but the forced politeness of people well aware that their choices had been made for them. The National Assembly managed to regain some semblance of its old vigor ever since Eden’s coup, albeit the scars of the incident were still visible on the walls ridden with bullet holes and the workers still out and about fixing everything.
Ries sat behind the podium, her feline ears flicking in quiet irritation as the nobles murmured among themselves. Next to her, on a raised dais, stood the throne—a gilded symbol of absolute power. In theory, the assembly could debate and deliberate policies, but the Empress’ mere presence demanded submission. Even in her absence, the outcome had been a foregone conclusion. No noble dared to defy her will.
The old order of the aristocracy had crumbled. The seats once occupied by cunning and seasoned statesmen were now filled with the younger, inexperienced heirs of noble houses, scrambling to fill the void left by their predecessors. Their inexperience made them eager for favor and quick to bow, all too aware that any misstep could mean their family's ruin for the second time.
For Ries, the Empress’ priorities were clear after their recent encounter, that is: Absolutism. The new constitution cemented the crown’s dominance, granting the Empress unchallenged authority to appoint or dismiss ministers at will, to grant or to revoke privilege at will, and to veto any laws at will. The aristocracy’s influence was now little more than an illusion—a tattered remnant of what it once was.
And Ries? Well, it’s not like she could go against her will anyways. She could already feel the metaphorical crosshairs on her back, as if an unseen ‘X’ had been painted there. The longer she remained in the game, the more certain she was that someone—somewhere—was sharpening their blade, waiting for the right moment.
Even so, despite the crown’s stranglehold on power, a faint outline of democracy remained. It was little more than a façade though—enough to appease the liberals but far from what they had hoped for.
Still, elections were elections, and they had been scheduled two months from now. Whether it was genuine reform or just political theater, preparations had to begin immediately.
It wasn’t as simple as shouting a campaign slogan and declaring candidacy. Electoral districts needed to be drawn, some of which would inevitably be contested by nobles clinging to their influence. Regulations had to be put in place to prevent fraud—although Ries doubted they’d succeed. Then there was the nightmare of logistics: where polling stations would be located, how votes would be cast, and, more importantly, how they would be counted.
Then there’s also the question of the Empires many protectorate states. On paper, these territories were independent kingdoms or autonomous entities under the Empire’s “protection.” In reality, however, they had long been treated like ordinary provinces, with the Empress reigning as the ultimate authority. Now, with the constitution officially in place, that thin veil of autonomy was gone. The protectorates were legally reorganized into provinces, subservient to the central government.
Whether their local rulers would accept this was a different story. Many had ruled as semi-sovereign leaders for generations, paying tribute to the Empire only out of pragmatism, not loyalty. Some would resist this new arrangement—and resistance could mean rebellion.
For Ries, one question pressed on her mind above all others: What would happen to her tribe—the Katzen tribe? Her people, technically one of the many protectorates, were now little more than a line item in the new territorial divisions. And her father, the tribe’s chief—how would he respond?
The Katzen tribe had always cherished their independence, not even bothering to hide their disdain for outsiders, their pride rooted in old traditions. Would they bow to the will of the central government, or would they fight to remain free?
She knew she couldn’t put this off. The Integration Commission—formerly the Tribal Affairs Commission—would be responsible for integrating these territories, and it just so happened to be she is the Prime Minister. If her tribe was to survive the coming storm, she needed to ensure their interests were protected.
Because, at the end of the day, she was still a Beastmen. Titles and ministerial authority wouldn’t change that in the eyes of her people—or the Empire. To the Empire, she was a convenient pawn, a symbol of progress they could point to. To her tribe, she was a traitor—one of the many who had joined their oppressors.
It was a lonely place to stand—between two worlds that might never see her as anything more than a means to an end.
----------------------------------------
“Woooah…” Elisabeth whispered, wide-eyed as she took in the bustling, snow-dusted streets of the imperial capital.
In the game [My Handsome Prince], the city had been little more than a backdrop—a series of elegant painted stills that gave just enough flavor for romance to bloom between stolen glances and clandestine meetings. Political intrigue? Cultural tensions? Complex histories? All of that had been brushed aside, barely mentioned between love triangles and flirtatious banter.
