“I have been a selfish being all my life… but I have not known myself.”

  — Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

  Today, Ife woke up earlier than usual.

  Despite the sleeping pill she had taken, she had not had any dreams today, which may have been why she woke up so much earlier.

  In any case, it did not matter why she had done so; what mattered was why she wanted to do it.

  After seeing the dream involving Arenor, she felt a certain desire to get closer to him. She didn't understand the reason for this unexpected desire, nor why his words to her before and after that made her face flush with embarrassment and her heart beat with excitement.

  This was not like her usual reaction to compliments from men; all her life—at least, the part she could remember—Ife had lived on the streets, constantly facing harassment and attempted rape. Even those men who initially behaved politely toward her eventually revealed themselves to be absolute bastards. And she herself was not naive enough to believe their words; she knew that behind every compliment lay a desire that she risked getting badly cut by.

  No one had ever made her feel this way; even Irai, who was always by her side, did not evoke such feelings, which washed over her like hot water every time she spoke to the Prince.

  After that dream, Ife understood why Arenor treated her so tenderly: in a past she did not remember, they were clearly acquainted, and perhaps he still cherished her. She did not know why he was hiding this from her, but it did not seem as if he was trying to harm her, and even if he was, for some reason, she wanted to trust him.

  Once, when Irai discovered that Ife could read—a skill possessed mainly by aristocrats—and asked her where she had learned it, she replied that she did not remember and did not know.

  In response, he said:

  "You may not remember your past yourself, but your body certainly remembers it; and even if you don't remember how to read, your body remembers. So if you feel something else, don't resist it; accept it and trust your body. Believe me, it won't deceive you."

  Ife absorbed these words forever, even though she had doubts about them.

  However, now, feeling this desire to get closer to the Prince, Ife wanted to resist him, but she understood that it made no sense and that you really can't deceive your body. Moreover, the Prince's behavior made it clear that he obviously cared for her and protected her. And even though Ife sometimes wanted to kill him for his teasing, there was nothing offensive or threatening about it.

  The Prince behaved like a playful puppy around her, and even though Ife didn't like it, she decided that it wouldn't hurt her in any way.

  Opening her makeup bag, she took out a makeup stick and began applying makeup to her face: first, black kohl for her eyes; second, shiny dark blue lipstick; third, dark blue eyeshadow.

  When she finished, she wasn't sure how it turned out; after all, she didn't have a mirror, so she couldn't check the result. Swallowing her disappointment, she put the cosmetics back in their place and went to the chest with clothes.

  In it, she found a dress that perfectly matched the lipstick and her dark blue lips, with sequins all over it. It was long—so long that the hem touched the floor—and she had to admit that she didn't particularly like it, as it collected all the dirt from the palace. However, she couldn't find a more suitable option, and she didn't want to ruin it by trying to shorten it; yes, she had learned many things during her time as a homeless person, but sewing was not one of them.

  After changing, she began to comb her hair with her fingers; there was no comb in her room either, as the teeth could be broken off and used as weapons; so the reason why Arenor had taken away the comb was quite obvious. However, since he had brought her a makeup stick, she was going to ask him to return her mirror and comb as well. He would give them back to her, right?

  Having finished with her hair, which was slightly tangled from being combed awkwardly with her hands, she approached the jewelry box. She didn't know much about jewelry, so she picked out pieces that matched her eye color—gold, like her eyes. She put on several gold bracelets, as well as a few rings, earrings, and a gold necklace.

  Ife thought about adding something else to her head, so she opened the box with the jewelry that Arenor had given her personally. It was incredibly beautiful, yes, but, first of all, it didn't match her dress and other jewelry, and secondly, even though she wanted to get closer to the Prince, she didn't want to do it too quickly, and if she wore this jewelry, he might think... well, not what she wanted him to think.

  After all, Yifei wasn't trying to impress him, was she?

  Having finished getting ready, Yifei left the room with hope; only, even she herself didn't understand what exactly she was hoping for.

  ***

  When Ife didn't see Arenor at the table, she felt a pang of disappointment. However, deciding that he was just late, she sat down at the table and began to eat. Only at the end of the meal did she realize that he wasn't coming. At that moment, she noticed that this time she was not only with Zafir, but also with his brother, Nasir. This raised some questions for her, because as far as she remembered, Nasir was usually with Arenor; so why was he with her today?

  "Why aren't you with Arenor?" Yife asked Nasir.

