It was still dark outside when I stepped into the hallway, my footsteps muffled against the polished floor. A shawl wrapped snugly around my shoulders, though it did little against the biting cold of early morning. Still, I welcomed the quiet chill—it grounded me, somehow.

  Servants moved briskly in and out of the manor’s entrance, their arms full of boxes. From the doorway, I watched as they began loading two carts with careful precision. Supplies for Master Ba.

  Though he lived in isotion atop Skyridge Mountain, he wasn’t above enjoying a few worldly comforts. Theo once told me that their master had a taste for luxury—rare teas, aged wines, and intricately woven silks. An odd contrast for someone so devoted to a life of seclusion and martial discipline.

  Still, he was a man full of contradictions. Eccentric and powerful, reclusive yet rooted in deep loyalty.

  I stepped outside, my breath fogging in the morning air. The mountain wind always carried a bite, even at this lower altitude. The sky remained cloaked in indigo, with only the faintest hint of dawn on the horizon.

  Theo had shared bits of Master Ba’s story with me once. He was born in Louyang, a distant kingdom on the Western Continent, renowned for its ancient martial traditions. In his relentless pursuit of mastery, he crossed the sea and sought solitude in our empire, finally settling in Skyridge Mountain, where the energy flowed stronger than anywhere else.

  He could have lived undisturbed for the rest of his days—but fate had other pns.

  Grandfather and the former Duke Bourdelle had encountered him during a hunting trip, years ago. They found him half-dead, torn and bleeding—ambushed, of all things, by a bear.

  Not just any bear, though. Skyridge beasts are unlike those in the lownds—rger, fiercer, honed by the mountain's power. The one that attacked him was a mother guarding her cubs. He could have defended himself. Should have. But he didn’t.

  He refused to strike her.

  That detail lingered with me, always.

  He chose not to fight, not because he couldn’t, but because he wouldn't harm a creature acting out of instinct. Even in danger, he honored life. That kind of restraint... I couldn’t decide if it was foolish or admirable.

  After being nursed back to health, he repaid my grandfather and the duke by offering to teach their children. What started as gratitude slowly became a tradition—one that now included Theo, Trev, and Stan.

  I watched as the st crate was secured onto the cart. Among the carefully wrapped parcels were things he’d requested: rare leaves from the Eastern isles, a new inkstone, a bottle of wine Theo said he’d like. Secur things, yes—but still tokens of care from those he taught.

  The wind brushed past me again, and I clutched the shawl tighter around my frame.

  I wondered what kind of man he was—beyond the stories, beyond the reverence. I had never met him, but somehow, I felt like I already knew a piece of him.

  Maybe one day, I’d learn the rest.

  I walked closer to where my mother stood, gracefully orchestrating the final preparations. She was speaking to a servant, pointing toward the remaining boxes to be loaded onto the cart.

  “Mother, you’re overdoing it again,” I said gently, eyeing the growing stack.

  She turned to me with a soft smile. “Sweetie, you’re here. You should’ve slept a little longer.” Then, with a slight frown, she added, “And what do you mean overdoing it? They’ll need extra coats and bnkets—it gets freezing up there, you know.” Her attention shifted back to the servant as she gestured toward another crate, which I assumed was filled to the brim with warm clothes.

  I let out a quiet sigh and said nothing more. Arguing with her would be pointless. She always packed more than necessary, and as usual, my brothers would likely donate what they didn’t use to the nearby towns they passed through. A small kindness that had become a quiet tradition.

  My gaze drifted past the bustling scene. Not far off, I spotted Trev slouched beneath a tree, trying—and failing—to fight off sleep. His head lolled slightly, a wide yawn escaping as he blinked blearily at the morning light. Nearby, Theo stood with Stan, the two deep in conversation beside their horses.

  My eyes lingered for a moment longer before wandering—searching, even though I didn’t want to admit it.

  And there he was.

  The First Prince.

