Michaelli observed Tuk in silence, his gaze steady, calculating. The weight of his attention settled over her like an iron shackle, unrelenting and precise. Then, he leaned back slightly, the movement effortless, swirling the remnants of his tea. The rich, earthy aroma curled between them, mingling with the faint scent of aged parchment and candle wax.

  "Now that you know the origins of Marceau’s laws," he mused, his voice smooth yet laced with something unreadable, "do you believe it’s enough for you to find a solution to our predicament?"

  Tuk furrowed her brows, deep in thought, feeling the tension coil in her stomach. The prince had just revealed how love had been stripped from the empire’s history, reshaped into something forbidden. And yet, here she was—standing at the center of a court that had already begun entertaining the word again. The weight of possibility pressed against her ribs, sharp and insistent. If she played this right, she could shift the conversation entirely.

  A long, measured moment passed before she lifted her head, meeting the prince’s expectant gaze. His golden eyes gleamed under the flickering candlelight, patient, waiting.

  "I do have one request, Your Highness," she said carefully, each syllable deliberate.

  Michaelli raised a brow, intrigued. "Go on."

  "If I successfully navigate the court—if I prove myself capable of handling this role—then I want you to change my title." Tuk straightened, her voice unwavering. "No more ‘Love Advisor.’"

  The prince tilted his head slightly, amusement flickering in the depths of his gaze. "You dislike it that much?"

  "It's misleading," she said plainly. "And if I am to maneuver through the empire’s politics, I need a title that grants me credibility, not cringeworthy."

  A chuckle, low and knowing, escaped him. "Then what do you propose?"

  Tuk hesitated. She hadn’t thought that far ahead. But before she could form an answer, the prince tapped his fingers against the table and smirked.

  "How about ‘Royal Scholar of Hearts’?"

  Tuk blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected weight of it.

  He continued, his voice light but edged with meaning. "It ties to matters of the heart—not in the foolish romantic sense, but in history, philosophy, and strategy. No one can argue against the importance of a scholar, after all."

  She considered it, rolling the words over in her mind. The title had weight. It had purpose. It reframed her role into something far more powerful than what the court originally mocked. A slow, deliberate smile spread across her lips, satisfaction humming in her chest.

  "I like it."

  "Naturally," Michaelli said smugly, taking another sip of tea. He kept the porcelain cup in his hands, though his attention never wavered from her.

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  Tuk exhaled before adding, "But I must ask for one more thing."

  "Oh?" His golden eyes gleamed with amusement.

  "I may be creating enemies beyond my reach," she pointed out. "If I am to play this role properly, I need full protection. No noble, no faction, no hidden enemy should be able to touch me without consequences."

  Michaelli’s smirk deepened, clearly entertained. "You truly do think ahead, don’t you?"

  "I have to," she replied simply.

  The prince tapped the rim of his cup thoughtfully before setting it down with a decisive clink. The sound echoed in the quiet chamber, final and absolute. "Very well. I grant you full protection under my name. Anyone who dares to act against you will answer to me."

  A small shiver ran down Tuk’s spine at the weight of his words. The prince was a terrifying man to have as an enemy—but as an ally, he was just as formidable.

  She met his gaze, and for the first time, something settled between them. Not trust, not yet. But understanding.

  Michaelli leaned back in his chair, studying her with an amused glint in his eyes. Their agreement had been sealed—a pact between two minds sharp enough to carve paths through the treacherous court.

  Tuk, for once, felt a sense of control in this game. But just as the prince was about to dismiss her, she spoke up again.

  "One last request, Your Highness," she said, glancing over her shoulder.

  Michaelli arched a brow, the dim light catching in his golden irises. "You’re quite demanding today."

  Tuk ignored the remark, clasping her hands behind her back. "I want access to the original scroll in the historian’s office—the one in the glass case."

  The air thickened, a beat of silence stretching between them.

  The prince tapped his fingers against the armrest, golden eyes narrowing slightly. The candlelight danced over the sharp angles of his face, highlighting the slow smirk that curled at his lips. "Interesting choice," he murmured, his voice a quiet thread of intrigue.

  Tuk remained still, steady. Waiting.

  Michaelli’s smirk deepened. "Do you even know what that scroll contains?"

  "No," she admitted, "but I suspect it holds something worth reading."

  A chuckle, low and knowing, slipped from his lips. He tilted his head, watching her as if she were an amusing puzzle he had yet to solve. Then, he rose to his feet, his movements unhurried, precise. The space between them shrank as he stepped closer, his presence carrying a weight that could not be ignored.

  "Very well," he said, voice rich with intrigue. "But don’t say I didn’t warn you."

  The air between them tensed, humming with unspoken challenge, a game not yet played to its end.

  And with that, the deal was struck.

  The chapter ends here.