  Nasir narrowed his eyes slyly and asked,

  "Since when did you start calling him by his name, huh?"

  "I—" Ife's face flushed bright red in an instant, making Nasir smirk.

  "You? What? You— ouch!" Nasir exclaimed as Zafir gave him a slap on the back of the head. "Hey! That's not fair!" He pouted like a little child, but Zafir ignored him.

  "Don't mind him," Zafir said, turning to Ife. "The Prince has personal matters to attend to today, so Nasir will be with us."

  "Did you hear that? I'll be training you today too. So be—" Nasir didn't get to finish before Ife interrupted him.

  "What kind of personal business?" Ife asked.

  "The kind that isn't public," Nasir said, as if talking to a child. "That's why it's personal."

  Ife frowned.

  "If you don't want to tell me what his business is, then tell me where he is."

  "I'm sorry, but we can't tell you," said Nasir. "It's his personal business... it's very important and he can't put it off. Not even to see you, baby."

  Ife was so annoyed by Arenor's absence that she didn't even notice what Nasir had just called her.

  Standing up from her chair, she said,

  "Then I'll find him myself."

  But halfway there, Zafir's voice stopped her:

  "You won't find him."

  "I will!" she shouted back.

  "You won't," Nasir echoed his brother.

  "No, I will!"

  "You won't," said the twins simultaneously.

  "I will!"

  Ife was breathing rapidly, feeling uncontrollable irritation. Her eyes burned with liquid gold that was ready to spill out at any second. She herself did not understand the reason for her fury; a couple of days ago, she would have been happy if the Prince had not been at the table, and then she could have eaten alone in peace, without his constant teasing and questions.

  However, today, for some reason unknown to her, she felt resentful towards him for not keeping her company during breakfast.

  Seeing her reaction, Zafir raised an eyebrow questioningly and asked:

  "The Prince has been absent from meals for several days in a row, and you didn't notice," he remarked. "What has changed today?"

  "Can't you see?" Nasir asked him. "She dressed up and put on makeup especially for him, and he dared not to come. It's so awful, just..."

  "I didn't dress up for anyone!" Ife shouted, losing the last of her self-control, and kicked the hard, alabaster chair.

  She groaned in pain, causing Nasir to jump up, grab her, and pull her away from the chair.

  "Hey, hey, hey, don't be so angry," he said. "There's nothing wrong with liking His Highness..."

  "I don't like anyone!" said Ife, this time kicking Nasir.

  "Okay, okay, let's calm down," said Nasir, ignoring Ife's blow. "I don't want the Prince to skin me alive if he finds out you got hurt because of me."

  "I didn't get hurt!"

  "Zafir..." Nasir moaned plaintively. "Help me."

  Zafir smirked; even though he took great pleasure in watching his brother suffer, he still went over to help him, because if Ife had actually hurt herself, even accidentally, not only would Nasir have been skinned alive, but Zafir would have been too.

  "Well, well, well... if you want to fight so badly, why not skip breakfast and train instead?" Zafir asked.

  "Great!" said Ifi, breaking free from Nasir's grip and running out into the hallway. "With great pleasure!"

  Exhausted Nasir and amused Zafir followed her out.

  "Just act like Arenor so I can imagine you're him and beat him up."

  "If it helps you train, then please," said Zafir, continuing to smile. "Just change for—"

  "No!" she shouted. "I'll train like this!"

  "But—" Zafir began, but was interrupted by Ife.

  "You yourself said that I should be ready to fight even when I'm not feeling well! How are dresses and makeup any different from not feeling well?"

  "...you're right," Zafir said after a moment's pause.

  "Great!" said Ife, rushing off to the training hall.

  "They're both so crazy— ouch!"

  "Don't say that," Zafir said. "But yes. You're right. They're both complete idiots... ouch!"

  When he looked at his brother, he saw a mischievous smile on his lips.

  "Don't say that."

  ***

  Ife spent the rest of the day with a feeling of rage in her chest; however, by the end of it, it had been replaced by disappointment and resentment.

  Training that day was much more difficult, as she had one more coach, and today's task was to learn how to fight not just one opponent, but two at once. What made it even more difficult was that today she was not wearing special training clothes, but a long, fancy dress that constantly got tangled around her legs and made her stumble at every step.

  After all, she was not made to wear this kind of clothing, and if before these thoughts were due to the impossibility of buying them, this time they were due to the discomfort they caused.

