(Eri's POV)
People say I look exactly like my mother. They do not say it kindly. Not always. Sometimes there is admiration, something faint and distant, but most of the time there is something else beneath it—something colder, something that lingers a second too long.
Blonde hair. Blue eyes.
Foreign.
In Kazunaga, nothing about me is considered right. Tradition here is not simply followed—it is enforced, preserved, protected as though it were something sacred. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Quiet obedience. I was none of those things. I learned early that being different inside a palace is not a trait. It is not something to be admired or tolerated.
It is a weakness.
And weaknesses are never ignored.
They are studied. Measured. Remembered.
My enemies were never outside the kingdom. They did not wait beyond the gates or gather in distant lands. They walked these halls. Sat at the same tables. Spoke in calm, measured voices behind closed doors.
And one of them shared my blood.
I was not meant to hear the conversation. The council chamber doors are always closed—sealed, guarded, deliberate. Except that day. That day, they were left slightly open, just enough for voices to slip through the narrow space and reach the quiet hallway where I stood.
A mistake.
Or a message.
I stepped closer, careful, silent, my movements small enough to be forgotten. The voices became clearer, sharper, each word settling into place before I could stop myself from listening.
"The constitution of Kazunaga should be changed."
Sato.
Her voice did not ask. It did not hesitate. It did not seek permission.
It demanded.
"Haru should inherit the throne."
My fingers curled slowly at my side, the fabric of my sleeve tightening beneath my grip. There it was. Not hidden. Not softened. Power, spoken plainly, without fear of consequence.
"I should have been the heir."
Silence followed. Heavy. Unmoving.
I stepped closer to the gap in the door, just enough to see without being seen. My father sat at the head of the table, his posture relaxed—too relaxed for a conversation like this. A faint smirk rested on his lips, as though he were watching something predictable unfold.
"The law of Kazunaga is male succession," he said calmly. "The crown was never yours, Sato."
The words did not rise. They did not need to.
They cut.
I watched her carefully. Her expression did not break, did not shift in any obvious way—but her fingers tightened beneath the folds of her sleeve, just for a moment. A small movement. Easy to miss.
I did not miss it.
Then my father leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering, controlled.
"So tell me," he said, "why should I change the constitution?"
No one answered.
Not a single voice.
Fear.
Or loyalty.
In this palace, the two often look the same.
"Was Haru once the crown prince?" he continued.
Silence answered him again.
"Was the court preparing him?"
Still nothing.
Then—
"But the crown belongs to my bloodline."
Something in the room shifted. Invisible, but undeniable. The air tightened, as though the walls themselves had drawn closer.
"And now… my heir exists."
My breath caught.
He did not say my name.
He did not need to.
I understood.
I looked at Sato again.
This time, she did not hide it.
Not completely.
The anger in her eyes was quiet. Controlled. Dangerous in a way that did not need to be shown to be understood. And for the first time, I realized something that had not yet been spoken aloud.
This was never about Haru.
It was about her.
And I—
was in the way.
Not because of anything I had done. Not because of any choice I had made.
Simply because I existed.
The door opened.
I stepped back quickly, pressing myself against the cold stone wall, my head lowering just before anyone could notice me. Sato walked past, close enough that I could feel the shift of air with her movement, the quiet presence of someone who did not need to look to know exactly where I stood.
She did not look at me.
She did not need to.
She knew.
I remained still, silent, unmoving. Only when her footsteps faded into the distance did I allow myself to breathe again.
The palace felt smaller after that.
Colder.
Like something had changed, though nothing had been said.
For a moment, I simply stood there.
Then—
I smiled.
It was not the kind of smile I had been taught to wear. Not soft. Not warm. Not something meant to be seen and returned. It came slowly, settling into place without effort, without instruction.
Something quieter.
Something wrong.
I felt it before I understood it.
And once it was there—
it did not fade.
Because now, I understood.
This was not a palace.
It was a battlefield.
And I was no longer just a child wandering its halls, unseen and unimportant.
I was something else.
Something they had already begun to notice.
A threat.
A target.
And one day—
I would take the crown they were already trying to steal from me.