Chapter 11

  Olivia Gendrel

  The breeze was an exceptionally gentle one today. Olivia took it as a good omen. It had been a rather long, awkward walk to the garden with Aimon, but now that she had entered its grounds at last, she felt more at ease.

  As they made their way to the center, Olivia relished in the pleasant, flowery aroma that surrounded her. Picking out a white eveningstar, she brought it up to her nose. The scent was subtle yet noticeable, with a fresh hint of lemony vanilla.

  Aimon paused and turned around to see what she had stopped for. “What are you doing?”

  “Smelling a flower. Rather obvious, you know.” Olivia stood up to offer the eveningstar to him. “Want to give it a try?”

  A skeptical look on his face, he quietly observed the flower for a moment. “What are you trying to pull, here? What sort of trickery is this?”

  Olivia scoffed. “It’s a flower, Aimon. Are you afraid of flowers, now?”

  “No.” He snagged it from her. “Why would I be afraid of flowers, Olivia?”

  “I wouldn’t put it below you. You certainly seemed afraid of me the past few days.”

  There was a moment of silence as he glared at her with much contempt. He allowed the eveningstar to fall to his feet. “…If we’re going to play it like that, Olivia, then perhaps I should just walk away.”

  As he turned to leave, she hastily grabbed his elbow. “Aimon, wait.”

  “Ah… There it is.”

  Olivia tightened her lips. What was she thinking? Barely a few minutes into this conversation, and she was already on the verge of ruining everything. Idiot!

  “I’m sorry, Aimon,” she said. “It was—”

  “What? A poor joke?”

  “No,” she muttered. “…It was a mistake. I was just trying to be lighthearted.”

  “Lighthearted?” Aimon’s voice was a bitter one. “It’s not exactly a fitting moment for you to be insulting me like that, you know.”

  “I know…” She hung her head in shame. “I’m sorry.”

  He sighed. “It’s alright. Let’s just keep walking.”

  Nodding her head, she led the way as they pressed on toward the center of the garden, where a massive oak tree stood. The air was once again filled with a dreadful, awkward silence.

  “Do you remember when we used to climb the Founder’s Tree?” she asked, in hopes of breaking it.

  Aimon smiled. “How could I forget?”

  A smile, that’s a good sign. She was going somewhere again. “Do you remember when we gathered up as many leaves and flowers as we could in a bag, and then waited to ambush my father from atop?”

  “I remember that well. But, I seem to recall that we missed entirely. The wind ended up ruining it by blowing everything away. Your mother was furious that we had picked so many flowers. She called it a waste.”

  “It really was a waste…” Olivia sighed. “Shame that we missed. My father would have looked dashing.”

  He laughed at her. “I’m sure he would have. Do you remember what our punishment was?”

  “All too well,” she quipped. “Mother made us clean the whole garden by ourselves.”

  “Honestly, I’d say you deserved it more than I did.”

  Olivia scoffed at him. “I deserved it more?”

  He made it seem as if it were obvious. “I mean… the whole thing was your idea.”

  “You were my accomplice,” she argued. “You were just as guilty as I. You could have stopped me, but no, you went along, didn’t you?”

  Aimon sighed in defeat, chuckling. “Can’t argue with that.”

  “Exactly.” Olivia gave him a smug look.

  He crossed his arms. “So, you wanted to speak about what happened here a few days ago?”

  “I did.”

  “Go on, then.” Aimon sat himself down, resting as comfortably as he could against the Founder Tree’s trunk.

  Olivia refrained from sitting, preferring instead to stand as she spoke down to him.

  “Well,” she began. “You understood why I got upset with you, right?”

  He looked up at her. “Has it got something to do with throwing a rock?”

  “At a bird and its nest—that had babies in it. Yes. Were you under the belief that I would be impressed?”

  Sighing, Aimon glanced aside as he tightened his lips, avoiding her gaze. “Evidently you weren’t… I wasn’t expecting you to make such a big deal of it.”

  “If someone hurled a giant stone at you, without provocation nor invitation, would you take a liking for it?”

  “Well…” He thought about it for a moment. “No, I suppose I wouldn’t.”

  “Exactly.” Her eyes narrowed. “It wouldn’t be right, would it?”

  Aimon shook his head. “No, madam. It would most certainly not.”

  “…Are you beginning to see my point? Why I got upset with you?”

  He looked rather unsure. “I… believe so?”

  “Well, then.” She sat in front of him. “Let’s see if you do. Go on, tell me what you think.”

  As if rehearsing inside of his head, and choosing his next words carefully, he took a moment of silence to ponder as he rubbed his chin. Fortunately for him, this test was rather an easy one. Or, at least, she thought it was.

  “Alright,” he said, at last. “You were upset with me because I threw a rock, without provocation nor invitation, at a cardinal and its nest full of babies. …Is that correct?”

  The uncertainty on his face almost made Olivia want to laugh, but she kept herself as composed as she could.

  “Well, for the most part,” Olivia replied. “But that’s not quite the main point.”

