By the time the morning sun had climbed high, Sylas, Mrs. Joana, and Elira had already gathered for breakfast. Mrs. Joana had laid out a simple spread on the wooden table, a reflection of their humble life in the capital. Coarse barley bread, still warm from the hearth, sat beside a steaming bowl of oat porridge, lightly sweetened with a drizzle of honey. Small chunks of soft cheese rested nearby, and a few boiled eggs lay in a shallow wooden bowl. Seasonal fruits—red apples and a handful of berries—added a splash of color to the modest meal.
Mrs. Joana poured water into rough-hewn mugs for each of them, while a thin slice of leftover smoked meat from the previous night hinted at the small comforts of their home. The morning air was calm, carrying only the faint sounds of the secluded street outside—the occasional clatter of a wooden cart or distant murmur of neighbors. Sylas and Elira ate quietly, the gentle clatter of spoons and soft munching filling the room, savoring the simple breakfast that nourished both body and heart.
"Elira, would you like some hot chocolate?" Mrs. Joana offered her a steaming mug.
"Yes… thank you," Elira replied softly, a gentle smile tugging at her lips as they all began to eat. Sylas sat beside her, slicing an apple—his favorite fruit—and when he reached the last piece, he carefully placed it on her plate. Elira's eyes lit up as she gratefully accepted it, taking a small, delicate bite, while Mrs. Joana quietly enjoyed her own breakfast.
The peaceful morning silence was suddenly broken by a loud knock on the door. Elira instinctively stood, ready to see who it was, but Sylas's calm, cold voice stopped her.
"Stay seated. I'll check," he said. Obediently, Elira sat back down, her gaze following him as he strode toward the door. She nibbled on her bread, still curious, while Sylas opened the door—and froze.
"Hi, Sylas! Long time no—"
SLAM!
Sylas slammed the door shut. Standing outside was Cassian—his closest friend, the crown prince—with arms crossed and an unmistakable look of irritation as if the noise of the house had tested his patience.
"Hey, Sylas! Open the door! Don't you miss me?" Cassian called, knocking again with playful insistence.
Hearing the commotion, Mrs. Joana rose from her seat. Elira, cheeks slightly flushed, stayed focused on her breakfast, quietly trying not to be distracted. Mrs. Joana approached Sylas, her expression a mix of curiosity and mild reproach as he leaned against the door, brow furrowed, trying to hold back the overly enthusiastic prince.
"Who is that, Sylas? I thought I heard Cassian's voice," she asked.
"No, Mother… just a lost monkey," Sylas replied, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
"Ouch! A monkey? Really, Sylas?" Cassian exclaimed, clutching his chest like he'd been fatally wounded. "You wound me deeply!".
Mrs. Joana gave Sylas a pointed look, silently commanding him to let the prince in. With a resigned sigh, Sylas opened the door.
Cassian stepped inside, grinning broadly. Before Sylas could react, he lunged forward and enveloped Mrs. Joana in a tight, exuberant hug. "I missed you, Nanny! I wish I could be your son forever… maybe I could even replace Sylas!" he joked, nuzzling her shoulder playfully.
Sylas, standing beside them, groaned and crossed his arms, rolling his eyes at his friend's audacity. "Honestly, Cassian… you never change," he muttered, trying not to smile despite himself.
Mrs. Joana laughed, ruffling Cassian's hair fondly. "Oh, you cheeky boy! Always so dramatic," she teased, shaking her head, while Cassian beamed like he'd just won a small battle.
"You've grown so tall and handsome! How are you?" Mrs. Joana exclaimed, delighted to see him.
"I'm well… still more handsome than your son, of course," Cassian replied with a playful grin. Mrs. Joana chuckled at the familiar banter, remembering how nothing had changed between Sylas and Cassian over the years.
As Mrs. Joana guided Cassian to the table where Sylas and Elira were seated, Cassian's gaze fell on someone unexpected. Across from him, holding a piece of bread, was a familiar face—the girl he had bumped into on the street and admired from afar. Elira.
Elira and Cassian's eyes met, both of them stunned. Elira could hardly believe it—the man she had bumped into on the street, the one she had spoken with at the library, was none other than Cassian, the crown prince of Highthorne, Mrs. Joana's former ward, and Sylas's closest friend.
Cassian's eyes widened in recognition, surprise flickering across his face as he saw the girl who had caught his interest, now sitting at the table holding a piece of bread.
"Wait… you?" Cassian breathed, stepping closer.
Elira froze, her heart pounding as she looked up at him, unable to believe her eyes.
"Why are you here?" Cassian pressed, pointing at her in disbelief.
"Do you two know each other?" Mrs. Joana asked, curiosity in her tone. Sylas, now seated back beside Elira, studied them quietly, wondering how his friend could possibly know her.
"Yes… she's the girl I bumped into in the street, the one selling bracelets. And I almost met her again in the library," Cassian explained, his voice laced with wonder. Elira sat frozen, while Sylas recalled the day he had accompanied her to sell bracelets—realizing only now that Cassian had been there, too.
Cassian eventually sat beside Elira, with Mrs. Joana on his other side. Across from him sat Sylas, his sharp gaze fixed on his friend.
"What a coincidence," Mrs. Joana remarked with a small smile.
"Yes… but does she live here? Is she related to you?" Cassian asked, his curiosity growing. He could hardly believe the girl he longed to see again lived under the same roof—and worse, in his friend's home.
"She is my adopted daughter," Mrs. Joana replied gently. She smiled, though inwardly she avoided mentioning Elira's painful past, which she had no wish to reopen.