But now, as Elisabeth stepped off the train, she wasn’t looking at static scenery—she was in the heart of it. Valyra was alive.
“My lady, please, right this way. The automobile is waiting for you.” One of her butlers nudged her to come with.
Grand buildings with intricate stonework stretched high above the streets, their roofs dusted with fresh snow. The sidewalks were crowded with people bundled in thick winter coats, carriages clattering past, competing with trams, and the occasional automobile sputtering noisily through the slush-covered roads. A haze of chimney smoke drifted lazily across the rooftops, while the scent of roasted chestnuts lingered in the air.
She had seen it all before—well, some version of it on her screen. But experiencing it firsthand left her breathless. She felt overwhelmed, as though she were standing in a novel where the background had suddenly been written with too much care, every detail was vivid and full of life.
“My lady, this way. The automobile is waiting for you.”
A butler, dressed in the immaculate black uniform of the Aloysius-Margarethe household, gave her a polite nudge.
Right, She was Elisabeth Aloysius-Margarethe, the villainess of the story.
Despite the cold, Elizabeth felt a bead of nervous sweat trickle down her neck. She had managed to narrowly avoid the villainess’s fate—the infamous execution ending. But her survival had come at a cost. Soldiers had suddenly arrested the heroine along with one of the key capture targets—a twist that never happened in the game.
Yet she was alive—and for now, that was all that mattered. But what the hell was she supposed to do now? What does someone do when they've been transported into the body of the villainess, and the story is already over?
Her thoughts drifted as the automobile door opened for her with a click, and the butler gestured her inside.
“Hey, can we stop by somewhere?” She decided to ask the butler.
“Of course, where would you like to go, my lady?”
That’s a good question. Where would she like to go?
“How about we go around the city in the automobile?”
The butler gave a slight bow, his expression impassive. “As you wish, my lady.”
Elisabeth slipped into the plush leather seat of the automobile, adjusting her winter coat as the door closed behind her with a soft click. The faint scent of lavender lingered in the air—a subtle reminder of just how absurdly luxurious her new life was.
The engine roared to life, the vibration humming through the floor beneath her boots, and soon they were rolling through the heart of Valyra.
At first, Elizabeth leaned back, content to let the scenery pass her by—ornate storefronts, bustling cafes with their windows fogged from the warmth inside, and the glow of streetlamps lining the cobbled streets. But with every turn of the wheel, curiosity gnawed at her. This world felt so real. Every flicker of candlelight in a window, every muffled conversation drifting from the street—it was like stepping into the pages of a history book written with obsessive care.
People milled about the streets, bundled in thick coats and scarves, some haggling with street vendors, others rushing to catch the next tram. A city that felt both familiar and utterly foreign.
And the strangest part? None of it was scripted. These weren’t just filler NPCs, cycling through preset routines. They had lives, stories, moments she could never predict.
The streets of Valyra were alive.
The city reminded her of European cities from the nineteenth century, with its towering cathedrals, wrought iron balconies, and narrow cobbled streets. But it wasn’t frozen in the past—modernity had crept in, like ivy growing over ancient stone. Trams rumbled along the streets, sleek trains roared overhead on elevated tracks, and early-model cars clattered alongside horse-drawn carriages.
As the car cruised down a bustling avenue, a small crowd gathered in front of a shop window caught her eye. They huddled together under the awning, watching televisions on display—glowing screens playing the evening news.
Elizabeth blinked in surprise. TVs? Here? She remembered the world from the game being steeped in fantasy tropes: knights, castles, and spells—not televisions and cars. Wasn’t this supposed to be a magical world? Even then, wasn’t it too early for a TV?
“What’s going on there?” she asked the driver, her butler.
The butler glanced back at her in the mirror, calm and professional as always. “Ah, they are likely discussing the elections, my lady. It’s been the main topic in the capital for the past few days.”