  “What is it, then?”

  “You wanted to do some sort of prank with the cardinal, did you not?”

  Aimon nodded. “I did. I thought it would be funny. But… I suppose it wasn’t.”

  “It’s not just about whether or not your antics are ‘funny.’” She inched herself closer to him. “You see, a prank shouldn’t involve potentially harming anything, or anyone, in fact. Your stone could have wounded, or even killed, that cardinal and its babies. And for what? Your pleasure?”

  “I understand now,” he said with a sigh. “…It was a stupid thing to do. It was even more stupid of me to have gotten upset with you over it. That’s why I didn’t really want to talk to you afterward.” His head lowered. “All of it was… my fault, really.”

  Olivia didn’t exactly think of that as wrong, but she still felt at least a little bit of guilt for having contributed to the mess by also ignoring him.

  A compassionate smile on her face, she looked at him in the eyes. “Well, it wasn’t entirely your fault,” she said. “…I was to blame, too, for us not talking. I blatantly ignored you in the aftermath.”

  “No.” Aimon shook his head, his voice a firm one. “It was my fault. Not yours.”

  “But—”

  “The fault was mine.” He cut her off rather abruptly. “I’ll take responsibility for it, so please don’t try and lessen the load. I’m the one who should be apologizing and asking for your forgiveness, not you.”

  Can’t exactly argue with that. She sighed, and then smiled at him again. “I accept your apology, then, Aimon. I forgive you.”

  “Would you like to shake on it?” Aimon chuckled.

  Olivia reached out. “Of course,” she said. “Friends?”

  “Friends.” He shook her hand.

  She had done it. Their friendship was saved. A speck of pride and relief on her face, she couldn’t help but smile widely.

  Aimon seemed to notice. “…Is something amiss?”

  “Huh?” Olivia shook her head. “No, I’m just happy, is all.”

  He smiled at her. “That’s good, I’m glad.”

  “For a moment, I thought we were going to lose everything.”

  A sense of confusion crept over his face. “What do you mean?”

  “The way we were arguing earlier… and how we weren’t talking before that.”

  “Oh, I see.” Aimon chuckled. “You know, it’s not the first time this has happened.”

  She furrowed her brows at him. “Really?”

  “I won’t delve into the details if you don’t remember,” he said. “But these sorts of bumps are perfectly natural in relationships. Even my father and mother fight from time to time. As long as it’s not… physical.”

  “Of course.” Olivia nodded her head. “But I really would prefer not to fight so much. It’s so exhausting, and terrible. I don’t like it.”

  He chuckled. “I certainly wouldn’t disagree.”

  “I suppose we’ve both learnt a lesson from this, haven’t we?”

  “Yes, I believe we have. I, for one, have learned that I should restrain my affinity for causing chaos. You, on the other hand, should not ever feel guilty for knocking some sense into me.”

  A smirk made its way across her lips. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

  Rising to his feet, Aimon began walking away from her. Olivia got up as well. “Where are you going?”

  He glanced back at her, a smirk on his face. “Watch and see.”

  Olivia half-expected him to pull another stupid antic, but her dread turned into curious delight as he bent down to pick out another white eveningstar.

  Walking back to her, he held it out. “A peace offering. It is the right flower, isn’t it?”

  She took it from him with a gleeful smile on her face. This flower meant far more to her than any of Jason Roost’s lavish gifts. “It is. Thank you, Aimon.”

  “You are most welcome.”

  As she was reveling in its pleasant aroma, he took the chance to ask her a question. “What do you think about Jason Roost?”

  Olivia was admittedly a little stunned by what he had just asked. Perching the flower above her ear and tucking her hair over it, she looked at him. “He’s a handsome fellow, I’ll give him that. With regards to his nature, however, I’m afraid there’s not much more to say about him.”

  He took a seat next to her, perching himself comfortably beneath the Founder’s Tree. He seemed pleased to have heard it. “Why do you think he’s here? I can’t recall the last time a Roost willingly visited the seat of House Gendrel.”

  She had a feeling that Aimon already knew what the answer was, but decided to oblige him anyway. “Jason Roost the Magnanimous intends to court me, if you haven’t yet resolved his purpose here. He has already tried to curry my favor by sending me lavish gifts.”

  Aimon’s head perked up. “He sent you gifts, as in, plural?”

  “Yes.”

  “Bloody hell,” he scoffed. “Besides the dress, what else did he send you?”

  “A silver necklace adorned with white crystals. Admittedly… it was actually quite a beauty.”

  Aimon chuckled. “He must have been hoping you would wear it when he arrived.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  He shrugged at her. “It would explain why he was looking at your neck.”

  You noticed that, too? She wanted to say it out loud to him, but refrained from doing so. “I suppose.”

  “Why didn’t you wear it?”

  “Awfully curious, aren’t you?” Olivia laughed at him. He didn’t laugh back, though.

  “Well, are you going to tell me?”

  Sighing, she relented. “To be honest, I forgot where I put it. And besides, you know me, Aimon. I don’t accept bribes.”

