(Eri's POV)
For almost two years, the tasks Regent Sato assigned to me never stopped. Forests. Mountains. Distant villages. Inspections. Surveys. "Experience." Two years outside the palace walls.
At first, I thought she was testing me. Later, I understood—she was removing me. Slowly. Quietly.
The farther I was from the capital, the closer Haru stood to the center of it. While I walked muddy roads, he sat in council chambers. While I inspected crops, he observed generals. While I rode through mountain passes, he learned how ministers thought.
Sato never denied it. She simply smiled. "A ruler must know her land." Yes. But a ruler must also know when she is being displaced.
Still, I learned something during those years. Freedom. In small villages, no one bowed. No one whispered when I passed. To them, I was just a traveler. A quiet noble girl passing through markets. It was peaceful. Dangerous—but peaceful.
There was one place I returned to more than the rest. The Forbidden Forest.
Most feared it. Stories of beasts. Bandits. Spirits. But those who dared to enter would find something else—silence. Moonlight reflected on a hidden lake. Water falling like silver over stone. Fireflies moving through the dark like scattered stars.
It became my refuge. My thinking place. My recovery ground.
Because during those two years—I was attacked. More than once. Never directly traced. Never proven. But not random. The strikes were too clean. Too timed.
And every time I returned to the palace with a wound, no one questioned it. Travel is dangerous, they said. Bandits exist, they said. Yes. Bandits exist. But so do people who prefer accidents.
The forest healed what the palace tried to weaken.
And then—one morning—everything shifted.
I was in the palace library when the door opened without warning.
"Your Highness."
Lourice. Slightly breathless. That alone told me something was wrong.
"There is a visit," she said.
I closed the book slowly. "From where?"
"Vesperia."
For a moment, my fingers stopped moving.
"Today?"
"They arrived this morning."
Morning. Which meant—they had been here for hours.
"And no one informed me."
Lourice hesitated. "Regent Sato is already meeting them."
Of course she was.
"And Haru?"
"Yes."
"The council?"
"Yes."
The High Council. The General Minister. All present. Everyone informed. Except the heir.
I stood.
"What does Vesperia want?"
"I do not know," Lourice said quietly.
That was worse. If it were trade, I would have been summoned. If it were military, I would have been consulted. If it were ceremonial, it would have waited.
Which meant this was something else.
I did not walk. I moved. Through corridors. Past startled servants. Past guards who avoided eye contact.
When I reached the Chamber Hall, the guards straightened too quickly. Surprise. That confirmed it.
Without waiting for announcement, I pushed the doors open.
The sound echoed.
Conversation stopped.
The entire hall turned toward me. Ministers. Generals. Council members. Haru. Regent Sato.
They were already seated. Already deep in discussion.
And standing near the council table—the High Priest.
That made my pulse slow instead of quicken.
The High Priest did not attend ordinary meetings. He attended decisions that bound blood.
I stepped forward.
"What is happening?" I asked calmly. No raised voice. No accusation. Just clarity. "Why was I not informed that Vesperia has arrived?"
Silence stretched.
Sato rose gracefully from her seat.
"I was unaware you had already returned from your journey," she said.
Smooth. Polite. Perfectly reasonable.
But her eyes measured me. Always measuring.
Behind her stood Haru. Watching.
The High Priest did not look at me. He looked at Sato.
Which meant this was not courtesy.
It was arrangement.
The air in the chamber felt different. Heavier. Not negotiation. Preparation.
I stepped further into the room.
"If Vesperia has come," I said evenly, "as heir of Kazunaga, I will participate."
That was not a request.
Sato smiled faintly.
"Of course," she said.
Too easily.
Which meant—they had not expected me.
And whatever they had begun discussing—was meant to shape my future without my presence.
And the presence of the High Priest could mean only one thing.
Marriage.