POV: Mabel

  The Netherheart Mansion was even more impressive up close.

  It wasn't just the size, though it was enormous three stories of pale stone, elegant towers, gardens that looked like paintings.

  But there was something more.

  A presence.

  As if the mansion itself had a personality.

  Authoritative. Refined. Impenetrable.

  "Intimidating," I murmured.

  Ferme, beside me, only nodded.

  The carriage stopped at the main gates. Lord Aldric descended first, helping me out.

  "Good luck, Your Highness," he said, his tone respectful but concerned.

  "Thank you."

  I looked at the gates. Open. Waiting.

  I took a deep breath.

  You can do this. It's just diplomacy. You trained for this.

  Lie. You hated diplomacy classes.

  But it has to work. For Sekire.

  Ferme touched my shoulder, lightly.

  "Are you ready?"

  "No."

  "Good answer," he almost smiled. "Means you'll take it seriously."

  We began to walk.

  The front garden was perfect. Flowers aligned with military precision. Grass trimmed uniformly. Symmetrical fountains.

  Nothing out of place.

  Nothing imperfect.

  Absolute control.

  And then I saw them.

  Three figures at the main entrance.

  A woman, and two children.

  The woman was striking.

  Not for her beauty, though she was beautiful, but for her presence.

  Long silver hair, loose, falling down her back like a cascade of moonlight. Bright amber eyes, penetrating, intelligent.

  Fair skin. Posture relaxed but alert, like a feline ready to pounce.

  Simple but elegant dress, dark green, without ostentation.

  But there was something about her.

  A smile, small, mischievous.

  Like she knew something you didn't.

  And was enjoying it.

  Beside her, two children.

  A boy, maybe eight years old, messy orange hair, large curious eyes, wide smile.

  He bounced lightly, excited, unable to stay still.

  And a girl, seven years old, silver hair like the woman's, tied in elaborate braids, serious amber eyes, upright posture.

  Impeccable purple dress. Hands crossed in front.

  Proud expression, superior.

  As if she were evaluating and had already decided we were inferior.

  Charming.

  We approached.

  The silver-haired woman stepped forward.

  "Your Highness Mabel Abyciss," her voice was soft, melodious, but there was hidden amusement. "What an honor to receive the princess of Axoland in our humble residence."

  She bowed, gracefully, but not too deep.

  Respect, but not submission.

  "I am Lizbeth Netherheart, twin sister of Clemearl," she gestured to the two little ones. "This is my son, Delta," she smiled at the boy. "And this is Esther, my sister's daughter."

  The boy, Delta, practically exploded.

  "PRINCESS! REAL PRINCESS!" he jumped. "YOU'RE SO PRETTY! AND SMALL! I THOUGHT PRINCESSES WERE TALL! BUT YOU'RE SMALL LIKE ME! THAT'S COOL! AND LOOK!" he pointed at his own hair. "MY HAIR IS ORANGE! LIKE A CARROT! DO YOU LIKE CARROTS?"

  "Delta," Lizbeth said, her tone calm but firm, though her eyes sparkled with amusement.

  He stopped, but still smiled, enormously.

  The girl, Esther, stepped forward, bowed, perfectly, controlled.

  "It's an honor, Your Highness," her voice formal, but there was something pride, challenge. "I hope your stay will be adequate," short pause. "Not that I'm concerned with your opinion or anything."

  Adequate.

  Not pleasant. Not comfortable.

  Adequate.

  This girl is seven years old and already like this?

  "Esther," Lizbeth said, same calm, same firmness.

  But there was amusement in her eyes.

  She's enjoying this.

  I took a deep breath.

  Time to be a princess.

  "Thank you, Lady Lizbeth, and thank you, Delta and Esther, for the warm reception."

  I looked at Delta.

  "And you're right, princesses come in all sizes, and yes, I like carrots."

  Then at Esther.

  "And I'm sure the stay will be more than adequate."