Elira's face burned as her thoughts spiraled. 'How embarrassing! I didn't know he was the crown prince… and worse, he's Sylas's friend!' Lowering her gaze, she nibbled on her bread, wishing she could vanish.
Cassian leaned closer, his voice soft. "Your name is Elira, right?"
Startled, Elira fumbled, her trembling hand spilling her hot chocolate across the table.
"Oh—sorry! I'm so sorry!" she gasped, quickly trying to clean the mess.
Cassian smiled faintly, resting his chin on his hand as he watched her. 'She's clumsy sometimes… but it's cute.'
Without a word, Sylas handed her a cloth. "Here," he said evenly. Elira accepted it with a flushed face, wiping her skirt and the table. Cassian's smile faltered slightly, bothered by the unusual gentleness Sylas showed her. A flicker of jealousy stirred within him, though he didn't understand why.
Steadying herself, Elira bowed her head. "Yes… I am. And I-I'm sorry, Your Majesty. I didn't know you were the crown prince."
Cassian chuckled. "You don't need to apologize, and please—don't call me 'Your Majesty.' Just Cassian, like Sylas does."
"O-Okay… C-Cassian," she whispered, her cheeks glowing red as she avoided his gaze. Cassian's heart lifted, warmth spreading through him at the softness of her voice.
After breakfast, Cassian retreated to his old room next to Sylas's. Closing the door behind him, he leaned against it, a smile tugging at his lips. He couldn't believe the girl he had longed to see was now living so close—under the same roof, even. His feelings were tangled, uncertain, but one thing was clear: he wanted to grow closer to Elira. Every gentle smile of hers made his heart race.
While Sylas and Elira were in the kitchen helping Mrs. Joana clean the table, Sylas offered to wash the dishes while Elira wiped the wooden surface and set the used plates aside. Elira carefully placed the last plate at the sink, where Sylas was already busy scrubbing, before heading to the backyard to help Mrs. Joana with the laundry.
She stood beside Mrs. Joana, dipping her hands into the wash basin, and together they worked on scrubbing the clothes.
"Mrs. Joana, I never thought you were once Cassian's nanny when he was little," Elira said as she rubbed a tunic against the washboard.
"Yes, ever since his birth. Right after I married Sylas's father and gave birth to my eldest daughter, followed soon by Sylas," Mrs. Joana replied.
"Really? How old are Cassian and Sylas now, Mrs. Joana?" Elira asked curiously.
"Sylas is already thirty, while Cassian is six years younger than him," Mrs. Joana said as she wrung out a piece of cloth and hung it on the line. Elira followed her lead, hanging the garments one by one.
As they worked, Elira realized something—she and Cassian were of the same age. She was twenty-four, the same as him. What surprised her even more was how much older Sylas truly was compared to them. No wonder Sylas carried himself with such coldness and steadiness, in contrast to Cassian's lively spirit.
****
In the Lust District, Elira's mother, Elinor, danced among the crowd in a provocative outfit: a black bodice with a tree-like design, off-the-shoulder sleeves, and a pleated brown skirt cinched with a decorative belt that nearly exposed her chest. After finishing her dance, she grabbed a glass of beer and drank it, still irritated because her daughter hadn't come home since Elinor had taken money from her.
"Ugh, that kid is giving me a headache," Elinor muttered, massaging her temples. Elira had been absent from their home for almost two weeks, and Elinor had been chasing her down for money so she could pay her debts—especially to the bar owner where she worked. Now, Elinor lay on a bed in a private room, waiting for a client.
"What's bothering you, huh, Elinor?"
Elinor froze. She recognized the familiar voice entering the room while she waited. Turning, she saw Mr. Morgan, the fat and unattractive bar owner dressed casually.
"Oh, boss, you're here!" Elinor said, attempting to seduce him, moving closer and flirting like a harlot.
But Mr. Morgan immediately shoved her away. "When are you going to pay me your debt?" he demanded.
"You bitch! When will you pay me? I'm sick of your body," he snapped.
"As you can see, I'm short on cash and there aren't many customers… please, just give me a chance," Elinor pleaded, trying to convince him.
But Mr. Morgan had grown impatient with her excuses. Suddenly, he stepped forward and slapped her across the face, and Elinor gasped in shock.
"Ahhh!" she shouted as he continued to beat her. After a relentless series of punches, Mr. Morgan grabbed her hair and forced her face down, leaving it covered in bruises.
"If you don't pay me, you know what will happen," he warned, shoving her roughly to the floor. Terrified, Elinor clutched one of his legs, bending his knees to free herself.
"What should I do to pay you, Mr. Morgan? My body isn't enough?" she cried.
"Ha! Even your pussy has been ruined after giving birth—it barely satisfies me!" Mr. Morgan sneered, insulting her further.
"Please! I'm begging you," Elinor continued to plead.
Mr. Morgan smiled wickedly and leaned closer to her face.
"I heard you have a beautiful daughter who resembles you the most, right?" he said, grinning maliciously.
Elinor nodded like a scared puppy.
"Bring her here. She'll be part of our bar and entertain clients," Mr. Morgan declared.
"Yes! I will! I'll make her do it!" Elinor shouted, agreeing to Mr. Morgan's condition. She lay on the floor, her face swollen and covered in bruises. Clutching her hands tightly, she tried to think of where she could find her obedient daughter as Mr. Morgan finally left her.
"I swear… Elira will pay me back!" she said, her eyes blazing with fury.