The capital of the Empire welcomed the Crown Prince’s entourage not with warmth or festive celebration, but with a cold, arrogant, and oppressive aura of authority.
The obsidian stone walls encircling the Main Palace towered like ancient giants ready to devour anyone weak.
Atop the ramparts, hundreds of armored soldiers stood rigid with raised spears, demonstrating the strict surveillance governing the heart of the Imperial realm.
Yet, the Crown Prince’s grand procession did not enter through a single route.
At the crossroads leading to the inner palace gates, the massive entourage split in two.
Alexander’s opulent carriage and his royal knight escorts took the main path toward the Grand Gate.
Meanwhile, several enclosed wooden wagons carrying logistics, provisions, and laborers were diverted into a dim, damp underground tunnel–a rear access path reserved for menial labor.
Here, Alexander’s concealment tactic was executed with ice-cold, unfeeling precision.
Elena Rose was not unloaded as a privileged servant carrying valuables, let alone granted special treatment.
The moment the rear doors of the wooden wagon were roughly thrown open, the pungent stench of vinegar, wet earth, rusted iron, and stale air surged forward, battering her senses.
Clang!
Clang!
The heavy clatter of iron reverberated loudly, echoing off the stone walls of the tunnel.
Her body trembling as her breath came in short gasps, Elena stared down at her wrists.
Two cold, black iron shackles locked her hands tightly together, linked by a thick, heavy chain.
To her left and right stood two young women in far more pitiful conditions.
Their clothes were torn burlap sacks, their hair tangled with straw, and their skin smeared with mud and black soot—mirroring Elena’s current appearance.
The two women were slaves intentionally purchased from the capital’s black market by Alexander’s trusted men a few days prior.
Alexander understood all too well how sharp the spies scattered throughout every corner of the palace were.
Bringing a young female servant alone from the Dracox estate would immediately ignite the suspicions of the Empress’s faction, rival princes’ spies, or gossip-prone senior servants.
But if that maid was blended into a chained line of “raw slaves” bought from the black market to work in sewage disposal and the underground kitchens, not a single soul would care.
To the palace rulers, black market slaves were cheap commodities.
Valueless, invisible, and utterly unworthy of attention.
“Walk faster, useless trash!” barked a broad-shouldered servant overseer as he cracked his thick leather whip through the air.
Crrrak!
The snap of the whip cut through the air dangerously close.
The two slaves beside Elena shrieked in terror, reflexively stumbling forward.
Elena lurched, bowing her head deeply until her face was hidden behind strands of her dull red hair, intentionally matted with road dust and soot.
Her bare feet dragged the thick iron chain across the ground.
The friction of metal against her skin left stinging raw marks and reddish bruises.
Yet that physical pain was swallowed by the wave of dread creeping up her chest.
The line of chained slaves was forced to march together across the side courtyard of the Inner Palace–at the exact moment Alexander’s main procession arrived at the Grand Gate.
Near the Grand Gate, the atmosphere abruptly froze.
The surrounding air grew heavy with intimidation and veiled threats.
Alexander stepped down from his lavish carriage with the composure of a future absolute ruler of the Empire.
A black velvet cloak embroidered with gold thread framed his broad silhouette.
His face, handsome as carved marble, appeared completely impassive, yet his blue eyes radiated a suffocatingly dense aura of lethality.
At the opposite corner of the main courtyard, an escort of silver-armored guards stood assembled.
In their center stood a man wearing a calm smile laced with venom.
Prince Helios.
The eldest prince, having just returned from his military studies abroad, stepped toward Alexander.
His stride was relaxed, his fingers casually turning a gemmed ring as if the palace courtyard were his personal stage.
“Welcome home, my esteemed younger brother,” Helios greeted in a smooth baritone, thick with condescension.
“I heard you spent a considerable amount of time in the Dracox territory.
I almost thought you had forgotten how to manage state affairs in the capital.”
The surrounding guards and low-ranking nobles held their breath.
The tension between the Empire’s two most powerful princes was so palpable that the air felt thick and suffocating.
Alexander stopped, standing barely two meters before his half-brother.
He narrowed his eyes, returning Helios’s gaze with an icy tone capable of freezing blood.
“The governance of the Empire is in capable hands, Helios,” Alexander replied flatly.
“There is no need to act as though you understand how to lead this realm simply because you have just returned from your diplomatic exile.”
Helios chuckled softly—a cold laugh devoid of warmth.
“Exile?
Ah, call it preparation, Alexander.
One must study deeply before assuming a burden too heavy to be borne by the son of a…
concubine.”
That sharp jab at his mother’s lineage made the guards behind Alexander tighten their grips on their sword hilts.
Yet Alexander himself did not flinch.
His expression remained unbothered, as though Helios’s insult were mere worthless wind.
“Your preparation will mean nothing if you rely solely on empty words and backstage intrigues, Brother,” Alexander countered as he stepped forward, passing Helios’s shoulder without a hint of hesitation.
