Amidst the bustling activity of the palace, where butlers and maids scurried about tidying up the remnants of yesterday’s grand event, Prince Sebastian secluded himself in his study. The air was still, save for the faint scratching of his pen against paper and the occasional deep sigh that escaped his lips.

  Seated at his desk, he hunched over a blank sheet, his usually composed demeanor giving way to uncharacteristic restlessness. A crumpled ball of paper landed in the bin beside him with a dull thud—one of many failed attempts.

  For a young man known for his poise and eloquence, Sebastian found himself uncommonly flustered. His hand hovered over the page, the words refusing to come. His hair, usually neatly combed, now stuck out in unruly tufts from where he had run his fingers through it in frustration.

  ‘Why, of all things, does writing a simple letter to Lady Elara make me feel so… nervous?’

  He couldn’t quite put it into words, but the thought of her clear blue eyes lingered in his mind, distracting him from the task at hand.

  Sebastian sighed again, staring at the blank page before him. How was it that a prince who had faced countless formalities now faltered at the thought of addressing one young lady?

  Elara was a mystery to him, one he found increasingly captivating. Her quiet strength and curiosity about magic intrigued him, leaving him wondering what potential lay hidden behind her composed exterior.

  A knock at the door broke his train of thoughts. Edmund, his loyal butler, entered with a formal bow.

  “Your Highness, Prince Sebastian, you are requested to join His Majesty and the houses of Emberlund in the meeting room.”

  Sebastian leaned back in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck. “What could it be this time, Edmund?”

  “I believe it pertains to the discovery of sapphires in the western mines, Your Highness,” Edmund replied.

  Rising from his seat, Sebastian ran his fingers through his hair, smoothing it down. “Very well. Let’s not keep Father waiting.”

  ***

  The grand meeting room was alive with debate when Sebastian arrived, its polished marble floors and high ceilings amplifying the voices of the gathered nobles. His father, King Regis, sat at the head of the long table, his presence commanding yet composed. Around him were members of Emberlund’s most prominent houses: Viscount Harrington, Baron Alric, Countess Veradine, and others whose finely tailored attire did little to mask their self-serving attitudes.

  “We must seize this opportunity,” Viscount Harrington declared, his voice sharp. “The western mine has yielded an abundance of sapphires. If we trade them to neighboring kingdoms, we could secure valuable goods and coins.”

  “Agreed,” added Countess Veradine, adjusting the ruby brooch at her collar. “Why waste time on unnecessary ideas when profit is so easily within our grasp?”

  Sebastian listened quietly as the nobles voiced their agreement, their focus solely on maximizing trade. His gaze swept towards Duke William Ashford, who remained silent and uninterested.

  When a pause finally came, Sebastian leaned forward, his voice calm but firm.

  “I propose an alternative,” Sebastian began, drawing the attention of the room. “While trading half the sapphires for goods is sensible, we should use the other half to invest in our own kingdom.”

  “And how do you suggest we do that?” Baron Alric asked, his tone dripping with skepticism.

  Sebastian met the baron’s gaze unflinchingly. “The sapphires could be distributed to Emberlund’s craftsmen—those skilled in jewelry-making, metalwork, and fine artistry. They could use the gems to create goods of exceptional quality, which could then be sold or traded at a higher value.”

  A murmur rippled through the room, but Sebastian continued. “Furthermore, a portion of the profits from these sales should be allocated to fund shelters and food for the homeless and impoverished of Emberlund. I believe by empowering our craftsmen and uplifting the less fortunate, we strengthen the kingdom as a whole.”

  The room fell silent for a moment before Viscount Harrington scoffed. “The homeless? Why waste resources on those who contribute nothing? Let them beg in larger kingdoms if they need shelter.”

  Laughter rippled among some of the nobles, but Sebastian’s expression remained unwavering.

  “With respect, Viscount Harrington,” Sebastian said coolly, “the strength of a kingdom lies not only in its wealth but in the well-being of its people. Neglecting the most vulnerable is not just heartless—it’s short-sighted. By providing opportunities for them to contribute, we ensure a stable and prosperous Emberlund.”

  The king, who had remained silent until now, raised a hand, silencing the murmurs. “Prince Sebastian’s suggestion has merit,” he said, his deep voice commanding attention. “It requires further consideration. We will reassemble tomorrow to discuss the specifics.”

  The nobles exchanged uneasy glances but nodded, unwilling to openly challenge the king.

  As the meeting adjourned, Sebastian lingered for a moment, his mind still racing as he leaned in his chair while tapping a finger on the table. He had planted the seed of an idea, but only time would tell if it would bear fruit in the face of resistance.

