Operation: Wake Sleeping Prince.
Golden light from dawn had started pouring across the Moonspire capital city, spreading a gentle, ethereal light across its rooftops. Already bustling with activity were its streets—venders arranging their stalls, nobles who rode in gilded carriages shining in the morning light, and silk banners spreading from balconies with each breeze. Palace soldiers marched in sharp formation, their armor glinting with each step. There was a hushed anticipation in the air, steady and building, as the kingdom looked forward to the princess’s ceremonial function that night—an event that promised magnificence, and all seemed to sense it approaching.
But secluded from the booming center of Moonspire—past the mad bustle of nobles, merchant caravans, and servants hurrying to get ready for the great princess ceremony—was the more peaceful grounds of the outer palace. Surrounded by well-guarded courtyards and flower-bedecked walkways stood a peaceful guest mansion, shining in the gentle, golden kiss of the dawn sun.
Although not his own property, the mansion was temporarily under the ownership of one individual: Duke Leon.
The architecture spoke of nobility in every brick. Its vaulted arches shone with highly polished sandstone, and a line of slender columns adorned the garden veranda like wordless guards. Peaceful fountains whispered between sections of blooming jasmine, and beyond, the distant ring of armor and soft barked commands of palace guards reminded everyone that royalty never lingered far away.
Inside, though—in the very heart of the mansion dining hall—formality had taken the morning off.
Sunlight streamed in through high arched windows, casting a stream of warmth across a long obsidian table so highly polished it reflected the slender fingers moving toward teacups and fresh fruit. Crystal chandeliers glowed overhead like slumbering stars, their light shimmering in the amber tea and silver plates heaped with steaming pastries.
At the table sat five stunning women, each one exuding her own kind of grace, beauty, and lethal charm. They appeared as otherworldly beings in repose—perfect, elegant, and completely relaxed in the company of one another.
Rias spoke first. Her fiery red hair cascaded like a fire river down her back as she lazily stirred her spoon into her tea, a smile pulling at her lips and a glint playing at her eyes.
"It’s nearly late morning," she sighed, her voice like warm velvet with a hint of mischief. "And Daddy still hasn’t made an appearance with that handsome face of his."
Aria, in a long, violet gown that shone like starlight, laughed softly. Her purple eyes sparkled mirthfully.
"Perhaps he’s still wrapped in his sheets," she replied, reclining in her chair with poise. "I don’t know how he sleeps without his five pillows dearest to him."
Rias arched an eyebrow. "Pillows?" She smiled coquettishly and took a sip of tea. "Or women?"
The table was perturbed by laughter.
Cynthia, ever the serene eye of the hurricane, smiled a gentle, measured smile. Dressed in an impeccable combination of white and pale blue, she raised her cup of tea with quiet elegance. "Perhaps he slept too long," she murmured, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "And now he’s lost in a dream too lovely to awaken from."
"Hmph," Kyra grunted, not even looking up from her meal. Her dark green dress had a more serious cut than the others—practical, sharp, and dignified, just like she was. "That’s odd. He’s always early for training."
While her tone was still even, the slight furrow on her brow betrayed her. She was fretting.
Her twin, Syra—identical face, opposite personality—glowed warmly from the other side of the table. Wrapped in golden silk that caught the light with every shift, she leaned forward, her chin on her palm.
"Perhaps he’s simply. extremely exhausted," she said with over-the-top innocence. Then, looking around at the other sisters with a smile that could only bode ill, she continued, "Shall we go wake him up? I’m sure he’d adore a surprise.
Rias narrowed her eyes. "You volunteering?"
"I don’t have a problem taking one for the team," Syra replied sweetly, tossing a wink over the table.
Aria rolled her eyes, lips twitching in amusement. "Oh please. You’d sleep with him and say you stumbled."
Syra laughed, unrepentant. "No promises."
Cynthia let out a chuckling sigh. "Given Syra, she’d rather be the dream than the wake-up call."
Kyra set down her fork with a soft clink. "This conversation is getting indecent," she murmured slowly, her tone half-scolding, half-amused.
"And yet," Rias replied sweetly, a sly smile tugging at her lips, "you’re still listening."
