Chapter 32

Third Person’s POV

When the door to her chambers closed behind her, Miu finally allowed the mask to slip. She crossed the room without a word and dropped onto the bed, staring up at the canopy as the events of the evening replayed in her mind.

Lena followed shortly after, shutting the door softly before turning her attention to Miu. She didn’t interrupt. She simply watched, sensing the shift in her friend’s demeanor.

“Major General Jayden…” Miu muttered under her breath.

There was something about him. Something she could not place no matter how hard she searched her memory.

But if she had met him before, it would have been during the years she lived as Prince Matthew.

The thought made her chest tighten.

As Matthew, she had been careful. She kept conversations brief, maintained distance, and avoided forming unnecessary attachments.

Still, she had attended countless ceremonies and public gatherings. Officers, nobles, dignitaries—faces blurred together over time. It was entirely possible Jayden had been among them.

And if he had been close to the palace back then.. Both him and Duke Christian posed a serious threat now.

Miu exhaled slowly.

But still, Prince Matthew was dead. Officially. No one would suspect that the woman standing before them now was once the kingdom’s lost heir.

She no longer even resembled the person she had been. Her voice, her build, her very presence had changed.

It would be impossible.

…Wouldn’t it?

Just as her thoughts began to spiral again, a gentle tug at the back of her head pulled her abruptly back to reality.

Miu blinked.

A soft weight slipped from her scalp, and in the next second, her carefully arranged updo unraveled. Silken strands cascaded down over her shoulders and back in a smooth curtain.

Her eyes widened in horror.

She turned sharply to see Lena standing there, casually holding the ribbon that had once secured her hair.

“Noooo! Daliah worked so hard on this!” Miu protested, her voice rising into a distressed pout as she gathered her now-fallen hair in both hands.

Lena stared at her for a moment, visibly caught off guard by the reaction. “You… looked uncomfortable just now,” she replied, slightly flustered. “I figured you wanted to end your day already.”

Before Miu could recover, Lena stepped closer and placed a steady hand around her waist.

Miu jolted at the sudden contact, her body stiffening instinctively.

Without seeming to notice, Lena guided her further onto the bed until she was properly seated against the pillows. Then Lena lowered herself to kneel on the floor in front of her.

“You should take a quick shower,” Lena continued in a calm, practical tone. “You already pushed yourself too much today. You must take a rest now.”

Her hands moved with quiet efficiency as she slipped off Miu’s shoes, setting them neatly aside before placing a pair of soft slippers in front of her feet.

The domestic familiarity of the gesture felt strangely intimate.

Miu sat frozen.

Her gaze remained locked on Lena, watching every movement as though trying to decipher something hidden beneath them. Her fingers slowly curled into the bedsheets beside her.

Why… is she acting like this?

Lena had always been attentive—but this felt different. Softer. Closer. Almost protective.

And for reasons she couldn’t explain, that unsettled her far more than her worries earlier ever had.

“How was it?” Lena asked suddenly.

She was still kneeling moments ago, but now she had straightened, her eyes lifting to meet Miu’s.

Miu blinked, caught between thoughts that had not fully settled. “Pardon?“

“The visit to the city,” Lena clarified, her tone returning to its usual steadiness. She stepped away from the bed, as if the earlier closeness had never happened, putting a careful distance between them.

“Oh.” Miu exhaled softly, her mind shifting gears. Tungsten.

She pushed her loose hair back over her shoulder and gathered her composure. “It’s better than it was,” she began thoughtfully. “The roads are being cleared. Some of the damaged buildings have already been marked for reconstruction. People are… hopeful.”

She paused.

“But hope won’t last long if there’s no money circulating. Once the infrastructure is repaired, they’ll need food suppliers, merchants, craftsmen. Businesses won’t recover unless we find a way to jump-start the flow of currency.”

Lena tilted her head slightly, absorbing the implications. She moved toward the window, folding her arms as she looked out at the dim courtyard below.

“You’re right,” she admitted. “Ollie mentioned reopening the mines. Tungsten’s ore is still our greatest asset. But there’s no capital to pay the workers or cover operational costs.”

She gave a quiet scoff of frustration. “I asked him to submit a full report, but we can’t simply distribute royal funds without structure. If we start handing out money freely, we’ll create dependency—or worse, chaos.”

Silence settled between them.

Not awkward.

Measured.

Each lost in calculation.

Miu’s gaze lowered, her fingers idly smoothing the bedsheets as numbers, risks, and possibilities ran through her mind. Relief efforts were temporary. What Tungsten needed was momentum.

Then she looked up.

“What if we offer loans?”

Lena turned from the window at once. “Loans?”

“Small ones,” Miu continued, her voice steady. “Enough to reopen shops, hire miners, purchase supplies. Structured repayment. Low interest.”

