Third man p.o.v

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"Cynthia, wake up before I get hold of you!" Stella's voice cut through the early morning stillness, sharp with urgency. Her daughter, still buried under the blankets, groaned and turned over, reluctant to leave the warmth of her bed. "Are you deaf?" Stella's voice rose, impatience creeping in.

Cynthia finally stirred, slowly crawling out of bed, her movements sluggish and uncooperative. "Seems you’re looking for my trouble," Stella muttered, eyeing her daughter as Cynthia rubbed her eyes and yawned lazily. "What is it now?" Cynthia asked, her voice laced with irritation.

Stella's eyes narrowed. "You dare ask me that? Were you deaf when your father said we are traveling to the capital today? Or is your ear already having problems?" The last part was delivered in a harsh tone, her words echoing with a mixture of concern and frustration.

Cynthia, still groggy, shrugged. "Should I teach you how to bathe too?" Stella added, her voice icy.

The words jolted Cynthia awake. Without another word, she dashed into the bathroom, her sluggishness replaced by sudden urgency. Minutes later, she reappeared, still dressed in her nightgown, her face pale.

"What are you looking for?" her mother asked, her tone sharp.

"Nothing..." Cynthia mumbled, though she felt an unsettling presence in the room, like someone—or something—was watching her. She hurried back into the bathroom, the unease gnawing at her.

She took the quickest bath of her life, the feeling of being watched not leaving her. Dressed in a sky-blue gown and sandals, she emerged from her room, trying to shake off the lingering sense of dread. Outside, her family had already packed everything.

"Cynthia!" Her father's voice called from outside, breaking her thoughts. "Yes, Daddy," she answered, rushing to meet him by the carriage.

"Are you ready?" he asked, strapping the last of their belongings onto the carriage.

"Yes, Father," she replied, though her voice trembled slightly.

"Good. Tell your mother we will be leaving shortly," he instructed.

She nodded, hesitating for a moment before heading back to the house. "ejebi e ma lo (your fault, why don't you leave)," she muttered under her breath, but her father caught it.

"What does that mean?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.

"It means I will go and call her," she quickly interpreted, forcing a smile.

He nodded, though his expression remained unreadable. "Oh, you and your local language," he chuckled, but there was no humor in his voice.

Cynthia rolled her eyes and went to fetch her mother. Soon, they were all ready to leave, the atmosphere heavy with unspoken tension.

As soon as the journey began, Cynthia drifted off to sleep, her head resting on her mother's lap. But even in sleep, her brow was furrowed, as if her dreams were as unsettling as the morning had been.

The carriage approached the capital’s imposing gates, its tall, iron bars casting long shadows. A guard halted their progress, peering inside the carriage with a scrutinizing gaze. Cynthia stirred as the carriage stopped, her mother's grip on her tightening.

The guard's eyes lingered on Cynthia, and a shiver ran down her spine. "A farmer, let him pass," another soldier called out from the side. Reluctantly, the guard waved them through, the massive gates creaking open to allow their passage.

Stella shook Cynthia awake. "Look, the capital gate," she whispered, pointing. The city beyond was sprawling and majestic, its grandeur a stark contrast to the rural simplicity they had left behind.

"Wow, Mom, it's... it's beautiful. Is this where—" Cynthia began, but her mother quickly covered her mouth, her eyes wide with fear.

"Say it in the local language," she hissed, glancing around as if someone might overhear them.

"se ibi ti mom Evie gbe ni yi? (Is this where Evie's mom lives?)" Cynthia corrected herself, her voice barely above a whisper.

Stella nodded, her face pale. "be ni (yes)," she replied, her voice trembling.

The carriage stopped again, this time in front of a small inn. Stella hugged her daughter tightly, her tears flowing freely now. "se omo jeje (be a good child)," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

"I will try," Cynthia responded, her own tears threatening to spill over. She was trying hard to be brave, but the fear of the unknown gnawed at her insides.

They heard her father’s voice outside the carriage, talking to someone. Stella wiped her tears, looking at Cynthia with a forced smile. Cynthia returned the smile, but deep down, a sense of impending doom filled her heart.

"Cynthia, wait here. Your mother and I are going to check if there’s space inside," her father instructed. Cynthia nodded, watching as they disappeared into the inn.

**Inside the Inn**

The receptionist’s eyes widened as he saw Stella and her husband enter. "Is my budget ready?" her husband asked, his voice cold and businesslike.

"It’s inside the carriage," Stella replied, her tone flat, her face devoid of emotion.

The receptionist smirked, pulling out a small pouch. "Then you mean business. That's a gold coin, seven silver pieces, and a bag of seeds," he said, jingling the pouch mockingly.

Charles, her husband, nodded. "Don't worry, it’s ready," he responded, his voice betraying no emotion.

Stella stood silently, her eyes distant. The words exchanged between the men barely registered with her. She was focused on what was about to happen.

"Go and bring your daughter," the receptionist said, his voice laced with something unsettling.

