The Prince's Cold Shadow and the Princess's Flickering Flame
Nefetia and Shadia had finally left the thick embrace of the forest behind and returned to the shimmering beach. The servants who had waited with bated breath for the princess’s homecoming, and the laborers crowded in front of towering piles of tribute, greeted them with open relief.
“Please, Her Highness. Allow us to escort you in the palanquin.”
Shadia, ever vigilant of Nefetia’s every move, once again unfurled a generous length of linen and draped it completely over the princess’s shoulders. A quiet, stubborn resolve to shield even the smallest sliver of skin from the world’s gaze.
“Auntie… really.”
Nefetia wrinkled her nose, but the stubborn linen remained firmly perched on her shoulder. The very robe she had discarded in the desert. She longed to fire back a single, sharp retort, yet the line of attentive servants lining the path made it impossible. She swallowed the words and let Shadia have her way.
Nefetia slipped her arms through the robe’s wide sleeves and stepped lightly into the palanquin. Shadia settled into the slightly smaller one behind her with a satisfied little sigh, her white hair catching the breeze. The moment the two women took their places of honor, the lead servant raised his voice in a thunderous command.
“We set out!”
With a single, resonant shout, the sturdy bearers lifted the golden palanquin and began to walk. The palanquin gleamed like liquid sunlight beneath the blazing sky, and behind them, ten servants marched in perfect rhythm, their flutes and drums weaving a gentle, rolling melody through the warm air.
Nefetia let her body relax and lean against the cushioned backrest. It was only her first day, yet after hours of sharp exchanges with Shadia, her heart felt strangely unsettled.
“Your Highness, the so-called ‘Hetasept’ is nothing more than theory. In reality, such a thing does not exist. It is but a fantasy.”
…A fantasy?
“No man in this world would dare take the princess’s hand and feel that kind of trembling.”
Nefetia’s thoughts drifted to the Crown Prince’s beautiful face. Arkin had appeared calm and composed, yet his wrist had spoken volumes. When she had seized it, the firm, thick band of muscle had revealed something far gentler beneath—the rapid flutter of a pulse.
She had felt it all at a distance so close she might as well have stood beside him. The storm of confusion in those deep blue-grey eyes, the shock of being caught off guard, the fierce protective instinct that had flared the moment danger appeared. Every detail, every nuance.
Of course, someone might ask whether such a sudden encounter is possible. She would have laughed at the notion. Ordinary people who never received the gods’ blessing would surely believe so.
But Nefetia knew, with absolute certainty, that Arkin was her Hetasept. Not a single doubt lingered. She had thought about it a thousand times, and the answer had always been the same. For a body blessed with sacred power, the thin probability of meeting a fated soulmate according to human logic was meaningless. Shadia could believe whatever she liked; she was wrong, and Nefetia was right.
The path she walked would one day become the road of her kingdom. She would carve out a life different from her mother’s. Perhaps, if she was brave enough, she could even abolish the harem system entirely. Could she?
Six months stretched ahead like a long, golden horizon. Nefetia drew a deep breath and steeled herself once more. She would meet Arkin, get to know him slowly, and gently persuade him. If she could teach him what the Hetasept bond truly meant, he would eventually understand. She would be right, and he would see it.
Except for that one stubborn streak, he seemed almost perfect. If only he had been born a Kepetian…
Nefetia allowed herself a small, secret smile. The name on her lips felt like a caress: Arkin Seilir. The cool, turquoise eyes of the desert prince. The honey-gold strands of hair that had slipped from his fingertips. The porcelain skin that glowed with such luminous purity, every faint vein beneath it visible like threads of amethyst…
Most of all, that intoxicating, breathtaking sensation. Without meaning to, Nefetia lifted her own fingertips. The overwhelming, dizzying rush of skin meeting skin, the wave of pleasure that had crashed over her like nothing the cool oasis of a desert summer had ever offered.
She let out a quiet sigh. Even now, thinking back, it felt impossible to forget…
Almost perfect, except for that stubborn streak. If Arkin had been a Kepetian, everything would have been so much easier…
The prince had reacted with an intensity and delicacy she had never expected. At first she had thought it was just shock, but the deeper she saw, the more she realized how deeply he truly disliked her intrusion. In Kepet, the mere brush of her hand was enough to earn a family centuries of blessing; how differently would he have responded if she had told him that? Would his reaction have softened?
Nefetia fell into a thoughtful silence.
“Odd behavior may be overlooked, but there is a limit. Keep crossing lines and there will be no end. It could even become a diplomatic issue between the two nations—remember that.”
“I allowed it once, after all—on your first meeting, when you stepped where you had no right. This time I’ll be generous.”
“From now on, I expect you will refrain from speaking with the people of Kepet. They are terribly troublesome.”
Nefetia’s eyes narrowed. Did she really behave that badly? What exactly was “troublesome”?
“Hah…”
Difficult. Nefetia decided she would first consider Arkin’s side of things. The way his hand had recoiled as though she were a leech. The way his eyes had blazed with fury the moment she mentioned succession to the throne.
The palanquin swayed gently as it climbed the hill, and Nefetia remained lost in thought. That round-faced servant—Magnus, had it been?—the one who had tried to comfort the prince. She wondered again about the words he had spoken.
…The prince had not wanted anyone to know he might never inherit the crown.
Desperation. Yes, that was it. Desperation. Unlike the oracle-born prince who had been destined to rule from the start, Arkin had to constantly prove he deserved his place. It was an exhausting burden… no wonder he was so sensitive. No wonder he had exploded when she spoke of apology. Now that she thought about it, her stomach twisted with guilt. Had she really been that rude?
Nefetia sighed again and lifted her gaze toward the approaching destination. A sea of people clustered before a massive, white temple. As the palanquin drew nearer, the noise grew louder and louder.
“Wait!”
The line of Kepet’s retinue had come to a halt. The foreign procession had merged at a narrow junction, and both groups were jammed together. Nefetia raised a hand, ordering her servants to shift aside and let the other line pass first.
“Give them the path. It’s nothing.”
The lead servant bowed deeply. Nefetia offered a grateful nod and turned her attention to the procession ahead. The line stretched longer than she expected. The men at the front wore green robes, their waists bearing large, crescent-shaped swords. Intricate silver cords hung from their shoulders like living ornaments.
But the sight that truly captured her attention was the palanquin itself. Unlike hers, this one looked like a small hut, too low to reveal its occupant. Yet the royal crest carved into its side and the way the vines and leaves had been woven into the walls and roof told her everything. They had come from Ivica, the vine kingdom.
“Who are they?” Nefetia asked the nearest servant.
“Judging by their attire, they are from Ivica. They brought the princess with the striking brown hair.”
The servant’s reply was immediate. Ivica—the kingdom of vines and plants. Nefetia leaned forward, heart racing, as the procession glided past. At that exact moment, a tiny foot appeared from the palanquin’s curtain and slipped silently upward, as if offering a graceful curtsy. A hand darted out of the darkness, waved lightly, and vanished just as quickly. The curtain settled again.
…What? She said hello to me?
Nefetia’s eyes sparkled with delight. A second friend after Arkin? She could already imagine the greeting they would exchange the moment they reached the temple. Even though she had only glimpsed those slender, elegant hands, something warm bloomed in her chest. What would the princess of Ivica look like? What clothes would she wear? What voice would she use?
A smile she could not contain bloomed across Nefetia’s face. Her heart beat with eager anticipation, as if she were about to meet her new friend at any moment.