Chapter 33

Miu’s POV

“S-Since when…?”

The words scraped out of my throat before I could stop them. The silence between us had grown so loud it felt like it was pressing against my ears.

Lena didn’t look away.

“I am not a fool, Miu,” she said quietly. “But I do not entirely disbelieve your story either. I trust that you are withholding parts of the truth. And I trust that you’re doing so for your own good.”

Her expression softened—infuriatingly gentle.

My knees weakened.

I hadn’t realized how tightly I’d been holding myself together until that moment. The strength drained from my legs, and I stumbled back, catching the wooden frame of my bed before I could fall completely. The edge dug into my palm, grounding me.

So she knew. Not everything—but enough.

I let out a shaky breath.

Of course she did.

Lena had always been perceptive. Too perceptive. She noticed the shifts in my tone, the way I structured policies like someone who had once commanded more than a small province, the way I spoke of fear and order as if I had seen kingdoms collapse firsthand.

She doesn’t believe I’m just a runaway noblewoman. And yet… all this time, she chose to pretend she did.

My chest tightened at that realization.

I now know she’s just protecting me.

Shielding me from questions her father would inevitably ask. From the scrutiny of the Royal Court. From the danger that would follow if anyone began to dig too deeply into who I really was.

I know what she’s proposing is reasonable.

If I step back, if I manage Tungsten quietly from within palace walls, fewer eyes will turn toward me. Fewer suspicions will bloom. I would be safer.

Safer.

My fingers curled against the bedframe.

But if I do that…

If I direct everything from behind closed doors, untouched by the dust and hunger and desperation of the city itself—

How am I any different from Prince Matthew?

The thought struck harder than Lena’s words ever could.

I had despised my father for ruling from polished halls, for issuing decrees without once walking among the people who bore their consequences. For choosing comfort over accountability.

If I retreat now, am I not doing the same?

I lifted my gaze to Lena.

She was watching me carefully, not with suspicion—but with worry.

And that somehow made this harder.

Because the choice in front of me was no longer about pride.

It was about survival.

And I did not know which version of myself would survive it.

I didn’t realize how hard I was gripping the bedsheet until my fingers began to ache.

Too many thoughts were crashing through my mind at once. Lena’s words. The Royal Court. My carefully constructed lie. The fragile place I had carved out for myself here. It all pressed down on me until it was difficult to breathe.

My mother had only wanted to protect me at the beginning. That was how it always started—protection. Safety. Decisions made in my best interest.

And yet, somewhere along the way, protection had turned into confinement. Love had turned into control. I had lost myself long before I ran away.

I fought too hard to become Miu.

That name wasn’t something I inherited. I built it. Piece by piece. I sacrificed comfort, status, certainty—everything familiar—just to stand here as someone who could choose her own path.

And I swore to myself I would never let this second life be dictated by someone else’s caution.

“No,” I said at last, my voice low but steady.

Lena watched me carefully.

“I’m not giving this up that easily.”

I forced myself to stand upright, even though my legs still felt weak from the shock of her confession. I met her eyes directly. “I won’t stay hidden away in this palace.”

I stepped closer to her, closing the space between us until I stood directly before the Queen of Elysia.

“Don’t force me to such a humiliating life,” I said, more quietly this time, but with no less conviction.

My hands were trembling, so I curled them into fists to steady myself. My heart was pounding so loudly I was certain she could see it in my chest. I braced myself for opposition—for authority, for duty, for the reality of her crown.

Instead, Lena laughed.

The sound caught me completely off guard.

It wasn’t mocking. It wasn’t irritated. It was warm—almost fond.

“Why did I know you’d react like this?” she said, shaking her head slightly as her expression softened.

The tension in the room eased, just a little.

She leaned back against the window, folding her arms loosely. Moonlight framed her silhouette, and for the first time since this conversation began, she didn’t look like a queen calculating risks. She looked like Lena.

“Very well,” she said after a moment. “I’ll withdraw that suggestion.”

She glanced outside before returning her gaze to me. “It was wrong of me to try and push you toward the easier path.”

There was no disappointment in her voice—only acceptance.

She stepped away from the window and approached me again, stopping close enough that I could feel the warmth of her presence.

“Do as you think is right,” she said softly. “No matter what anyone else says.”

She paused, and her eyes—usually so composed—held something far more personal.

“I will protect you.”

Her words caught me completely off guard.

I had expected persuasion or even an argument. But not that. Not unconditional support. Not protection offered so simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Why is she doing this?

Why does she keep placing me in situations where I have to question whether her sincerity is real?

It would almost be easier if she were calculating. If there were clear political motives behind every kindness. But this—this felt personal. And that frightened me more than scrutiny ever could.

“T-then…” The words left my mouth before I could weigh them properly. “Can you take an oath as a knight that you’ll keep your word to me?”

The silence that followed was immediate and heavy.

Lena blinked.

And only then did I realize what I had just said. I quickly clapped a hand over my mouth, my pulse spiking.

A knight’s oath.

That wasn’t common knowledge. Not in detail. Not in the way I had phrased it.

Only those educated within court traditions—or trained within royal institutions—would understand the gravity of invoking a knight’s vow so specifically. It wasn’t something a sheltered noblewoman from a provincial town would casually demand.

Did I just expose myself even further?

My thoughts scrambled to retrace the moment, to find some way to soften it.

I shouldn’t know that. I shouldn’t even think like that. I was just being emotional. Desperate for reassurance. Careless.

Did I go too far?

Before I could attempt to correct myself, Lena let out another quiet chuckle.

I slowly lowered my hand.

She crossed her arms, studying me—not suspiciously, not sharply. If anything, there was amusement flickering in her eyes.

“Very well,” she said, lifting her chin with deliberate pride. “If that is what you wish.”

“What?” The word slipped out weakly.

She agreed?

“But,” she continued smoothly, raising a single finger between us, her posture shifting subtly from indulgent to authoritative, “in return…”

Her gaze sharpened just slightly.

“You must agree to a request of my own.”