In the council chamber, the air buzzes with tension as advisors lean forward, pressing their demands on Prince Michaelli to address the future of the royal line. Their voices rise and fall with repetitive insistence on lineage—words that ring hollow to him, words he's long grown tired of.
Tuk, having endured only six of these meetings, already feels her ears are about to bleed. The relentless demands of the council echo the nagging persistence of her own grandparents, who used to bombard her with the same overplayed rhetoric about marriage and tradition. But here, the stakes are far more oppressive. The council isn't clamoring for a future queen—they're fixated on finding women capable of bearing heirs.
Curiously, none of the women chosen for the role hold any real power. In the emperor's court, all his concubines are treated as equals—ornamental rather than influential whose only job is to bear a child capable of leading the empire. And now, the council expects the prince to follow suit, urging him to take at least seven concubines, as if he's meant to have a woman assigned to him for each day of the week. The suggestion feels less like royal tradition and more like an oddly regimented chore chart.
Yet the prince still listens, though it's clear he has little choice. The council's obsession with his legacy runs deeper than tradition—perhaps because, with no other heirs left, he's their only option. She wonders how many times he's had to endure this same conversation, the weight of expectation pressing down on him.
Unaware of this bloody twisted history, Tuk admires his patience, mistaking his resolve for quiet tolerance. How many years have they been hounding him on this topic? she wonders, impressed by his stoicism.
Seated beside him, Tuk notices the faint tension in his clenched grip on the armrest. Catching his simmering irritation, a smirk tugs at her lips. She leans in close enough for only him to hear. "Your Highness, if they crave legacy so much," she whispers, her tone laced with mischief, "why not give them something unforgettable?"
Michaelli's gaze sharpens, a slow smile unfurling as he considers her suggestion. He turns back to the councilors, letting out an exaggerated sigh. "Gentlemen," he begins, his voice deceptively gentle, "your enthusiasm for my legacy is truly… moving." His eyes sweep the table, catching their uneasy glances. A faint smile tugs at his lips, the kind that makes the councilors squirm.
The council murmurs, a rising tide of anticipation rippling through the room as they sense a potential breakthrough. Tuk seizes the moment, her voice calm yet deliberate, adopting the air of someone offering profound wisdom.
"Perhaps, Your Highness," she begins, her words measured, "we might announce a formal courtship? A symbolic gesture to assure the empire of its future stability."
Michaelli's brow arches slightly, his expression unreadable. Tuk catches a glint in his eye—was it amusement? Irony? She isn't sure, but something about it makes her want to smirk. "We will start with one," he replies smoothly, "just as the first stone laid in a foundation paves the way for a fortress. What is built from it will be far sturdier… and far more enduring."
His tone is steady, but the subtle emphasis on "sturdier" and "enduring" doesn't escape Tuk's notice. She fights to suppress a smile, her own amusement mirrored faintly in his gaze. "An interesting proposal, Advisor," Michaelli continues, tilting his head as if weighing her suggestion. "A union that symbolizes the empire's strength, rooted in loyalty… and built to last."
The councilors, oblivious to the subtext exchanged between prince and advisor, erupt into murmurs of approval, their faces lighting with a mixture of relief and triumph. To them, the prince has finally relented, bending to their insistence.
Tuk, emboldened by their naivety, steps forward, weaving her words with careful precision. "Imagine, Your Highness, a courtship driven not by fleeting emotions but by steadfast devotion to the empire's future. Such a union would honor tradition, fulfill expectations, and align perfectly with the guidance of the Arcanographica scrolls."
Her tone is earnest, and the councilors drink in her suggestion, nodding along as though Tuk has unlocked some ancient truth. Across the room, she exchanges another glance with Michaelli—a fleeting moment of shared amusement at the council's gullibility.
The session drags on, the councilors consumed by their own vision of orchestrating the prince's courtship. But when they finally withdraw, satisfied that they've swayed the prince, Michaelli leans back in his seat, his composure unraveling just enough to reveal a low, amused chuckle.
"You played them beautifully," he remarks, his voice carrying a rare note of approval. "They'll be speaking of this 'union' for weeks, utterly blind to the truth."
Tuk offers a modest bow, her lips twitching into a faint smile. "All part of my role as your 'love advisor,' Highness," she replies, her tone laced with mock reverence.
Michaelli's smirk deepens, his amusement cutting through his usual reserve. "If only the council knew the full extent of your talents. But for now, let them bask in their delusions." His gaze sharpens, and there's a gleam of respect in his eyes. "You understand this game of illusion and restraint. You know, love can be a powerful weapon… much like myself."
