Chapter 17

Miu’s POV

The next morning, I woke before the palace stirred. Again.

The light filtering through the curtains was soft, pale—nothing like the harsh awakenings I was used to. For a moment, I stayed still, listening. No shouting. No footsteps rushing toward my door. No fear clawing its way up my spine.

That was when I noticed them.

Folded neatly on the chair by my bed were several sets of clothes. Clean. Simple.

I sat up slowly, my gaze lingering on them. Beside the stack was a small card, cream-colored, unmistakably elegant. I already knew who it was from.

I picked it up with careful fingers.

I apologize we weren’t able to prepare proper clothing for you yesterday.Please wear these for now. I will make sure you have more suitable attire by today. — Lena

I let the note rest in my palm, staring at it longer than necessary.
Why… was she doing this?

Why was the Queen of Elysia—someone who owed me nothing—being so considerate? So attentive? As if my comfort mattered.

A quiet unease settled in my chest.

People were never kind without wanting something in return.

At least… that had always been my experience.

I lay back against the pillows, the memory of Tungsten creeping in uninvited. The ruined houses. The starving children. The anger in the people’s eyes—and then, slowly, the hesitation. The way they had listened. The way they had softened.

For the first time in years… I had felt useful.

During my first days in this palace, all I could think about was leaving. Escaping before history swallowed me whole again. Before the walls recognized me. Before I recognized myself.

But yesterday… standing in that broken city… speaking to those people…

I had made a difference.

Small, perhaps. Fragile. But real.

My fingers tightened around the note.

A strange resolve settled in my chest.

Quiet. Heavy. Unyielding.

I wanted to return what those people had lost—not just food or shelter, but dignity. Hope. The belief that someone, somewhere, still saw them as worth saving.

But the moment that resolve formed, fear followed close behind.

I had seen the way Lena looked at me back in Tungsten.

Not suspicion at first—no.
It was something sharper.
Something searching.

She had watched me the way a ruler watches an anomaly. A variable that didn’t fit neatly into any report or expectation. I knew that look all too well. I had worn it once myself.

A lowly person like me shouldn’t know how to address a broken city.
Shouldn’t know how to steady a furious crowd.
Shouldn’t know which words to choose—or when silence would speak louder.

And if Lena truly began to question me… she would find answers.

She is a Queen. She has the means. The power. The archives. The people.
And the cruel irony of it all is that the root of my secret lies here—within these walls. This palace. Her world.

The very place I ran from.

If she pulls on the right thread, everything will unravel.

Who I was.
What I abandoned.
What I failed to protect.

My fingers curled against the bedsheets.

I should stay quiet.
I should stay small.
I should accept the safety I’ve been given and ask for nothing more.

But when I close my eyes… all I see are the faces in Tungsten. The way their eyes followed me—not with trust, but with hope. A fragile thing they couldn’t afford to give easily.

And despite everything—despite the danger, the fear, the truth buried beneath my name—

I want to help them.

—

Third Person’s POV

Miu started her day early, wearing one of the dress Lena had given her. And as if it’s meant to be, the first person she sees today was Daliah.

“Daliah.” I addressed her.

“Yes, Miss Miu? Did you have a good rest? What can I do for you at this early hour?” Dahlia responded.

“Please, there’s no need for you to address me so formally.” Miu waved her hand in the air.

But they just exchanged an awkward smile at each other.

“I actually have a favor to ask.” Miu broke the awkwardness.”

—

A couple of hours later…

“Uhm… Miss. We have already prepared everything as requested.”

Daliah approached quietly, a clipboard clutched to her chest as she double-checked the list of goods laid out before them—crates of preserved food, medicine, blankets, clean water canisters, tools neatly bundled and labeled. Everything had been arranged with almost unsettling efficiency.

“Thank you, Daliah. Well done.”

Miu replied without turning around, her attention still fixed on the supplies. She moved from crate to crate, checking seals, weights, and markings with practiced precision—too practiced for someone who was supposed to be nothing more than a wounded guest.

Daliah hesitated, her fingers tightening around the edge of the clipboard.