  Esther blinked, surprised that I'd noticed the tone, a light blush touched her cheeks before she looked away.

  "Naturally it will be, this is the Netherheart Mansion, after all."

  But she said nothing more.

  Lizbeth smiled, wider.

  "Clemearl is waiting, but first..." she looked at the little ones. "Delta, go find your father, he should be at the training field. Esther, you can go with him if you want, or come with me."

  "YAAAAY! DAD! DAD!" Delta jumped higher. "HE PROMISED TO TEACH ME HOW TO MAKE A MAGIC SHIELD TODAY!"

  "It's not like I want to accompany Delta or anything," Esther murmured, but her eyes brightened slightly. "It would just be appropriate to ensure he doesn't cause trouble."

  "Of course it would be," Lizbeth agreed, her tone amused. "Go."

  Delta ran off, immediately.

  "WAAAAAIT!" his voice echoed through the gardens.

  Esther sighed, but followed, her step dignified, controlled.

  But fast enough not to fall too far behind.

  Lizbeth led us inside.

  Interior of the Mansion

  It was even more impressive inside.

  Not ostentation, but pure elegance.

  Light marble. Discreet carpets. Paintings on the walls not pompous portraits, but serene landscapes.

  Everything in perfect harmony.

  And silent.

  Not empty there were servants but they moved like shadows, efficient, invisible.

  "The Netherheart Mansion was built two hundred years ago," Lizbeth explained as we walked. "By the founder of the house, it has always served as a center for studies and diplomacy."

  Pause.

  "My husband, Bizar, is a magic knight, he's served House Netherheart for years. I met him during a diplomatic mission," she smiled, mischievously. "He tried to impress me with combat magic tricks."

  "Did it work?"

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  "Obviously," low laugh. "But not because of the tricks because of his dedication, and his heart."

  Something genuine in her voice.

  Love.

  Real.

  We continued walking.

  We arrived at double doors, dark wood, elaborate carvings.

  Lizbeth stopped.

  "Clemearl is beyond this door," she looked at me, directly. "A warning, Your Highness my sister is direct, doesn't waste words, doesn't tolerate manipulation."

  Pause.

  "Be honest, completely, or she'll see right through you."

  Something cold passed through me.

  "I understand."

  "Good," Lizbeth smiled, mischievously. "Good luck."

  She opened the doors.

  Meeting Room

  It wasn't a formal reception room.

  It was an office.

  Large, but functional.

  Shelves full of books. Huge desk covered with documents. Maps on the walls. Wide window showing the gardens.

  And behind the desk.

  Her.

  Clemearl Netherheart.

  My heart jumped.

  Not from fear.

  But from recognition.

  She's exactly as I imagined.

  Twenty-four years old, but she seemed timeless.

  Long silver hair, the front part tied in a single braid running down the center, with straight bangs covering her forehead and side strands framing her face. The rest fell down her back in a perfect cascade.

  Fair skin. Delicate but sharp features.

  And her eyes.

  Golden with concentric circles, like ripples on a lake, hypnotic, penetrating.

  Eyes that saw everything, evaluated everything, judged everything.

  Simple white dress, elegant but not ostentatious.

  Perfect posture. Hands crossed on the desk.

  Neutral expression.

  But there was something in her eyes.

  Sharp intelligence, controlled curiosity, and something more.

  Kindness, sadness.

  It disappeared too quickly to be sure.

  "Your Highness Mabel," her voice was soft, melodious, like a lullaby, but there was something underneath not threat, but absolute and unquestionable authority. "Welcome to the Netherheart Mansion."

  She didn't stand, didn't bow.

  Just observed.

  Evaluated.

  Not as queen.

  As equal.

  "Lady Clemearl," I bowed, respectfully. "Thank you for receiving me."

  "Sit," she gestured to the chairs in front of the desk, her movement graceful, controlled. "You too, Sir Ferme."

  Ferme blinked, surprised that she knew his name.

  We sat.

  Lizbeth settled into a side armchair, silent, observant.

