"See you tonight then, my princess…" Mr. Genevra intoned, his voice dripping with practiced awe, as though he were addressing a goddess.

With a final, lingering look, he turned and began his descent from the temple steps, his mercenaries falling into step behind him. Knights and servants moved to escort them, their armor clinking softly as the procession vanished down the marble stairway.

For a few long heartbeats, silence hung heavy in the temple corridor. None of them moved until the sound of boots and voices faded into the distance, leaving only the faint echo of Genevra's words clinging to the air.

The moment they was certain they were alone, Olga wheeled toward the princess in a swift motion. She seized the princess's hand without a word and pulled her toward the nearest basin of water set against the wall. The gesture was forceful but not unkind, protective, almost ritualistic.

The princess gave a soft, indignant huff, her ruby eyes narrowing as Olga dipped her hand into the cool water. "I'm fine, Olga." Her tone was light, airy, but the slight tightness at the corner of her mouth betrayed her annoyance.

Olga was not convinced. With a rough exhale, she rubbed the princess's hand clean as though scrubbing away something foul. "No, you're not," she muttered, her own voice laced with contempt. "Your smile was crooked. Anyone could see you wanted to throw something at that sleazy man's head."

The princess let out a small laugh, half amusement, half exasperation. Her lips curved, but there was no warmth in it. Instead, her gaze flickered briefly toward the door where Genevra had left, and for just a breath, her sweet mask faltered.

Still, Keiser, Lenko and Tyron remained where they were, a silent observer to the squabble by the basin. Servants hurried past, prepared with fresh linens and water. They watched as the two women were followed by those same servants to another part of the room.

"You're the one who throws things, Olga," the princess's tone was light, almost teasing, though there was steel beneath it. "I don't do that."

The words were followed by the splash of water, the sharp sound echoing against the marble walls.

That was Keiser's cue.

Without hesitation, he reached out and hooked Lenko by the arm, who was frozen at the threshold, still staring in disbelief, and caught Tyron by the shoulder, dragging both boys away before their presence could be noticed. Tyron's face was crimson, his eyes darting everywhere but toward the door they'd just left, as though the mere thought of the princess being bathed within was too much for him.

Even as Keiser pulled them down the passage, Olga's voice rang out, sharp and indignant. "Then what else would you do?"

The reply came, clear as bells, confident even through the sound of water sloshing in the basin. "Make him pay, for every moment, and every action, I allowed him to take."

Keiser led them back to the guest room where they had been quartered for the past three nights, the heavy wooden door closing behind them with a muted thud. The air inside still carried the faint scent of incense and candle wax, clinging to the silks and cushions the temple had provided.

He turned, eyes sharp, studying the two boys who stood stiff as if children caught out of place. "…So?" he asked at last, his voice low but pointed.

Both Lenko and Tyron froze, their postures snapping taut, as though dragged back to reality after drifting too close to something dangerous. Their eyes flicked toward each other, searching for reassurance, or perhaps deciding which of them should speak first. Slowly, the unease faded from their faces, replaced with something far more sober, serious, and wary.

Keiser's gaze narrowed. Before pressing further, he swept his eyes over the chamber, listening. The murmur of the temple beyond was distant, muted, no shadows lingered by the doors, no footsteps paused in the hall.

Satisfied, he stepped closer, lowering his voice to a whisper.

"Did you recognized any of them, Tyron?"

The boy's shoulders sagged ever so slightly, his fingers curling into the fabric of his cloak. After a moment's hesitation, he nodded.

"…Yes," Tyron admitted at last, his voice trembling at the edges. "One of them. I've seen him before, with my father." He swallowed hard, his hands twisting into his tunic until the fabric bunched. "I think it's true… they're going to auction my mother's heart." His voice cracked on the last word, but he forced it out, heavy with dread. "That noble from before, Mr. Genevra, he left an invitation for the princess… talking about miracles and divine intervention, like her..."

For a fleeting moment, his eyes shifted sideways, toward Lenko. The glance was brief but telling, as if the thought had only just struck him,

'the one who needs miracles right now is the one beside me.'

Lenko caught that look, but his expression didn't waver. He clenched his fists, jaw tightening before he spoke, his tone level, deliberate. "I think… they never really expected the princess to accept."

His brow furrowed, recalling the details with precision. "But I did see what you told me to watch for, your highness. One of them, she's no ordinary mercenary. She's an academy mage. I heard Genevra call her Seventh." His lips curled faintly, almost in disgust. "Her hand kept weaving beneath her sleeves. She was trying to hide it, but I've seen enough to know, it was runescripting."

The weight of his words settled between them like a stone. Tyron's fear, Lenko's quiet certainty, and the knowledge of what lay ahead pressed hard against the room's silence.

Keiser gave a slow nod, his thoughts circling darkly. It made sense now, what Olga had shared with him that night at the pub after the second trial, what he had suspected.

They must have put the princess under when she refused them, twisting her will, then unleashing chaos around the temple so that when the smoke cleared, her name would be tarnished beyond repair. She, the saint, the kingdom's darling, turned into the beating heart of a scandal that could never be washed clean.

But this time, she had agreed. And because of that choice, the morning incident, the spark that would have burned her reputation to ash, had been averted. At least, that was Keiser's hope.

Now, however, he stood in uncharted territory.

Every step beyond this point was a step into fog. What he remembered for some parts no longer applied. He had altered something, and that meant the future was no longer certain, no longer the cruel pattern he could predict and brace against.

It could shift, twist, veer into outcomes no one had known, no one had seen.

It should have thrilled him. Instead, it filled him with a cold weight pressing down on his ribs. The unpredictable had always been dangerous.

And yet, one truth remained as steady and merciless. By the time this day ended, someone would fall.

Him or Lenko.

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