  A smile formed on his lips. “Of course you don’t.”

  The two of them shared a pleasant laugh together. Suddenly, in the corner of her eyes, Olivia spied movement. Here comes trouble. Jason Roost and her sister had just entered the garden.

  Aimon had seen them as well. “Olivia, can I ask you something quickly?”

  “What is it?” She looked at him.

  Before he could say anything else, however, Anna started running to them. “Olivia!”

  Anthranor Arathan

  “Come in,” Anthranor said.

  Ser Tony entered at once, stumbling his way to the table. His doublet was half-buttoned and his hair unkempt. The man seemed a mess.

  “Well, better late than never.” The prince leaned back in his chair and exchanged a funny look with Ser Dorristan as Ser Tony took a seat. “What took you so long?”

  “Apologies, my prince.” Ser Tony wiped his eyes drearily. “I do believe that some of the men and I may have overindulged ourselves the night we arrived in Mosenhall.”

  “Are you oafs the reason I received a complaint from Lord Mosenclaw earlier this morning?”

  The knight looked at him and recoiled rather defensively. “Of course not, my prince. Well—not me, at least. I’m no drunkard.”

  Anthranor exchanged glances with Ser Dorristan. “Well, I would expect a member of my father’s Imperial Guard to be more vigilant. I like you, Ser Tony, but we cannot tolerate irresponsible behavior such as that.”

  “My prince—” He held his hands up. “I must insist, I did not drink… as much as the others.”

  “I am aware that you are no drunkard, Ser Tony. I only meant that you stayed up with the others much later than you should have. As a result, you were rather late to our planned meeting.”

  “Ah…” The knight bowed his head. “My apologies, Prince Anthranor. It shan’t happen again, I swear this unto you.”

  “I certainly hope so. Now that you’re here, however, we can finally begin discussing our plans of departure.”

  The prince nodded to Ser Dorristan, prompting him to lay out a map of Galeria across the table. Standing up from the chair, he pointed to where they were: Mosenhall, the seat of House Mosenclaw.

  “We’re not far from Hildan Keep now,” he said. “I suspect we’ll be there within two days of riding.”

  “Three or four days, actually,” Ser Dorristan corrected him. “You may have forgotten to account for the fact that we are now escorting an injured Lucas Millard and his wife. Their wagon slows us down.”

  “Oh… of course, I forgot to account for that. Damn it.” He sighed. “I already wrote to Archduke Gendrel that we were to arrive within two days.”

  Ser Tony raised his hand. “Well, hold on, my prince. If Lucas Millard remains in the care of Mosenhall’s physicians, along with his wife, then we can proceed to Hildan Keep and arrive on right time. It’ll be exactly as you wrote to the Archduke.”

  “He raises a fair point, my prince.” Dorristan looked at him. “Perhaps we could follow through with such a plan?”

  Anthranor was rather reluctant, although it would have saved him the shame of having to write a second letter. “We could. But I gave Lucas my word that I would escort him and his wife safely back to Hildan.”

  “Nothing wrong with that.” Ser Tony smiled. “But, perhaps it would be better if he were spared from the troubles of traveling in his… present condition.”

  “The physicians said it would take weeks, or possibly months until he’s able to even stand again. We’ll be far too late if we wait for that, and I do not wish to leave him here and abandon my word. I gave it to him, Ser Tony, and his wife.”

  “I have the perfect solution, my prince,” the knight tried to reassure him. “Leave me here, as your acting representative, with perhaps a few other men. If we obtain the permission of Lord Mosenclaw, we can stay here with Lucas Millard and his wife until he recovers. Then we’ll escort the two of them to Hildan, just as you promised.”

  That sounded… “Perfect,” is what Anthranor exclaimed. “We’ll do just that. Ser Dorristan, you will go and speak with Lord Mosenclaw. Ser Tony, I entrust that as redemption for being late, you will get our preparations in order so that we may leave in a timely manner.”

  “It shall be done.”

  “What about you, Bevelio, and Urwin?” Dorristan questioned as he and Ser Tony rose from their seats.

  “I will speak with Mister Millard and his wife. And don’t worry about Bevelio and Urwin. I’ll be sure to bring them along. When the two of you are finished, meet me in the courtyard with the others.”

  “Very well.”

  Both knights gave a bow before taking their leave. Ser Dorristan was sure to retrieve the map on his way out. After the two of them had gone, Anthranor began his walk to Lucas Millard and his wife’s chamber.

  Along the way there, he ran into Arnel Mosenclaw, the firstborn son and heir of Lord Reuben Mosenclaw. A rather audacious, stalwart fellow, the eighteen-year-old was roughly the same height as Anthranor, and similarly sported dark brown hair.

  He smiled upon seeing him. “My prince,” Arnel greeted, bowing.

  Anthranor returned the gesture with a light bow of his head. “Arnel, how are you?”

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  “Doing well. Where are you off to?”

  “I’m off to visit Lucas Millard and his wife. How about yourself?”