  However, she couldn't back down and say she wanted to change clothes; first, she was too proud to not only give up, but even to say the word; and second, it was already ruined anyway, so there was simply no point in taking it off. Moreover, she really needed to learn to defend herself even in a dress, because she knew from experience that it was impossible to guess what fate would bring you in an hour, let alone further into the future.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  By the end of the training session, Yifei looked terrible: her hair was tousled, and some strands were even tangled into knots; her dress was torn and stained; her makeup was smeared all over her face, mixed with sweat and dust rising from the floor with each fall.

  She went to lunch looking the same, partly because she was too stubborn to change, and partly because she hoped that Arenor would show up and see her efforts, which had been destroyed through his own fault.

  However, Arenor did not come to eat with her at either lunch or dinner, leaving her to dine alone, surrounded by two guards who were sticking their noses where they didn't belong and provoking her emotions. Ife noticed more and more that Nasir and Zafir were indeed Arenor's personal guards, as they communicated in a very similar way, albeit with some differences; and just like the Prince, they deliberately provoked her emotions. Of course, they did not go so far as to make her hysterical as they had during breakfast, but they were not quiet enough to allow Ife to eat in peace.

  In the end, Ife did not finish her meal and, citing fatigue, went to her room.

  Resentful of herself for daring to dress up and put on makeup for Arenor, and of him for not coming to her, not keeping her company, and not appreciating her efforts, Ife lay down on the bed in the same state—in a dirty dress, with disheveled hair and smudged makeup—and, without taking the sleeping pill, fell asleep.

  ***

  Ife woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of knocking on the door.

  Opening her eyelids, which were stuck together from sleep and unwashed makeup, she got out of bed, walked to the door, and opened it.

  Arenor was standing in front of her.

  "Airena?" he called.

  She wanted to send him away, but then, looking closely, she saw how tired he was: dark circles under his eyes; unroyal disheveled hair; a cape draped over his shoulders, one side longer than the other.

  Arenor looked like a beaten puppy, which made Ife bite her tongue and keep all her harsh words to herself.

  "Zafir and Nasir told me you wanted to see me. Why did you—" His voice trailed off when he saw her disheveled appearance. "What happened to you, Airena?"

  Ife had completely forgotten what she looked like, so she had forgotten to change her clothes. She needed to explain her appearance to Arenor somehow, but without revealing the real reason.

  "I—" she began, but was interrupted by the Prince.

  "Did someone hurt you?" he asked, fear in his eyes. "Who did this to you?" He put his hands on her shoulders. "Tell me honestly, Airena, I don't—"

  "You!" she shouted, pushing his hands off her shoulders. "It's all because of you!"

  "Huh?" Arenor looked genuinely stunned by this statement.

  "It's your fault I look like this!" she shouted again.

  "Me?" he asked, astonished. "But how? I haven't even seen you today... how could I—"

  "Exactly!" she interrupted. "You didn't even see me!"

  For a few seconds, Arenor just stood there, frozen like a statue, stunned by Ife's words. But then, the corners of his lips curved into a playful smile, and his eyes danced with mischief.

  "Are you saying... this all happened because I didn't see you?"

  "Yes!"

  "Did you miss me?"

  "No!" she shouted even louder. "I didn't miss anyone! Especially not you! Why would I even need you? You piece of shit!" She slammed the door right in front of Arenor's nose, but he managed to jump into the room a moment before she did. "Get out of my room, now!"

  "I'm the piece of shit?" he asked with a smirk on his lips.

  "Who else?" she shouted. "You're a fucking piece of shit... I'll..."

  Suddenly, Arenor burst out laughing. Loudly, and, as it seemed to Ife, completely sincerely, throwing his head back and shaking his whole body.

  She froze, not daring to move. Ife understood that Arenor was clearly mentally ill, since he reacted this way to her insults, but nevertheless, she felt a certain warmth in her chest when she heard his laughter. Especially when she herself was the reason for that laughter.

  "Are you sick or something?" she said, but without the previous anger in her voice, just a slight irritation. "I just insulted you, and you're laughing..."

  "What should I do?" he asked, calming down but still chuckling slightly. "Maybe you can advise me?"

  "I don't know... punish, torture, or execute?" she suggested. "But definitely not laugh."

  "Punish?" he asked with a smirk, coming up close to her. "And how do you want me to punish you, huh?"