Stella nodded and left the room, her steps heavy. She opened the carriage door to find Cynthia nervously picking at her nails. The sight of her daughter, so innocent and unaware of what was to come, broke Stella's composure.

"I wish I could fight for you," she whispered, her voice cracking as tears began to flow once more.

Cynthia looked up, startled by her mother's tears. "Don’t worry, Mom," she tried to reassure her, but her own voice was shaky. "At least you’re here with me, not like that man who just keeps smiling," she added, a small, bitter smile on her lips.

Stella took a deep breath and nodded. She led Cynthia into the inn, her hand gripping her daughter’s tightly as if she were trying to hold onto something precious that was about to be lost.

They entered a small, dimly lit room. The air was thick with an unnameable tension, and Cynthia felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Her mother kissed her on the forehead, then silently left the room, closing the door behind her.

Cynthia was left alone. The shadows in the room seemed to close in on her, and a cold sense of dread settled in her chest. She tried to stay awake, but exhaustion overcame her, and she fell into a troubled sleep, haunted by vague, terrifying dreams.

Outside, her parents stood by the carriage, their faces pale and drawn. The deal had been made, and the wheels of fate were in motion. Whatever awaited Cynthia in the capital was now beyond their control.

CYNTHIA P.O.V

I jolted awake as the carriage hit a bump, my vision blurry from sleep. Rubbing my eyes, I tried to focus on my surroundings. "You're awake," a girl beside me whispered. I turned toward her just as the carriage lurched again, causing me to yelp in surprise. My heart pounded as I looked around. "Where am I?" I asked, panic creeping into my voice.

"You're inside a carriage," she replied, her tone flat. "I don't know where we're headed."

I scanned the carriage again, noticing others crammed inside with us. Fear tightened its grip on me. "Are we going to be sold?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

The girl nodded, her expression grim. "Yes. What else were you expecting?"

My mind raced, but before I could ask more questions, the carriage came to a sudden stop. The feed sacks that had been stacked above us were abruptly removed, revealing a shadowy figure. "Get out quickly!" a man barked.

We scrambled out of the carriage, but in my haste, I lost one of my sandals. An old woman approached us, leaning heavily on a cane. The man beside her pushed me forward roughly, and I stumbled to the ground.

"Any tattoos?" the old woman asked, her voice as cold as her gaze.

"No, ma'am," I lied, hoping she wouldn't press further.

"Liar," she snapped, lifting her chin in disdain. "I'll take her—and the one with the black hair," she said, her voice leaving no room for argument.

The man squinted at the group of girls. "Which one?"

"The one in the green cloth," she replied, her eyes still fixed on me.

I was still trying to clean the dirt from my hands when another man grabbed me roughly, pulling me toward the house. "Take her to the room prepared for her," the old woman ordered, not bothering to look back.

The man dragged me down a narrow hallway and threw me into a dimly lit room, slamming the door behind me. "That was harsh," I muttered under my breath, trying to steady my breathing.

"I know, right?" a voice suddenly said from the darkness, nearly causing my heart to leap out of my chest. A girl stepped into the light, her expression kind. "Don’t mind him; he’s actually nice once you get to know him. Hi, I’m Maria."

"Hi," I replied cautiously, still trying to process everything. Maria’s eyes widened as she noticed the scrapes on my legs and arms.

"Oh my gosh, you’re injured! Quick, get out of those clothes. I need to prepare a bath for you and disinfect those wounds before they get infected." She bustled about, her movements swift and efficient.

I hesitated, feeling overwhelmed, but Maria stopped to look at me. "Am I making sense?" she asked, her tone softening.

"Yes," I finally replied, standing up slowly.

Maria helped me out of my tattered clothes and led me to a small bathroom. She carefully disinfected my wounds and covered them with cotton wool. "You’re black and beautiful," she remarked, tying my hair into a bun. "Which country are you from?"

"I don’t really know," I admitted. "But I would say Nigeria."

"Rare," she muttered, her eyes lingering on me. "How did you get that tattoo on your hip?"

I tensed, remembering the mark. "That’s none of your business," I snapped, my voice colder than I intended.

Maria didn’t seem offended. Instead, she complimented my long, curly hair as she finished securing it. "I’m jealous," she said with a smile. "It’s beautiful."

"Thanks," I murmured, my thoughts still swirling.

"Make-up?" she asked, holding up a small box.

"No, thanks," I said quickly, not wanting to draw any more attention to myself.

"I think you’re ready to see 'Mother,'" she said, but her voice held an edge that made me uneasy.

I glanced down at the white gown she handed me. "I don’t think this fits right," I protested as I slipped it on. It was too tight, clinging to my every curve.

"It’s perfect," Maria insisted, dismissing my concerns as she dragged me out of the room.

The house was grand, every corner adorned with elegant decorations that made me feel even more out of place. We walked down a long hallway until we reached a large room filled with other girls. They all turned to stare as we entered.

"Maria, is this the new girl?" An average-height girl rushed over, her eyes curious.

"Yes, her name is..." Maria turned to me, whispering, "What’s your name?"

I hesitated before answering. "Cynthia."