  Arnel chuckled. “I’m headed to the armory to get suited up, then it’s off to the training yard. My uncle wants me to start getting ready for the Trident.”

  The prince smiled at the mention of preparing for the tournament. Just last night, he had sparred with Ser Tony and Ser Dorristan in the darkness, with only the flames of nearby braziers to light up their surroundings. Although he had questioned the purpose of training at night, Ser Dorristan had stressed the importance of “being ready for anything.”

  “You’re partaking in the Trident?”

  Arnel nodded his head. “I am. Uncle Abel says I might finally get my knighthood if I perform well.”

  “You must be his squire.”

  “I am.” The Mosenclaw had a prideful look about him. “Ever since I was nine. It’s always been my dream to be a knight. Never much cared for being a lord, though. Dreadfully boring, isn’t it?”

  “Not very fond of having to live with responsibilities that you never asked for, are you?”

  “I suppose you could say that.” Arnel smirked at him. “You see, I would gladly give the job to someone else, like my younger brother, Aimon, for instance. But, I don’t think he’s any fitter than I am to take my father’s seat. I guess… that’s what responsibility is, isn’t it?”

  “Fate is a funny thing.”

  Arnel laughed. “Indeed, it is. Well, it was good to speak with you, my prince. If I don’t get a chance to see you again before you leave, please send my regards to my younger brother.”

  “What was his name again?”

  “His name is Aimon,” Arnel replied. “He’s a squire as well, like me. Serves Ser Andrew Gendrel. We look rather similar to each other. Except I’m taller and more handsome, of course.”

  Anthranor nodded his head, smiling. “Of course. I shall give him your regards, Arnel.”

  “My thanks. Well, see you around, Prince Anthranor. Safe travels.”

  “Till next we meet, Arnel.”

  After shaking his hand, Anthranor made his way through the corridors until at last he arrived at the entrance to Lucas Millard’s room. Standing on guard were Bevelio and Urwin, among his personal retinue.

  “My prince,” they both greeted.

  “Urwin, Bevelio. How are you?”

  “Doing well, my prince,” Bevelio answered. “I heard you were offering up a mighty fine fight against Ser Tony last night in the dark.”

  Anthranor smiled. “You heard right, though he still beat me more than I beat him. Tough nut, he is.”

  “Those Corentians are indeed tough, my prince. It’s still an impressive feat, no less.”

  “Thank you, Bevelio. Were there are any issues during the night watch?”

  Bevelio shook his head. “No, my prince. Quiet as a graveyard, it was.”

  “That’s good,” Anthranor said. “I’ll see the two of you again in a moment, I’ve come to speak with Lucas.”

  “By all means, my prince.” Bevelio and Urwin parted to make way.

  Passing through, he knocked against the door three times. “Lucas? It’s me, Anthranor. May I enter?”

  “Come in, my prince!”

  With a twist of the door knob, Anthranor made his way inside. Shutting the door behind him, he observed a bedridden Lucas Millard covered in blankets. The man smiled at him as he approached.

  Lucas’ voice still had a hint of weariness to it, as did his face. “My prince, how are you?”

  Anthranor smiled back as he pulled out a chair to sit on. “Good. How about yourself, Mister Millard?”

  “Eh… I’ve been worse.” He gave a pained grin. “And you don’t have to go on calling me that, my prince.”

  “I think it’s only fitting we give each other mutual respect, no?”

  Lucas shrugged. “Feels weird being called ‘Mister,’ is all.”

  “Well, I’m sure you’ll get used to it, Mister Millard.”

  He laughed. “I suppose I will.”

  “I wanted to speak with you regarding our travels.”

  Lucas looked at him. “Funny. I wanted to speak with you about that, too.”

  “Well, how fortunate.” The prince smiled. “Would you like to go first?”

  “I do not wish to continue burdening you, so I was thinking perhaps you could leave my wife and I here while I recovered, if possible. By doing so, you and your men may proceed to Hildan with no further delay.”

  Anthranor nodded his head. “Well, Mister Millard, my knights and I actually conjured up a rather similar plan to yours.”

  “You did?” His brows furrowed. “Let us hear it, then.”

  “With Lord Mosenclaw’s permission, you will remain here with your wife until you are fully recovered. In addition, Ser Tony has volunteered to accompany you, along with a few of my guards. They will escort you safely back to your home.”

  Lucas rose in protest, groaning as he did so. “My prince, there is nothing more that you must do for me. I’ve… already been too much of a burden.”

  “You’re not a burden at all, Mister Millard. I gave you my word that I would ensure your safe return, and I intend to keep it. So, please, will you accept our plan?”

  “Can’t exactly say no, can I?” The man set his head back onto his pillow with a sigh. “Very well… I accept your plan. When do you intend to leave, today?”

  “Yes,” Anthranor answered. “Erodus willing, Ser Tony does his job and we get to depart in a timely fashion. The last thing I need at the moment is embarrassing myself by arriving late.”

  Lucas chuckled. “I remember how we used to be punished in the army for being late to morning musters.”

