A game of deception

Amelia stood in front of her full-length mirror, adjusting the last button on her outfit. The black vest hugged her frame perfectly, paired with a crisp white blouse that added an air of innocence to her otherwise sharp look. She tilted her head, observing herself with critical eyes before letting out a small, satisfied hum.

"This should be enough," she murmured to herself, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from her sleeve. A small smirk curled at the edges of her lips.

"I can seduce him like it's nothing at all."

With that final thought, she turned on her heels and strode toward the dining hall. Confidence radiated from her as she descended the grand staircase, her presence commanding attention even before she reached the bottom. The moment she entered the room, her gaze swept across the long dining table, where her family and the crown prince's entourage were already seated.

Her eyes landed on her brother, Evan Florian, who was quietly sipping his tea, his attention half-absorbed in the political discussion between their father and Ceaser Romano, the crown prince. But Amelia's interest wasn't in politics—it was in the man who sat at the head of the table, oblivious to her presence.

Ceaser.

A flicker of annoyance sparked in her chest. The prince, ever composed and disinterested, didn't even acknowledge her. Instead, he was deeply engaged in a conversation with her father about matters that bored her to no end.

"Aargh... what is wrong with these men?" she thought, stabbing her fork into the piece of meat on her plate with unnecessary force.

She let out a slow, exasperated breath, her frustration mounting.

"Why can't they forget about their duties for just one meal? Would it kill them to have a peaceful breakfast without discussing war strategies or trade negotiations?"

She glanced at Ceaser once more, hoping for at least a glance in her direction. But nothing. No reaction. He hadn't even looked at her once since she walked in.

"Would it kill them if they didn't do this in every damn dining hall?"

Evan, seated across from her, caught the way she was mercilessly stabbing her food and let out a small sigh. He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice.

"Damn… I think she really hates the crown prince," he mused to himself.

His gaze flickered toward Ceaser, then back at Amelia, noting the barely concealed frustration in her eyes.

"But does she have to make it this obvious?"

Unbeknownst to Amelia, Ceaser had indeed noticed her glare. With the ease of someone who was used to being watched, he turned his head slightly, locking eyes with her. Amelia, caught off guard, quickly replaced her irritation with a charming smile.

Ceaser, however, didn't return the gesture. He merely held her gaze for a brief moment before turning away, continuing his conversation as if she were nothing more than an insignificant presence in the room.

The audacity.

Amelia's fingers tightened around her knife, her mind racing with a mix of disbelief and indignation.

"He ignored me?"

From the far end of the table, Logan Milburn, Ceaser's personal aide, silently observed the exchange. His sharp eyes missed nothing—the way Amelia had been glaring at the prince, the moment of forced composure when Ceaser finally acknowledged her, and the obvious frustration simmering beneath her charming facade.

"This two-faced witch," Logan thought, sipping his tea slowly.

He knew trouble when he saw it, and right now, Amelia Florian reeked of it.

"My poor prince is playing right into this little demon's hands."

After breakfast, the royal guests dispersed to their respective rooms, but Amelia had no intention of retreating just yet. Instead, she followed the route leading to Ceaser's chamber, her steps light but deliberate. However, before she could reach the door, she found her path blocked.

Logan.

The ever-dutiful aide stood there like an impenetrable wall, his arms crossed, eyes cold and unreadable.

Amelia, unfazed, flashed him her sweetest smile.

"Hi~" she greeted, her voice laced with honey.

Logan didn't return the warmth. Instead, his voice came out crisp and sharp. "What do you want?"

She tilted her head, feigning innocence. "I'm here to see the crown prince."

Logan arched a brow, unimpressed. "You think you can see him whenever you please? Who do you think he is?"

Amelia held back a smirk. She had anticipated this resistance.

"He was the one who told me to come," she said, lowering her voice just slightly, adding a touch of shyness. "After everything that happened yesterday…"

A faint blush dusted her cheeks as she looked away, as if recalling something scandalous.

Logan stiffened.

"Wh… what happened yesterday?"

Amelia pressed her hands against her cheeks, feigning embarrassment. "You know… something that happens between a soon-to-be married couple…"

Silence.

A visible blush spread across Logan's face as his mind raced with implications.

"Ooh sht,"* he muttered under his breath, his composure momentarily slipping.

He knew he shouldn't be affected by her words, but the image forming in his mind made him hesitate for a split second—long enough for Amelia to gracefully step past him.

By the time he snapped out of his thoughts, she was already at the door.

"Wait—" Logan started, but it was too late.

Amelia turned the handle and slipped inside, shutting the door behind her with a quiet click.

Logan stared at the closed door, his mind still processing.

"Are they really in that kind of relationship?" he wondered, the blush still lingering on his face.

Outside, he clenched his jaw, suddenly determined.

"I need to make sure my prince stays away from this woman."

Inside the room, Amelia leaned against the door, a triumphant smirk tugging at her lips.

This was only the beginning.