“E... elections?” Elisabeth repeated. This is supposed to be a fantasy world! Aristocrats pulling the strings, backdoor deals, and secret alliances—that was the bread and butter of places like this!
Not elections!
She leaned closer to the window, her breath fogging up the glass as she tried to catch every flicker on the black-and-white television screens. The news anchors pointed to maps marked with intricate lines dividing electoral districts, as if they were plotting military campaigns.
Bold, scrolling headlines flashed at the bottom of the screen, but she could only make out fragments from this distance: "New Constitution Takes Effect"... "Rising Tensions"... "Historic First Vote in Two Months."
“Butler,” she called, her eyes never leaving the tv screen. “Explain. What exactly are these elections?”
“The new constitution introduced parliamentary elections, my lady. The Empress’ decree grants both commoners and nobles the right to vote, though naturally, the Empress retains supreme authority.”
Elizabeth sighed, losing sight of the storefront as the car turned a corner. “Really?” She leaned back against the plush leather seat, rubbing her temples. “Just take me to my parents' estate.”
“As you wish, my lady—?!”
The car lurched violently as the butler slammed on the brakes, nearly launching Elizabeth into the seat in front of her.
“What the hell?!”
“My deepest apologies, my lady. Hooligans ran into the road—"
Before he could finish, loud banging echoed from the windows, causing Elizabeth to wince. She regained her balance and peered out of the window, expecting to see some desperate street rats or drunkards. But no. Instead, standing right there in broad daylight, banging on her car’s windows, were Lily—the heroine—and Prince Lutto.
“What the…?” Elizabeth muttered in disbelief.
It didn’t end there. Prince Gerard and Sir Joseph—two other capture targets from the game—stood behind them, scanning the street like wary bodyguards. What are they all doing together?! The Crown Prince and the two most popular suitors in the game—out in the open with the heroine and knocking on her car window?
Why are the capture targets here?!
Weren’t the heroine and Prince Lutto imprisoned or something?!
Elisabeth’s mind scrambled for an explanation, but there was none that made sense. Instinct told her to look the other way and pretend she hadn’t seen anything.
This is a bad idea. This is such a bad idea.
Against her better judgment, she found herself rolling the window down anyway.
Prince Lutto, spotting her first, leaned down to meet her gaze with intense glare and… urgency?
“Elisabeth! We need your help!”
Before she could respond—or slam the window shut—the car doors flew open. All four of them tumbled inside in a chaotic blur, squeezing into the cramped space without so much as a “please” or “thank you.” Lutto, Gerard, Joseph, and Lily pressed against each other like sardines in a tin, the three suitors awkwardly positioning themselves between the heroine and Elizabeth as if the villainess posed some mortal threat.
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
Elizabeth was now squashed against the right-side door, sandwiched between Gerard’s arm and what smelled like someone’s cologne—probably Joseph’s, knowing his vanity. She clenched her jaw.
“Could someone explain what the hell is going on?” she demanded, struggling to free an arm trapped beneath Prince Gerard’s elbow.
“There’s no time!” Lily gasped, clutching the hem of her dirtied academy uniform. “We need to move—quickly!”
“Move?! Where are we going?! What did you guys do?! Aren’t you supposed to be in prison or something?!” Elisabeth hissed, trying to wiggle into a more comfortable position, but it was impossible with five people crammed into the backseat of a car designed for four.
The butler, unshaken by the pandemonium unfolding in the backseat, gave a polite cough and met Elisabeth’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “Shall I proceed to your parents' estate, my lady?”
“Yes, yes! The Aloysius-Margarethe estate!” Lutto nodded, and the others quickly followed suit, desperate to escape whatever danger was nipping at their heels. His serpentine tail slapped Elisabeth in the cheek and kept wiggling along much to her dismay.
The butler gave a curt nod, shifted the car into gear, and eased them onto the road. Just as they turned the corner, shouting erupted from behind them.
Elizabeth twisted around in her seat just in time to see Imperial soldiers flooding into the street, weapons drawn.
“What the—?” Elizabeth’s stomach dropped. She glared at the four idiots now squirming in the backseat with her. “What did you do?! Why are the soldiers after you?”