  In an instant, Ife's face flushed scarlet, like the sunset.

  "Are you out of your mind? Get away from me!"

  Arenor did not resist and stepped back as she asked; however, his smile only widened.

  "But you said yourself that I should punish you, didn't you?"

  "Not in that sense!" she shouted. "You fucking pervert!"

  "Then in what sense?"

  "In the normal sense!"

  "Well, actually, I'm the Prince here," he said, coming close to her again, forcing her back against the wall. "So I think I'll decide for myself how exactly I should do it."

  "Don't you dare touch me!"

  "Or else... what?"

  "Or else I'll kill you?"

  He laughed again.

  "Really?" He moved even closer; now they were standing right next to each other, and the difference in their heights was much more noticeable than before. "I don't think you would."

  "Why do you say that?" Ifi asked, trying to control her racing heartbeat.

  "Because you could have killed me many times, but you never did," he remarked. "I wonder why that is?"

  "It's because... because... I—"

  Arenor laughed again and put his hand on Ifi's hair, gently ruffling it, then immediately stepped back, giving her the space she so desperately needed right now.

  "Don't be so tense," he said. "You know I won't do anything to you." Pause. "Without your consent, of course."

  Ife didn't answer, too busy trying to fix her hair and slow her wildly beating heart and rapid breathing.

  "Anyway... you still haven't answered why you look like that," he reminded her. "Are you sure no one hurt you?" His voice changed to one of concern, and his gaze to a gentle one.

  "No one hurt me," Ife said, calming down a little. "I just spent the whole day in this outfit, that's all."

  "And at practice too?" he clarified.

  "Yes."

  "Did you want to see me that badly?" he teased her.

  She flushed again.

  "I didn't want to see you! You can go wherever you want!" she shouted, and, approaching a chair, sat down on it.

  "Okay, okay," his gaze softened. "I'm sorry I didn't see you. I've been too busy lately, and unfortunately, I couldn't find the time to visit you."

  "I don't care!" Ifi exclaimed, turning away from Arenor demonstratively.

  "I had some important business to attend to as Prince these past few days; I've been working non-stop," he explained.

  "It doesn't matter!"

  "And today... or rather yesterday, it was my mother's birthday, so I went to visit her."

  Ife bit her tongue to keep from shouting another phrase that would show she didn't care about his excuses.

  However, as far as she knew, the Prince's mother was dead, so why was he talking about visiting her? Could he possibly be...

  "You..."

  "Yes," Arenor interrupted her. "I went to my mother's tomb; brought her wine—my father said she loved wine—and various fruits, as well as bread and meat."

  Ife felt uncomfortable listening to all this. Of course, she wasn't so heartless as to say so out loud, but that didn't diminish the fact that she felt out of place in this conversation. She was uncomfortable listening to other people talk about their suffering, especially when she couldn't do anything to help. She didn't know how to be supportive or empathetic—and even if she did, she didn't know how to show it openly. Emotions like anger and irritation came much more easily to her than emotions like sympathy and empathy. It couldn't be said that she didn't care about Arenor's words, but even if she did, she didn't know how to show it to him, and even if she did, she simply wouldn't have done it because she wasn't ready for it — to be so open with someone in this world.

  "I also told my mom about you," he continued as if nothing had happened. "About how we met in the throne room, and how—"

  "I hope you didn't tell her about how I tried to kill you, right?" she interrupted him. " Because if you did, I don't think your mom would be so happy about me being in your life."

  "Oh, you're wrong," he said, suddenly smiling. "There are some things about my mom that I'm not sure about, but one thing I am completely sure about is that she would definitely like you."

  "Okay, fine, I'll trust your judgment," Ife agreed. "What things are you unsure about?"

  Arenor's face fell, and Ife felt a strange urge to slap herself for not being able to stop herself from asking an insensitive question that ruined Arenor's mood. But it was too late to back down.

  "I think my mother loved me, but... I don't think she would still love me if she knew I was going to kill her."

  "But she died during childbirth, didn't she?" Ife asked, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

  "That's right," Arenor confirmed. "She died during my birth; I killed her with my birth."

  "But you're—"

  "Yes, I know what you want to say; that I was a child, and how could I be responsible for that, but it's true: I am the one who took her life. If I hadn't been born, she could have lived. I shouldn't have..." His voice broke. "...I shouldn't have been born. I shouldn't have—"

  The blow.

