The sun had just about made its descent beyond the distant mountains when the party returned to the inner ward.
Lumielle walked in silence, her head lowered and lips drawn into a thin line. “Our circumstances are already complicated enough… and yet, Eleonore’s words were anything but clear.”
Lyndoria huffed, folding her arms tightly across her chest. “All she did was speak in riddles. I suppose that’s what happens when you spend too much time in isolation.”
Sensing the tension, Zephyr let out a low, sympathetic whimper.
Daisuke gently placed a hand atop the princess’s head. “It’s alright,” he said with a reassuring smile. “Yeah, the old lady was cryptic as hell, but we still got the gist of it.”
Lyndoria’s eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening as she glared at his hand. “Is that so? And what exactly was she trying to say?”
Daisuke’s gaze grew somber. “In short, the Mhaledictus haven’t infiltrated the palace in numbers—it’s a small, tight-knit group, slowly swaying powerful figures to their side.”
He crossed his arms and exhaled. “Rooting them out won’t be easy. They’ve crafted a narrative that’s got the people wrapped around their fingers. If Eleonore abandons her post to confront them directly, they could easily twist public opinion and turn the masses against her. This gives them the perfect excuse to take control of the tower, which is essentially the same thing as giving them a bomb.”
He glanced at Lumielle. “She’s walking on thin ice. Sharing too much with us risks exposing her, and if that leak leads back to her, everything falls apart.”
“Then?” Lyndoria pressed.
Daisuke glanced at the tome in Lumielle’s hands. “We find the broker before she slips out of the city and trade it for information.”
“In that case,” the princess said softly, offering him the book, “this is our strongest bargaining chip. It’s safer in your hands.”
“Got it.”
With a flick of his wrist, the grimoire vanished into his inventory. In its place, a pair of elegant hair clips appeared in his palm, forged from the Flare Stone he’d retrieved from the Armored Arachnid.
“I’ve got something for you both,” he said, glancing between Lumielle and her ever-prickly attendant. “I have a feeling the situation’s about to get more dangerous. If you keep these on you, I’ll always be able to find you. And if you’re ever in trouble, I’ll come running.”
Lyndoria flushed, cocking her head to the side as he gently placed the accessory in her hand. “Did you actually think stalking us like some creep would be comforting?”
Daisuke rolled his eyes. “Some people are just impossible to please.”
“Hmph.” She tilted her chin defiantly, sneaking a glance at him from the corner of her eye. “I don’t need some half-baked man coming to my rescue,” she muttered. “I can take care of both myself and the princess, thank you very much.”
Lumielle smiled softly as she graciously accepted the gift with both hands.
Lyndoria’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Princess!”
The image of Sophia Everwinter watching over her like a guardian angel brought a blush to Lumielle’s cheeks. “We’ll be in your care,” she murmured shyly.
Zephyr, naturally, voiced a complaint in his canine tongue, clearly miffed at being the only one excluded from the gesture. Fortunately, a barbecued Kobold rib quickly soothed his wounded pride.
Lyndoria cringed at the pup’s enthusiastic gnawing. “I guess it doesn’t bother him that Kobolds might technically be part of his family tree.”
“Clearly,” Daisuke replied dryly.
Lumielle gave a small nod of agreement.
When Zephyr suddenly stopped chewing and bolted back into the safety of Daisuke’s cloak—leaving the bone only half-annihilated—the group instinctively tensed.
Something was wrong.
And they didn’t have to wait long to find out what.
“Princess Lumielle!” Captain Hynes’s voice rang across the courtyard, sharp with anger. His armored steps thundered toward her, his eyes burning with barely restrained fury when they landed on Sophia Everwinter brazenly standing beside his goddess.
“Do you have any idea how many days I’ve been chasing shadows?” he growled. “You’ve vanished without warning, dodged your guards, and left no trace of your whereabouts. I’ve become a laughingstock! The captain of the princess’s guard, and I can’t even find her!”
His glare snapped to Daisuke. “And ever since this country woman arrived at the palace, claiming to be your friend, you’ve grown careless. Reckless. You disappeared today and returned from the magic tower, of all places. Do you know how much suspicion that place attracts? Whispers are already spreading and none of them speak kindly.”
He turned the flames of his rage toward Lyndoria. “And you—her personal assistant—you’ve stood by and allowed this behavior? Have you no sense of duty? The princess’s safety has been compromised under your watch.”
“Captain,” Lumielle said coldly, stepping forward, “you forget yourself.” Her voice cracked like glass. “You speak to your princess—not one of your subordinates on the training field. And you will not insult my friend.”
Hynes lowered his head briefly. “Forgive me, Princess. I only speak out of concern. I never meant to be disrespectful to you.” He barely spared a glance at Daisuke. “I just need you to trust and be transparent with me. Let me do my job—to be your sword and shield as I swore to be.”