“Focus on your own standing before you realize the ground you walk on already belongs entirely to me.”
Helios turned, staring at Alexander’s retreating back with a crooked smile that slowly dissolved into a lethal flash of malice.
Just then, Helios’s attention was drawn by the clanking of chains echoing from the side courtyard.
He squinted, observing the line of black market slaves being dragged along by the overseers.
Helios’s gaze swept over the twelve chained slaves—including Elena, who walked hunched over with her hands bound in iron.
Helios observed the group with deep disgust.
To his eyes, they were nothing more than filth defiling the splendor of the Imperial Palace.
“Pathetic,” Helios muttered contemptuously.
“Alexander brings in piles of black market trash just to scrub the palace floors.
How low my brother’s tastes have fallen.”
Without a shred of suspicion, Helios turned his head away and strode off alongside his guards.
Within the line of slaves, Elena stole a brief glance through the gaps in her matted hair.
She could feel the terrifying aura of Prince Helios, who had just passed a few dozen meters away.
She clenched her chained fingers.
Alexander’s tactic had proven brutal yet brilliant: by making Elena appear filthy, humiliated, and worthless, a man like Helios would never deign to waste a single second looking at her face.
The transfer process eventually brought Elena and the two slaves to the Underground Servant Quarters—a maze of narrow, damp corridors entirely isolated from the luxury of the upper palace.
The sound of trickling water from drainage pipes and the smell of moist air dominated the area.
As soon as the heavy iron door of the quarters was locked from the outside by the overseers, the two slaves walking beside Elena collapsed onto the stone floor, sobbing quietly from exhaustion and terror.
Before Elena could catch her breath, a trusted personal guard of Alexander’s, disguised as a room overseer, approached stealthily.
Without making a sound, the man drew a thin iron key from beneath his cloak and unlocked the chains binding Elena’s hands.
Click.
The heavy chain fell away to the stone floor without a loud clatter.
“Follow me.
Silence,” the guard whispered softly, ensuring the two exhausted slaves lying nearby did not notice.
Elena stared at her bruised, reddened wrists.
With a racing heart and unyielding dread, she followed the guard through a secret passage hidden behind stacks of unused storage crates.
The stone tunnel sloped upward, winding through the thick walls of the palace before stopping at a concealed wooden door.
When the door was pushed open, the damp, foul smell of the underground gave way to the scent of sandalwood and a distinct masculine fragrance Elena recognized instantly.
The secret door opened directly inside the private quarters connected to the Crown Prince’s study in the Inner Palace Pavilion.
Inside the room lined with dark velvet carpet, Alexander was already waiting.
He had removed his outer mantle.
His white shirt was slightly unbuttoned at the chest, and he was holding a glass of red wine near the window when he heard the hidden door open.
Alexander set his glass on an expensive wooden table and stepped toward Elena.
Every heavy stride of his boots made Elena instinctively take a step back until her spine hit the doorframe.
“A fine performance, Elena,” Alexander said, his voice sounding like a dangerous whisper in the silent room.
Alexander extended his hand, grasping Elena’s trembling fingers and lifting her wrist, which still bore the reddish bruises left by the iron shackles.
His thumb gently stroked the bruised skin–a gentleness that stood in stark contrast to the harsh display he had put on outside.
“Does it hurt?” Alexander asked softly, gazing into Elena’s tear-filled, honey-colored eyes.
Elena tried to pull her hand back, but Alexander’s grip was unyielding.
“Why…
why did you have to do this?” Elena’s voice came out as a desperate whimper.
“You chained my hands…
you treated me like trash in front of everyone…
even in front of that prince…”
Alexander leaned in, tilting his face until they were only inches apart.
His dominant presence completely enveloped Elena’s senses.
“Because in a place crawling with vipers, Elena…
the only way to keep you safe is to make the entire world believe you are worth nothing to me,” Alexander whispered against her trembling lips.
Alexander slid his fingers beneath Elena’s dull red hair, gently pulling her head back so she was forced to look directly into his dark blue eyes, which burned with dark obsession.
“Prince Helios and my enemies are watching my every move.
If they knew you meant anything to me, they would kill you or use you to destroy me,” Alexander continued, his tone absolute and icy.
“So, endure being a dull servant by day…
because at night, inside this room, you belong only to me.”
Alexander’s grip on Elena’s waist tightened sharply, pulling her body flush against his chest.
Elena closed her eyes tightly, feeling the tension and the rapid, heavy thud of Alexander’s heart against her frame.
This man was preparing for a major war against his half-brother, counting down the days toward his political marriage to Clementine, yet amidst all this political madness, he refused to loosen his grip on her.
Elena realized the grim truth: this disguise had indeed saved her life from the intrigues of Alexander’s enemies, but at the very same time, it had locked her deeper inside a gilded cage from which she could never escape.