“But… Miss, are you certain this is alright?” she asked carefully. “I followed your instructions because Her Majesty explicitly told me to comply with any request you make—as long as it is legal.” She lowered her voice, eyes darting briefly toward the corridor. “Still… this is quite extensive.”

Miu paused, then turned back to Daliah with a small, reassuring smile.

“It’s fine,” she said calmly. “The Queen is already aware of this.”

Daliah blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the certainty in Miu’s tone. Before she could respond, the echo of approaching footsteps filled the corridor.

A line of royal guards emerged from the entrance hall, parting the space with practiced precision. Behind them trailed a small crowd—hesitant and wary.

“Miss Miu,” one of the guards announced, stepping forward and bowing his head slightly, “the people from Tungsten are here.”

Daliah’s breath hitched.

From the group, Father Gaston moved ahead, flanked by a handful of his disciples and cityfolks whose clothes still bore the marks of hardship, their expressions tight with uncertainty. The palace walls loomed around them, vast and intimidating, as if daring them to turn back.

Miu stepped forward without hesitation.

She greeted them with a warm smile, her hands clasped neatly in front of her—not in submission, but in quiet respect.

“Thank you all for agreeing to come all this way,” she began, her voice gentle yet steady. “I know it must have taken a great deal of thought—and courage—for you to step into this place.”

Her gaze swept over them, taking in their small number. It was far fewer than she had hoped for. Still, she did not let disappointment show.

A beginning was still a beginning.

“We are aware that trust cannot be rebuilt overnight,” Miu continued. “But your presence here today tells me something important—that despite everything, you still wish for your land to heal.”

The crowd shifted uneasily, whispers rippling through them. Some avoided her eyes. Others watched her closely, as if searching for falsehood in her expression.

Miu met their gazes without flinching.

“This is only the first step,” she said softly. “And I am grateful that you chose to take it.”

Miu drew a steady breath before stepping aside, revealing the neatly arranged crates behind her.

“Moving on to my real agenda,” she said evenly, “these are additional sets of relief goods prepared specifically for the city.”

She gestured toward the supplies.

“And for those who came seeking work,” she added, turning slightly, “you may accompany Daliah. She will help assign positions within the palace household and service staff.”

She gestured toward Daliah.

The head of the household staff stiffened, clearly unprepared. Her eyes widened as several people from Tungsten instinctively looked her way.

“I— I beg your pardon, Miss Miu,” Father Gaston cut in.

His tone was markedly different from before—measured, restrained. Gone was the confidence that once edged on arrogance. He stepped forward, hands folded in front of him, gaze fixed on Miu.

“Even if you offer us goods, help, and employment,” he said carefully, “what comes after?”

Miu’s brow creased, a faint frown forming as she studied him.

“As you very well know,” Gaston continued, voice lowering, “we have no means to repay you for all of this.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Several women instinctively pulled their shawls tighter around themselves.

“What I mean to ask is this,” he said, lifting his gaze to meet hers. “Can you guarantee that the people of Tungsten—especially our women—will not be held hostage in exchange for your generosity?”

The question landed heavily in the air.

Miu did not answer immediately.

For a brief moment, the room was silent—everyone waiting to see whether this offer of salvation carried chains hidden beneath it.

Miu studied the gravity etched into the priest’s face.

In that moment, she realized something crucial—Father Gaston was old enough to have lived through the entirety of King Arthur’s reign. He had witnessed the palace at its cruelest. He had seen women taken from their homes without consent, regardless of age, dragged away simply because the late King desired a new mistress. To him, the palace was not a symbol of protection—it was a memory of terror dressed in marble and gold.

Her gaze drifted down to his clasped hands.

They were trembling—just slightly.

And Miu understood then.

This man… despite his misguided choices, despite the harm his actions had caused, truly cared for the people of Tungsten. His methods were flawed, perhaps even condemnable—but his fear did not come from greed alone. It came from experience. From scars left by a kingdom that had once turned its back on him and everyone he had sworn to protect.

He had survived the palace’s wrath once.

And yet, here he stood—inside its walls, surrounded by its guards—still daring to speak, still daring to ask difficult questions, still placing himself between the palace and his people.

For Tungsten.

For the women who could not afford to be taken again.

For a city that had learned, painfully, that trust could cost everything.