“Oh my. Have those two already fallen for each other?”
Kalian’s mocking voice flew in.
A rough voice from the table joined in.
“To bewitch the stone-faced Sir Rehat—could that girl be a witch?”
Blayden wiped the blood from his face, then grabbed Leni by the neck.
“You fool. What now?”
His sharp eyes blazed with fury.
Leni opened her mouth as her throat tightened.
His merciless hand clamped her wrist and slammed it to the floor.
Preventing her from using the steel pin, Blayden swept her dress with his other hand, and tears welled up in her eyes.
Please, dear god.
Save me from this pit.
As if in response to her desperate prayer, a solemn voice rang out.
“This is disgraceful before noble guests!”
Leni threw her head back at the thundering rebuke that echoed through the banquet hall.
A middle-aged man was walking alone.
He was tall and looked like a moving sun, wearing a sleeveless, vibrant orange robe over a white cloak.
His thick silver hair glistened as if the moon had been placed upon his head.
“Control yourselves. This is not some barbaric battlefield.”
The man scolded Blayden and then approached Kalian.
Leni looked him over from the bottom up.
Her eyes caught the hands respectfully clasped in front of him.
There was a long, red scar clearly visible on the back of his hand.
That scar…
A chill ran through Leni as she checked the man’s face.
Neatly combed hair, stern eyes, composed lips, and a golden sun pendant hanging from his neck.
Everything had changed, but she remembered those gray eyes.
“If you do nothing, nothing will happen.”
He was the beggar she had met at the market.
“Oh, Priest Boren. We were just getting to the fun part. Please, have a seat.”
Kalian gestured toward the table.
The man, now addressed as a priest, didn’t spare a glance at the food and said,
“There’s something urgent I must report. Let us move somewhere more private, Your Highness.”
Leni felt her body jolt.
Startled, she turned her head.
Blayden, who had her slung over his shoulder, stood and turned around as if bowing to an audience.
“Well then, please continue your meal. I shall now withdraw to continue my disgraceful conduct elsewhere.”
***
In the King’s Hall,
Priest Boren handed a copper coin to Kalian.
“Counterfeit coins are circulating.”
“What?”
“I first saw them at a tavern in Shapiro Market last winter, near the end of the war. Now, a considerable number have spread in the commercial district. The merchants are growing more discontented.”
Who would dare do such a thing?
Kalian snatched the coin and examined it.
“The emblem on it is also troubling.”
Coins minted by the royal mint bore the king’s face and an eagle’s head.
But the coin in his hand was engraved with a sun—the crest of the Kiabeck royal family, which had fallen 21 years ago.
“Could it be a faction trying to restore a fallen kingdom?”
“That’s not a conclusion we can jump to. But whoever is behind this, judging by the craftsmanship and distribution, they’re part of a well-organized operation.”
Kalian clenched the coin tightly.
After paying the mercenaries, the royal treasury would be on the brink of collapse.
They needed more money than ever—yet now counterfeits were flooding the market.
“Would you take a look at this as well?”
Boren pulled a rolled-up parchment from his sleeve and placed it on the table.
Kalian unfolded the thick scroll.
It was a color document with noble family crests and names arranged like a tree.
“A genealogy chart?”
“It’s a forged bloodline pedigree. This issue has been going on for some time. After it became fashionable for wealthy merchants to form marriage ties with the noble houses of the fallen Kiabeck, people began to disguise their status to cash in. The merchants get to rise in status, and the ruined nobles escape poverty—so their desires align perfectly. I’ve heard there are even brokers who connect both sides.”
What a wretched age.
Lies and deceit rule over both gold and blood.
As rage surged within him, a different thought flashed through Kalian’s mind.
“These are serious matters that could shake the kingdom’s foundation. I’ll convene a cabinet meeting tomorrow. Priest Boren, you must attend as well. It would be helpful if you could report the information gathered from the streets and contribute your thoughts on countermeasures.”
The King is unconscious.
This is still a closely guarded secret, known only to a few within the palace.
He must use the cabinet meeting as a pretext to gather the nobles in one place and win them over—so the procedure of succession to the throne goes undisputed.
If, by misfortune, His Majesty wakes, Kalian can at least claim credit for having handled state affairs.
Kalian found himself rather pleased with his plan.
“Having said all I must, I shall now take my leave.”
Boren bowed respectfully.
As the priest began to step back, Kalian called him again.
“Do you happen to know where His Majesty keeps the royal seal?”
Upon hearing that the king had collapsed, Kalian had immediately searched the royal bedchamber.
But the box where the seal should’ve been stored was empty.
“How could a humble servant like me know such a thing?”
