A few weeks had passed since the prince’s trial, and the palace had grown unnervingly quiet. The silence unsettled Tuk. She had spent those weeks keeping her head low, watching, waiting. Whispers drifted through the halls, stray murmurs slipping past silk screens and heavy curtains. The nobles were talking, the officials exchanging too many glances—but no dagger, literal or political, had come for her yet. Her paranoia remained just that, lingering in her thoughts like a shadow.

  Nothing happened.

  Was this just how the empire worked? Women weren’t as valuable as men here. Those high-born daughters had suffered because of the scroll—some were left cold, others burned. Rumors spread around that some of the women had taken to their beds, too weak to rise. Whether from grief, fear, or something else entirely.

  "Well, they’re probably just faking it," Tuk muttered to herself. "You don’t have to feel guilty, Tuk. You just did what you could."

  She left Nixon’s office after submitting her end report as part of her role as the prince’s advisor, her steps carrying her toward the tall clock tower. The winding stairway led to a secluded spot—one she had claimed as her own on restless nights. Back when sleep refused to come, when homesickness clawed at her, this was where she went.

  The night sky stretched endlessly above her. She had never been one to look at the stars before. Back home, nights were spent in front of a screen, her fingers tapping away, her world reduced to glowing pixels. But here—without a phone, a computer, or even the hum of an internet signal—she found something she hadn’t known she needed.

  Peace.

  No honking cars. No flashing billboards. No constant flood of notifications. Just the quiet hush of another time, another world.

  "This is… really nice." She exhaled, resting her arms on the railing. The night air was dry against her skin, carrying the scent of earth and stone—so different from the smog she once knew.

  From her vantage point, the empire stretched out before her. Rolling dunes met sunbaked stone at the horizon, an endless expanse of desert. But within that barren land, a marvel stood—the empire itself, carved from wealth itself.

  Her favorite sight was the cascading waterfalls, silver ribbons spilling from marble terraces. They shimmered under the moonlight, catching the starlight like liquid jewels. Even from this distance, the whisper of rushing water reached her ears, a soft murmur against the sleeping city. It was unnatural. Water, in a land of sand? A display of power. A defiance of nature itself.

  Sprawling bridges, adorned in gold, wove through the palace grounds, linking lush gardens that had no right to exist here. Tall pines stood like silent sentinels, their dark forms stark against the pale stone. This wasn’t an oasis born from the land. It was one forced into existence. An empire that bent nature to its will.

  Beyond the palace, the city glowed. From up here, everything looked small, like a treasure hoard scattered beneath her. The golden rooftops gleamed under the lamplight, shimmering as though dusted in riches. Tuk curled her fingers over the railing.

  If she were a thief, she wouldn’t even know where to start.

  Everything was gold. Everything was wealth. Even the houses were painted in gold. Who did that? Were the people here so rich that they could afford to decorate their roofs like this?

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  "Seriously, everyone here is disgustingly rich," she muttered. "Marry one citizen, and you’d probably never have to work again."

  The thought was ridiculous, but so was this city. How could a place this wealthy thrive in the middle of a desert? Maybe it was strategy. From afar, the golden rooftops and sandy terrain would blur together, hiding the city from enemy eyes. Smart. But still… was this much gold really necessary?

  Tuk leaned further over the railing, her gaze drifting back to the prince’s main palace. The history of Marceau must be as rich as its streets. How had they built all this? How many centuries had it taken?

  She scoffed. If she wanted to read through Marceau’s history, she might as well start preparing for old age now. Those archives probably stretched longer than her lifespan.

  If only the internet existed here. A simple search would have been enough. But this was a world where history wasn’t summarized in neatly written articles. It was buried in scrolls, some locked behind ancient tongues and books.

  Her fingers stilled against the railing as a small figure emerged onto one of the room's balconies. Even without a clearer view, from his posture and the way he stood, she had an idea who it was.

  The prince.

  During the trial, she had seen something in him—something she couldn’t quite define. A flicker of fear, tangled with something else. Madness, maybe?

  She didn’t know.

  What she did know was that beneath all their beauty, something was missing.

  Like the empty hush of the desert wind. Like the way gold could shine but never feel warm.

  The empire was rich.

  But it was hollow.

  Tuk leaned against the balcony, her eyes sweeping over the empire stretched beneath her. It was beautiful, breathtaking even—shimmering gold rooftops, winding bridges, cascading waterfalls glowing under the moonlight. A place built to impress. And yet, it felt lonely.

  "Just like that guy," Tuk muttered as she leaned on the railing, hands tucked beneath her chin.

  She wondered why the prince hated it—the idea of concubines, of women in his palace. His father, the emperor, was different. His palace was filled with them, as expected of a ruler. But the prince? Even his servants were all men. Now that she thought about it, despite the emperor’s many women, he had only one son.

  Tuk had been thinking about it for a while now.

  His face during the trial had been different from his usual smug expression. He had fought beasts like Onyxariel without a flicker of doubt, yet back then… there had been something in his eyes. Something he had never shown before.

  Honestly, she didn’t have to go this far to help him. But looking at him, she knew there had to be a reason. No—she knew there was. She just didn’t want to know.

  After all, you don’t find strong people without painful pasts.

  She knew that better than anyone.

  But she was done being a nice person. She had chosen to be kind, to have boundaries, and to move on. To put herself first. And yet, here she was, still tangled in other people’s problems.

  Tuk exhaled sharply. "This is the last time," she muttered to herself.

  She needed to stop thinking about others. She needed to focus on herself—on surviving until she could go back.

  Plan A still had a chance. The more she learned about the scroll, the more possible it seemed. But life had taught her to always have a backup plan.

  She hated the idea, but she needed a safety net. And right now, the prince was the best one she had.

  If she couldn’t find a way out, she needed someone important on her side. Having his support would make things easier. And so far, she had barely managed to do that. No—she was hanging by a thread. As much as she didn’t want to be involved with him, she had to admit that he was useful to her survival plan.

  But god, dealing with him was like writing a never-ending thesis—painful and exhausting.

  Maybe she needed a Plan C. If Plan A failed and Plan B became too much of a hassle, then she’d need another option.

  A place to live. Somewhere far from politics. Somewhere that only cared about having fun.

  "Alright, let’s do this." She straightened, determination settling in her bones.

  But first—Plan A.

  She had worked too hard for the life she left behind. For her home.

  She would test the scroll again.

  She had done it once before.

  All she needed was another "accident" to make it work.

  She just had to experiment. Explore it.

  And hope it would take her back.