A week had passed since the King and Queen arrived in the city of Affluentia. Their stay at the Nakmarov family estate had turned out to be surprisingly calming for both of them. Victor had not asked even once about the purpose of their visit, nor had any of the other members of the household. This respectful silence, paired with the warm hospitality, created a rare and welcome sense of peace.
Victor's young son, full of energy and curiosity, had a strange, almost magical effect on the Queen. In his presence, her expression would soften, and once, she even allowed a small smile to touch her lips. She had even gone so far as to comfort him when he had been crying.
Confiros had never seen the Queen smile at anyone before. Not once. She had never even smiled at him—and he was the King. This small but significant moment stirred something in him. It made him curious. He found himself seeking out Milo's presence more and more, returning to the boy's laughter and bright eyes like a gentle reprieve. Over the course of the week, he had enjoyed himself so much that, for a while, he had almost forgotten the true reason they had come here in the first place.
But the memory eventually returned. After all, it had been the Crown Prince who had initiated this journey, insisting they come to visit the so-called "Creator's Village," as it was known back in the capital. Strangely, Victor had never brought up the matter, not even once. And the King began to wonder—had Gordon even bothered to tell him about their real intentions?
To settle the matter, the King summoned one of the palace servants and instructed him to call for Victor. After a few minutes, Victor arrived, slightly breathless, and entered the room that the King had established as his temporary office.
"Yes, Your Majesty," Victor said, bowing respectfully. "How can I be of service?"
The King rose from his seat, the polished medals on his military uniform catching the afternoon sunlight as it poured in through the tall windows.
"Victor," the King said in a commanding voice, "do you know the purpose of my visit here?"
Victor straightened and answered a bit tensely, "No, Your Majesty. I did not ask anyone."
The King sighed and shook his head slightly. "That's exactly what I thought. So I must ask—didn't Gordon tell you anything?"
Victor's posture stiffened slightly. "He told me only that His Majesty and the royal family were to stay with us for a month, and that afterward, we would accompany you to the village."
"Oh, so he did tell you something," the King said, a bit of his tension easing. "I was beginning to suspect he hadn't informed you at all. You always seem so detached from these matters."
Victor let out the faintest sigh, almost too quiet to notice. "Your Majesty needn't worry. I've already made preparations. A special transport has been arranged to take the royal family to the village. Everything is in place. We await only Your Majesty's order."
The King smiled, and this time it was genuine. "Sit," he said, gesturing to the chair across from him. Victor obeyed and took his seat.
"I truly appreciate you," the King said after a moment. "You are not like the other nobles. They are always posturing, always full of flattery and nonsense. Even some of your own ancestors were like that, if memory serves. But something changed. They stopped meddling in affairs they didn't understand and started focusing on developing the region. That, I respect."
The King leaned back slightly in his chair and exhaled. "Even Oklan and Hypatia ask me all kinds of personal questions. It's exhausting."
Victor, still visibly tense from the conversation, responded with quiet modesty. "My father gave me clear instructions. He taught me how to keep our family alive. He told me to work hard, to stay away from power and honor, and—of course—to have children."
The King laughed, loudly and freely. It was a full-hearted laugh, rare and sincere. He had never heard such blunt, honest words from a noble—especially not from one of the Bronze families. It was refreshing. It reminded him of the best in his people. And for a moment, it made him feel proud again to be the king of this nation.
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The courtyard of the Nakmarov family estate was playful and full of life. The space was vast, stretching far in every direction, and it was filled with vibrant flowers, tall trees, soft grass, fresh air, and everything one could hope for while on vacation. And if that wasn't enough, the view that met the eye on the horizon was breathtaking in its beauty. Snow-capped mountain ranges could be seen from afar, their majestic peaks standing tall and proud, adding a unique and almost dreamlike touch to the whole place.
"This place is amazing, Tanya," Oklan said to his younger sister as they walked slowly across the grass. "I really can't believe you never told me about it."
She rolled her eyes in mild frustration. "I kept telling you to come," she replied. "More than once. I told you again and again that it was the perfect place to relax. But of course, you decided your knightly duties were more important than everything else in your life." As she spoke, she gently stroked her swollen belly. "Even now, if I hadn't practically dragged you out here myself, there's a good chance you still wouldn't have come."
"Well, if you say so," he said, smiling broadly and not taking the comment too seriously.
"When are you getting married?" she asked him suddenly, changing the subject.
