"Ren?" Silver paused mid-step, not expecting to see him outside the Emperor's room. In all the times she had entered, not once had they met.
"Good morning to the Brightest Sun of the Archaum Empire," he greeted before giving her a formal bow. Silver quickly gestured for him to stand.
"Is my father inside?" she asked, glancing at the double doors he was guarding. Maybe he was in the middle of an important meeting?
Ren hesitated before finally speaking.
"The Emperor isn't feeling well right now, Your Majesty. If you could return another time, it would be greatly appreciated."
Silver noticed the slight upward tilt of his chin. A bad feeling coiled in her chest, buzzing against her ribs. Something was wrong.
"Can I see him, even for a moment?" she pressed, wanting to confirm her suspicion. This had never happened before. A few weeks ago, no matter how busy he was, her father had never once forbidden her entry. Something was definitely wrong.
"I apologize, Your Majesty." Ren offered no explanation. He only bowed his head slightly, eyes fixed on the marble floor.
"I see," Silver replied softly. She turned as if to leave—then waited until Ren lowered his guard before sprinting at the doors and flinging them open.
The room was dark, the atmosphere heavy. She stepped inside only to find the Emperor cuffed to his bedframe, his face twitching in pain.
"Father! What's wrong?!" Silver rushed toward him, but Ren blocked her path, his arm forming a barrier she couldn't break through. Even so, she caught a glimpse—his aura, red spilling violently across his body, streaked with black, turning it a deep crimson.
And then it struck her. The passage from the novel. The Emperor, whose power once shone like rubies protecting the empire, would one day be tainted black, tearing through the kingdom and killing guilty and innocent alike. The Archaum Empire had never witnessed such terror—it was recorded in history for generations to come.
The realization hit her like a tidal wave, leaving her lungs empty. She clawed at the air, desperate for breath. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed, hands fumbling at her chest as sharp pain seized her.
In a sudden burst of strength, the Emperor broke the chains restraining him. He scooped his daughter into his arms, carrying her swiftly out of the room. But even in his rescue, he was clearly struggling—his breath ragged, lips drained of color. He gently laid her onto the cool marble floor, then with a final, agonized glance, retreated back inside, slamming and locking the door.
Silver couldn't remember what happened after that. All she could think of was her father's face in that moment, and how much the Emperor treasured his daughter.
That was when she made up her mind. She was going to do everything to save him. And her biggest gamble was the Duke. She needed someone who could restrain her father if he lost control—or everyone in the palace would be in danger.
The novel had never hinted that the Emperor was losing control. But now that she thought about it, his berserk episode had always felt abrupt. Maybe Hiraya's death had been the trigger?
That made it all the more important for her to meet the Duke of the North.
The Northern Lands. Rumors said they were cold, harsh, and swarming with demons. Surviving there even for a day was a miracle. If she could endure it, maybe she'd truly have a chance. But the risks were enormous, with little reward.
And escaping the empire with the constitution of a fainting goat? That would just be a walk to her grave.
No. She needed to make the Duke crazy for her—crazy enough to leave the North and stay in the palace.
It was late afternoon, a week later. Mila was braiding her hair while Natasha organized her wardrobe. After confirming her father had returned to his duties, Silver began drafting her Escape Plan: Version 1.0 on parchment.
Step 1: Acquire map. (Do I even know where "North" is? I barely passed geography. Need to confirm.)Step 2: Gather supplies. (Food, water, disguises, maybe an emotional support llama?)Step 3: Transportation. (Horse? Carriage?)Step 4: Don't die on the way.
"Your Majesty… are you smiling?" Natasha asked, suspicious.
"Strategizing," Silver replied primly.
Natasha gave her the same look the Emperor had when she'd tried bribing him with cookies.
Testing her body had become routine, like debugging faulty software: push a button, watch it crash, reset. She learned the patterns.
Running? Instant crash.Heavy lifting? Crash.Stressful situations about the empire's doom? Nuclear crash.But slow walking, controlled breathing, small tasks? Doable.
She was basically a gamer stuck with a weak character build. But even weak builds could speedrun if you played smart.
So she trained. Walking a little farther each day. Practicing embroidery with steady hands. Studying politics and the Royal Court. She wasn't strong, but she was determined.
At night, she collapsed into bed, staring blankly at the canopy.
What if she didn't have two years? What if her body gave out sooner? What if the Emperor berserked before she found a cure? Would the plot save her? She was supposed to be the protagonist… but was she really?
With those thoughts gnawing at her, she drifted to sleep.
In the days that followed, Silver buried herself in books about the Northern Territories. Harsh winters. Fierce warriors. Endless border disputes. Demons. People who lived with grit and resilience.
Everything she wasn't.
But she didn't plan to stay there. She only needed her savior. After that, she wanted to live a carefree life in the palace.
She flipped through another page, trying to absorb every detail she could find about him.
If only I'd read that damn novel properly.
She sighed.
Natasha burst in, pale-faced.
"Your Majesty," she whispered urgently.
Silver slammed the book shut. "What? Did someone see me? Is the Emperor coming? Did Mila finally discover my cheesecake stash—"
"No," Natasha interrupted, breathless. "News from the capital. An announcement was made."
Her pause stretched too long, and Silver gripped the edge of the desk.
"Well? Spit it out!"
Natasha swallowed. "The Duke… Duke Dashiell Felicé… he is coming to the capital for a visit."
Silver froze.
For a moment, her brain refused to process. Did this happen in the novel? Or was this her doing? Did she change the story? Her anxiety spiked.
"Wait. Here? For me?"
Natasha shook her head quickly.
"No, no. He's accompanying Duchess Felicé. She's here to recuperate. Not the palace. Not for you."
"Oh."
Her breath hitched. Not from stress, but from something else—something she couldn't name.
Then realization struck.
Her knowledge of the novel was useless. She couldn't follow the plot even if she wanted to.
The Duke. The man who could save everyone—or destroy them.
And now, he was only a stone's throw away.
Well. Wasn't that just the universe playing games.