North POV

The council chamber had never felt so suffocating.

Every eye was on me. I could feel them—their whispers unsaid, their judgment hanging heavy in the air.

The Duke of West’s voice cut sharper than any blade.

“The budget is completely wrong and altered,” he sneered, slamming the parchment onto the polished table. “Such a simple task—and you cannot even do it alone?”

Heat climbed to my face. My fingers twitched against the desk. I remembered every line of those reports—I had checked them thrice, maybe more. They had been correct. I was certain.

But when I opened my mouth, his voice lashed again.

“You cannot work without His Highness, can you? Soon Prince Johan will be handed the empire. His Majesty is already preparing his coronation. And yet—with a consort like you at his side…” He let the pause linger, his eyes narrowing into a blade that pierced through me. “…I fear for the kingdom’s future.”

It was like an arrow striking my chest. My breath stuttered, pain blooming where the words landed.

Still—I forced my voice out, quiet but steady. “Lord Holan, I am certain I did them correctly. There must be a mistake.” My fist clenched tight in my lap.

“Oh, yes. A mistake.” His lips twisted cruelly. “Of course, the papers just altered themselves, hm? Flew right out of your hands.”

Laughter rumbled from some of his supporters at the table. I bit down hard on my tongue.

And then—he twisted the knife deeper. “My daughter would have been a better choice for His Highness. She has the wit and discipline you so clearly lack.” His eyes rolled as though I were some child who had wandered where I did not belong.

My throat closed. Words deserted me.

I forced myself to sit straighter, though my fists were tight under the table. “I am sure I completed the budget correctly. There must be some fabrication.” My voice trembled at the edges despite my effort to hold it steady.

Holan’s sneer widened. “Fabrication? Convenient excuse. Do you think the empire can run on excuses, Your Highness?” His tone mocked the title, as though it weighed nothing on his tongue.

Before I could summon an answer, Easter’s honeyed voice slipped into the air.

“Now, now,” he drawled, smiling too sweetly as he tilted his head. “I saw the original reports with my own eyes. North calculated everything properly. Which means…” He tapped the table with a single finger, his smile turning sharper. “…someone tampered with the documents before they reached us.”

A murmur spread through the council.

Holan stiffened. “Are you accusing me of interference, Lord Easter?”

Dao’s voice cut in, flat and cold. “Not accusing. Stating. North’s reports were correct when last reviewed.”

Typhoon leaned back, his grin far too casual for the tension in the room. “Funny, isn’t it? Errors always seem to appear at the most entertaining moments. Almost as if someone wanted to put North on trial.” His eyes flicked lazily to Holan, his smile sharp enough to draw blood.

Holan’s face darkened. “How dare you imply—”

“I imply nothing,” Typhoon interrupted smoothly, stretching his arms behind his head. “But I do find patterns amusing. Don’t you?”

Laughter—light, mocking—curled from his throat.

Holan’s jaw worked furiously, but for a moment, he said nothing.

My chest ached. My breath came shallow, my throat dry as sand. It was supposed to be simple work. It had been correct. But his words—the doubt, the mockery—still clawed at me.

I felt Dao’s gaze flicker toward me, brief but steady, like an anchor. Easter’s too-sweet smile remained trained on Holan, barbed in its cheer. Typhoon simply smirked, daring the Duke to press further.

But still—Holan’s eyes cut to me again, full of venom.

“You hide behind others’ words,” he spat softly, just enough for the room to hear. “That will not protect you forever.”

The words pierced deep. I gripped the parchment before me, knuckles white, wishing—just for once—that I could answer him with the same fire Johan would.

But all I could do was sit there, heart pounding, as the chamber drowned in silence thick with suspicion.

As soon as the meeting ended, I rose from my seat as quickly as I could without drawing more eyes. My legs felt heavy, but I forced myself to walk steady, my chin held just high enough not to betray the storm twisting inside me.

The corridor outside was cooler, but it did nothing to ease the tightness in my chest. My breaths were shallow, each one scraping like sandpaper. I only wanted to disappear into the silence of my chambers, to bury myself until the weight of those words faded.

But then—footsteps. Light, unhurried, following me.

“North,” Easter’s voice carried, smooth as silk and far too amused for the moment.

I halted, though I didn’t turn. He came to stand just beside me, his smile still painted on like he’d never left the council room. “Don’t mind that old hag. Holan is only bitter his precious daughter couldn’t even earn a glance from Johan.”

I turned to look at him, my lips pressing into a thin line. “…I really did not do any paperwork wrong.” My voice came out quieter than I wanted, trembling at the edges.

Typhoon stepped forward then, his expression softer than his usual smirk. His hand came down on my shoulder with surprising steadiness. “I know. I trust you.”

My eyes widened slightly at that, but before I could speak, Dao’s voice joined—low, even, his gaze unwavering. “Holan has always been hostile. Bitter. Don’t let it weigh on you. His bark is loud, but it is only that. Bark.”

Their words pressed against the ache in my chest, easing it only slightly. Still—I felt it. A thread of warmth beneath the cold.

Then Easter tilted his head, voice light, but the intent behind it sharp as glass. “Tell Johan about this. He’ll deal with Holan before the Duke dares to open his mouth again.”

I froze. My feet stopped of their own accord.

“…No,” I said firmly, though my voice shook.

The three of them looked at me, startled.

I clenched my fists at my sides, forcing myself to meet their eyes one by one. “I don’t want to run to him for this. I want to earn my place in this palace on my own. Without help.”

Silence fell for a moment. The weight of my own words pressed heavily against me, but I didn’t waver.

Easter’s smile curved differently this time—less mocking, more curious. Typhoon’s hand lingered on my shoulder, squeezing once in wordless support. Dao’s eyes, steady and unreadable, softened just barely, almost imperceptibly.

For the first time that day, I felt like the ground beneath me was my own.