Tuk nods, her smile widening slightly. Even she herself can't believe what she is capable of "Love, Your Highness, is one of the greatest facades of all. Played correctly, it can be anything—a shield or a blade." Her words carry a weight Michaelli recognizes, an insight that aligns with his own.
He leans forward, intrigued. "So, tell me, tuk. How would you suggest we sustain this illusion long enough to hold their focus?"
"A carefully chosen partner, perhaps," she suggests, tilting her head thoughtfully. "Someone willing to act the part without attachment—someone who can keep secrets and never lose sight of the act."
Michaelli's eyes narrow, approving. "A decoy. A player in our little theater," he muses, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Perhaps an outsider, who won't question the arrangement or my intentions. Or maybe even a trusted court member—someone who knows the value of silence."
"Yes, Your Highness," Tuk agrees, her eyes alight with shared delight. "We'll stage the courtship as if it's a matter of the heart. The people will be swept up in the spectacle, while the councilors become too engrossed to see the truth."
Michaelli chuckles, his voice carrying an edge of something that sounds like approval. "You're even more devious than I'd hoped, Tuk. This decoy 'romance' may just give us the space we need. But I'll need your expertise to make it convincing."
Tuk inclines her head, her eyes gleaming. "Of course, Your Highness. We'll give them a show like none before—a true affair of the heart, or so they'll think."
Michaelli leans back, satisfied. "Very well. Let's plan this courtship."
Together, they begin to plot the game, two minds perfectly attuned to the art of deception, as the illusion they craft takes shape—a spectacle to beguile the council and leave their true intentions shrouded in shadow.
As Prince Michaelli and Tuk settle into the quiet aftermath of the council meeting, the two conspirators exchange glances, each fully aware of the intricate layers of deception they are weaving.
"First," Michaelli begins, leaning forward with the intensity of a strategist, "we'll need someone who can fit the role convincingly. Someone attractive enough to command attention, yet humble enough not to overstep."
Tuk nods, pondering potential candidates. "And someone who can keep their emotions at bay," she adds thoughtfully, her fingers tapping against her chin. "Anyone easily swayed by their own feelings could jeopardize the act."
"Precisely." A glint of approval sparked in Michaelli's eyes. "A noble without much stake in the court—a second son or daughter with little ambition. Someone aware of their place but able to hold the room's attention."
A sly smile crept across Tuk's lips. "I know just the person, Your Highness. Eveline, daughter of Lord Alaric. Striking but modest, and as the child of a minor yet wealthy noble, she seeks little more than favor. A woman like her could keep the council entertained without expecting anything permanent."
Her suggestion was both swift and intentional. What Michaelli didn't know was that, after being appointed as the prince's "love advisor," ambitious lords had flocked to her, each eager to secure their daughters as the prince's choice.
Ever the opportunist, Tuk had recognized an opening—a chance to turn their desperation into her own advantage. She quietly orchestrated a competition, persuading each eager lord that a "recommendation" to the prince's ear came with a price. The higher the bribe, the closer their daughters would be to an introduction to the prince.
Tuk cunningly capitalized on their eagerness, ranking each daughter by the amount her family contributed and creating a "top five" contenders list. She raised the stakes, allowing the most competitive nobles to bid against each other, with the highest bidder securing her recommendation.
Lord Alaric had come out on top.
He hadn't even flinched when the bids soared past what most nobles would consider reasonable. While the others grumbled, hesitated, or cast wary glances at their dwindling fortunes, Alaric merely raised his cup of wine, watching the proceedings unfold like a seasoned gambler who already knew the outcome. His wealth wasn't as vast as the high-ranking dukes, but he played his cards better—waiting, observing, striking only when the odds were in his favor.
A man like that was both an asset and a danger. Tuk knew the type—quiet, calculating, always angling for something bigger. He wasn't just throwing money for prestige; he was playing for power.
She had, with a single scheme, secured her finances, helped the prince navigate his council's relentless demands, and, if everything went as planned, set the stage for a story worthy of the most dramatic novels. The idea of the cold-hearted prince possibly falling for Eveline through an arranged match was the perfect cliché romance fantasy. With any luck, she'd get to witness it unfold before her very eyes—just like in her favorite tales, where the aloof prince gradually softened. And if that happened? Her own life would become infinitely safer.
Who doesn't want romance? she thought with a smirk.