Only seven days remained before Frelis would journey to the Northern Territory.

After days of being ignored, Leon finally broke and sought her out.


"Still sulking?" he drawled.

Frelis continued her task without acknowledging him. Leon wasn't bothered—to him, this was merely a woman's game of playing hard to get, a childish display born from her obvious infatuation.

"I'm headed to the border. When I return, we'll sort this out properly."


Frelis mentally rolled her eyes at his presumption.

"How convenient," she replied coolly. "The border? We both know you've been ordered by the King to escort Princess Selina of Sera—your brother's bride-to-be."


Even now, he couldn't stop lying.

Three days later, as dawn barely broke the horizon, Frelis stood beside her carriage outside the city gates.

The Northern Territory border stretched before them at sunset as the wedding convoy from Sera arrived, flags snapping in the wind, a magnificent procession of wealth and power.

By nightfall, the camp sprawled across the plains—tents erected, torches blazing against the gathering darkness. Frelis's pavilion stood grandest of all, yet deliberately isolated, ringed by guards who kept her cut off from the camp's lively bustle.

Nearby, Northern soldiers gathered around roaring bonfires where fat sheep turned on spits. The tantalizing aroma of roasting meat and spilled wine drifted through the night air.

The camp pulsed with life—sizzling fat dripping into flames, rough laughter and bawdy jokes, the musical clink of wine cups creating a symphony of revelry.

"Miss, your evening meal." Martha entered the tent bearing a simple tray.

Frelis frowned at the bowl of thin, watery porridge on her plate.

As a royal bride-to-be, she was expected to maintain "propriety"—even her diet was restricted to bland, tasteless fare.

"Martha," Frelis swallowed hard, "can you smell that? The roasted meat?"

Martha nodded wistfully. "Yes, miss. It smells divine."

Frelis set down her spoon and moved to the tent entrance, peering through the gap at the soldiers feasting around the campfire, their faces glowing with satisfaction.

She—the supposed princess—had become the most deprived soul in the entire camp.

Suddenly, Frelis spun around, eyes gleaming. "Martha, I have an idea."

"What are you thinking?" Martha tensed, recognizing that dangerous spark.

"Fetch me a set of servant's clothes like yours." Frelis's eyes danced with mischief.

Martha gasped. "Miss, surely you aren't planning to—"

"Exactly. We'll blend in and feast on that roasted meat." Frelis lowered her voice conspiratorially. "It's dark enough—no one will recognize us."

Martha hesitated only briefly before a smile crept across her face. She nodded.

Soon she returned with a simple servant's dress. Frelis changed quickly, stripped off her jewelry, and smudged dirt across her cheeks. In moments, she looked indistinguishable from any common servant girl.

"Come on," Frelis grinned, "let's treat ourselves to a proper feast tonight!"

They slipped from the tent one after another, melting into the sea of revelry beyond.

Darkness made the perfect accomplice.

Frelis and Martha blended seamlessly with the crowd. No one spared a glance at two servant girls focused entirely on filling their plates.

The Northern-style roasted meat lived up to every rumor. Frelis took an enormous bite, nearly moaning aloud with pleasure.

"My lady," Martha whispered urgently, "slower, before you choke yourself."

Frelis nodded vaguely, cheeks bulging, even as her hand reached for another golden-brown lamb shank.

After days of bland gruel, this forbidden feast was paradise itself.

With bellies full and the crowd thinning, they prepared to sneak back to their tent under cover of darkness.

A low wooden fence marked the camp's rear boundary.

"I'll go first, miss."

Frelis followed close behind, but her overfull stomach made her movements sluggish. As she reached the fence top, her stomach lurched. She tilted sideways, a startled cry caught in her throat as her foot slipped and she plummeted toward the ground.

"Watch out!"

Strong arms caught her firmly in the darkness.

Frelis looked up, still dazed, and found herself staring directly into Leon's handsome face. She froze.

"You..." Leon's eyes swept over her servant's disguise, then glanced toward the Princess of Sera's camp. His face lit with sudden "understanding."

"So you knew all along?" he said, triumph in his voice.

Knew what?

"I don't know what you mean," Frelis broke free from his grasp, frowning in genuine confusion.

Leon stepped closer, his voice rich with smug amusement. "Don't play coy. You infiltrated Princess Sera's entourage just to follow me here, didn't you? No wonder you've been so cold lately—you were planning this grand surprise."

Frelis stared at him, utterly speechless.

Where did this man's boundless arrogance come from?

"I'm touched," Leon said, practically preening. "But this was far too dangerous!" he scolded.

Martha watched from the shadows, terrified, barely daring to breathe.

Leon moved closer still, his voice dropping intimately. "As it happens, Frelis, I face an important decision soon—choosing a consort."

He paused meaningfully, eyes locked on hers.

"Tell me," he murmured, "how should I choose?"

Frelis lowered her eyes demurely, mind racing behind her mask of contemplation. "Selecting a consort is such an important royal matter. How could I, a mere servant girl, presume to offer advice?"

Then, with calculated innocence, she added, "Though I've heard Crown Prince Ludwig is quite elegant and accomplished. Is that true?"

The atmosphere frosted over instantly.

Leon's fingers stilled on the railing, his voice dropping to a dangerous pitch. "Ludwig? My brother? He's not at all what people think."

He leaned forward, effectively caging Frelis between his body and the wooden rail.

"My dear," he whispered, "harboring fantasies about him would be most unwise."

A heartbeat later, his lips curled into that familiar smirk.

"In horsemanship, swordsmanship, even matters of state—the man standing before you is clearly superior. Wouldn't you agree?"

Faced with such breathtaking arrogance, Frelis didn't waste another word. She simply turned to leave.

Leon's fingers clamped around her wrist, halting her escape.

"Tomorrow afternoon. The gazebo on the garden's west side."

His voice was soft but carried the unmistakable weight of command.

"I'll be waiting."