Seated within an opulent carriage bound for a predetermined destination was a young lady with lustrous pink hair cascading down to her waist. Her figure possessed a sinful allure that belied her tender years—one of the very reasons the prince remained so utterly obsessed with her. Those azure orbs that were her eyes held an almost hypnotic quality, beautiful things that captured the attention of any man fortunate enough to behold them. Her fair, porcelain skin seed to glow in the carriage’s dim interior, and she was dressed in formal noble attire that tastefully revealed glimpses of her smooth shoulders and elegant legs.
"..." In profound silence, she gazed through the window with practiced composure, drinking in the passing scenery with what appeared to be calm indifference. Yet beneath that serene exterior, her mind churned like a tempestuous sea.
Whoosh.
A cloaked figure materialized beside the moving carriage, matching its pace with unnaturally steady steps that barely disturbed the dust beneath.
"Speak," she commanded without sparing the mysterious figure so much as a glance, her voice carrying the weight of absolute authority.
"The tracker... it suddenly picked up his signature," the figure reported, and her mask of cold indifference cracked, her eyes widening in genuine shock.
’El,’ she thought, and suddenly those carefully suppressed feelings that she had locked away for what felt like an eternity returned with devastating force. Her heart hamred violently against her ribcage, each beat echoing in her ears as her breath caught in her throat. His face materialized in her mind’s eye with startling clarity, and she whirled toward the figure with desperate urgency.
"How? When? Why? Where is he now?!" The questions tumbled from her lips in rapid succession, her composed facade crumbling entirely. She had harbored these strange, inexplicable feelings for so terribly long—from that very first day when he had smiled at her, accompanying the prince to her duchy.
Initially, she had dismissed the flutter in her chest as re novelty, attributing it to his striking appearance. But as ti passed and circumstances granted her more precious opportunities to spend alone ti with him—those occasions when the prince would send him in his stead to deliver gifts—she began to understand the true nature of her feelings. This had started during the period when the prince began paying her noticeably less attention, using these gifts as compensation for his increasingly infrequent visits.
At first, she had been absolutely livid about the prince’s cold shoulder. Her fury had been so intense that she would actually hurl the gifts that Yuriel faithfully brought directly at his face whenever he appeared at her door. Yet he always returned, like clockwork, at least once every two weeks. Gradually, almost without her conscious awareness, she stopped caring about the prince’s personal absence. In fact, she found herself anticipating Yuriel’s visits with growing excitent.
The extrely, maddeningly dense fool still wouldn’t recognize a heartfelt confession even when delivered right to his face. She had even resorted to sending guilt-inducing letters to the prince, which had the desired effect of increasing Yuriel’s visits to two or three tis within those sa two weeks. But then everything had changed on the day she realized sothing was terribly, fundantally wrong.
Soone else wanted her Yuriel.
Maria.
The revelation had struck her like lightning on the day she visited the palace personally. A woman’s instincts were rarely mistaken, and that day she had made what she now recognized as a catastrophically bad decision...
Asking the prince for Yuriel.
"This morning, exactly 9:30 AM. We are unable to pinpoint his previous location before he was picked up by the tracker," the figure replied with asured precision.
"Don’t give that evasive nonsense... you must have so idea," she said, her expression growing darker than storm clouds, shadows seeming to deepen around her delicate features.
"...The palace," he admitted after a pregnant pause, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "Only the palace possesses such high-level defensive enchantnts capable of stopping a pre-installed tracker from functioning properly."
’Maria,’ she laughed, but the sound held no warmth—only crystalline coldness that could freeze blood in one’s veins. Her entire expression transford into sothing so dark and nacing that even the seasoned figure instinctively moved away from the carriage door.
"To think she had really kept him hidden all this while... what exactly has she been doing to him?" Her gaze drifted upward to the carriage’s ornate ceiling as her brilliant mind began running multiple complex scenarios, searching for the logic behind this revelation. There had to be a reason—there was always a reason. And there was also the telling fact that Maria had suddenly released him from the castle’s confines. That timing couldn’t be coincidental, especially with the entrance examinations approaching—examinations that she would most definitely be attending.
’Tsk, she must have done sothing to manipulate him. I have a terrible feeling about this,’ she thought, her frown deepening into sothing truly foreboding. Katharina had always known that Yuriel harbored genuine hatred for Maria—it was one of the primary reasons she had remained relatively relaxed even while knowing that Maria could attempt to steal him away at any mont. He would never fall for that woman’s sches. Never.
Well, unless Maria had employed so form of coercion to forcibly change that dynamic.
"Where is he now?" she asked, straightening her posture with renewed determination, every line of her body radiating dangerous intent.
"...Asteria."
Her frown deepened as she brought her perfectly manicured nail to her lips, biting it in a gesture that betrayed her inner turmoil.
Asteria was the kingdom closest to their own borders—what could possibly be Maria’s motive for sending him to such a location? If there was one absolute truth that Katharina was certain of, it was that Maria harbored an obsession with Yuriel that bordered on madness. There was no conceivable reason she would willingly let him venture so far from her grasp. Unless... could it be that she was orchestrating his departure with the specific intention of having him join the academy? Considering that he had never borne a slave mark—one of the many mysteries that still puzzled her—he could easily blend into normal society. If he joined the academy, Maria would be perfectly positioned to manipulate him freely under the guise of academic pursuits.
’So he would be headed for the academy now,’ she concluded. That was the most logical theory her sharp mind could construct. After all, Maria had kept him hidden and isolated for such an extended period that for her to release him now could only an she couldn’t maintain control over him while she was at the academy. Therefore, the only rational explanation would be her engineering his enrollnt as well, ensuring she could maintain her influence over him in a new environnt.
She released a long, asured sigh, then allowed a smile to slowly spread across her lips—but this smile held no warmth or joy. It was cold, calculating, and utterly terrifying in its implications.
’Fine, it seems I have been far too passive with you, my dear, precious Yuriel. That will all change when we et at the academy. It doesn’t matter what she has done to you, I will make you mine,’ she thought, her smile widening into sothing truly disturbing.
It was a distorted expression, twisted with obsession—sothing that only a person teetering on the edge of madness would display so openly.
Even the hardened figure beside her carriage felt a chill of genuine terror.
"Your... your instructions, my Lady?" he managed to ask, his voice slightly strained.
"Do absolutely nothing," she commanded with silky nace. "Let it all play out naturally... just protect him from the shadows, but under no circumstances should you be discovered." After all, it was common knowledge that Maria would ensure his safety through her own ans.
"Let’s see who laughs last, dear Maria," she spoke with a smile.
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