  Intrigued, Anthranor looked up. “How so?”

  “Each unit had a different commander, so the punishments weren’t exactly uniform. While some gave out lashings, others were different. My commander, Haridan, was among the different ones. Instead of handing out beatings for such infractions, he sentenced latecomers to serve the community for an entire day. And if any complaints were received about their performance, he would double down and extend their sentence by an additional day until their service was deemed satisfactory.”

  “Do you speak from first-hand experience?”

  “I do,” he replied. “In fact, that’s how I first came to meet Joanna, my wife.”

  The prince gave him a sly smirk. “I can only imagine a rather mysterious increase of infractions on your part afterward.”

  “Indeed.” Lucas smiled. “A local farmer needed help with plowing his fields, so Haridan sent around eight of us fools out there to labor under the blistering sun. The moment I saw her… it was, well, magic. We were warned to keep away, but in all fairness she was the one who approached me first. Needless to say, I was quite motivated to work for the rest of that day.”

  “I’m sure you were.” Anthranor shared a laugh with him. “I figure you must have been stationed in Denholm during that time, then?”

  “Yes, that’s where we were, but her parents lived out in the country, away from the city itself. Eventually, her father no longer needed assistance, so Haridan stopped sending us out there. I wanted to continue seeing Joanna, but I dared not venture away from the garrison, in fear of actual punishment. Fortunately, though, she did end up coming into the city to pay a visit on occasion.”

  Anthranor smiled. “How sweet of her.”

  “I was surprised… but in a good way. Eventually, however, we were eventually redeployed to Corentia, on the northern border with the Timbarlands. That’s the last I saw of her for a long time.”

  “How long?”

  “Years,” Lucas said. “I told myself to move on, but that was more easily said than done. I’m a stubborn fool, you see, so it was ultimately useless trying to convince myself.”

  “Where were you stationed?”

  “Fellkeep, if I recall correctly.” He gently stroked his chin. “Nestled by the mountain range, quite closer to the border. We would often be sent northward to scout for any Timbarmen movement.”

  The prince’s eyes lit up with an eager sense of intrigue. “I hear the Timbarmen are a fearsome folk. Did you ever encounter any?”

  “Aye, in the flesh,” Lucas said. “On occasion, we made contact with their scouts and hunters. Usually we could scare them away, but sometimes a fight was simply inevitable between our two parties. Ended up killing my first man in the wilderness there… A young warrior who thought he could earn himself some glory by killing a foreign devil.”

  “Oh…” Anthranor’s delight faded. He didn’t quite know how to respond to that. “I see.”

  “Great warriors, though, they are,” Lucas went on. “Brave. Strong. Daring. Those plump lords and ladies like to paint them as nothing more than vicious savages—but I think very differently of them.” Looking away, there was a distant gaze in his eyes. “They’re a noble people. But we simply fear what we don’t understand, and so we misjudge them.”

  Lucas’ voice grew bitter as he tightly clutched onto his blanket. “We slaughter their men, women, and children, steal their land, their food, and then… we enslave them. Treat them like dirt. Like swine.”

  A panging sense of guilt gnawed away at Anthranor’s chest as he listened. It was true. Slavery still lived, and arguably even thrived, in the Empire.

  During the early stages of the Marchidium, after the defeat of House Gamorin and its Timbarmen allies in the north, King Alderin the Great, Anthranor’s grandfather, granted one of his turncoat generals, Baron Corent, command of his northern armies.

  Tasked with the goal of securing the northern frontier as the king turned his attention south, Baron commenced a brutal campaign that sought to destroy the remaining Gamorin loyalists and ultimately drive the Timbarmen further north, past the Ravonian Mountains.

  As a reward for his success, and to safeguard against future Timbarmen incursions, Baron was granted the old seat of House Gamorin and allowed to continue the practice of slavery, albeit limited only to persons of Timbarmen lineage. Elsewhere, across the other eight realms, slavery was outlawed by Imperial decree.

  “They would send us out to recapture fugitive slaves, you know.” Lucas looked at him. “It was either north or south for them, and the ones who weren’t fortunate enough to have lived closer to the Golden Rocks, Vinaria, or Aladar had no choice but to go the other way.”

  His head lowered. “Captain Haridan did his best to protest our orders. But the general was adamant, and even threatened to levy charges of treason against him to shut his mouth. Threatened the rest of us, too… that sunkenborn cunt.”

  Anthranor was shocked to hear of this. “That’s not legal at all! Imperial Law expressly forbids the army from rendering assistance to any efforts that deal with slavery—including the recapture of fugitives.”

  “That’s exactly what Captain Haridan told them. But do you believe our superior officers gave a damn about what he said?”

  He knew what the answer to that was: No. Anthranor clenched his fists, a sense of anger boiling its way to the surface. What else is happening behind our backs, hidden in the shadows? Underneath our very own noses?

  The prince looked at Lucas. “Did you report any of them?”