  Clemearl crossed her hands.

  "Let's get straight to the point you came to ask for my diplomatic intervention in Kitsumi."

  It wasn't a question.

  "Yes."

  "Specifically, you want me to use my contacts to pressure the Queen Mother, make her realize that systematic negligence has international consequences."

  Also not a question.

  "How do you know?"

  "Your father sent me a letter, explaining the situation, requesting a formal audience," she picked up a paper. "But official letters never tell the whole truth, so tell me, Your Highness what's really happening?"

  The golden eyes fixed on me.

  And I felt it.

  A test.

  She was testing me.

  Honesty or manipulation?

  Truth or performance?

  Be honest, completely.

  I took a deep breath.

  "Kitsumi is collapsing villages dying of hunger, people preferring to flee, even if it means death, rather than stay."

  Pause.

  "And we found a demon, real, alive, controlling an entire village through fear and devotion."

  Absolute silence.

  Lizbeth leaned forward.

  And Clemearl...

  Nothing, her expression unchanged.

  "Demon," she repeated, her tone neutral. "You're certain?"

  "Yes. Kyusei Feitan Lugubres killed it, personally."

  "I see," she picked up a pen, began to write. "Continue."

  "During the investigation, Feitan found a girl Sekire Dawnveil, a refugee, seven years old. She was being executed by the demon because she had no detectable elemental affinity in their primitive test."

  Clemearl stopped writing, looked up.

  "Seven years old."

  "Yes."

  "And Feitan brought her."

  "Yes."

  "Why?"

  I hesitated.

  "Because she was dying, because it was right, because..."

  I stopped.

  Be honest.

  "Because he saw something in her worth saving."

  Clemearl studied my face, for a long time.

  Then returned to writing.

  "And what do you want from me? Specifically."

  "Two things," I straightened my posture. "First: diplomatic intervention in Kitsumi, using your contacts, your influence, pressuring for changes."

  Pause.

  "Second: that you and Lady Lizbeth care for Sekire, as a ward of House Netherheart."

  Silence.

  Clemearl placed the pen on the desk, slowly.

  "You're asking me to adopt a traumatized child, from a collapsing kingdom, possibly involved with demons."

  "Not adopt protect, educate, give her the opportunity she never had."

  "Why?"

  "Because she deserves it."

  "Everyone deserves it, Your Highness, but resources are limited, time is limited, attention is limited," Clemearl leaned forward, her voice still soft, but there was weight. "Why this girl specifically?"

  Here it goes.

  The truth she'll question.

  But also the only truth that can convince her.

  I looked directly into the golden eyes.

  "Because I saw."

  Clemearl raised an eyebrow, minimally.

  "Saw?"

  "Yes, with my prediction magic," I took a deep breath. "Sekire is the fundamental key to your research."

  The silence was instantaneous.

  Total.

  Lizbeth froze.

  And Clemearl...

  Something passed across her face.

  Not shock, not anger.

  But recognition.

  As if I'd confirmed something she already suspected.

  "My research," she repeated, her tone dangerously calm, but not threatening just absolute. "About what exactly?"

  "Breaking the curse."

  Silence.

  "How do you know about that?"

  "I saw it, in the prediction," pause. "I don't know the details, I don't know how, I don't know when I only know that Sekire is essential."

  "And you saw this clearly?"

  "No, predictions are never clear they're fragments, possibilities," pause. "But I saw her by your side, working, connected in some fundamental way."

  Clemearl leaned back.

  Looked out the window.

  Where, in the distance, one could see the training field three small figures, a tall man with two children.

  Even from here, you could see Delta jumping excitedly.

  And Esther maintaining dignified posture, but close.

  And something crossed Clemearl's face.

  Sadness.

  Deep, painful, ancient.

  She looked specifically at the training field.

  Where her daughter was.

  And the look was of someone seeing something precious.

  But threatened.

  Esther is cursed.

  That's why the research.

  That's why the hidden desperation.

