---
Thud! Clunk! Thud!
The rickety door was forced open, causing the hinge to fall off. Three gruff men stepped inside, wearing palace guard paraphernalia. They looked around the dingy shack at the end of town. It seemed deserted—yet everything was warm and somehow clean.
The one who seemed to be the leader let out a gruff harrumph and began to search around. On a small, three-legged table—one leg clearly missing—sat a bowl of porridge. Someone had been eating out of it just minutes ago.
"Where can she be?" one of them called, kicking open the bathroom door.
"Maybe she fled?" another replied. He wasn't searching as diligently as his companions, instead casually skimming through a small cabinet full of worn-out clothes. He smiled lasciviously when he saw underwear.
"Shut up and keep searching. King Awin has demanded we see that she leaves this world before the sun sets—or at least before she sets her eyes on the Queen."
"Lads!" the pervert called out from the other side of the shack. They rushed to join him.
"Drat!" the leader cursed. Just outside the balcony, pieces of drapes and rags had been tied together, dangling down to the ground floor.
"Get her! She couldn't have gone far!"
With astounding alacrity, they rushed out of the house—though not without angrily kicking and destroying trinkets and other dreary articles lying around.
Morgan Khantel let out a small sigh of relief. When she was certain the men had left her hideout, she crawled out from a trunk in the closet—the same one the pervert had been peeking into.
How had she ended up in this predicament, where the King sought her head?
She had made a discovery from a trader friend who had visited Porto Jamon: Mahalia had been going around looking for a forbidden book under the name Qaya. Morgan had seen that name before. It made sense now—why Mahalia had wanted to speak with her at the banquet.
Morgan felt stupid for not hearing her out that day. But she wanted to rectify that mistake. She had to speak to the Queen.
Somehow, that intention had reached Awin's ears.
"Heaven help me," she muttered, hurriedly throwing some money and dry, crusty bread into a makeshift bag. She had a plan. And the perfect disguise. Whether Awin liked it or not, she was going to see Queen Mahalia.
She pushed open her already decimated door—only to meet the most ghastly sight she'd seen all day.
"Well, well, what do we have here?"
The palace guards had not left. They'd been waiting just outside.
"Thank God I didn't fall for that dumb trick," the leader said, chest practically puffed out with pride.
The pervert stepped forward. "I'll do the honours."
He unsheathed his sword and, with one clean swish, swung it.
Morgan fell back.
---
Ragnabor – The Demode Castle
The cold Ragnabor air was misty with the nostalgic smell of sweat and dust as men wrestled and sparred against one another.
Milton walked through the chaos, inspecting them. The lads were sixty in number, and this was just this echelon. He had others—enough to rival Easteford's army.
As Milton watched the youthful vigour and cheers before him, he battled mixed feelings of pride and fear. He was certain he was on the right side of justice, and all he was doing was for his nation. But still—the fear of failure and the lives that would be destroyed if he failed gnawed at him.
He swallowed and tightened his fists, as if the action alone could strengthen his resolve.
"Your Grace," his steward called. "There's news for you."
The walk to Milton's office was quiet and somewhat precarious. The steward trailed behind him, mindful not to upset him. Everyone knew Milton was an amiable man—but in recent weeks, he had been scouring records and precedents, trying to find grounds to rebel against the throne, or at the very least, grant Ragnabor sovereignty. But Easteford's law was not so gracious.
The door opened to reveal Shadow in his customary gray hood and mask.
"Ah, Shadow. It's you," Milton noted, his voice returning to its characteristic cheerfulness.
Shadow gave a short bow and handed over a letter.
"Must you really appear like this before me?" Milton joked as he opened the letter.
"Ragnabor is doing well, I see," Shadow commented.
Milton paused and looked at him for a short second before laughing.
"Yes, we thank the heavens. The trading sector is booming—probably the most illustrious in the world now, at least by potential. We've started consolidating the housing to better withstand the harsh weather."
"Such progress, and yet no word of it at Easteford?" Shadow asked, a mischievous smile somehow audible through the mask.
Milton shrugged and read the letter. "I see. So my faction has sworn its loyalty to the Queen, as I requested."
Shadow nodded. "And the Queen has been making quite the moves. I didn't peg her as ambitious."
He then explained all the happenings at Easteford since he left, including how Queen Mahalia had staged an assassination attempt on herself—just to remove Awin's people.
Milton smiled. "When I saw her for the first time, I knew she was not to be trifled with. It makes me happy to know she's my ally."
"It's almost as if I should make my way to the capital now."
"Milton—"
"I know, I'll wait till the Abunumas celebration," he sighed. "Till then."
Milton stared out the window, a longing gaze in his eyes as he watched a raven perched on a tree take flight.
---
Occident Coast
The sounds of cutlery warring with crockery filled the void that the suffocating silence created.
It was dinner time. The entire family sat quietly eating, casting precarious glances at one another.
Zachary winced as he swallowed a lump of turkey that should've tasted good but only felt like paper. He wasn't sure if it was the uneasiness of eating with people who might poison him, or the distressing news of Mahalia's collapse. It had been days since he heard—was she better? Worse? The lack of information was killing him.
He bit down so hard his tongue bled. He downed a glass of wine to numb the pain, but it only dulled it slightly.
He cleared his throat. "I'll be travelling to Easteford. I'll be going tomorrow."