  “I tried,” he said. “I really did try. But my efforts weren’t able to get very far. You see, the Slavers’ Guild pays quite handsomely. A rather profitable business, it is, the slave trade. I could only imagine how much more gold they would be stuffing their pockets with if slavery was to be legalized across the other eight realms.”

  “Surely, my grandfather and father would have—”

  “Put an end to it?” Lucas questioned him sharply. “Tell me, my prince—and I am asking as politely as possible—How long has your father reigned? How long has your grandfather, Cane Calborne, served as Lord Chancellor?”

  Anthranor’s tips tightened as he leaned back in his chair. “…Years.”

  “Your father has reigned for seven years, now.” Lucas nodded. “And Lord Calborne has served in his role for nearly eight times that. Over fifty years. Fifty years, my prince, and yet the enslavement and torture of innocent Timbarmen persists to this very day. Do you know why?”

  The prince hung his head in shame, wreaked with a sense of guilt and confusion. He knew his grandfather well. Lord Cane was a good man, a respectable man, an honorable man. Surely he would have…

  Anthranor looked up. There was simply no excuse he could offer. “I’m sorry, Lucas,” he told him. “…I don’t know.”

  “Don’t look so devastated,” Lucas said, a light smile on his face. “I don’t blame you. And I’m sure your grandfather, Lord Cane, and your father, the Emperor, have had their reasons for not pressing the matter. Perhaps one day the Crown will act, but alas… there’s nothing I can do about it now.”

  “But there is something I can do about it.” Anthranor’s face was one of resolve. “I’m going to bring the matter up to my father and grandfather the very next time I see them. We’ll put an end to it. I promise you.”

  Lucas’ smile grew wider. “I’m sure you will.”

  It was at that moment when Joanna burst into the room, holding a plate that was filled to the brim with fruits, vegetables, bread, and sausages. “My love!” she beamed. “I’ve come with your lunch. I see the prince is here, as well.”

  “Hello, Madam Millard.” Anthranor smiled.

  Lucas propped himself up from his pillow, delighted to see his wife. “A happy noon to you, Joanna.”

  She kissed him on the forehead as she gave him the plate and utensils with which to eat his meal.

  Anthranor took this as his sign to leave. Seizing the moment, he rose from his chair and gave the two of them a polite bow. “Mister and Madam Millard, it has been a pleasure, but I’m afraid I must leave now. We have much to prepare for ahead of our journey to Hildan.”

  The two of them turned to look at him, a smile on each of their faces. Lucas was understanding. “I’ll be sure to inform my wife of the plan,” he said. “Safe travels and farewell, my prince.”

  He bowed before them. “Till the next time we meet, Mister Millard.”

  Olivia Gendrel

  Aimon glanced at her. “I’ll tell you about it later,” he whispered.

  Nodding her head, Olivia put on a smile as her sister and Jason Roost approached. What a wonderful couple, she thought. It was rather convincing to announce them as such. As amusing as it would have been however, she decided to refrain from doing so. The last thing she wanted to deal with today was a bitter sister.

  “Hello Anna,” she greeted. “Lord Jason.”

  That flowery aroma of his was permeating into her nose again. She began feeling oddly lightheaded. Was this some sort of sorcery?

  Jason Roost took her hand and kissed it, much to the chagrin of Anna. “My lady.”

  The young lord had shed his armor. His golden hair flowing down to his shoulders, he instead wore a finely tailored red doublet adorned with intricate embroidery, black trousers, and a sleek pair of black leather boots. Every aspect of his outfit seemed to be exuding a dashing sense of elegance. The only thing he may have been missing was perhaps a cape to top it all off.

  “My lord.” She gave a polite curtsy. “I trust my sister has been treating you well?”

  “All too well,” he answered with a smirk on his face. “The castle grounds are beautiful, as is commonly said. I am nearly envious of Hildan Keep’s splendor.”

  “Nearly?” Olivia raised her brow at him.

  “Nearly.” He smiled. “But I’m afraid there will never be a place that can best Ebon’s Watch.”

  Ebon’s Watch. The seat of House Roost, she remembered. Olivia had first learned of it from her lessons with Madam Ava. Constructed centuries ago, atop a great rock, the fortress had served as the stronghold of the legendary Ebon the Watcher, who was the first King of Brunzhal and founder of House Roost. Quite the backstory.

  “Well, as is said, there is no place like home,” Olivia quipped.

  “Indeed, my lady.”

  “I hear the walls of Ebon’s Watch are as black as his heart was,” Aimon chimed in. There was a calculated mischief in his eyes, a playful smirk tugging at his lips, as he looked toward Jason Roost.

  The young lord faced him with a smile. “It depends on the lighting, really. Sometimes it can look a bit more gray than black. I hear Mosenhall’s walls are a tad shorter than ours. A little more run down, as well, perhaps?”

  Disregarding the exchange of backhanded insults, Olivia was surprised that Jason knew Aimon was a Mosenclaw. This was the first time they had even spoken to each other... Had the Roost done a bit of research before coming here, or was she missing something?

  Olivia felt a flicker of unease, but shrugged it off. You’re overthinking things again, she told herself. Perhaps Aimon Mosenclaw is a tad bit more famous than you initially thought.