  Ife didn't even notice how, in an instant, her hand rose into the air and then struck Arenor hard across the face. She didn't really control it; it was something like a reflex—an automatic reaction of the body to something or some action. In this case, to Arenor's words.

  "Don't say such stupid things anymore," she said; her voice trembled with restrained emotions, but she herself did not know what they were. "Never."

  Arenor's eyes widened; only now, after her words. Her blow did not surprise or disturb him at all; but her words... that was the real reason for his shock.

  But as quickly as the Prince was surprised, he returned to normal; his lips curved into a small smile as he brought his hand to his cheek, reddened from the blow.

  "You're still the same," he said softly.

  "What?" This time, it was Ife who was shocked.

  "Fierce and passionate... ready to protect me even from myself."

  "What? What do you mean—"

  "Since you waited for me all day... and dressed up and put on makeup especially for me—"

  "I didn't put on makeup or dress up especially for you!" she flared up again. "Stop talking nonsense!"

  "...I think I owe you something for your efforts," he continued as if nothing had happened.

  "I don't need anything from you! Get out of my room!"

  " Well, first of all, this room doesn't belong to you, it belongs to me—after all, I am the Crown Prince," he remarked, walking over to one of the boxes, opening it, and taking out several damp cloths. "And secondly, I am, again, the Crown Prince, which means I can do whatever I want. Including taking care of you."

  "What?" Ife cried out, even more shocked, making Arenor laugh.

  "You're so funny... you react as if I said I wanted to feed you to the crocodiles, not take care of you."

  "To me, it's the same thing!"

  "Really?" Smiling, he approached her, crouched down in front of her, and brought a handkerchief to her face, causing her to recoil.

  "What are you going to do?"

  Arenor sighed wearily, then, grabbing Ife by the back of her head, said,

  "Calm down. I just want to wipe off your smudged makeup."

  He applied a cloth moistened with various skin-cleansing oils to her face and began to gently wipe her entire face, removing the smudged makeup: eyeliner, eyeshadow, and lipstick.

  Ife didn't dare move; his hands were on her; one of his hands, albeit through the cloth, touched her face, sliding over her skin, wiping away the remains of her makeup; his other hand rested on the back of her head, holding her head in place, sometimes his fingers moved, sending a wave of goosebumps throughout her body. But the scariest thing was not even that, but the look in his sky-blue eyes, sliding over her face, not allowing her to look away, so as not to meet them.

  She had to hit him. She had to do it. But for some reason... without knowing why... she couldn't do it.

  This closeness... his closeness... felt strangely right. As if it was meant to be. And that scared Ife incredibly. It shouldn't have been right. At the very least because she still hadn't found any evidence to disprove the fact that he hadn't ordered her kidnapping and that he wasn't responsible for her brother's death, and at most because he was the Crown Prince and she was a fugitive mass murderer, or at best a homeless person with amnesia.

  But even so, even knowing all this, she couldn't bring herself to pull away from him.

  "Done," said Arenor, pulling Ife out of the whirlpool of her own thoughts.

  Arenor tossed the cloth aside, then picked up the box of cosmetics and walked back to Ife, crouching down in front of her again.

  "What are you—"

  "Don't move."

  She froze again, once more unable to move.

  Taking the makeup stick in his hand, Arenor dipped it in black kohl, then brought it to Ife's face and said,

  "Close your eyes."

  She obeyed silently.

  Then she felt Arenor's cool fingers on her face, which made her flinch slightly.

  "Don't move," Arenor repeated. "You don't want it to smudge again, do you?"

  She didn't answer, too busy trying not to die from the excitement filling every corner of her body.

  Then she felt something wet and cold touch her eyelid.

  "A stick with antimony," she guessed.

  Ife felt him draw a thin line along the lash line of her upper eyelid, then do the same thing again, but with the other eye.

  When he was done, he said,

  "Now open your eyes."

  She obeyed again; opening her eyes, she met his focused gaze, his furrowed brow and pursed lips.

  "And now, dear Airena," he dipped the stick into the tin of kohl, "please look up."

  And she obeyed again.

  Then he drew two thin lines along the lash line of both eyes, but this time on the lower eyelids.

  When she felt him remove his hands from her, she opened her eyes, causing Arenor to hiss at her:

  "I did not give you permission to open them."

