The war with the northern Kingdom of Sylvan remained a distant, abstract concept for the capital of Ethergard. It was spoken of in salons, discussed over dinner, but the thunder of battle did not reach the palace walls. Life flowed on, measured and safe.

  This illusion shattered into pieces one stifling, moonless night.

  Anxious shouts and the clang of steel woke Amelia. Looking out her bedroom window, she saw something that forever changed her view of the world. A group of dark figures in foreign military uniforms was surrounded by the Royal Guard right beneath her balcony. It wasn't a battle; it was a slaughter.

  One of the infiltrators, a large, bearded man with a scar across his cheek, was pinned against the fountain wall. He was no frightened youth, but a battle-hardened, seasoned soldier. Before the guards ran him through with their swords, he managed to lift his head and saw her—the small figure of the Princess in the lit window.

  For one terrible, eternal moment, their eyes met. There was no fear or despair in his gaze—only seething, impotent hatred and undisguised menace. It was the look of a predator who had lost his prey and swore to one day reach it.

  The next day, everyone in the palace marveled at the valor of the guards who had repelled the daring kidnapping attempt. Amelia, however, sat in her luxurious room, and before her eyes stood not the image of heroic guardsmen, but the hate-filled face of that soldier. She thought not of victory, but of what would have happened if they had succeeded.

  They would have dragged me into the darkness, bound me, thrown me into a cart… What then?

  Yes, she had become stronger over the past months. She could parry a thrust from a practice sword and hit a target with a bow. But what use was that if you were bound hand and foot in your sleep? Her sword would remain hanging on the wall. Her bow—in the armory. Ropes didn't fear fencing lunges, and dungeon locks didn't open by force of will.

  If even her new combat skills would be useless, what was there to say about the rest? Her perfected ballet steps? Her knowledge of calligraphy? Her ability to make polite conversation? All of it was dust, a meaningless set of skills for a world where nothing threatened you more than boredom.

  She realized with terrifying clarity: all her training was preparing her for life in a sterile greenhouse. But no one was teaching her how to survive in the wild forest.

  She summoned Leon that same day. Her tone was devoid of childish capriciousness. It was the tone of an executive setting a new, critically important task.

  "Leon, my current skills are insufficient," she stated without preamble. "If I am kidnapped, I am helpless. You didn't grow up in a palace. You know the world outside these walls. You must teach me what they know out there."

  "Your Highness, those are... those are the skills of thieves and bandits!" he whispered in horror when he heard her demands. "If anyone finds out, I will be executed for such training!"

  "And I am a Princess at war, whose safety is not a priority," Amelia cut him off harshly. "These are the skills of survivors, Leon. I want you to teach me how to escape from knots, pick locks, and... be invisible."

  Leon realized that the palace park alone would not suffice for such lessons. With a heavy heart, torn between fear for her life and his sworn oath to fulfill any whim, he agreed.

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  Their training moved to a new, far more dangerous level: secret night sorties into the city.

  Before their first outing, he handed her a simple but bright brooch in the shape of a blue bird, crudely carved from wood and painted azure. It was the size of her child's palm.

  "Your Highness, the city is chaos. If we get separated," he looked seriously into her eyes, "show this brooch to any street urchin. They know who to take it to. This sign will find me. It is our secret signal."

  Thus began her "night school."

  The capital of Ethergard was a prosperous and thriving city. When they, dressed in simple clothes, left the secret passage in the wall, their path first lay through the noble quarters: wide, paved streets lit by the soft glow of oil lamps, the clatter of hooves on stone, laughter drifting from the windows of wealthy mansions.

  But their destination lay not here. With every turn, the streets became narrower, the lamplight dimmer, and the air thicker and heavier. They deliberately went into the poorest districts, into the labyrinth of slums—to that part of the city the existence of which most aristocrats preferred to ignore. It was here, in Amelia's opinion, that one could take a true survival course.

  And for her, this contrast came as a shock. The noise, the stench of sewage, the impenetrable mud underfoot, the crowds of people whose faces were marked by disease and despair—all of this crashed down on her with doubled force against the backdrop of the prosperity she had just seen.

  In her past life, in Korea, her childhood and youth had also fallen on unstable times. She remembered the poverty of the post-war years, the overcrowded shacks on the outskirts of a growing Seoul, the political unrest, and the eternal shortage of everything. Back then, it seemed to her that this was the limit of deprivation, the bottom from which one could only push off.

  But what she saw here was different. That Korean poverty had been the backdrop for a desperate, fierce hope for the future, for that very "economic miracle" which eventually happened. But this... this was poverty frozen in time, existing side by side with shining luxury. Filth that hadn't been washed away for centuries. Despair ingrained in the very stones of the leaning houses. The Seoul of her childhood, with all its hardships, seemed like a shining, sterile capital of the future compared to these slums.

  Life here boiled according to cruel, primitive laws that she was only beginning to comprehend. And she had no intention of giving up.

  Under Leon's guidance, she learned. She sold one of her gold hairpins, for the first time in her life entering into a fierce haggle with a cunning junk dealer and receiving real, dirty coppers in her hand, not palace receipts. She watched street dice players and, using her analytical mind, quickly understood where the deception lay and how to read faces. Remembering with bitterness her son's gambling addiction from her past life, she learned to cheat not for the sake of winning, but for the skill of recognizing cheats.

  Once, in a fairground square, she saw a dancer collecting coppers in a hat. Amelia, casting aside fear and shyness, stepped into the center of the circle and, using her ballet grace, performed a whimsical dance unfamiliar to the crowd. The clink of a few coins thrown to her became dearer than any compliments from court sycophants. It wasn't earnings. It was proof: she could survive without a title.

  During this time, she and Leon grew incredibly close. In the noisy alleys, he wasn't just a squire, but an older brother—a protector and mentor. He taught her to distinguish dangerous people from simple paupers, showed her where to buy cheap food, and told her about life outside the palace walls.

  The culmination of their lessons was a trip to a tavern on the outskirts of the city. Sitting in a dark, smoke-filled corner, Leon doubtfully handed her a mug of watered-down ale.

  "You must know this too, Your Highness. To blend in, if necessary."

  She took a sip. The bitter, bready taste hit her receptors. Not a single muscle on her face twitched. A picture from another life instantly flashed in her memory: a noisy bar after a hard day's work, cheap but strong soju, drinking games with colleagues... Back then, she knew her limit to the last drop. And now?

  Right, the strength is nonsense, maybe three percent, she assessed professionally. But for this small body... I think two mugs, and I’ll start singing songs about the department head. Yes, perhaps that's my limit. At least for today.

  She calmly placed the mug on the sticky table. Leon stared at her wide-eyed. He expected anything: that she would grimace, cough, burst into tears from the bitterness. But instead, he once again saw in her childish eyes the wisdom and calm of a very, very experienced person whom nothing could surprise anymore.