  Leaning casually against his horse, his posture effortless, yet refined. His silver hair caught the soft dawn light, gleaming like frost. He held a few sheets of paper in one hand, eyes scanning the contents with quiet intensity. There was something almost solemn in the way he read—focused, unmoved by the noise around him.

  I hated that I noticed him so quickly. Hated that a part of me was looking for him.

  But I didn’t look away.

  There was a stillness about him. Even in the flurry of early morning preparations, he stood apart—as if the world moved around him, but never through him. He turned a page, brows furrowed in thought, completely absorbed in whatever it was he was reading.

  And just as I was about to pull my gaze away, his eyes lifted.

  For the briefest moment, our gazes met. Sharp sapphire locked with startled violet.

  It wasn’t dramatic. He didn’t smile. I didn’t gasp. But something shifted.

  A flicker of recognition passed through his expression—calm, unreadable as ever, but unmistakably aware.

  I blinked, quickly looking down, pretending to fix the edge of my shawl. My fingers fumbled at nothing, my heart suddenly aware of itself in a way I hated.

  Why did he have to look? Why did I have to care?

  When I dared gnce back up, he was already looking elsewhere, back to his papers like nothing had happened.

  Of course. That’s how he was. Cool. Distant. Impossibly composed.

  And yet… my mind kept repying that gnce. That pause. That slight tilt of his head, as if he’d expected to see me there.

  “Trev! Stop dozing off, we’re leaving soon!” Theo’s voice broke the moment, and I turned toward the sound, grateful for the distraction.

  I could still feel the warmth in my cheeks. Ridiculous.

  Just a gnce. That’s all it was.

  But somehow, it felt like too much.

  The carts were nearly full now. Servants moved with efficient speed, final bundles tied down, and horses prepared for departure. The sun had barely crested the horizon, but the air was already buzzing with anticipation.

  I moved toward Trev first. He had finally managed to stand upright, though he still looked half-asleep.

  “Try not to fall off your horse halfway up the mountain,” I teased, though my voice came out softer than I intended.

  Trev gave me a lopsided grin. “No promises.”

  I turned to Theo next. He stood tall beside his steed, every inch the future heir. Calm, steady—like Father.

  “Take care of them, please,” I said, meaning more than just the words.

  “I always do,” he replied, voice low. His hand reached out to rest briefly on top of my head, a rare gesture of affection. “Stay out of trouble while we’re gone.”

  I almost smiled. “No guarantees.”

  Then came Stan, ever the charming troublemaker.

  “Don’t miss me too much, Nia,” he said with a wink as he mounted his horse.

  “Please,” I snorted. “I pn to have perfectly peaceful days without your nonsense.”

  He chuckled. “Liar.”

  I was about to respond when a quiet shift in the air pulled my attention—and I didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

  Still, I looked.

  The First Prince had mounted his horse without fanfare, reins held loosely in one hand, the other resting atop his saddle. He didn’t speak, but his eyes met mine once more, steady and unreadable.

  I gave a polite nod. Nothing more. Nothing less.

  But just as I began to step back, he tilted his head—barely—but enough for me to catch it.

  And then… he smiled.

  It was small—almost nothing at all—but it stirred something inside me, something I wasn’t ready to name.

  My brows lifted, surprised by the unexpected gesture. I returned the smile—brief, measured, far more controlled than I felt.

  It shouldn’t have meant anything.

  And yet… it did.

  I forced myself to look away before the feeling could settle, before I started to wonder what it meant that I didn’t want to.

  The horns sounded shortly after—three short bsts echoing across the grounds.

  Time to depart.

  One by one, they rode out, hooves crunching against gravel, wheels groaning under crates, the sound growing softer with each passing second until the trail behind them was nothing but dust in the morning light.

  I stood there for a while, long after they’d disappeared from sight.

  The wind tugged gently at my shawl, cool against my skin. Beside me, my mother had gone quiet, her hands folded as she watched the same empty road.

  “They’ll be alright,” she said finally, more to herself than to me.

  I nodded slowly. “I know.”

  But my eyes lingered just a little longer on the path, as if I could still see a figure on horseback… silver hair catching the rising sun.

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