  A concerned look made its way onto Aimon’s face as he moved in to confront Jason. “How do you even know where I come from?”

  Jason Roost merely gave him a casual, self-assured smirk. “There’s more to you than meets the eye, Aimon Mosenclaw. I have heard much about your aspirations as a fledging esquire. Tell me, do you plan to compete in the Trident?”

  “Yes—” he stammered. “Well… no.”

  “No?” Jason tilted his head as he frowned at him. “Why not? Surely, an esteemed warrior such as yourself would be eager for a chance to at last prove your worth in battle.”

  “I had plans,” Aimon tried to explain. “…But my master told me I wasn’t ready yet. He wants me to keep practicing as normal, and simply watch the others.”

  “Watching and learning? Sounds awfully boring.” Jason gave him a pitiful look, his lips curving downward. “A shame, really.” Then a sigh. “Most disappointing. I shall look forward to facing your older brother on the field then, instead.”

  “I wouldn’t be too eager. He’s been known to make quick work of his opponents.”

  “It’s rather important not to be too self-assured when it comes to battle,” Jason replied. “But, we shall see. Come the Trident, we shall see indeed. In the meantime, might I suggest a… friendly duel?” A predatory smirk crossed his lips. “I believe it could prove to be a rather enlightening experience.”

  Judging by the sharp glint of his eyes and the touch of mockery that had been woven into his voice, Olivia found herself doubting the sincerity of his offer. A so-called “friendly duel” was, in truth, unlikely to be anything more than an excellent opportunity to humiliate his opponent.

  She didn’t exactly think of Aimon as a poor fighter, but she feared for how he would fare against the fabled Jason Roost. Given his prideful nature, however, she knew better than to hope that he might refuse a challenge from Jason Roost himself. Even so, she cast him a pointed glance—a silent plea that told him not to accept.

  Meeting Olivia’s gaze for only a moment, Aimon put on a confident look and stiffened his posture as he turned back to face Jason. “I accept your offer.”

  Olivia cursed at him inside of her head. You stubborn, mindless fool! She bit her lips out of frustration. Grapes for brains, that boy. At the very least, she had tried—as futile as it was to have done so.

  Jason Roost went up to Aimon and shook his hand with a firm grip as he stared him in the eye. “You won’t regret it.”

  “You just might,” Aimon replied curtly. “When do you wish to have our duel?”

  The young lord chuckled at him. “I admire your spirit, Mosenclaw. Fortunate favors the bold, as they say. We may have our duel on the morrow, when I am better rested. If you agree, our weapons shall be swords.”

  “Agreed.”

  Jason nodded his head. “Very well, then.” He turned to address the three of them with a smile. “Well, my friends, you have graced me with your company for long enough. I’m afraid I must retire to my chambers for the time being.”

  “It was a pleasure to see you again, Lord Jason,” Olivia said, folding her hands. “Rest well.”

  He gave her a polite bow. “You honor me, my lady.”

  Shuffling her way in front of her sister, Anna made the attempt of taking center stage. “I hope that the tour of the castle was a most enjoyable one!”

  “It was, my lady, truly.” Bending down, he took her hand and kissed it. “I am sure that there are plenty more adventures waiting for us. For now, however, I suppose I shall see you again when it comes time for supper.”

  “Supper?” Anna frowned. “You’re not joining us for lunch?”

  “If your father will excuse me, I intend to explore the city for a while with Ser Titan.”

  A pouty expression emerged on Anna’s face. She looked rather defeated. “…Very well, then.”

  “Be not disappointed, my fair lady.” He smiled at her. “I shall take my leave now. Farewell, my friends.”

  “Farewell,” the sisters said to him. Aimon was silent as he watched him leave with much intent.

  Taking notice, Olivia’s attention was suddenly ripped away by Anna’s squealing in delight.

  “Look, look!” she shouted.

  “What is it?”

  Holding her hand out, Anna presented the side that had been kissed to the two of them. “See here, a token of Jason Roost.”

  Olivia rolled her eyes with a disgusted disappointment. “You’re obsessed.”

  “I don’t think I’m going to wash my hand for a while.”

  Her brows furrowed with much concern. “Anna, that is repulsive. Must I speak to mother about this?”

  She frantically shook her head. “It was only a joke, Olivia! I was just joking…”

  “You should be careful,” her older sister warned. “Your obsession with Jason Roost may grow to consume you… Like a lion.” Outstretching her fingers into claws, she grappled her hands around Anna’s face.

  “Hey, stop that!” she shouted, laughing as she wrestled herself away from Olivia’s grasp.

  “I’m afraid it’s too late,” Aimon mused. “Her soul is practically his already.”

  Anna crossed her arms. “Untrue,” she asserted. “I think you’re simply jealous.”

  “Jealous?” Aimon scoffed. “What exactly have you accomplished, that I haven’t?”

  “Well, unlike you, Lover Boy, I am actually having some sort of success with love.” Her eyes darted toward Olivia for only a brief moment.

