Chapter 1

Miu’s POV

A scorching heat blooms around me, rising from nowhere. Sourceless flames roar to life, curling inward as their crackling drowns out every other sound.

“No… No… please…“ The words scrape out of me as I peer through the blaze, trying to make sense of the silhouettes moving beyond it— figures colliding, g*nshots flashing, shadows tearing into shadows. A battlefield swallowed in fire.

My heart lurches, caught between the desperate urge to see more… and the terror of what I might discover if I do.

“Stop… everyone, just stop—”

A voice cut through the fire.

“Miu. Wake up.”

Huh? Did I just… fall asleep? Seriously? Now? Even if I’m dead tired, this is so not the time.

“Don’t doze off again. We still got so much to do.”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” I grumble, going back to scrubbing. Two a.m. and we’re still not done with closing. My arms feel like jelly, but overtime means faster cash—and faster escape from this city.

The Ducaines are going to catch up with me soon. I’d better leave soon.

You’re probably wondering who the Ducaines are.

Lucky you, if you don’t know.

They’re the most notorious syndicate in the Kingdom of Elysia. Human trafficking is their specialty—buying people, taking bodies as payment for unpaid debts, outright kidnapping. That’s how I ended up under their control in the first place.

It’s only been two months since I ran.

Honestly? I should be dead by now. Or dragged back.

I had a decent stash of cash at first. Enough to disappear for a while. But it’s running thin, and they haven’t stopped looking. I thought they’d give up after a month.

I was wrong.

I made them too much money. Had too many loyal VIPs who paid far more than what they usually earned from other escorts.

To them, I wasn’t just property.

I was their jewel.

And they desperately want me back.

Yes… I am—was—an escort.

I was forced to entertain politicians, rival syndicates, anyone the Ducaines labeled a VIP. If they had power or money, I was paraded in front of them.

But no. Not the way you’re thinking.

I never let those dogs touch me.

I kept what little dignity I had left—even when it meant bruises blooming on my skin, even when it meant nights spent on the floor instead of a bed. All they ever got from me was my presence at the table… and the drinks I poured into their glasses.

And maybe that was exactly why they wanted me so badly.

I wasn’t easy.

I was a challenge.

Oh—wait. I’ve been telling you all of this, and I haven’t even introduced myself.

My name is Miu.

Miu Lancaster.

But if you really want to understand me… then I should tell you who I was before Miu.

If I ever dared to say my old name out loud, no one would believe me anyway. They’d laugh. Or worse—they’d call me insane.

But it’s just you and me now.

So listen carefully.

Because I’m about to tell you my story.

I was once known as Matthew Forger—the late Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Elysia.

—-

“Oh! He’s over there!” Laughter rang out, light and teasing, carried by the wind.

“Prince Matthew!” someone called from behind me—high, edged with urgency as it cut through the rustling grass.

I barely reacted. I was too absorbed in the breeze against my skin, in the dizzying freedom of the open field stretching endlessly before me. The air smelled of earth and wildflowers, untouched and alive.

“Prince Matthew!”

The voice came again—closer this time, more real. It tugged at the edge of my awareness, but I still couldn’t look away from the horizon.

Even now, that memory drifts back to me.

From a time before everything was swallowed by cruelty.
Before grief became all I knew.

It all started here. During my father’s reign.

King Arthur Forger III.

Even thinking his name drags up memories I’ve spent years trying to bury. He was a tyrant—one who bent laws on a whim, took whatever he wanted, and discarded people like they meant nothing. Nobles or commoners, it never mattered. His cruelty left women broken, lands ruined, and fear rooted deep in the hearts of his subjects.

The fates of his queens were proof enough.

One died under his excesses. Another was cast aside and exiled back to her homeland, stripped of every title she once wore.

And then… there was the third.

My mother.

Alice Vantheir—Royal Princess of Hoswington.

When I think of her, I see someone young and graceful, trapped inside a gilded cage she never asked for. Powerless against a king’s whims. And yet… she endured.

That’s what stayed with me.

Because I learned early that crowns don’t protect you from cruelty. Titles don’t make you strong.

Survival does.

It didn’t take long for Alice to lose his favor—almost as quickly as she had been crowned.

The warmth and grandeur she was promised vanished, replaced by cold indifference. Father stopped visiting her chambers. His attention drifted elsewhere, and she was left behind—too inconvenient to love, too dangerous to discard.

She wasn’t welcomed among his mistresses either. They avoided her, or worse, looked at her like a reminder of what could happen when the king grew bored.

So her days stretched on in silence.

Trapped within walls that glittered with gold but felt more suffocating than any prison, she lived each morning aware of how fragile her place truly was. In my father’s world, favor was life.

And without it… survival became a quiet, constant struggle.

And yet, within her womb, she carried her last hope.

A child.

Bearing a son—the heir to King Arthur—was her final chance to survive that court. Not out of love. Never love. But because even my father hesitated to destroy something that could secure his legacy.

That was the cruel truth of it.

Her safety, her dignity, even her right to keep breathing… all of it depended on the life growing inside her. In a place where mercy was rare, existence itself became something to bargain for.

The labor was brutal. It drained what little strength Alice had left, leaving her trembling against the sheets, breath shallow, body aching in ways no crown could soften.

Still, she endured.

Even through the haze of pain and exhaustion, she held on—clinging to the fragile hope that this child would save her. That this suffering would finally mean something.

Then a cry cut through the chamber.

Sharp. New. Alive.

The midwife froze.

A beat passed—too long.

“Your Highness…” Her voice wavered, careful now. “It’s a princess.”

The room fell silent.

In that silence, something precious shattered.

Alice’s heart clenched.

A daughter.

Not the life she had prayed for—but when the midwife laid the tiny, swaddled body against her chest, something inside her shifted. Small fingers curled around hers, gripping with a strength that felt impossible for something so fragile. The baby’s cries faded, soothed by the warmth of her mother’s touch, as if she already knew where she belonged.

In that moment, fear gave way to resolve.

This child would live.

She would live.

No crown, no law, no tyrant king would decide their fate.

If survival demanded defiance… then Alice would defy the world.

“You shall never… speak of what you witnessed here today,” Alice whispered, her voice hoarse but unwavering.

For a heartbeat, her gaze softened as she looked down at her daughter. Then it hardened again.

“On this day,” she said, voice trembling with both love and defiance, “I gave birth to a prince.”

The midwife blinked, confusion etched across her face. “My Queen?” she ventured, hesitant, unsure if she’d heard correctly.

Alice didn’t answer.

The truth—the existence of her daughter—was a secret that could not see the light of day. Not now, not ever.

The life of a royal daughter under King Arthur III would have been nothing but a cage.

An object. A tool for political games. A pawn in a court where men’s whims outweighed everything else.

No matter her intelligence. No matter her beauty. No matter her talents. Her life would belong to others… never herself.

Alice had lived it. Survived it. Endured it.

And she would never let her daughter suffer the same fate.

Cradling her child close, Alice whispered again, almost to herself,
“You will be free. You will survive. And no one—no one—will take that from you.”

The baby stirred against her chest, fragile yet insistent.

Alice held her tighter, pressing her lips to the crown of her daughter’s head, sealing her future with a silent vow.