He couldn't hold it in anymore. He had to know how she was.
Everyone at the table looked at him with a mix of disinterest and confusion—everyone except Colin and Escobar.
"So, I'll be choosing who to delegate my duties to while I'm away."
At that, the atmosphere changed. One could almost feel the shift in dynamics. Zachary smiled to himself—it was amusing.
"Well, but Your Highness, why the hurry? You're not supposed to leave until the Southern Continent Coalition meeting," Colin asked.
Zachary's jaw tightened. "I have personal business."
"Is it romantic?" Queen Escobar's words surprised everyone. Colin, recognizing the bait, went further.
"That wouldn't be surprising. Zachary is the most eligible bachelor, after all. I saw him with the Duke's daughter, Eileen."
"Really?" Escobar said, feigning surprise that felt disturbingly genuine.
Zachary stammered. "No, it's not like that—"
"I suppose he's trying to solidify his position," Colin said to Escobar. "A relationship with the Duke's family would secure his place as heir."
Zachary stilled. It might've appeared that he was considering it. But the most restive person at the table was Adelaide. Her grip on her cutlery tightened. Her jaw clenched. She kept eating, but observed the scene from the corners of her eyes.
Queen Escobar scoffed at Colin's comment. "No surprise. Like mother, like son. Cling to anything that makes scum like you feel worthy. Maybe you should marry her."
She returned to her meal, unsure if her performance was convincing. She had worried that encouraging her stepson to steal the throne would seem suspicious. This, though—this sounded like her. Harsh? Maybe. Too much? Possibly. Oh well, let's see how good reverse psychology works, she mused.
"I appreciate the... kind thought," Zachary said, unsure. "But it's nothing of the sort. As you all know, I've lived most of my life in Easteford. I have commitments there. That's all."
"So who will you be delegating to?" Syra's husband—the second prince—perked up. The room snickered. Syra rolled her eyes.
"Who else?" Zachary shrugged. "The Queen, of course. That's normal. The Queen always takes control when the King—or in my case, the King-delegate—is not around."
And just like that, the conversation ended. Escobar and Colin were satisfied that they'd planted the idea of Eileen in Zachary's head. Adelaide simmered in silence.
---
After Dinner – First Princess's Room
Colin sauntered in, loosened his cravat, and tossed a charming smile at his wife. Adelaide didn't even blink. She was reading a book, completely nonchalant.
"What's the matter, my love?" he murmured, leaning in to kiss her cheek—only to be stopped.
He watched, confused, as she stood up and moved toward the door. He reached out, holding her back.
Before he could ask what was wrong, her hand struck his cheek—hard. It stung.
"You keep forgetting your place," she said in a venomous whisper, staring at him with disdain.
"My love?" Colin held his cheek like it might fall off if he didn't.
"What was that at dinner? You were sucking up to that... that bastard?" Her eyes sparkled with a mix of amusement and disgust. She slapped him again—this time harder. Her hand hurt.
"Haven't I done enough for you? I picked your pathetic little self and gave you purpose—and you repay me like this? Siding with my brother?"
"Adelaide, it's not like that—"
"Enough! How dare you speak? I picked you because you were promising. You made me look good. But I guess the greed of pathetic peasants knows no bounds."
Without warning, she grabbed his hair and yanked. "You have one duty: to be my successful and talented husband. You do not exist outside of that. Let that sink in."
She leaned close. "And next time you think up one of those grand ideas—if they aren't for *
me, keep them to yourself. In fact, don't even have them."
Colin didn't speak. Adelaide's grip on his hair tightened.
"I hear you," he whispered.
She shoved him to the floor and stormed out, a stream of curses trailing behind her.
Colin watched her retreating figure, fighting the urge to kill her. He was only keeping her alive because he needed her.
He got to his feet, rubbing his bruised cheek, and looked at himself in the mirror. He had to take the throne—and soon. There was only so much humiliation a man could take.
And if and when he did succeed... he didn't even want the throne. Maybe he'd destroy it. Just to spite her.
He had no other motivation. He just wanted Adelaide to regret treating him like an accessory. Yes, he was a commoner—but a brilliant one. She'd forgotten that.
"Just wait, my wife. Soon, you'll be beneath this useless commoner."
---
Zachary's Room – Later That Night
Lucius knocked and entered the room.
Zachary, mid-preparation for bed, looked up, perplexed.
"Any news about—" He caught himself and waved for Lucius to speak.
"Awin has settled the fracture in Yellow Jay. He expects us to hold up our part of the bargain."
Zachary nodded thoughtfully. That was fast. He didn't doubt Awin's capability, but the speed only confirmed how desperate the man needed their help.
"Good," Zachary muttered. "Is that all?"
"No other news, Your Highness," Lucius said, lips quivering mischievously.
Zachary slumped into his chair. "Okay. You may go."
Lucius paused at the door, hand on the handle.
"Oh... and Queen Mahalia has regained consciousness. Our sources believe she was behind her own poisoning. So the situation wasn't too dire."
Zachary let out a subconscious sigh.
"So what I'm saying, Your Highness," Lucius added slyly, "is cancel your trip tomorrow. No need to go running to her. Be a little more patient."
Zachary's face flushed.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Nothing, Your Highness."
Lucius smiled to himself and left.
His job was really, really interesting.
---
To Be Continued