As morning approached the southern city of Paludin, the sun rose with a gentle lethargy, as if the sky itself knew that this day would be unlike any other. Light draped over the stone windows of the grand estates like an amber shawl, caressing the cold stone and awakening souls that refused to be freed from the grip of their past.
In one quiet corner of the palace, Arwa stood at the edge of her balcony, silently staring at the envelope sealed with the imperial wax. It was yet another phantom of those letters that change the course of souls. Her platinum skin reflected against the white paper, as if she were part of it—as if fate had written its name upon her.
She opened the envelope with trembling fingers, despite her efforts to hide the tension. The message was short, sealed with the emblem of Empress Vivian herself—the green-eyed sovereign who sees all like an emerald hidden deep within a mountain:
"To the Strathmore Family,
The Solaris Empire invites you to attend the palace.
We confirm the attendance of Lord Kyle Strathmore, Duke Denis Strathmore, Countess Sara Strathmore, and Miss Arwa."
The words were heavy, beyond interpretation. The Empress does not "suggest"—she commands, with a warm smile that hides golden fangs.
Arwa's steps were quiet but firm as she made her way to the lounge, where the aristocratic family members had gathered. She greeted them in a low voice:
"Good morning."
Then handed the letter to her uncle Denis, who was seated on a leather sofa, reading an economic newspaper as usual.
But what caught her eye was not her uncle—it was Kyle.
Kyle, in his usual posture, leg crossed over the other, wore a loose white satin shirt and beige silk trousers, covered by a black house robe lined with delicate golden stripes. Elegance dripped from him as if he was born from the womb of dawn. His eyes, half-lidded, gazed through her, not at her.
"Hmm… It's a summons from the Empire," Denis said after reading the letter.
Countess Sara raised an eyebrow. "And what's the content of the invitation?"
"They've requested all of us… explicitly emphasizing Kyle and Arwa."
Here, Kyle's voice rose with calm finality:
"I won't go. Don't count on my presence."
His father lifted his head, peering over his glasses:
"But the letter confirms your presence, son—along with Arwa's."
Kyle clenched his right hand until the veins surfaced beneath his pale skin:
"And why are they insisting on her attendance? Do they have a new game to toss in our path?"
Denis inhaled slowly, his voice regaining the warmth of wisdom:
"I don't think it's that. I believe my brother is happy for you. He is your uncle before he is Emperor."
Kyle responded with a pale smile, but his eyes did not follow suit.
Then he looked to one of the servants and ordered, "Bring the luggage."
Then he stood, pointing toward Arwa with a single finger:
"Come. You're one of the pawns in this game too."
Arwa didn't utter a word. She was used to his harshness, but not used to her heart ignoring it entirely. She followed him quietly to the other wing of the palace.
His wing was like a silent temple of luxury.
Kyle's Wing – The Western Wing – Top Floor
The double doors, made of dark teakwood, bore a golden dragon embracing a radiant sun—the ancient symbol of the Strathmore lineage. When the doors opened, a world of quiet opulence was revealed, like the calm before a storm.
A massive crystal chandelier hung from a ceiling painted with celestial myths. A huge oil painting depicted a battle between light and shadow, as if it summarized the life of this man frozen halfway through his tale.
The floor was of ivory marble with faint golden veins, stretching beneath a handwoven beige carpet that echoed the warmth of sunrise. The high-backed sofas of beige velvet, embroidered with fine golden threads, surrounded a stone fireplace guarded by statues of mythical knights.
Every corner of the room spoke of restrained grandeur—luxury that sought not to boast, but to exclude.
"Sit," he said in a low voice, pointing to the sofa across the marble tea table.
Arwa sat quietly, tucking a strand of her white hair behind her ear. That small gesture was enough to make Kyle pause.
"Would you like anything?" Arwa whispered with a faint smile.
But he didn't respond. He simply tossed his robe onto the hanger and leaned over to pour the tea. His hand, long and crafted like divine sculpture, held the teapot as if it were an artifact.
Then, with one finger, he pushed the teacup toward her without looking:
"Here."
"Thank you," she said, sipping the tea as if tasting liquid emeralds.
Then he pulled a small box from a velvet case and opened it. Inside was a simple white hair ribbon, shaped into a bow—the simplest thing, yet the strongest binding—like a soul.
He stood behind her. He gathered her long silky hair and said in a neutral tone:
"Tie your hair. Don't leave it loose there."
A shiver ran down her skin when his fingers touched hers. It wasn't a seductive gesture—it was deliberately strange, ambiguous, as if he was trying to stop his heart from beating too loudly.
"Oh… I'll make sure of that…" she whispered, barely finding her voice.
But his hand still caressed her hair slowly, until the tips of his fingers brushed her neck. She flinched, but didn't move. She was more embarrassed by her body than afraid of him.
Then, in his usual cold voice, he said:
"And don't wear anything revealing. I insist."
In a silent motion, he placed his finger on her forehead, as if drawing an invisible seal.
That touch—quiet and terrifying—made her pulse tremble, and her cheeks flushed as if blood had suddenly remembered its way back to her heart.
He made no further comment, and didn't smile. He merely returned to his seat and said:
"And don't trust anyone there… understand?"
She didn't understand, but her head nodded in obedience.
In that moment, Arwa wasn't just a girl reincarnated from another world. She was simply a girl, searching for meaning in the eyes of a man who refused to offer anything but mystery.
As for Kyle, he knew a new game had begun, and that Arwa… maybe, just maybe, wasn't what he thought.
And that she would be the Empress's next target.
**
So what does the imperial palace have in store for them?
Who is pulling the strings behind the curtain?
And will the hair stay tied—or will the heart unravel first?
Stay tuned for the next chapters…