Laughter bubbled through the room—soft, teasing, effortlessly warm.
They sat ready like storybook noblewomen, but there was no tension in their positions, no façade of formality. These weren’t courtly game-playing strangers. They were held together by years of shared pranks and silent loyalty.
Sisters—not title-only, but bond.
Syra laughed and arched her back, her arms curved above her head with sinuous ease. "Come on," she invited. "Don’t deny it. Don’t tell me you’re not curious about what he’s dreaming." She raised a brow. "Perhaps one of us appeared in it."
Rias grinned, sitting back in her chair. "Just one?" she asked, her grin wicked. "Oh, please. With him, we probably all were there—both of us together."
They all laughed once more—but beneath the jocular comments was a strand of genuine interest. Where was Leon? He was various things—shameless, infuriatingly witty, too smart for his own good—but late wasn’t one of them.
The laughter gradually died away, replaced by an introspective quiet. Not strained—merely. anticipatory.
Then, with a flick of her crimson hair and a glint of mischief in her eye, Rias rose in one smooth, fluid motion. "I’m in," she said, her voice low and certain, laced with playful resolve. "Let’s go wake him."
"As always," Aria murmured, exhaling softly as she stood and smoothed the folds of her gown.
Cynthia followed with grace, her serene smile unchanged. "At the very least," she said calmly, "we’ll confirm he’s still breathing."
Kyra lingered for a heartbeat longer, then let out a quiet huff and stood. "This is absolutely ridiculous," she muttered, though the faint curve of her lips betrayed her amusement.
Syra leapt to her feet last, her smile from ear to ear. "To Darling’s bedchamber we march!" she exclaimed, raising a fist in the air like a heroic general on a great mission. "Time to awaken the sleeping prince, ladies!"
The other women giggled, already getting up to follow her.
"Yes, Captain!" Rias chimed in jest.
"Lead the way, General Mischief," Cynthia added, winking.
"Let’s wake him up royally," Aria purred, amusement dripping from her voice.
Their laughter blended with the gentle rustle of silk as they converged, the room electric with tension. Each one rose, the living room filled with the gentle rustle of silk and the glitter of mutual expectation as they walked toward the stairs, bare feet thudding softly on the floor. Their laughter reverberated off the halls, playful and full of intent, like girls sneaking out after curfew.
They glided with poise—but their eyes glittered with trouble. A task had been
The second floor greeted them with plush carpet and lofty ceilings, air scented with sandalwood and a hint of spice—Leon’s scent, maybe. They slowed, walking in procession, skirts sweeping the floor, shoulders together, excitement almost buzzing between them.
At the far end of the corridor—beyond ancient tapestries showing long-lost wars, beyond sconces of gold where dancing crystal flames flickered—stood a set of tall, lotus-engraved doors
Syra took the lead, marching toward his room with the authority of a general marching into battle. Beside her marched Rias, brow lifted and smile wicked, simply relishing every step of this mini-rebellion.
Aria and Cynthia trailed a few paces behind, as ever elegant, their faces serene but pleased—older sisters enjoying a younger sibling’s games. Their silence was not disapproval; it was silent interest bathed in poise.
In the rear, Kyra marched along, arms crossed tightly on her chest, her movement deliberate but unwilling.
"Ridiculous," she grumbled under her breath. "Absolutely inappropriate."
Her cheeks flushed a pale pink, a flush she attempted to pretend was not there. No one paid attention—or if they did, they were considerate enough not to tease her. After all, it wasn’t any ordinary man they were rousing.
Her gaze darted up the hallway, to the carved lotus doors approaching with each step. She could leave. She ought to leave.
And yet... she didn’t.
Because regardless of how many times went by, or how hard she tried to calm herself down, Leon could still make her blush like a lovesick girl. And today, for once, she wasn’t going to keep it a secret.
Morning sunlight poured through the upstairs windows now, pouring gold over the palace halls and bathing the hangings in warm tones. The floor under their feet shone with a soft light, reflecting that glow.
They were nearly there.
Five women, each of them walking for her own purpose toward those doors—but all held together by one thing. Leon.
And beyond those intricately carved doors, another sort of tempest was ready to be unleashed.