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Gerard said quickly.
“Oh, it’s exactly as bad as it looks,” Joseph corrected under his breath, glancing anxiously out the back window.
Elisabeth’s eyes widened as realization hit her. “Did you guys break them out of custody?!”
Gerard winced. “Well, when you say it like that—”
“That’s exactly what happened,” Joseph muttered, rubbing his temples. “We couldn’t stand by as Lily is possibly being tortured.”
Elisabeth groaned, resisting the urge to slam her head against the window. “So, your grand plan was what exactly? Kidnap a bunch of prisoners and cram them into my car?!”
Lutto’s serpentine tail wiggled again, flicking her in the face. She swatted it away with a growl. “Can you not with the tail right now?”
“Sorry, sorry!” Lutto tucked his tail beneath him, but his grin suggested he wasn’t sorry at all.
Lily, meanwhile, had shrunk into her seat, trying to avoid Elisabeth’s glare. “We didn’t think the soldiers would catch on so fast...”
“They’re Imperial soldiers, Lily! That’s their job!” Elisabeth hissed, throwing her hands up. “And now I’m involved in this circus!”
BANG!
A stray bullet hit the metal of the car.
“They’re shooting now?!” Elisabeth yelped, ducking instinctively as the sharp clang of metal echoed through the car.
Lily shrieked, clutching onto Joseph’s arm, while Lutto cursed under his breath, his tail flailing despite his earlier attempt to keep it tucked away. Prince Gerard leaned over Elisabeth protectively, as if that would somehow shield her from the barrage of bullets.
“Butler! Lose them!” Elisabeth ordered.
“Very good, my lady.” The butler’s voice remained infuriatingly calm, as if being chased by armed soldiers was just another task on his daily to-do list.
The car lurched forward as the engine roared to life, tires screeching against the cobblestone street. Elisabeth barely had time to brace herself before they shot down a side alley, the narrow walls flashing by in a blur.
“Hold on!” the butler called, spinning the wheel hard. Everyone in the backseat was thrown sideways, Lutto’s tail slapping Elisabeth square in the face again.
“For the love of—tie that thing down!” Elisabeth hissed, swatting it away for what felt like the hundredth time.
The sound of soldiers shouting and the distant bark of gunfire echoed behind them, but the alley was too tight for the soldiers' vehicles to follow. Elisabeth glanced back, hoping they’d gained some ground—only to see a pair of motorbikes appear at the alley’s entrance. Their headlights gleamed like hunting eyes, and they accelerated fast.
“They’ve got bikes!” she shouted, her heart pounding.
“I see them,” the butler replied coolly. With an effortless flick of the wheel, the car careened into a sharp turn, sending everyone shrieking—except the butler. Snow piled along the road exploded into the air, cascading over the bikes in their wake.
The car skidded onto a main road, nearly colliding with a tram as it rumbled past. The butler swerved at the last second, dodging it with an elegance that seemed absurd under the circumstances. The motorbikes, however, weren’t so lucky. One rider panicked, clipping the side of the tram and spinning out with a loud crash.
The remaining motorbike was closing in fast. Elisabeth could see the soldier’s determined face in the side mirror—and worse, the rifle strapped across his back.
“Uh, Butler?” Elisabeth’s voice rose slightly. “Do you have any tricks left?”
“Always, my lady,” he replied smoothly, as if she’d just asked him if he preferred tea or coffee.
Without warning, he yanked the emergency brake. The car screeched to a halt, tires screaming against the pavement.
The sudden stop sent everyone lurching forward with a collective oomph. Elisabeth slammed into the seat in front of her, while Lily landed awkwardly across Joseph’s lap.
“Are you insane?” Joseph wheezed, struggling to push Lily upright.
But the butler wasn’t listening. In a single fluid motion, he threw the car into reverse, flooring the gas. They shot backward at breakneck speed, narrowly missing the motorbike now directly in front of them. The soldier’s eyes widened in panic—just as the car’s front bumper clipped the bike, sending him flying into a street vendor selling his watermelons.