Lyndoria’s patience snapped. “You still think this is about your pride? You don’t even begin to grasp what’s going on in the palace. You’re clinging to routine like a child clings to his wooden sword, pretending it can save anyone—”
“Lynn,” Daisuke cut in calmly, eyes fixed on Hynes.
Before more sparks could fly, Lumielle exhaled and turned to the captain again. “I’m sorry for keeping you in the dark, Hynes. I know it’s not easy being left out, but I had no choice. There are things happening in the court that demand silence—for now. I promise you, I’m being cautious and I’ll brief you eventually.”
“But why can’t I be part of it now?” Hynes asked, his voice strained. “I understand if you trust Lyndoria more—but why her?” His eyes flicked to Daisuke. “Why is this woman allowed so close to you? What has she done to earn that right?”
“Enough.” Lumielle’s voice was firm. “You speak out of turn again. I decide who belongs in my circle. I decide who walks beside me. And I will not tolerate this petty jealousy, especially when it veils itself in loyalty. Have you forgotten who you serve, Hynes? You are my vassal. Not my keeper.”
The words hit him like steel. Hynes’s jaw tightened, his face pale with humiliation. He gave no reply, only scowled at the detestable outsider as Lumielle turned away from him and continued walking.
Lyndoria and Daisuke followed.
After a moment, the country woman muttered, “You sure it’s wise to make an enemy out of him?”
“It’s fine,” Lumielle said quietly. “Hynes would never betray me. His pride won’t let him.”
Lyndoria glanced back, unconvinced. The captain still stood there, a dark glint in his eyes, his hands balled into fists.
“He might not betray you,” she said under her breath, “but that doesn’t mean he won’t make things harder.”
Lumielle sighed. “What now?”
Lyndoria looked ahead. “We should try to find the information broker.”
Daisuke shook his head. “Let’s return to your quarters first. If we go out now, he’ll likely tail us. We wait until nightfall. Then we slip out.”
Lumielle nodded. “Agreed. Tonight then.”
***
The cozy dining room glowed with the blue warmth of mana lambs, tinting the frost-laced windows. The wooden table groaned beneath the weight of the evening’s feast—steaming soup rich with herbs and root vegetables, bowls of fluffy rice, sautéed greens drizzled with oil, and at the center, a large platter of battered and fried catfish, golden and crisp.
Fay sat with her hands in her lap, eyes flitting between the excited faces of Zurrel and Lefahne as they leaned in eagerly, their delight uncontainable.
“No way! Is that catfish?” Zurrel exclaimed, eyes wide. “This looks incredible!”
“It’s our favorite!” Lefahne added with a gleeful clap. “When did you two sneak off and do all this?”
Silvestia offered a tight-lipped smile, her posture a little too straight, her fingers stiff on the edge of her plate. “It was Fay’s idea,” she said quickly. “She wanted to do something nice for you both… I just helped with the frying.”
Zurrel and Lefahne turned their attention to the crimson-eyed girl with fond curiosity. “Is that true, sweetheart?”
Caught off guard, Fay blushed and fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve. Her gaze dipped to the table before rising again, softer this time. “I… I guess I just wanted to say thank you. For everything. I don’t really have many memories of meals like this,” she murmured. “So I thought maybe I could make one.”
Zurrel’s eyes softened.
Lefahne reached across the table and gently squeezed the girl’s hand.
“Well, consider us thoroughly thanked,” Zurrel said warmly, digging into his plate. “This is delicious.”
“Truly,” Lefahne agreed. “You girls have outdone yourselves.”
Fay turned her eyes to her plate, cheeks rosy. Meanwhile Silvestia’s smile barely held. She nodded in silence, quietly pushing food around her plate.
Conversation bloomed easily between the adults and Fay, laughter rising and falling like a familiar melody. But Silvestia sat in the eye of the storm, her mind far removed from the warmth and cheer.
Her stomach churned with unease. Every laugh from her parents made the truth feel heavier, more impossible to say. Her fingers trembled slightly as she lifted her spoon, but the reflection staring back from the bowl of broth froze her in place—tired eyes, the shadows beneath them darker than ever.
“Silvie?” Zurrel’s voice cut through the haze. “You alright, honey?”
The girl blinked and quickly forced a chuckle. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just… tired. Hauling in that catfish earlier really did a number on me.”
Zurrel and Lefahne exchanged a brief glance before returning to their meal. At the same time, Fay cast a sideways glance at the girl, noting her strained smile.
Something had happened between the Kaelmonts earlier that she hadn’t been privy to. Whatever it was, Silvestia wasn’t ready to talk.
As the laughter continued around her, Silvestia sat silent, staring into the golden soup. Her reflection rippled and swayed with every small movement of the bowl, like a ghost drifting underwater. Her fingers curled tightly around the spoon.
Tomorrow, she promised herself. Tonight, they’ll smile. They’ll eat. They’ll rest. But tomorrow… I’ll tell them everything.