  Ife closed them again, and almost immediately after that, she felt his cool finger gently slide over her upper eyelids—first one, then the other. Then she felt him touch her above her eyelids, under her eyebrows.

  "He's applying shadow," she realized.

  "You can open them now," he said when he was done.

  She opened her eyes and saw him dip his finger into the lipstick, then gently take her chin, lift her head, and begin to apply the lipstick to her lips.

  His gaze... was fixed on her lips. But there was no hint of lust or arousal in it; he was focused, concentrated on the task at hand, and nothing more.

  It was difficult for Ife to understand what this Prince was all about; one moment he was teasing her and flirting with her as if he liked her, and the next moment, when he had the opportunity to do something, he did nothing. Was he just pretending, or... didn't he want to make her uncomfortable?

  She didn't understand him and wasn't sure she ever would.

  "There, now it's ready," said Arenor, getting to his feet. "Stand up."

  Ife obeyed. The Prince's gaze began to examine her from head to toe, then suddenly stopped, and he said,

  "Wait here, I'll be right back."

  He ran out of the room, leaving Yifei standing there wondering. But then, just as quickly as he had left, he returned, but now with a dagger in one hand and a comb in the other.

  "Are you going to kill me?" Yifei asked, looking at the dagger.

  "Yes," replied Arenor. "And comb my hair."

  Placing the comb on the bedside table, Arenor knelt before Ifi, causing her to freeze.

  He raised his head to look into her eyes:

  "You like this dress, don't you?"

  "Yes," Yifei replied honestly, to her own surprise. "But it's already ruined, so—"

  "It's okay," he said, sliding his hand under her skirt. "We'll fix it."

  "You—" Yifei gasped when she felt his fingers touch her legs. "What are you—"

  "Don't worry," he smiled as she jerked again. "I don't touch girls without their permission," he said, and taking the fabric from the back in his hand, he stabbed it from the outside with a dagger, making a large hole.

  "And with permission?" Ife asked quietly.

  "What?" he asked, cutting off the entire part of the dress that was below Ife's knee and which was more stained and torn than the rest of the dress.

  "And with permission, do you touch girls?" she said more clearly.

  Having cut off the lower part of the dress completely, he threw the fabric aside, stood up, and said:

  "Ask for permission and you'll find out."

  Ife flushed bright red.

  "You—"

  But Arenor just laughed and ruffled her hair.

  "Hey! Stop doing that!" she said, fixing her hair when she felt his hands on her shoulders. "What are you doing?"

  "I'm going to comb your hair," he replied, standing behind her and gently running a comb through her hair. "It's very tangled."

  "And whose fault is that?"

  Arenor smiled.

  "Partly mine, but only partly," he remarked.

  Ife did not argue further; she knew she could not win a verbal battle with him anyway.

  Instead, she relaxed, surrendering to the gentle touch of Arenor's fingers on her head and the tender combing of her hair.

  It felt good. She wanted to rub against his touch like a cat. But Ife restrained her impulse, considering such behavior completely inappropriate in this situation—and in any other situation, for that matter.

  When Arenor finished, he put the comb aside, then told her to wait for him again and ran out of the room once more.

  Ife was curious to see what he would bring this time.

  This time, he brought a small hand mirror. Handing it to her, he said,

  "Here, hold this. Look at yourself."

  But when she reached out and was about to take the mirror, he suddenly pulled away from her and, raising his hand so high that even standing on tiptoe she couldn't reach it, said:

  "No, I changed my mind. I don't want you to look at yourself."

  "What? Why?" she exclaimed indignantly.

  "I want to be the only one who can admire your beauty," he said with a smile.

  Ife looked at his face: now, in a state of carefree serenity, it had acquired a boyish charm thanks to the playful smile on his lips and the mischievous sparkle in his eyes. He was obviously teasing her, trying to provoke her into either specific actions or specific words.

  She wasn't sure what he was trying to achieve.

  However, what she was sure of was that she had endured enough of his teasing all this time and she was no longer going to obey him.

  With a sharp movement, she punched him in the stomach, causing him to double over in pain, allowing her to snatch the mirror from his hands.

  Ife looked in the mirror and was stunned: she looked absolutely stunning. Her appearance was almost the same as it had been in the morning, but this time, the makeup was done with much greater skill and looked incredible. The dress, part of which had been cut off, looked better and, most importantly, was much more comfortable to wear without the train constantly dragging on the floor. Her hair looked smooth thanks to combing, but also slightly voluminous.

