Night had fallen, and the three of them sat inside a nearly empty inn. The place looked like it hadn't seen proper customers in weeks. A few locals sat in the corners, quietly eating, heads down. No laughter, no chatter—just silence.
The innkeeper looked tired. He wasn't friendly, but he wasn't rude either. He filled drinks without saying much. Most people hadn't paid their tabs, and it was clear the man had given up expecting they would.
Draco sat at a worn table with Fredric and Steven. In front of them were wooden cups filled with warm, bitter beer and a plate of potatoes that were overcooked and dry. The sauces tasted more like vinegar than anything else. Even the bread was tough, but at least it was food.
Steven raised his cup, signaling for a refill. He was a little tipsy now—not drunk, just enough to dull the ache in his arm that had started again. He'd thought it was healed, but the pain still flared up now and then.
Draco didn't eat much. He kept looking around the inn, eyes focused on a small family in the corner. They were eating quietly, not saying a word, like they were too tired or too hopeless to talk.
He leaned forward and spoke under his breath. "Why did the river stop flowing? Rivers don't just dry up unless something blocks them. And no one here seems surprised by it."
"But why?" Draco's voice was sharper now. "Infodure isn't rich. These crops aren't anything special. The forest holds more power than these plains ever could. If the trolls want food or resources, they've got better options."
Fredric murmured, "Could be the trolls. Rumor says they can't cross the river by the Grimsen Forest, right? Maybe they dammed it up—stopped the flow somehow."
He sat back, arms folded, staring down at the worn grain of the table. "So what's here that they'd bother cutting off the water supply for?"
Fredric didn't answer. Steven swirled his beer, watching it slosh against the mug. Even in his haze, the question bothered him too.
Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the windowpanes.
Draco's fingers tapped once on the table. "There's something we're not seeing."
"One beer for the mister," the bartender said as he filled Steven's cup again.
His hand moved lazily, but his eyes were sharp, too focused on them for someone who was just doing his job. The inn was quiet, and it was clear he'd been listening in for a while. Boredom had probably made him more curious than he should've been.
As he slid the drink across the table, he spoke casually, but the question landed heavy.
"Did you come here to buy land as well?"
Draco, who had been staring into his cup, lifted his head. At first, he was annoyed—eavesdropping wasn't exactly polite—but the man's words hit a nerve. His expression changed.
"What do you mean?" Draco asked, leaning forward slightly, a new edge in his tone.
The bartender looked around, then shrugged like he hadn't said anything strange.
"You're not the first stranger we've seen here in the last few months. They come quiet, don't stay in inns like this one—some never even pass through town. Just go straight to the upper fields or near the riverside lands. Word is, they're buying up the dry areas cheap. Real cheap."
Fredric and Steven exchanged a quick look. Draco frowned.
"Who are these people?" he asked.
The bartender shook his head. "Don't know. Some look like nobles, others don't. But they all have money, and the town chief approves every deal like his life depends on it. You ask me, something fishy's going on. A bunch of dying land, no water, crops gone—and suddenly people want to buy it?"
He wiped his hands on a rag, then gave a crooked smile. "Makes you wonder what they know that we don't."
"But don't say my name," the bartender added quickly, his voice dropping as he stepped back. "I'm just a humble man pouring drinks. Only told you 'cause I thought you were here to buy land too."
He wiped the counter half-heartedly and turned away, leaving a silence behind him heavier than the one before.
Fredric looked at Draco, brows furrowed. "Someone's buying out the town?"
Draco didn't answer right away. His gaze was still fixed on the cup in front of him, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Finally, he spoke, voice low and clipped.
"Seems like it. And that's probably why Salvator refused to give us proper records. The crop destruction, the missing harvests—it's not just because of the trolls, is it? It's because those lands... they don't belong to the villagers anymore. They've been sold off."
Fredric pressed his lips together, glancing at Steven, who by now had leaned back in his chair, clearly far gone, his cheeks flushed and eyes unfocused.
"I think—" Fredric hesitated, knowing what he was about to say wouldn't be well received. "Your Highness... I know you might not like this, but maybe... you should ask the Duke for help. The court is already against you. And he's the only one who has the power—and perhaps the interest—to stand beside you in this."
"Silence, Fredric."
The words weren't loud, but they landed like iron.
