The corridors of the Greenwood Estate usually smelled of ozone and dried herbs, a scent that Olivia Trayagon had associated with home since she was five years old. Today, however, the air felt heavy, as if the very atoms were bracing for an impact.
Olivia walked with the rhythmic, metallic click of a warrior. Her crimson hair, a vibrant legacy from her late mother, was tied back in a high ponytail that swayed like a flame. At her hip rested Ignis, a blade forged from dragon-glass, a testament to her status as the Empire's most renowned magic swordswoman. Beside her, fluttering in short, agitated bursts, was Infurnio. The small, red male dragon chirped, his scales glowing like hot coals as he sensed his rider's urgency.
"Steady, Infurnio," Olivia murmured, her eyes—the color of polished rubies—softening for a brief second. "We just need Robert's latest concoctions. The Behemoth in the Western Pass won't wait for the moon to rise."
She didn't announce herself. She never had to. As the Second Princess and Robert's fiancée, the Greenwood doors were always open to her. She reached the door of his private laboratory, the place where they had shared countless tea breaks and whispered dreams of a future where she would be the shield and he would be the hearth.
She pushed the door open, a request for alchemical support already on her lips.
The words died in her throat.
The scene inside was not one of research or logic. It was a scene of betrayal. Robert Greenwood, the man who had promised to stand by her side until the stars went cold, was not at his workbench. He was by the window, his hands cradling the waist of another woman.
That woman was Amelia Trayagon, the First Princess.
Olivia watched, frozen, as Robert leaned down to kiss her half-sister—a deep, lingering kiss that spoke of a long-standing intimacy, not a sudden mistake. Amelia's fingers were threaded through Robert's hair, her pale eyes sliding toward the door. She saw Olivia, but she didn't pull away. Instead, a small, triumphant smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
Infurnio let out a low, guttural hiss, a plume of smoke escaping his nostrils.
Robert finally pulled back, his face flushing deep crimson when he noticed the silhouette in the doorway. "Olivia! I—this isn't—"
"The Behemoth," Olivia said, her voice terrifyingly hollow. She didn't scream. She didn't draw her sword. The discipline of the battlefield had kicked in, turning her heart into a block of ice. "I came to ask for the paralysis draughts for the Behemoth."
"Olivia, listen to me," Robert stepped forward, reaching out a hand stained with silver reagents. "Amelia and I... we realized that the Mystic bond between an Alchemist and the First Princess is... it's a matter of state. It's about the lineage."
"Is that what we're calling it now?" Olivia's gaze shifted to Amelia, who was calmly adjusting her silk sleeves.
"Don't be dramatic, sister," Amelia said, her tone dripping with mock pity. "You've always been more comfortable with monsters and horrors than with a man's heart. Robert needs someone who understands the court, not someone who smells of blood and dragon scales."
Olivia looked at the man she had loved since childhood. Robert didn't defend her. He didn't even look her in the eye. He just looked down at his boots, the silence confirming everything.
"I see," Olivia said, the ruby light in her eyes flickering dangerously. "I'll handle the Behemoth myself."
She turned on her heel, the cape of her royal uniform billowing behind her. As she walked away, the Royal Chaos began to stir in the depths of her soul. She had survived the front lines of war, but as she stepped out into the cold sunlight, she realized the most dangerous battlefield wasn't the one with monsters—it was the one inside the palace walls.
******
The heavy obsidian doors of the throne room groaned as Olivia pushed them open. She didn't wait for the herald. Her boots, still stained with the dust of her journey to Robert's estate, left faint prints on the pristine marble. Infurnio perched on her shoulder, his small claws digging into her leather pauldron, his low hiss echoing her internal fury.
At the far end of the hall, silhouetted by towering stained-glass windows, sat Emperor Henry Trayagon. Standing to his right was Crown Prince Edward, Olivia's only full-blooded sibling.
"Father! Edward!" Olivia's voice rang out, trembling with righteous anger. "I have just come from the Greenwood estate. Robert has betrayed his vows! He was with Amelia—"
"We are aware, Olivia," Edward interrupted. His voice was as flat as a blade's edge. He didn't even look up from the tactical map on the table before him.
Olivia froze mid-stride. "You are aware? He was kissing her. It was a violation of our engagement! I demand he be stripped of his titles for insulting the Second Princess."
Emperor Henry finally looked at his daughter. His face was a mask of stone, weathered by decades of cold rule. There was no malice in his eyes, only a void of emotion that was far more terrifying.
"The engagement between the Greenwood family and the Second Princess is dissolved," the Emperor stated. "Robert Greenwood is now engaged to Amelia. It is already signed into law."
The air left Olivia's lungs. She looked to Edward, her own brother, expecting to see a spark of the bond they once shared. "Edward, surely you see the insult. Robert was my fiancé. We grew up together!"
"It is a matter of state, Olivia," Edward replied, his eyes finally meeting hers. They were cold and calculating. "Amelia's affinity for the Mystic arts is a better match for a Master Alchemist. You are a warrior; you do not need an alchemist to swing a sword. You are being... redistributed."
The realization hit Olivia like a physical blow. This wasn't a mistake; it was a calculation. Amelia hadn't just stolen a man; she had orchestrated a coup of Olivia's life. By taking Robert, Amelia secured the Empire's best alchemical resources and shifted the "trash" of her own life onto Olivia.
"Then what is to become of me?" Olivia whispered, her hand trembling on the hilt of her sword.
"Tomorrow," the Emperor said, "you will depart for the Steel Duchy. You are to marry George Steel."
Olivia recoiled as if she had been struck. The Steel Duchy was a name synonymous with ruin. It was the largest territory in the Empire, but it was a desolate, frozen wasteland where the mana veins had long since dried up. The Steels were "trash" nobility—dukes of a graveyard. George Steel, Amelia's former fiancé, was known only as a man who had failed to manifest any significant magic, a man discarded by Amelia because he offered nothing but a title to a barren land.
"Amelia stole my life and gave me her leftovers," Olivia said, her voice shaking. "She refused to marry a pauper in a wasteland, so you are throwing me away instead?"
"The Steel family requires a royal presence to maintain the border," Henry said coldly. The room's temperature dropped as the Emperor's aura filled the hall, forcing Olivia to her knees. "Your martial skills are better suited for the dirt of the countryside than the marble of the capital. Be grateful you still have a title."
"Father, please—"
"The carriages are being packed," the Emperor turned his back on her. "You leave at dawn. Do not bring shame to the Trayagon name in your exile."
Edward didn't look at her as she stood up. He simply moved a marker on his map, as if he had just traded a broken pawn for a more valuable knight.
Olivia turned and walked out, her heart heavy with the weight of absolute betrayal. She had fought for this family. She had bled for this empire. And in return, they had traded her like a used blade to a bankrupt house.