(Eri's POV)
The first time I realized the crown could be taken from me, I was seven years old.
I was not meant to hear it. The council chamber doors had not been fully closed—just enough for their voices to slip through the narrow gap and reach the quiet stretch of hallway where I stood. I had not been searching for anything. I had only been passing by, my steps light, my presence forgettable, as I had been taught. But then I heard them.
"The kingdom cannot be entrusted to a girl."
"Haru is more suitable."
"If the law must be changed… then we change it."
I did not move.
My fingers slowly tightened against the fabric of my dress, the soft material folding beneath my grip as their words settled into something sharp and unfamiliar. They spoke without hesitation, without doubt, as though the decision had already been made long before this conversation began. As though I was nothing more than a detail to be corrected.
I did not understand everything.
But I understood enough.
They were planning to erase me.
The doors opened.
I stepped back before they could see me, my movements quiet, instinctive. Voices spilled into the hallway, followed by the sound of footsteps—measured, unhurried, certain. I lowered my head, just as I had been taught, my gaze fixed on the polished floor as they passed me one by one.
None of them stopped.
None of them spoke.
But I felt it.
Not their attention—but their absence of it. As though I had already been removed from their world, dismissed before the decision had even been made official.
"Princess."
I looked up.
Haru stood at the far end of the corridor, watching me. He had heard it too. I could see it clearly—there was no confusion in his expression, no shock. Only understanding. That alone told me more than anything else.
He began to walk toward me, slow and deliberate, his steps echoing softly against the stone. He stopped just close enough that I could see the faint curve of a smile on his lips—controlled, practiced, almost kind.
"You shouldn't be here," he said.
I said nothing.
"The council is discussing important matters," he continued. "Things you wouldn't understand."
My hands tightened slightly at my sides.
"I understand enough," I said.
His smile did not change.
"Do you?"
There was a pause, thin and stretched, before he leaned a little closer, his voice lowering.
"Then you should understand this," he said quietly. "Not everything that belongs to you… stays yours."
For a moment, I simply looked at him.
Then I smiled.
It was not something I had been taught.
Not the soft, pleasant expression expected of a princess. Not the kind meant to reassure or to please. It came slowly, naturally—something quieter, something wrong.
I felt it settle on my lips before I understood it.
Haru stilled.
It was slight. Almost unnoticeable.
But I saw it.
The shift in his eyes. The hesitation. The way his breath caught—not in fear, not fully, but in something close enough to it.
I tilted my head, just a little.
"Then I'll make sure it does," I said.
My voice was soft.
Calm.
Certain.
For the first time since he had approached me, Haru did not speak.
The silence stretched, heavier now, no longer controlled.
Then he stepped back.
Just once.
Small.
Careful.
But real.
His smile faded—not completely, but enough.
"…We'll see," he said.
He turned before I could answer, his steps no longer as unhurried as before. He did not look back.
I watched him go.
I did not follow.
I did not need to.
The hallway felt different now. Quieter. Colder.
They thought the crown could be taken from me. They thought I would stand still and accept it, small and silent, as if I had no place in it.
They were wrong.
I was seven years old.
And that was the first time I realized—
I was not something that could be erased.