Fredric immediately lowered his head. "As you wish, Your Highness."
Draco stood up, brushing the dust off his cloak as his jaw clenched. "Tomorrow, we ride to the river. I want to see it for myself. I want to know what's really going on."
Fredric nodded. "Yes, Your Highness."
Nothing more was said after that.
—-------------------
The library in the Duke's estate stretched farther than Mae could see, its high ceilings vanishing into shadows and golden inlay patterns winding up every carved column. Beside a tall stained-glass window, where soft beams of colored light poured in—pink, green, crimson, and blue—the polished floors glowed like spilled gems, casting a mosaic across the velvet rug and the open books spread in front of her. Her leather bag lazily sitting on the table.
Mae sat hunched over the main reading table, a thick tome beneath her hand and the uniglass pressed over one eye. She turned the pages quickly, greedily, consuming every word like she hadn't read in years. Lora sat beside her in silence, watching with fascination as Mae devoured her fifth book in less than two hours.
Melissa had taken over attending to Marianne that day, so Mae was alone in the library, dressed in one of the princess's formal gowns—silk with pale gold thread, tight at the sleeves and flowing out in careful pleats. The role she had stepped into demanded more than just poise and posture. If she was to act as a noble, as Marianne, she had to know everything Marianne was supposed to know. Especially as a future empress—knowledge was not just survival; it was power.
At the moment, she was deep into the first volume of a bestiary, flipping to the section marked Fabled Species.
She frowned and turned the book toward Lora. "Fairies are real?" she asked, eyes wide in disbelief. Holdign up the book her eyes wide open like a child full of hope.
Lora gave a soft laugh. "Very rare. Most people never see them in their entire lifetime. They're like mermaids."
Mae blinked. "There are mermaids too?!"
Lora laughed again, gently this time. "You act like you were born yesterday. Your curiosity is like a child's."
"Where? Heir is not much written in here about them? Where do we find them? I can't seem to find the exact location." She said reading thought h e lines hopignt o h=find the s=asner, "Why is there barely any detail? Just a few lines about each creature... That doesn't help me understand anything."
Lora leaned closer. "That's how most of these books are. Even the royal library doesn't hold much on magical beings. Few have ever researched them properly."
Before Mae could ask more, a voice came from behind one of the tall shelves.
"You have to trade them, the knowledge of these creatures."
Mae's spine straightened. She didn't need to see him to recognize that voice. Her heartbeat quickened. She stood, gaze trailing over the rows of books until she spotted the Duke—Lawrence—half-hidden between two shelves, dressed in one of his richly embroidered coats, a book in his hands, reading like he had simply materialized from the silence itself.
She stepped around the corner quietly, her gaze falling on him.
It was clear from his posture, his shoulders slightly turned, his face hidden behind a book, that he had been avoiding her. Again.
"You don't have to hide when we come across each other like this," she said gently. "It's alright if we bump into one another now and then. A simple hello won't kill either of us. Who knows, I might even start seeing you like any other man… and you might start seeing me as just a girl you happen to know."
Lawrence didn't answer immediately. He turned a page, deliberately slow, as if mulling over her words. Then, without lifting his chin fully, he looked at her—his eyes unreadable—and returned to the text like nothing had been said.
Mae sighed and stepped closer. "Please," she said, voice softer, "how do I find out more about these creatures? The books here barely give anything."
"Why do you want to know?" he asked, still focused on the page. "Humans stay away from those beings. It's an unspoken rule—known to everyone who wants to live long enough to tell tales."
Mae's lips twitched. "That's what makes them interesting. They're magical. Mysterious. Why wouldn't I want to know? Don't you ever wonder?"
Lawrence's gaze lifted slowly—just enough to meet hers.
"Humans have that too," he said. "Mystery."
The weight in his words struck her. He was no longer just talking about the creatures in the books.
Their eyes locked for a moment too long before he closed the book in his hands with a soft thud and began walking past her.
"But," he said without turning, "if you still want answers... it always begins with the trolls."
Mae tilted her head. "That's too vague. What about the trolls?"
He stopped beside the shelf, resting one hand on it. "Trolls are the keepers of secrets," he replied. "For every secret they give, they demand another in return. Creatures barter their truths to the trolls—for silence, for protection, for knowledge. That's why they know things. Things no book can tell you."