  Clemearl returned her attention to me.

  "Do you understand what you're asking?"

  "Yes."

  "No," her tone firm, but gentle. "You're asking me to trust the vision of an eleven-year-old child about an uncertain future, to accept responsibility for another traumatized child, to risk House Netherheart's resources."

  Pause.

  "And more importantly: you're asking me to risk my daughter's hope."

  The air left my lungs.

  "I... I know, and I'm not asking you to pressure Sekire I don't want her to be forced into anything, ever."

  I looked directly at her.

  "But trust me, trust the prediction, trust that this will happen naturally, if you just give her the chance."

  Clemearl was quiet.

  For so long I thought she would refuse.

  But then she spoke:

  "Conditions."

  My heart jumped.

  "First: you remain involved you can't just hand over the girl and forget. You check in, visit, ensure everything is well."

  "I accept."

  "Second: I meet Sekire personally, before any formal commitment."

  "I accept."

  "Third: Sekire undergoes a test."

  I stopped.

  "Test?"

  "Of character, of intention, of compatibility," Clemearl crossed her arms. "I cannot bring someone into my home, close to my daughter, without guarantees."

  Pause.

  "The test won't be easy, it won't be gentle, but it will be fair."

  "What kind of test?"

  "You'll find out, when the time comes."

  This is...

  No, it makes sense.

  She's protecting her family.

  And risking based solely on my word.

  "And what about Kitsumi? The diplomatic intervention?"

  "I'll do what I can use my contacts, pressure for changes," her tone serious. "But I can't promise success. Kitsumi is complicated, proud, resistant to external pressure."

  "I understand."

  "But I'll try, for the child, and for the refugees," she looked out the window again. "No one should suffer such negligence."

  Something in her voice.

  Personal, painful.

  Has she suffered negligence too?

  Clemearl stood, finally.

  She walked to the window, observing the training field.

  "The curse afflicting my daughter isn't new it's existed since the first days of House Netherheart, centuries ago."

  She touched the glass, lightly.

  "We found fragments, remnants of old books, burned, torn, deliberately destroyed but enough to reconstruct the history."

  Pause.

  "The curse appeared shortly after the kingdom's founding. No one knows its origin, no one knows why it chose our lineage, but we know how it works."

  She turned, golden eyes fixed on me.

  "Always the first to be born after the death of the last carrier an unbreakable chain through the generations."

  "My father," she continued, her voice still soft but laden with pain, "died seven years ago, a few days before Esther was born."

  The silence was heavy.

  "And then the curse passed to her my daughter, newborn, innocent."

  She looked out the window again.

  Where Esther now watched Bizar demonstrate something with magic, small bright lights in the air.

  "I've spent seven years researching, searching for any mention in the ancient texts, any clue about how to break the cycle, and I've found nothing."

  Pause.

  "The records were deliberately erased, as if someone wanted to ensure the curse would never be understood, never be broken."

  She turned.

  Golden eyes fixed on me.

  "If this girl, Sekire, can truly help..." her voice broke, just for a second. "Then I'll do everything in my power to give her the opportunity."

  She stepped forward.

  "But if you're wrong, if this is manipulation, if you put my daughter at risk..."

  Not a threat.

  A promise.

  But said with the same soft voice as always.

  Which made it even more absolute.

  "There will be no forgiveness."

  I swallowed hard.

  "I understand."

  Clemearl extended her hand.

  "Then we have an agreement conditional, based on the three requirements."

  I took her hand.

  Firm, controlled, cold.

  "Agreement accepted."

  Lizbeth stood, smiling.

  "How wonderful! Then let's celebrate with tea!" she looked out the window. "And we can call Bizar and the children I'm sure Delta will love getting to know a real princess up close."

  "He already met me," I said.

  "Yes, but that was three seconds before he was sent away," low laugh. "Now he'll have enough time to ask all the impossible questions that are piling up in his little head."

  She walked to the door, opened it, gestured to a servant.