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  “How is your relationship with Lady Isadora?” King Regis' voice broke through the silence, pulling Sebastian’s attention.

  Sebastian met his father’s gaze with a measured expression. “I don’t know yet. I only met her yesterday.” He sighed, rising from his chair and walking toward the door.

  The emperor’s voice followed him. “I want you to grow close to her and discern what William Ashford is plotting.”

  Sebastian paused at the door, his hand resting on the ornate doorknob. “Do you not trust them, Father?”

  A tense silence lingered before King Regis finally replied. “No.”

  The weight of that single word signaled the end of their conversation. Sebastian nodded once, pulled the door open, and let it close quietly behind him.

  ***

  As Sebastian made his way down the corridor, a butler approached with a slight bow, extending a neatly folded letter on a silver tray. “Your Highness, this just arrived for you.”

  Sebastian took the letter, his curiosity piqued as he recognized the delicate seal on the envelope: Whitmore's dove. Breaking the seal, he unfolded the paper and began to read.

  Your Highness,

  Thank you once again for inviting me to the tournament. It was a thrilling experience, and I must say, your skill with the sword is truly impressive. Congratulations on your well-deserved victory.

  I hope we may speak soon, as there are matters I’d like to discuss with you.

  With warm regards,

  Elara Whitmore

  A small smile tugged at the corners of Sebastian’s lips as he finished reading. The warmth in her words pleased him, but he was certain there was more to her request for a meeting. He couldn’t help but think of the strange events in the garden—the mysterious orbs and the eerie withering of the grass around her.

  Folding the letter carefully, Sebastian quickened his pace toward his quarters, already planning his reply.

  Once inside his room, he sat at his desk and began drafting a response. His pen moved with purpose, the earlier nervousness from writing to her nowhere to be found.

  Lady Elara,

  I am delighted to hear from you and thank you for your kind words. Your congratulations mean a great deal to me, and I’m glad to know you enjoyed the tournament.

  If it pleases you, I would like to invite you to join me for tea in the palace gardens two days from now. I’ve arranged for the time to be convenient, allowing us the chance to converse at our leisure. I’ve also heard of a patisserie that makes delightful confections, and I’ll be sure to bring along a selection I hope you’ll enjoy.

  I look forward to the pleasure of your company and the conversation that awaits us.

  Yours sincerely,

  Prince Sebastian Belmont of Emberlund

  Satisfied, Sebastian sealed the letter and handed it to a servant to deliver. As he leaned back in his chair, he made a mental note to visit the patisserie in town soon.

  Meanwhile, at the Whitmore estate, Elara sat at the dining table with her parents. The soft clink of silverware against porcelain filled the room, punctuated by the occasional gentle rebuke from her mother.

  “Elara, sit up straight,” Duchess Whitmore said, her tone warm but firm. “You’ve been slouching all evening.”

  “And you’re barely eating,” added Duke Whitmore, his brow furrowed in concern. “Is something on your mind?”

  Elara quickly straightened her posture and forced a small smile. “I’m fine, Father. Just a little tired, that’s all.” She took a small bite of her food, hoping to satisfy his watchful gaze.

  Her parents exchanged a glance, one of those silent conversations Elara had come to recognize too well. Her mother was the first to break the silence. “We’ve noticed you’ve been spending quite a bit of time in the library lately. Researching something, are we?”

  “Yes,” Elara replied cautiously, her focus firmly on her plate.

  Her father leaned forward slightly, his tone casual but laced with curiosity. “You’ve always had an inquisitive mind, Elara, but this sudden interest in old books is unusual. Not many your age devote so much time to study without reason.”

  Duchess Whitmore’s smile remained pleasant, though her gaze sharpened. “It’s admirable, of course. But it does make us wonder—what exactly has captured your attention? History? Romance? Or perhaps… something else?”

  Elara’s hand froze momentarily, her heart skipping a beat. The phrasing was innocent enough, but the subtle inflection on something else struck a nerve.

  ‘Do they suspect something?’

  She let out a small laugh, careful to make it sound natural. “Just history and folklore, Mother. Some of the stories are fascinating, that’s all.”

  Her mother studied her for a moment, her expression unreadable. “You’d tell us if there was anything important we needed to know, wouldn’t you?”

  “Of course, Mother,” Elara replied, pasting on a brighter smile. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

  Duchess Whitmore gave a slight nod, but the way her gaze lingered made Elara feel as though she hadn’t quite convinced her.

  The conversation soon shifted to lighter topics, but unease settled in Elara’s chest like a stone.

  ‘How much do they truly suspect? And if they discovered the truth about my growing abilities, how would they react?’

  For now, she thought, it was safer to keep her secrets buried—no matter how much they weighed on her.