The butler spun the wheel again, twisting the car around with a dizzying precision that defied logic. In the blink of an eye, they were speeding forward once more, leaving the wrecked bike and dazed soldier behind them.
Elisabeth gawked, stunned silent for a moment. “...Where did you learn to drive like that?”
“I am a butler of the prestigious House Aloysius-Margarethe.” The butler’s smile in the rearview mirror was small, but unmistakably smug.
Just as the words left his mouth—CRASH!
The car slammed through the estate’s iron gate, metal screeching and sparks flying. The gate folded under the car’s weight, its twisted remains scraping along the sides as they barreled forward.
Elisabeth gripped the seat in disbelief. “You crashed through the gate?!”
“Indeed, my lady,” the butler said without a trace of concern. “I thought it best to expedite our arrival.”
The car skidded to a halt in front of the estate’s grand entrance, tires sending gravel flying. As the engine sputtered off, the butler turned to Elisabeth with an impossibly composed smile.
“We have arrived, my lady.”
----------------------------------------
“Ah, Madam Prime Minister?”
“Oh? Clarissa? You’re still working?” Ries blinked in surprise as she stepped out of her office, locking the door behind her.
She hadn’t expected to bump into Clarissa—especially not at this hour. The Deputy Minister stood in the hallway balancing a precarious stack of papers which seemed it could fall at any moment.
Ries glanced at the towering pile of documents and arched a brow. “You know, carrying that much paperwork feels like a hazard.”
Clarissa gave a weary but polite smile. “It’s part of the job, Madam Prime Minister. Besides, someone has to keep things moving while everyone else tries to go home at a reasonable hour.”
Ries shook her head, adjusting her coat. “I’m off work, so call me R—Anise,” she corrected hastily, coughing to cover the slip. “Besides, it’s the winter holiday. You should go back to your family.”
Clarissa gave a soft, noncommittal hum, though the flicker in her eyes suggested that wasn’t likely. “I will. Eventually. Just a few things left to finalize.”
“‘Eventually’ sounds suspiciously like ‘never,’” Ries muttered. Snatching the top paper off the stack, she skimmed over it, her brow furrowing. “Regulations on… tires?” She read aloud, incredulously. “What the hell are we regulating tires for?”
Clarissa gave a small, patient sigh, shifting the papers in her arms. “It’s part of the Ministry of Transport’s new safety protocols. Apparently, improper tire maintenance has caused a rise in accidents across the empire. They want new standards for treads, durability, and seasonal performance.”
Ries blinked at her. “Seasonal performance? You mean to tell me we’re dictating how often people switch tires now? What’s next? Regulations on shoelaces?”
Clarissa fought back a smile. “Would you prefer if people just slid off icy roads because their tires weren’t up to code?”
“I’d prefer they use common sense,” Ries grumbled, tossing the paper back onto the pile. “Guess that’s asking too much these days.”
“Bureaucracy tends to fill in where common sense fails.”
“Oh, spare me that talk. You should go home and rest. It’s almost 9pm. Here, I order you, as your superior, to take a break.”
Clarissa arched a brow, her expression half-amused, half-exhausted. “Ordering your subordinates to rest? How very magnanimous of you, Madam Prime Minister.”
“I’m serious,” Ries said, crossing her arms. “It’s winter holiday, and you’re running around like a pack mule with documents on tires, of all things. Go home, eat something warm, and forget this place exists for a night.”
Clarissa gave a soft chuckle. “If I leave now, who’ll make sure the Transport Ministry doesn’t submit this policy with typos?”
Ries scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “Let the Transport Ministry choke on their own typos. It’s not like anyone reads these things anyway.”
“You know that’s not true,” Clarissa countered with a knowing smile. “And besides, it’s my responsibility.”
“Clarissa, I’m giving you an official order. If this office burns to the ground in your absence, it’ll be my fault—not yours. So go home.”
Clarissa stood still for a moment, weighing Ries’ words as if they were part of some delicate negotiation. Then, finally, she sighed and shifted the stack of papers under her arm.
“All right, all right. I’ll take a break. But only because it’s coming from my superior.”