Lena considered it, walking back toward her slowly. “It’s not a bad idea,” she admitted. “But most families in Tungsten lost everything. Homes, land deeds, savings. Even with low interest, many wouldn’t qualify. They don’t have collateral.”

The room grew still again.

Miu’s expression shifted—subtle, but unmistakable.

“In their case…” she said quietly.

Her tone dropped, losing its softness.

“They’ll have to put their lives down as collateral.”

Lena froze.

She did not move, did not blink—only stared at Miu as if seeing her from a distance for the first time. There was no trace of hesitation in Miu’s expression, no sign that she had spoken carelessly.

“Their… lives?” Lena repeated, a faint crease forming between her brows. Confusion flickered across her face. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

Miu held her gaze steadily. There was no mockery in her eyes, no cruelty—only a chilling clarity.

“I’m not suggesting execution or torture,” she said.

Her voice shifted as she spoke.

It was subtle, but unmistakable. The softness from earlier vanished, replaced by something firmer—measured, commanding.

It was the tone she used when discussing policy, authority, and command structures. The same tone that had unsettled Lena before. The same tone that had, more than once, made her question who Miu truly was.

“What matters,” Miu continued evenly, “is that the people of Tungsten still fear you.”

The bluntness of it settled heavily between them.

“That fear hasn’t disappeared, even if your rule has softened. In times like this, perception is power. They must remember that you are their Queen—not merely the steward of Tungsten.”

Lena’s lips parted slightly, but no words came.

Miu shifted on the bed, her long hair sliding over her shoulders as she straightened her posture. The movement was small, yet it carried an unconscious regality.

“To be honest,” she admitted, exhaling quietly, “I would prefer not to take advantage of their fear. But fear is a tool. An unpleasant one—but effective.”

Her eyes hardened just a fraction.

“If loans are offered under the crown’s authority, secured by binding service contracts in the event of default, people will think twice before misusing them. They will work harder. They will prioritize repayment. Not because we threaten them directly—but because the possibility exists.”

Lena finally found her voice. “And if they fail despite their efforts?”

“Then they serve,” Miu replied without flinching. “Structured labor. Military terms. Mining corps. Nothing cruel. Nothing unlawful. But binding.”

The certainty in her tone left little room for argument.

Silence stretched again, thicker this time.

Miu’s words lingered in the air long after she finished speaking.

They did not simply present a strategy—they revealed something deeper. Something sharpened by experience.

Lena felt it.

Had she heard those same words from a minister or a general, she would have accepted them without pause. Calculated. Practical. Ruthless when necessary. That was how kingdoms survived.

But coming from Miu—It unsettled her.

“Miu, you…” Lena began, then exhaled slowly as she straightened to her full height.

“Yes?” Miu turned toward her, expression composed, though a faint crease remained between her brows.

Lena’s jaw tightened before she spoke again. “From now on, you should stop managing Tungsten’s rehabilitation firsthand. Oversee matters from within the palace. Handle documentation. Strategy. Nothing beyond that.”

The resignation in her tone was unmistakable.

Miu stared at her. “What?”

The single word carried both disbelief and warning.

She rose abruptly from the bed, the movement sharp enough to send her loosened hair swaying around her shoulders. Her brows drew together, and something fierce flashed across her face as she stepped toward Lena.

“You appointed me Royal Commissioner,” Miu said, her voice trembling—not with fear, but with indignation. “You said I would have full authority over the city’s recovery.”

Her breathing grew uneven as she closed the distance between them.

“And now you’re telling me to step back? To hide behind closed doors and sign papers while others do all the work?” Her voice rose despite herself. “Is that what you want?”

Lena frowned, though she did not retreat. “This is for your own good.”

Miu’s expression faltered for the briefest second.

“My father and the Royal Court are now fully present in the palace,” Lena continued, her voice sharpening to match Miu’s intensity as she stepped forward in return.

“They will not be observing from afar anymore. They won’t rely solely on reports. They will attend inspections. They will question decisions. They will watch.”

Her gaze locked onto Miu’s.

“And they are not fools.”

The air between them tightened.

“They will dissect every proposal you make. Every structure you design. Every contingency you anticipate.” Lena’s voice lowered, but it cut deeper.

“Do you truly believe they’ll accept that you are merely a runaway noblewoman with a talent for administration after hearing everything you’ve suggested?”

The words landed harder than any accusation.

Miu froze.

The anger drained from her posture, replaced by something colder.

What does she mean?

Her pulse thudded in her ears.

All this time…

Her fingers curled faintly at her sides. The room felt smaller suddenly.

Lena’s expression was not hostile.

It was conflicted.

And that frightened Miu far more than anger ever could.