"And what do they ask in return?"
"Gold," he said plainly. "Or secrets. But not just any secret—one worth keeping."
Mae's shoulders slumped. Of course. Nothing in this world came for free.
At that exact moment, the doors to the library slammed open.
A guard stormed in, breath ragged, eyes scanning the space—and landing on Mae.
He froze. His face paled.
He had clearly been told that Princess Marianne was unwell. On the brink of death, even. And now she stood before him in perfect health, looking as if nothing had happened. His mouth opened and closed, trying to find words to match the panic in his expression.
Lawrence turned to the guard, unbothered, his voice calm. "Yes?"
The guard swallowed thickly and forced himself to speak.
"Your Highness... the Crown Prince—he's here. He just arrived." He gasped. "Gravely injured!"
Mae's eyes went wide, and she instinctively turned to Lawrence.
He didn't move for a heartbeat. Then, finally, a flicker of something—concern, maybe surprise—passed across his face.
"Did you call the physician?"
"Yes. They're on their way." The guard nodded rapidly.
A thick silence fell over the library, stifling and tense.
Lawrence's voice cut through it. "If you want that book on trolls," he said, facing Mae with a cool composure that didn't match the rising alarm, "your task is simple—handle the Crown Prince. No chaos. No suspicion."
And with that, he turned and strode past her, not waiting for her answer.
Melissa stepped back with a slight nod, giving Mae one final look-over. Every detail was in place. The hair, the gown, the posture—even the faint perfume Marie used to wear. Mae looked like the noblewoman she was meant to replace. She didn't just look like Marie—she was her, for all anyone else would know.
She turned to the mirror. It wasn't her reflection that stared back anymore—it was someone else. Someone softer, more refined. More trapped.
Meanwhile, whispers of the Crown Prince's arrival had twisted and changed throughout the estate. First, the story claimed he had been gravely injured, but not long after, it was clarified that the wounds belonged to one of his knights. The prince himself had sustained only minor injuries. Still, the fact that they were stopping at the Duke's estate instead of continuing on to the capital made it obvious—this wasn't just a detour.
Mae recalled what Lawrence had told her earlier that morning.
"The news will say anything, but I know him. He's clever. He might be using this opportunity to confirm what he suspects—that Marie is unwell, and I'm vulnerable. If he suspects anything is off, it could end badly. I'll have Marie moved to another property. We can't risk having both of you in the same place."
The words echoed in her mind like a drum. Mae had a part to play, and this time, it wasn't just a game of manners. One wrong look, one wrong sentence—and the entire illusion would shatter.
She was deep in thought when Melissa stepped forward, a quiet but hopeful gleam in her eyes. "My lady… I've done all I could. Now, it's up to you to convince everyone else."
Before Mae could reply, the door opened and Lora stepped in. "The Duke said it's time. You're to greet the Crown Prince now."
Mae swallowed thickly. Lora didn't seem thrilled about it either, but she gave a quiet nod of encouragement. Mae stood, brushing invisible dust off her skirts, straightening her spine with deliberate effort. She took a slow breath, and began to walk toward the door.
"Wait! My lady!" Melissa called out.
Mae froze, already feeling the nerves tightening in her chest. She turned back, her voice tight. "What now?"
Melissa chewed on her lip for a second, clearly regretting what she had forgotten to say. "One important thing—I should've told you earlier."
Mae raised a brow. "And?"
"It's about the Crown Prince." Melissa hesitated. "You need to act like you care about him… deeply. I mean, concerned. The Lady… she loves him."
Mae blinked, expression blanking out. "Excuse me?"
Melissa nodded solemnly. "It's the only time she ever showed intense emotion around him. Concern, affection, even warmth. She barely speaks to anyone else. But him… he was different."
A disbelieving laugh burst out of Mae's throat. "You're telling me this now?"
"I didn't know you'd be meeting him this soon!" Melissa protested, eyes wide, as if she were the victim here.
Mae shut her eyes, forcing herself to breathe. "Great. Just great. First I thought it was a political marriage, now it is a romantic one? "
"I'm sorry," Melissa muttered.
"No. It's fine," Mae finally said, pressing her lips together. "I'll try."
With a curt nod and a deep breath that did nothing to calm her nerves, she turned back toward the door. Her heels clicked softly on the marble as Lora followed close behind.