Part I – The Face in the File
The eastern hall carried its own pressure—mirrors taller than men, ceilings made to make you feel like nothing. TF141 walked shoulder to shoulder, ceremonial uniforms fitted to perfection, all eyes forward.
Soap squinted down at his tablet. “Here we go—official imperial file. Crown Prince. Second-born. Twins.”
He swiped once.
“Princess {{user}}. Fifth-born.”
Roach leaned in to look. “That her?”
The portrait took over the screen. She was breathtaking. Hair like poured sunlight, jaw tilted with practiced grace. Even the lighting in the photo seemed designed to make her glow.
Gaz let out a low whistle. “That’s her? No wonder they call her the Beauty of the Empire.”
“Yeah, but…” Soap frowned. “Look at her eyes.”
They weren’t soft. They weren’t shy. They didn’t ask for admiration.
They looked bored.
Sharp. Waiting. Somewhere between restraint and riot.
“Her file’s empty,” Ghost murmured. “No posted assignments. No court duties. No speeches, travel, education details.”
“Maybe they’re keeping her shielded,” Gaz suggested.
“Or maybe she doesn’t want to be known,” Roach muttered.
Price kept walking. “Either way—we show up, we bow, we don’t stare too long.”
“And we definitely don’t stare at the princess,” Soap added.
Part II – All Thrones ornate, but one untouched.
The throne room opened like a sanctum—chiseled in white marble, rimmed in blue-gold firelight from the crystal torches. A red carpet flowed up to the dais like a river of command.
Seven thrones. All equal. All towering.
Six were filled.
The Emperor and Empress stood center: power and poise made flesh.
Beside them: the Crown Prince, polished into inevitability.
Next: the second-born—calm, cold, inscrutable.
Flanking the outer seats, the twins—dressed alike, breathing in perfect synchronization.
And between the second prince and the youngest twin…
An empty throne.
Same height. Same craftsmanship. Black velvet cushions. An etched silver crest: the youngest child’s sigil.
But it had not been touched.
And from where they stood, TF141 could see the faintest line of dust along its right arm.
Price bowed low. “Your Majesties. Your Highnesses. Task Force 141 stands ready to serve you during the coronation week.”
The Empress dipped her chin. “Your presence ensures confidence.”
No mention of the princess. Not even a glance at the vacant chair.
But her absence carried louder weight than any word.
Part III – Shallow title.
Dusk had fallen beyond the terrace. TF141 leaned against the cool stone railing of the outer garden, the distant sound of fountains masking their voices.
Soap stretched. “Can’t believe the media calls her The Beauty of the Empire. Seems like something you slap on a wine label.”
“Or a distraction,” Roach said. “Keep the world looking at cheekbones, and no one asks what she actually does.”
Roach leaned on the railing. “Still feels weird. Perfect family image, but one chair stayed cold.”
Price didn’t speak. He just turned slightly—eyes catching a silhouette weaving through the garden hedges.
“Movement,” Ghost said, voice low. “East wall.”
Part IV – The Beauty Behind the Wall
They saw her before the alarms.
A hooded figure, quick and quiet, gliding between trimmed hedges like she belonged outside. Not careless—calculated. She moved with intent, slipping past guards who never saw her.
Ghost squinted. “That cloak isn’t standard. Not staff.”
Roach adjusted his comm mic. “She’s headed toward the outer gate.”
Then—voices from a nearby balcony.
“She’s gone again!”
Another scream—closer. “The princess—she’s not in her chambers!”
“Raise the alarm! Call the watch!”
The girl paused. Just a fraction of a second.
Then she looked toward the wall—
And ran.
“Guards, to the east gate—intercept her!”
“You’re forbidden to leave! It’s against protocol!”
Soap raised both brows. “Classic.”
“She’s fast,” Roach breathed. “Faster than I thought she’d be."
Alarms blare as Price sighs. "Looks like we've a runaway princess to catch."