“Good. Be sure to wear your coat. It’ll be freezing out there.”
“Oh? Since when do you worry about things like that?”
Ries shrugged, flicking her tail lazily. “I don’t want you dropping dead and adding more paperwork to my desk. It’s purely selfish.”
Clarissa chuckled, adjusting the papers under her arm. “Duly noted, Madam Prime Minister. I’ll bundle up properly just for you.”
“See that you do.” Ries gave a small, approving nod, her feline ears flicking in mild satisfaction. “And Clarissa... Happy holidays.”
Clarissa’s expression softened for a moment. “Happy holidays, Anise.”
“Oh, actually.” Ries recalled Clarissa. “Would you like to drink hot coffee with me? I know a good place.”
Clarissa paused mid-step, her eyes widening slightly in surprise. “Coffee? Now?”
“Yeah. Just a quick one. I mean, if you don’t have somewhere else to be.”
A small, genuine smile crept across Clarissa’s face. “I suppose I can make time for my superior’s... orders.”
Ries smirked. “Good. And don’t act like you’re doing me a favor.” She gestured toward the door. “Come on, the place is still open, and they’ve got these winter drinks that’ll knock you out.”
Clarissa fell in step beside her, the two slipping out of the quiet office into the cold night. Ries pulled her coat tight around herself, her tail flicking behind her as they walked down the empty street.
“So,” Clarissa said with a playful tone, “is this part of your leadership strategy? Hot coffee diplomacy?”
Ries shot her a sideways glance, her ears twitching. “You’d be surprised what a good cup of coffee can solve.”
Clarissa chuckled. “I’ll take your word for it, Madam Prime Minister.”
The cold air bit at their faces, but for once, Ries didn’t mind.
----------------------------------------
Elsewhere, winter holidays was not so kind.
The capital of Rozafyr, Starfall, the last bastion of the west, lay in chaos. Snow swirled violently in the bitter wind, mingling with the distant sound of church bells tolling in alarm. Smoke curled into the sky from distant fires, staining the air with dread.
A week ago, the first reports of a Demon horde had reached the capital. And now, Rozafyr teetered on the edge of collapse. It was not just a city under siege—it was the last sanctuary for the western nobility and clergy. Kings, nobles, and even the Pope had abandoned their homelands, fleeing to Rozafyr in a desperate attempt to preserve what little remained of their power.
Inside the city walls, evacuation efforts were in full swing. Crowds of civilians jostled through the streets, carrying what belongings they could manage. Soldiers barked orders, trying to maintain some semblance of order amidst the growing panic. Mothers clutched children to their chests, and priests whispered hurried prayers over the frightened masses.
Though the remnants of the human armies had gathered here, the combined forces were a mere shadow of their former strength. Worn, battle-weary soldiers stood guard at the gates, their faces grim with exhaustion. They knew the truth—Rozafyr’s defenses would not hold for long.
A young knight pushed his way through the throng, his face pale beneath his helmet. “Where is Princess Rosa?” he demanded of a nearby officer.
The officer’s voice dripped with bitterness, but also hoarse from all the shouting. “She’s at the Embassy of the Valerian Empire, trying to kowtow to the Imperials, no doubt.”
Inside the embassy, Princess Rosa’s voice echoed through the lavish chamber, cutting through the incense-heavy air like a blade.
“Do you have any idea what this means?” she roared, her fists clenched at her sides. “My father is dying! One of my brothers lies crippled, the other wasting away—and now you tell me that your empire, which swore a religious oath, won’t lift a hand to help?”
The Valerian ambassador, an older man with perfectly groomed hair and an expression as smooth as glass, flinched at the outburst.
“Your Highness,” the ambassador began, his voice calm and measured. “The Empire—”
“Don’t insult me. Where was the Empire when the demons marched through the border towns? Where were you when they burned our farms and slaughtered civilians?” She stepped forward, her presence crackling with rage.
“It’s not that simple, Your Highness, the current administration—”
“The current administration?! I want this sent to the Empress!”