  “What?” Before he could retort her, however, Anna punched his shoulder and quickly fled the scene.

  Helplessly watching as her sister ran back into the castle, Olivia turned to Aimon and raised an eyebrow at him. “What was that about?”

  “No idea,” he said with a shrug. “Just Anna being… herself, I suppose.”

  “Is something the matter? Your cheeks have gone red.”

  Aimon’s face contorted in shock as his fingers brushed against his cheeks. “What?” Backing away, he stammered over his words. “N-no—Erm, perhaps it’s something to do with the heat. Yes, that’s it. The heat, it’s… making my face red.”

  Folding her hands together, Olivia narrowed her eyes and smiled as she gave him a knowing look. She knew when he was lying, even though it was already rather obvious in this case.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” she said with an innocent voice. “Weren’t you going to tell me something earlier? Now’s your chance.”

  Aimon shook his head. “No,” he replied. “I’ve… changed my mind.”

  “Are you sure, Aimon?”

  “…Yes.” The word came with a brittle sense of uncertainty.

  Confusion stirred within her. Did I do something wrong? she wondered.

  “I should leave,” he said abruptly, retreating a step. “I need to speak with your uncle about the duel. I have to get ready, as well, so… I suppose I’ll see you at supper.”

  She started after him as he turned around to leave. “You’re skipping lunch, as well?”

  Aimon froze in his tracks, his shoulders tense. “Yes, I am,” he said. His voice sounded unsure. “Please don’t follow me.”

  Why would you tell me that? she wondered Her voice was tinged with a sense of confusion. “Why not? You aren’t ordinarily this, well—distant. Is there something wrong? …Did I do something wrong?”

  He shook his head, his smile a soft and affectionate one. “No, Olivia. To be honest, you couldn’t, even if you tried. I’ll see you later.”

  The garden was eerily silent in his wake as Olivia was left standing there by herself. His unfamiliar coldness had struck her deeper than she’d expected. Silently looking on, her gaze followed him as he made his way out of the garden. With every step, however, a panging sense of unease swelled within her.

  Her thoughts churned, uneasy and restless. Something felt… off, an abruptness that failed to sit well with her. Was there something more to it, or was she overthinking again?

  Then a stray thought pierced through her doubts—Jason Roost. Aimon had seemingly gone out the same way he had. A coincidence, perhaps? Or something more…

  There was only one way to find out. Her curiosity had gotten the better of her. Not wasting another moment, Olivia’s legs began moving quickly as she went after him.

  Anthranor Arathan

  Emerging from the castle, Anthranor fondly observed the sky as he came outside. Clear with the sun shining brightly, it looked to be an exceptionally wonderful day for traveling. He took it for a good sign.

  In the courtyard, both of his knights, along with the rest his entourage, were waiting with much anticipation.

  Anthranor approached them, settling his gaze on Ser Dorristan. “So, what came of your discussion with Lord Mosenclaw?”

  Ser Dorristan answered him as he fed his horse, Stormwind, an apple. “Good news, my prince.” He gave a reassuring nod. “Lord Mosenclaw agreed to the plan. Our friend, Mister Millard, can remain in his care for as long as he needs.”

  The prince gave a sigh of relief. “That is good to hear.” He looked to Ser Tony. “Have you chosen who will be remaining with you?”

  “Yes.” Ser Tony turned around to find them. “Ladzig and Potifar, come here.”

  Both guards, clad in armor, made their way over from their mounts. They greeted Anthranor in unison. “My prince.”

  He nodded his head. “Ladzig. Potifar. I hope you enjoy your extended stay in Mosenhall.”

  The two of them smiled at him. “Thank you, my prince,” Ladzig replied.

  “I have instructed Ser Tony here to remain with Lucas Millard until he recovers. Once he is ready, you are to escort him to his home in Hildan. You may report to Hildan Keep after your mission has been completed. In the case of my absence, I suggest you return to the capital.”

  “Yes, my prince.” They bowed before him.

  Waving them away, Ser Tony handed the reins of his horse, Buck, off to a waiting stableboy. A wide grin broke across his face as he turned to Anthranor and Ser Dorristan. ”Well, I suppose this is where we say our farewells, then.”

  “Indeed, for now.” Anthranor shook his hand. “I shall see you on the other side, Ser Tony.”

  “I certainly hope so.” He chuckled. “Safe travels, my prince. You as well, Kelsaphon.”

  “Don’t do anything stupid while we’re away,” Dorristan quipped.

  His comment stoked a storm of laughter from the Avonta knight. He clapped Dorristan’s shoulder pauldron. “As if.”

  Standing back with Ladzig and Potifar, Ser Tony watched on as the prince and the others mounted up. “Do send my regards to the Archduke.”

  Anthranor gave a fond smile as he slid on his helmet. “I will.”

  The gates of Mosenhall were opened as the prince swiveled his horse around. Leading the column through, he charged onto the open road, with the Imperial banners of black and gold waving proudly in the wind behind him.