  Arenor had accurately executed all of Ife's ideas, which he didn't even know about.

  And it was his skill that impressed her more than her entire appearance.

  After recovering from the shock, Arenor approached her from behind, put his hands on her shoulders, and said:

  "Thanks to the dark blue shiny dress and makeup, as well as your golden eyes, you now look like a real star in the night sky."

  ***

  When they were done and Arenor was about to leave, he said:

  "I'll ask my guards to bring you the large mirror that was here before you..." He faltered, unable to continue, and fell silent. "Good night, dear Airena," he said and had already opened the door to leave when he suddenly heard Ife's voice.

  "Actually... I think your mother would have loved you, even knowing that she would have to die to give you life."

  "What...?" Arenor asked in shock.

  "Despite all your questionable actions..." she paused, "...it's impossible not to love you."

  ***

  When Nasir and Zafir brought the mirror to Airena's room, Arenor thanked them and was about to go to bed when Zafir called out to him:

  "Your Highness, we need to talk."

  "About what?" Arenor asked, puzzled.

  "About what you've been doing lately," Nasir replied for his brother. "First, a strange mass murderer whom you happen to know. Then your nervous breakdown because of her suicide attempt. Then your attempt to defend her at the council meeting. Then your deliberate elimination of the sister of the guard you killed."

  "Accidentally killed," corrected the Prince, but Zafir just shook his head.

  "That doesn't change what happened," he said. "So please explain to us who this Airena is and why you are making such sacrifices for her."

  "What if I don't want to explain?" Arenor asked. "What, will you turn me in to my father?"

  "Don't make us bastards," said Zafir. "We won't harm you, but we won't help you either."

  Arenor hesitated; he needed their help. After all, in the entire palace, and perhaps even in the entire kingdom, these two were the only ones he could trust. Besides, they weren't just tools to him; even though he was sometimes rude to them, he also considered them his friends, because all these years, they had been there for him, without judgment and with support.

  He didn't want to lose them.

  "All right," said the Prince. "I'll tell you."

  "Great, then..." Nasir began, but was interrupted by Arenor.

  "Just promise that no one—including Airena herself—will find out about what I'm about to tell you."

  "We promise," the brothers said simultaneously.

  ***

  From their faces, it was clear how shocked the brothers were by what Arenor had told them.

  For several minutes, they just sat in silence; Arenor waiting for their response, and Nasir and Zafir trying to digest everything the Prince had told them.

  "I don't—" Nasir began, but was interrupted by his brother.

  "I'll help," Zafir said without hesitation.

  "What?" Nasir asked in surprise. "But aren't you—"

  "Thank you so much!" Arenor exclaimed, hugging Zafir. "I'll never forget this."

  "Don't thank me," Zafir replied, but hugged the Prince back anyway. "I'm doing this for personal reasons."

  "That's not important," Arenor replied. "What about you, Nasir?" he asked, stepping back.

  Nasir sighed wearily, then slapped his brother on the shoulder and declared loudly,

  "Since my brother has decided to help, I will help too. Where would he be without me— ouch!"

  Zafir gave him another slap on the back of the head.

  "Shut up," he said. "But yes, Arenor, we will help you save her."

  "And protect her too," added Nasir.

  "It's the same thing," said Zafir.

  "No, it's not!" Nasir remarked with a smirk. "How foolish you are to think that— ouch!"

  Arenor paid no attention to his brothers' bickering; he was genuinely happy that he had someone to share his burden with, and that now, the likelihood of him being able to save and protect Airena was much greater than it had been before.

  "This time, I will definitely protect you, Airena," he muttered quietly. "I will save you, even if it means sacrificing my kingdom."

  ***

  Ife couldn't sleep.

  She was still replaying everything that had happened between her and Arenor in her head; his tender attitude towards her, his teasing, and his complete lack of resentment or anger when she hit him.

  She got out of bed and went to the box with the jewelry that Arenor had given her on the day she woke up. Opening it, she took out the tiara and, going to the mirror—as Arenor had promised, his guards had brought her a mirror—put it on her head.

  Ife really did look stunning in it; like a goddess.

  'Although,' Ife thought, 'any other girl with this thing on her head would look like a goddess.

  "Maybe," she said aloud, "I really should wear it, like Arenor said?"

  "No," she shook her head and put the ornament back in the box. "Not yet.”