Maria smiled, turning back to the others. "Her name is Cynthia."

"Wow, Cynthia, you’re so pretty!" one of the girls exclaimed, and soon a chorus of compliments followed.

"Girls!" A stern voice cut through the chatter like a knife. The room fell silent as an elderly woman, the same one from before, entered. Her presence commanded immediate respect.

Maria stepped back, her demeanor changing instantly. "Name?" the old woman demanded.

"Cynthia, Mother," Maria answered for me, her voice full of respect.

"Tattoo?" the woman asked sharply.

"Yes, Mother," Maria replied without hesitation.

I blinked in confusion. *Wait... I told her that was none of her business.*

The old woman’s piercing gaze settled on me, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. Whatever was coming next, I knew it wasn’t going to be good.

### Flashback

"Young Highness, wake up, please," Ezekiel whispered urgently as he gently shook the prince. "Wake up, I'll be punished if you don't stand up."

Zen grumbled, pulling the covers over his head before reluctantly sitting up. "Fine," he muttered, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Any news?" he asked, still groggy.

Ezekiel hesitated, then sat down on the edge of the bed. "Yes... Emperor-Father passed away this morning."

Zen paused, the weight of the words sinking in as he reached for his dressing gown. "Anything else?" His voice was flat, detached.

"No, nothing."

Just then, a guard's voice echoed from outside. "Prince Greg has arrived." A moment later, a voice followed, cutting through the silence. "Can I come in, Alexander?"

Zen, now fully alert, responded indifferently, "Come in."

Ezekiel stood up immediately as Greg entered the room, his presence commanding attention. Despite the solemn atmosphere, Greg seemed unfazed. "I came to tell you... I assume you've heard the news about Father's death?"

"Yes, I heard," Zen replied, his tone emotionless.

"Since you know, there's no need for further explanation," Greg continued, a cold smile playing on his lips. "We are rivals now."

"Yep, I know," Zen acknowledged, his face betraying no emotion.

"Okay, then. Bye," Greg said with a smirk before leaving.

As soon as Greg was out of earshot, Ezekiel muttered under his breath, "He's really a bastard."

"Let him be," Zen replied, his voice heavy with fatigue as he crawled back into bed. Within moments, he was asleep again.

### Present Day

Zen walked through the court with a steady, purposeful stride, eventually making his way to the dining hall. As soon as he entered, the maids hurried to set the table. He sat down, ready to take a spoonful of his meal when a familiar voice interrupted.

"You're not going to invite me?" Ezekiel teased, making his presence known.

Zen looked up, slightly amused. "Zeke, good morning," he greeted.

"Good morning, Your Highness," Ezekiel replied, moving gracefully to the table and sitting down across from him. "Your Highness, have you considered re-establishing the Empire?" Ezekiel leaned in, his voice lowering with intent.

Zen's expression darkened as he frowned. "What makes you think about that?"

"You know, ever since your father died..." Ezekiel began, but Zen cut him off.

"Ezekiel," Zen snapped, his tone sharp. "Let's eat in peace."

Ezekiel nodded, sealing his lips and choosing silence. They finished breakfast without another word, the tension between them palpable.

After the meal, they strolled through the palace grounds. A guard suddenly approached them, his face tense. "Rank 6, B1 reports!" he called out.

"What brings you here?" Ezekiel demanded, his eyes narrowing.

"Prince Glory is on his way," the guard reported hurriedly.

"And?" Zen inquired, his voice calm but cold.

"According to our information, he's prepared for battle," the guard continued, his voice shaking slightly.

Zen raised an eyebrow, processing the information. "A surprise attack?"

"It seems so, Your Highness," the guard confirmed.

"Order the army to get ready," Zen commanded without hesitation.

"Yes, Your Highness!" The guard ran off to deliver the orders.

Zen continued his stroll, the weight of the impending battle resting on his shoulders. As they approached the old sycamore tree, he stopped, his gaze fixed on its weathered bark.

"Still remember?" Ezekiel asked, his voice softer now.

"Very fresh in my memories," Zen replied, his tone distant.

"What really happened?" Ezekiel pressed, sensing the shift in Zen's mood.

"Which part?" Zen asked, his voice void of emotion.

"About Miya," Ezekiel clarified.

Zen's expression hardened. "She fell from the tree, impaled by a splintered branch. That's how she died... and it served her right."

Ezekiel winced at the coldness in Zen's voice, but they continued walking. "It seems Glory has a death wish this time," Ezekiel mused, his voice laced with scorn.

"Showing pity on him?" Ezekiel asked, a hint of bitterness in his tone.

"He never showed pity on me," Zen retorted.

"But he is your elder brother," Ezekiel said, half-jokingly.

"F*** elderliness," Zen spat, his eyes flashing with anger.

Ezekiel burst into laughter, but Zen remained unfazed, walking straight to his room. Once inside, he pressed a hidden switch on the wall, and a concealed door slowly slid open, revealing a secret passage. Zen stepped through, leaving behind the tensions of the palace, if only for a moment.