"Why are you asking that now?" he asked, looking at her with genuine confusion.
"You're already thirty-five," she said with a serious tone. "If you don't get married now, then when will you?"
Oklan let out a long sigh and smacked his forehead lightly with the palm of his hand. "Sister," he said, shaking his head slightly, "you've clearly been living too long in this area, surrounded by commoners. Have you forgotten that we, as nobles from the White Families, live for nearly a thousand years?"
"What does that matter?" she asked sharply. "You still need to bring an heir into our family. Otherwise, Father is going to be very, very angry with you," she added firmly. "We may live long, but we tend to marry early. You know that."
The conversation continued back and forth for a while, as they walked under the sunlit trees and between the flowerbeds. But in the end, the conclusion was clear—Oklan did not feel any particular urgency or desire to marry at this stage of his life.
Meanwhile, in a completely different part of the courtyard, a similar conversation was unfolding—but it was a quieter, more thoughtful one.
"You might have considered Oklan," Diana said gently to her sister.
"This is probably the millionth time I've heard that question," Hypatia replied with a weary sigh. "And my answer is still no. That man is strange and hot-headed. And just because I'm a knight doesn't mean I want to spend my life with another warrior."
Her tone was sad as she spoke, because unlike Oklan, Hypatia had truly made efforts to find a suitable partner. She had reached out, tried to open her heart, but every man she had approached romantically had ultimately pulled away—afraid, intimidated, uncertain. They were frightened by her position, by her title as the eldest daughter of the main Golden family.
"What about men from other Golden families?" Diana asked quietly.
"Who would want to live among those uptight snobs?" Hypatia shot back, clearly irritated. "They treat me like I'm some sort of monster, just because I chose to become a knight." She placed her hand on the scabbard of her sword, her expression hardening. "Even in our own family, I get the same treatment. I'm tired of it."
Diana opened her mouth to respond, but before she could say anything, she suddenly felt unwell. Hypatia reacted quickly, standing up and calling for a maid to come and check on her.
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"He really does look good," Marie said to Princess Oniri. The three girls—Marie, Oniri, and Sophie—were sitting together in the large garden shed, sipping on a refreshing drink. The breeze was light, the mood was relaxed, and they were chatting casually about all sorts of lighthearted, even silly, things. But Marie's gaze kept drifting, again and again, in one direction. She couldn't take her eyes off the Crown Prince. Never before had someone made her heart flutter like that.
"You should stop dreaming about him," Oniri said, giving her friend a knowing smile and shaking her head slowly. As she did, her hair shifted slightly, making it clear to those around that it was real—natural, not some gold-decorated hat as many might assume. "Look at your sister," she added, motioning toward Sophie with a subtle nod. "She's one of the very few women who hasn't fallen prey to my brother's charm and good looks."
She let out a soft giggle and turned to Sophie. "You have a strong personality. I'm sure you'll be able to start a good family someday."
"As if that's even possible," Sophie replied flatly. "I'll have to marry someone from my mother's side of the family."
Sophie had never liked being restricted by meaningless rules. The fact that she had so little choice in who she could marry—if she married at all—had always pushed her away from the idea of marrying into the nobility. And perhaps that was why, from the very beginning, she hadn't liked the Crown Prince at all.
"What about you, Oniri?" Marie asked with interest, clearly enjoying the direction their conversation had taken. She leaned on her elbow, resting her head on her hand, and let gravity pull her golden hair downward. "Who would the only princess of the Sun Kingdom want to marry when she grows up?"
Oniri's playful smile faded into a more serious expression. "I want someone kind," she said slowly, "and someone mature. Someone who will make me feel like I belong—someone who will be there to help me when I need it." She continued, describing more and more of the qualities of her ideal prince. She had, after all, had a few hundred years to build a perfect image in her imagination.
Not far away from where they sat, the two princes were together, spending time with Victor's sons.
"What is that blonde girl looking at?" Velupt asked his brother, referring to the glances Marie kept sneaking in his direction.
"I think," said Tharwin, placing a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder, "that she's just another victim of your handsome appearance, dear brother."
He spoke with a tone that was half frustration and half reluctant admiration—perhaps with a hint of jealousy underneath.
Velupt leaned back and looked up at the sky. His thoughts were elsewhere, far away. He was remembering the woman who had stolen his heart. It had only been six months ago, but for him, it felt like ages since he had first seen her. And still, even now, he hesitated…