“It wasn’t in any of the likely places. I plan to investigate Lord Rehat, so persuade him to cooperate. If I step in personally, he’ll only become defensive.”
“You believe His Majesty entrusted the seal to Lord Rehat?”
“It’s possible. Blayden Mateus Rehat. My father considered him half a son.”
Kalian chewed over Blayden’s full name like a gristle between his teeth.
“That’s why he raised Blayden and me like brothers.”
“He gave him to you as a toy, Your Highness.”
“Ha! Have you ever seen a toy so proud and aloof?”
Two princes, both seven years old.
One the son of a conqueror, the other of a fallen tyrant.
One child, excited by warm lands; the other, trampled and humiliated, yet never bending.
Has it already been 21 years?
As memories of young Blayden surfaced, Kalian decided to test Boren.
“You must want Lord Rehat to become king, too. You’re from Kiabeck, like him.”
“I serve Tigrinu, the noblest among nobles, and am sworn to His Highness.”
“Is that so? Then your loyalty lies with the king. But what if the crown ends up on another head?”
“Your Highness, I have pledged my loyalty to Equilium. I take pride in having upheld that oath for the past 21 years.”
Outwardly, perhaps.
But who can truly know a man’s heart?
Kalian scrutinized Boren with a cool gaze.
Boris Boren—once a close aide to the fallen king of Kiabeck and manager of the Hall of Spirits.
Even after his nation’s lifeline was severed, he managed to survive and retain power.
His hair had grayed, but time seemed to have otherwise spared him.
His solid frame and piercing eyes gave off more the air of a warrior than a priest.
To command spirits and repel demons—is that not a kind of warfare too?
A man of great intellect and deep learning.
And a man whose heart remains unreadable.
Like an unreadable book, Boren was someone Kalian had always been wary of.
“Priest Boren, I know what kind of deal you made with His Majesty after Kiabeck fell. Unfortunately, I’m not interested in that arrangement.”
“Yes. I expected as much.”
“Then think carefully about how to ensure your future safety.”
As if in reply to the mixed tone of persuasion and pressure, Boren asked:
“The leader of the theater troupe that visited His Majesty today is currently in the temple. Would you like to meet him, Your Highness?”
If it was the leader of the troupe, that would be Martin Skalson, an old friend of Kalian’s father.
He had reportedly been invited by royal decree to perform in celebration of the recent victory.
His daughter had aided Kiabel.
Could the royal seal have ended up with her?
Suppressing his hasty expectations, Kalian gave a slight nod.
“Take me to him.”
***
Blayden kicked open the thick oak door and strode into the spacious room.
The moment the door slammed shut behind him, Leniwas thrown roughly to the floor.
Blayden bent over her, seized her chin, and growled, “Did you not understand when I told you to pretend to faint?”
“Get your filthy hands off me!”
Leni glared at him.
She had heard tales of wives or mistresses pretending to faint during intercourse to please their men.
She had not the slightest intention of playing along with this arrogant man’s delusions.
“If you don’t let go, I’ll stab you.”
She pointed the pin in her hand at Blayden’s face, but instead of recoiling, the grip on her chin tightened.
“You think I jumped on you because I wanted to? You stupid brat—you pretending to faint was the only way I could pull back.”
Staring at the growling Blayden, Leni froze.
There was a shimmer of moisture in his dark eyes.
Despite the rigid expression locked in anger, that glimmer pierced through to her heart.
“You’re too dense to tell friend from foe, flailing around like an idiot.”
Wait.
So… the reason he whispered in her ear back then—
Her grip on the pin loosened slowly.
“Did you… at the banquet… try to help me?”
“I don’t get off on playing with limp corpses.”
Blayden shoved her face away and turned his head to the side.
The candlelight cast shadows across his wild features.
His disheveled hair framed a face as solid as a fortress.
The bold, straight bridge of his nose and his strong jawline exuded raw masculinity, and his thick neck and broad shoulders were overpowering—yet impossible to look away from.
His jaw clenched tight, the muscles tense, before his intense gaze returned to her.
“You…”
His lips parted slowly—then shut again.
Leni leaned forward slightly, but Blayden didn’t continue.
There was a clear smear of blood on one side of his face, where the shadows fell.
The dark crimson streak looked almost alive.
Leni swallowed hard.
So this man is the Red Wolf…
She couldn’t believe she was standing this close to the war hero who’d ravaged battlefields.
Blayden stared at her in turn, his gaze just as watchful.
For a long moment, the two simply looked at each other in silence.
The candle flickered softly in the stillness, and their locked eyes were like gladiators’—each seeking the other’s weakness before the next strike.