  "Please, call Sir Bizar and the children to the tea room."

  The servant bowed and left.

  Clemearl observed everything, silent.

  But there was something in her eyes.

  Hope.

  Small, fragile.

  But real.

  Tea Room

  A few minutes later, the doors to the room opened.

  Bizar entered first.

  Tall, strong, short brown hair, kind eyes, light armor still gleaming slightly with residue from training magic.

  There was something about him not ostentation, but absolute competence, the kind of person you wanted by your side in battle.

  And beside him, Delta, jumping.

  "PRINCESS! PRINCESS! DAD TAUGHT ME MAGIC SHIELD! WELL, I COULDN'T DO IT YET, BUT HE SAID I'LL BE ABLE TO ONE DAY! AND IT WAS SO COOL! THE MAGIC WAS GOLDEN AND BRIGHT AND—"

  "Delta, breathe," Bizar said, his voice deep but gentle, amusement in his eyes.

  And Esther, walking with dignified posture, but her eyes gleamed slightly.

  Excitement she tried to hide.

  Bizar bowed, deep, respectful.

  "Princess Mabel, Sir Ferme, I am Bizar Netherheart, magic knight in service to House Netherheart. It's an honor."

  "The pleasure is mine, Sir Bizar," I replied.

  "Please, sit," Clemearl gestured.

  Everyone settled in.

  Lizbeth began serving tea, her movement graceful, practical.

  Delta immediately grabbed two cookies.

  Esther gave him a look of disapproval.

  But also took one.

  Discreetly.

  "So, Your Highness," Bizar began, his tone conversational, "I heard you're on an important diplomatic mission."

  "Yes, related to Kitsumi."

  "Complicated situation," he took a sip of tea. "I was there a few years ago, on an escort mission. The kingdom has immense potential, but..."

  Pause.

  "The administration leaves much to be desired."

  Euphemism.

  "That's a gentle way to put it," I said.

  He smiled, slightly.

  "Diplomacy, Your Highness. I learned from my wife."

  Lizbeth laughed, softly.

  "You learned to be political, I learned to be direct balanced marriage."

  There was warmth between them, genuine, comfortable.

  Delta kept talking, non-stop.

  "AND THEN DAD DID THIS WITH HIS HAND AND THE MAGIC APPEARED AND IT WAS SO PRETTY AND I WANT TO LEARN TOO BUT HE SAID I NEED TO TRAIN CONTROL FIRST BUT I ALREADY HAVE CONTROL LOOK"

  He tried to make a dramatic gesture.

  And almost knocked over his teacup.

  Bizar caught it mid-air, quick, warrior reflexes.

  "That kind of control, champ."

  "Oh."

  Esther snorted, delicately.

  "You're impossible, Delta."

  "AM NOT!"

  "Are too."

  "AM NOT!"

  "Children," Clemearl said, her voice soft, but with absolute authority.

  Both stopped.

  Immediately.

  But Delta still smiled.

  And Esther still had that blush of frustration.

  I observed everything.

  The family dynamic.

  Bizar, strong but gentle, clearly dedicated.

  Lizbeth, mischievous but attentive, eyes always evaluating.

  Delta, pure energy, absolute innocence.

  Esther, proud but insecure, trying to prove something.

  And Clemearl.

  Watching everything.

  Especially Esther.

  With that look.

  Sadness.

  Determination.

  Desperate love.

  And I felt it.

  The weight of responsibility.

  I promised.

  Based on a vision.

  On possibility.

  And now Sekire will be tested.

  By this family.

  By this woman desperate to save her daughter.

  From a curse that has haunted her lineage for centuries.

  Ferme touched my shoulder, lightly, comfortingly.

  You did the right thing, his eyes said.

  I hope so.

  Because if I was wrong...

  If the prediction failed...

  It wasn't just my reputation at stake.

  It was Sekire's future.

  And Esther's last hope.

  And Clemearl's sanity.

  Please.

  Please be right.

  It has to be right.