Asteria opened her eyes sluggishly, blinking slowly under the weight of her lashes darkened further by tears. She climbed out of bed with a yawn, glancing around the room, trying to make sense of what had happened. Her brows furrowed as she gave the place a thorough look.
"Wait... Wasn't the decor crimson last night?" she murmured.
Her room was large and rectangular, dominated by a massive bed with a canopy hanging from the ceiling, sheer veils cascading around it. Across the room stood an ornate golden wardrobe, and next to it, a mirror framed in gold. On the opposite side, a balcony adorned with royal-style carvings. The walls were painted gray, intricately lined with thin golden threads.
But the issue wasn't the room's lavishness… it was the color. Last night, when she entered, the designs were light crimson. She was sure of it—she even liked them!
Suddenly, the door creaked open as she stood puzzled in the center. Ilara walked in politely, holding several neatly folded skirts.
"Good morning, Miss Asteria... I hope I didn't disturb you?"
Asteria replied as she walked over to the table for a drink of water:
"No, you didn't. I'm just… a little confused."
"Is something wrong, my lady?"
Ilara followed her gaze, then let out a gentle laugh.
"Ah, you mean the golden color, don't you?"
Asteria looked at her, intrigued.
"Every room in the palace has its own symbols. The former king was obsessed with ornamentation. He insisted every detail be unique. All the décor you see was his design. He brought in the finest artisans to make it happen. And the color… it's a rare dye from southern villages. It shifts based on the sky's light—gold during the day, crimson at night. I imagine you noticed that?"
Asteria nodded slowly in understanding.
"Look, I brought you some dresses. The Governor's wife had them made just for you."
Asteria raised an eyebrow.
"For me? Ha! I guess that's her polite way of saying she hates my taste in clothes."
She reached out to examine the skirts. They were in bright, summery colors—cool green, pastel tones, violet...
To Asteria, it was a nightmare. She'd never worn a dress in her life. And if she ever did, it would never be one in daisy-yellow! That was absolutely impossible. Non-negotiable.
"You're joking, right? There's no way I'm wearing this ridiculous circus. I'd rather wear a shirt soaked in blood than blind myself with these colors."
She headed for her wardrobe, pulled out a long navy-blue robe, slipped on black trousers underneath, and tied her long hair up into a ponytail.
"Now this is more like it. Right?"
Ilara stared at her in admiration.
"My lady... You look stunning."
…
Iris was in the training hall, teaching new recruits the basics of combat, when his niece came running toward him, side-hugging him with glee. He responded with a light pat.
"Well, well, Iris! Are you training the weaklings now?"
He smiled.
"My goal is to build an army that never loses. That means strengthening even the weakest, Aster."
Two nearby soldiers overheard her and didn't like her tone. Her words stung—especially coming from a girl.
"I don't agree with you, Iris," Asteria said, bumping her shoulder against his. "If you want real fighters, throw them into the battlefield. They'll either become warriors… or quit like cowards. And I'm pretty sure you don't want cowards on your team."
One of the soldiers snapped:
"Excuse me?! Who do you think you are, telling men how to do their job, you little doll? And aren't you supposed to be preparing to be a future concubine or something?"
The second snorted with laughter:
"Yeah, just what we needed—girls teaching us how to use swords, when they can't even lift a kitchen knife with those dainty fingers."
Asteria went quiet, eyes down, hands clasped behind her back. She heard every word. She swallowed the insults like bitter wine. But only one word made her lips part in slow, cold amusement:
"Doll?"
She raised her head, a sarcastic smirk on her lips, eyes ablaze with fury.
"Did you just call me… a doll?"
In a heartbeat, she snatched the sword from Iris's belt before he could speak, storming toward the two men like a coming storm.
"Let me show you exactly who you're messing with, you lowlife idiot!"
She shouted the last words, charging at them. One backed away in panic, drawing his sword, but he was no match. He swung wildly, desperately trying to keep her at bay. The other? He bolted the moment he saw her furious face charging straight for him.
Yes. He ran from a girl.
"Coward."
Iris stood aside, watching her with pride he tried to hide behind a smirk.
Asteria twirled the sword around her wrist with practiced ease, blocking a clumsy strike from her opponent. That only fueled her fire. The poor guy tried to keep up, but each move she made shattered his expectations. They didn't call her The Unsheathed Blade for nothing. She twisted her sword around his, forcing him to bend his arm, then kicked him hard, sending his weapon flying.
"Hold onto that look…" she said, stepping closer, her expression unhinged, her grin screaming danger. "…because I'm about to gut you, stuff your body with straw, and hang you at the palace gate like a damn scarecrow."
He collapsed, trembling, trying to crawl away, but his legs betrayed him. He shut his eyes and screamed:
"I'm sorry! I take it back! I'm an idiot! Weak! Pathetic! I'm sorry—please, I'm sorry!"
Laughter erupted.
He peeked open one eye, shocked to see her doubled over on the ground, laughing so hard she wiped away tears with her fingers.
His heart was racing, brain spinning—and the reason for the chaos?
Asteria.
Her soft, mocking laugh echoed through the hall, a melody of disdain for anyone foolish enough to underestimate her. She stood slowly, dusting her hands like she'd just finished a fun little game, and looked down at him with disgust.
"Let that be a lesson… Next time you think of insulting a girl, remember… some women enjoy spilling blood."
She paused, then added with a sweet smile and an innocent voice:
"…Not me though, of course."
She walked over to Iris, who clapped slowly, eyes glinting with admiration behind his sarcastic grin.
"You really overdid it, my little monster. You almost killed him."
She tossed him the sword and said:
"I would have… but I hate scrubbing blood off new clothes."
He laughed, then signaled the rest of the soldiers to return to work .
No sooner had Astria stepped out of the training yard than the scene shifted— To the eyes watching her from afar… from a shaded balcony, Where a tall man stood cloaked in black, sipping his coffee in silence, His gaze trailing her until she vanished.
He murmured to himself:
"A girl with the taste of chaos… just as the sage described."
Then a faint smile curved his lips, And in his eyes, a glint of something feral… something violent.
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Hello hello, dearest souls!
I know we're just scratching the surface of Asteria's tale—
but shadows are thickening, blades are sharpening,
and chaos is only just beginning to stir.
Now tell me…
Who do you think that mysterious man watching her really is?
What ties him to Asteria's fate?
Be honest—do you love or hate her fire?
And Minalova… friend or foe?
Are you sensing someone new is about to enter the stage? Who might they be?
Leave your guesses, your wild theories, your love or your rage…
I'm reading everything.
See you in the next chapter, troublemakers.
Stay sharp.😉