Isla's heavy eyelids fluttered open slowly, a soft, groggy groan escaping her dry lips.
"A-ah... where am I?" she murmured, her vision swimming dizzily as she tried to focus on the ornate, vaulted ceiling above her.
"You are completely safe in your own bedchamber at the palace, my dear little princess," the King's warm, soothing voice replied from the edge of the bed.
Isla blinked, her eyes widening in sheer shock as she saw both her mother and father sitting anxiously by her side.
"Mom? Dad?
You are both here?" she stammered, profound confusion clouding her mind.
"But...
I was just at the academy.
My swordsmanship training was right in the middle of a vicious duel.
How on earth did I get back here?"
"Hush now, calm down, Isla," the Queen cooed gently, elegantly stroking her daughter's forehead.
"You fainted on the training grounds."
Isla's heart skipped a terrifying beat.
"What? Again?!" she gasped, a wave of absolute, suffocating panic washing over her.
"Does that mean the trainer is going to think I am an incredibly weak, pathetic failure all over again?
Oh, God, not again!"
She started to hyperventilate, struggling to sit up in the massive bed.
"Calm down, my dear, it is quite the opposite," the King chuckled warmly, gently pressing her back against the silk pillows.
"There is absolutely nothing to worry about.
In fact, the strict trainer was incredibly impressed by your phenomenal resilience and brilliant combat skills."
Isla froze, staring at him in utter disbelief.
"What?
Really?
Is that actually the truth?"
"It is the absolute truth," the King smiled proudly, his chest puffing out. "I am the King, and a King never, ever lies.
You fought brilliantly today.
However... we are quite deeply concerned as to how exactly you fainted so suddenly."
Isla bit her lip nervously.
'It is definitely because I completely drained my physical stamina by overusing my magic to forge that sword for Dorian,' she thought, frantically searching her modern brain for a plausible, non-magical lie.
"Princess Isla? Please, tell us what happened," the King prompted gently.
"A-actually, Dad... I think it is just because I was in such a frantic rush this morning that I completely skipped breakfast," she lied smoothly, offering a sheepish, innocent little smile.
"I suppose running and fighting a duel on a totally empty stomach caused my body to simply shut down."
The King let out a heavy sigh of relief mixed with mild, fatherly scolding.
"Oh, Isla.
You are the future Queen of this great kingdom; you absolutely must take much better care of your health and well-being.
A ruler cannot protect her people if she cannot protect herself."
"Yes, Dad, I promise I will be much more careful from now on," she nodded obediently.
"Very well, then get some proper rest.
We will take our leave," the King said, standing up from the mattress.
"Take good care of yourself, my sweet dear," the Queen whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before they both quietly exited the grand room.
The absolute second the heavy wooden doors clicked shut, Isla's angelic facade vanished entirely, replaced by a deep, dark, calculating frown.
'Wait a second... how on earth did my practice sword break so easily?' she pondered, her sharp mind meticulously piecing the chaotic events of the morning together.
'Actually, now that I think about it, that wasn't even my own royal-forged blade! Whose rusted, fragile scrap of metal was that, and how did it magically end up in my scabbard?
Could this absolutely be Lucier's doing?'
Her blue eyes narrowed into dangerous, vindictive slits.
'It has to be him.
When the trainer ordered us to duel, he was entirely too confident and sickeningly smug.
He definitely orchestrated that cowardly sabotage...'
Right as she was deep in her vengeful deductions, a quiet, hesitant voice broke the heavy silence of the room.
Isla snapped her head toward the doorway. It was Prince Lucier.
He stepped slowly into her bedchamber, lacking all of his usual arrogant swagger, looking uncharacteristically subdued.
"Yes... I was the one who did it," Lucier confessed, his voice barely above a strained whisper as he stared down at the marble floor.
"I sneaked into your room last night and swapped your pristine sword for that ruined, rusted blade."
Isla glared at him, her small fists violently clenching the silk bedsheets.
"But why?!
Why would you go to such pathetic, deceitful lengths?!"
"Because I absolutely couldn't stand the thought of you winning," he admitted, his shoulders slumping in defeat.
"I didn't want you to earn the prestigious Snake Stamp and rise so high above everyone else in their eyes.
I desperately wanted all the glory and the roaring cheers for myself... but obviously, my pathetic plan completely backfired."
"You absolute—!"
Isla started to yell, fully intending to unleash a barrage of modern curses at him, but he suddenly cut her off.
"Please, forgive me."
Isla froze, her jaw dropping slightly in pure shock.
"What did you just say?"
"I am asking you to forgive me, Isla," Lucier repeated, finally lifting his head to meet her intense gaze.
"I realize now that using such cowardly, deceitful tricks was entirely wrong and dishonorable.
I am also deeply, truly sorry for everything I have done to you before this.
Can we... can we just forget all this bitter rivalry and start over as good friends?"
Isla stared at him, utterly bewildered and completely thrown off balance by this massive shift in his personality.
'What in the world is happening right now?' she thought frantically.
'Why is this arrogant, cow-dung-sniffing bastard suddenly apologizing to me with such sincerity?
Did he secretly drink some heavily fermented palace wine?'
Highly suspicious, she leaned forward slightly, visibly and aggressively sniffing the air around him to catch the scent of alcohol.
"I haven't been drinking," Lucier stated quietly, catching her bizarre, distrustful action.
Isla flinched, slightly embarrassed that she had been caught.
"What?"
"I said I haven't been drinking," he repeated, his tone surprisingly steady and sincere.
"A truly honorable royal is one who possesses the immense courage to acknowledge their grave mistakes and feel genuine remorse for them.
And I am saying this from the very bottom of my heart.
Will you please forgive me, Isla?"
Isla's mind was racing a million miles an hour, desperately trying to comprehend this shocking turn of events.
'Is this utterly foolish boy just plotting another elaborate, sinister trap for me, or is he actually telling the truth?' she debated fiercely with herself.
'No, no, no, I shouldn't even entertain the thought of trusting him for a single second!
He is literally one of the psychopathic monsters destined to brutally murder that naive, stupid Queen in the original timeline!
This has to be some kind of calculated, manipulative trick!'
She glared at him, fully prepared to reject his apology and kick him out of her room.
But then she paused, a much softer, more philosophical realization breaking through her thick walls of defense.
'But... there is a massive difference between the novel's timeline and my reality right now.
In the story, he committed those terrible atrocities as a fully grown, corrupted adult.
Right now, he is still just a child.
And children are exactly like wet clay—they can be molded, reshaped, and guided toward whatever form you choose to give them.
Maybe... just maybe, he genuinely wants to change and be a better person before the darkness fully consumes him.'
She looked closely at Lucier's face.
To her absolute, undeniable shock, thick, genuine tears were welling up in his striking blue eyes, threatening to spill over his cheeks.
Her fierce, heavily guarded heart instantly softened at the heartbreaking sight.
'He truly feels deep, agonizing remorse for his mistakes,' Isla realized, letting out a long, quiet sigh as the tension finally left her small body.
'I think... I think I should actually forgive him.'