The ambassador’s polite facade began to crack, but he still held onto his diplomatic tone like a lifeline. “Princess Rosa, I assure you, the Empress has many matters demanding her attention—”
“My people are being slaughtered!” Rosa shot back, her voice sharp as a whip. “What more pressing matters could she possibly have? Trade negotiations? Royal galas?” She stepped even closer, her emerald eyes blazing with fury. “We are drowning, and you’re handing me a stone instead of a rope.”
“Princess, let me be clear that we’re committed to send aid. However, our resources are being tied up in the Aquilean war in the Swiring Ocean, and the current administration is currently busy preparing for elections. However, I can warn the Daemons to not invade territories under the protection of the Chaos Dragon’s Archon, Her Majesty the Empress.”
Rosa’s eyes narrowed, her voice dripping with disbelief. “Warn them? You’re going to send a strongly-worded letter to creatures that feast on the living and burn cities to the ground? Do you think they care about borders or your empty threats?”
“Now, calling them man-eaters is—”
“Because that’s what they are!” Rosa’s hand slammed down on the polished surface of the table, the echo ringing through the embassy like a gunshot. “That’s not rhetoric—it’s the truth. The facts. The reality you’re too comfortable to face!”
Her breath was ragged with anger, and the room felt heavy with unspoken frustrations—the kind only the powerless know when pleading with those who hold all the cards. She shot one last withering glance at the ambassador, then spun on her heel, her emerald cloak snapping behind her like a banner.
“Princess, if you—” the ambassador began, but she didn’t give him the courtesy of listening.
The cold night greeted her like a slap to the face. Snow drifted lazily down, covering the streets of Starfall in an eerie silence that belied the fear pulsing through the city. Soldiers huddled around makeshift fires, refugees shuffled along in ragged lines, and the looming sense of impending doom hung in the air like smoke.
Rosa barely noticed the chill as she walked down the embassy steps, fury still simmering beneath her skin. The young knight from earlier hurried toward her, his boots crunching on the frost-covered ground.
“Your Highness!” he called, falling into step beside her. “What did the Imperials say?”
Rosa kept her gaze fixed ahead. “Exactly what we expected,” she muttered. “They’re not coming.”
The knight’s face twisted in frustration. “Bastards.”
“They’re tied up in a war overseas,” she added bitterly, her breath visible in the cold air. “And elections. Apparently, voting is more important than thousands of lives.”
The knight let out a low curse, gripping the hilt of his sword so tightly his knuckles turned white. “So, it’s just us then?”
Rosa slowed her pace, the weight of her kingdom’s fate settling heavily on her shoulders. “Yes,” she whispered. “It’s just us.”
But even as despair threatened to close in, she straightened her spine. If the world abandoned them, Rozafyr would stand alone.
----------------------------------------
The soft hum of conversation and the clink of silverware filled the café, a soothing contrast to the chaos outside. Ries slouched against the worn leather seat, nursing her drink. Steam curled lazily from the teacup, and for a brief moment, she let herself enjoy the illusion of peace.
Across from her, Clarissa tapped a spoon against her cup, her eyes suddenly lighting up with a thought. “Oh, right!” she exclaimed, almost knocking over her drink.
Ries twitched an ear in annoyance. “What now?”
“Remember that pile of documents you asked me to review when you dozed off?”
Ries groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Clarissa, I told you—no talking about work right now.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, but this is important!” Clarissa fished around in her purse with a mischievous grin. “You’ll want to see this one.”
Ries’s ears perked involuntarily. “What is it?”
Clarissa pulled out a folded piece of paper and placed it on the table. “It’s a petition signed by six ministers.”
Ries tilted her head. “Six? Which ones?”
“Transport, Home, Military, Foreign Affairs, Agriculture, Finance... and Arcane.”
“All of them? That’s half the ministries.” Ries leaned forward. “What does it say?”
Clarissa slid the paper across the table. “I brought it with me, figured you’d want to read it yourself.”
She took the piece of paper. “When was this submitted?”
Clarissa glanced toward the ceiling, thinking. “About a month ago.”
image [https://i.imgur.com/1JQgjr4.png]