The fireplace in the room crackled as the wood snapped and popped, yet it could not dispel the cold and despair that hung heavily in the air.
Veer sat alone behind the large desk, her knuckles white from clenching too tightly the letter that had just been delivered by a messenger braving the snow and wind.
On the envelope was the imperial black eagle wax seal entwined with thorns—a symbol of the empire’s highest authority. To her, it looked like the brand of a demon.
The letter’s contents were brief but devastating—the Empress of the Empire, Fredricia, the conqueror who had just crushed the kingdom’s three centuries-old fortresses and trampled the northern border beneath her feet, was now proactively proposing… peace talks?!
The location was laced with irony—the newly established Raven Territory, rebuilt entirely by Irene Raven herself, now a land under the empire’s control.
“What exactly does she want?” Veer muttered, her voice dry and hoarse, filled with an absurd disbelief.
The immense pressure weighed on her like an invisible boulder pressing on her shoulders day and night, leaving her exhausted and drained.
Yet, this sudden letter proposing peace was like a faint light piercing the abyss of darkness, whether that light was from hellfire or not, it made her trembling heart skip a beat.
A fragile flame called “hope” had ignited uncontrollably amid the ashes of despair.
No matter what hidden malice the other side harbored, the very act of peace talks was a rare chance for respite—possibly the kingdom’s only path to survival as it teetered on the brink of collapse.
Several days later, on the border of the Raven Territory, inside a hastily erected neutral tent heavy with a stifling atmosphere like solid lead.
Veer entered with a squad of the kingdom’s elite royal knights, their heavy armor softly clinking in the silence.
The interior was sparse—a single long table with a few chairs, the seat of honor conspicuously empty.
The moment her eyes landed on the figure seated beside that empty throne, it was like a lightning strike. Blood seemed to freeze in her veins.
Long golden hair, silky as the finest silk, flowing with a mysterious luster even under the dim tent light.
An exquisitely delicate, almost unreal face, lips curled in a half-smile that seemed to see through everything.
It was her! The woman Veer had caught in the Raven Territory governor’s office, seen sharing an intimate posture with Irene!
That so-called “Governor Clarette!”
Veer sucked in a cold breath, a chill rushing from her feet to the crown of her head.
All the clues—the forged marquis Cecil’s orders, the strange troop movements at the border, the silent replacement of fortress commanders, Irene’s framing as a traitor—these scattered pieces suddenly clicked together into a terrifying conspiracy puzzle with this fleeting glance!
The empress had disguised herself as a maid, infiltrated Irene’s side, exploited Irene’s trust to draw away the main border troops, driven wedges in the royal court, and coordinated with the shadowy blade “Dawn Night” to seize the fortresses… every link perfect and seamless!
And she, the kingdom’s heir apparent, had been completely unaware—had even, while in the capital, distanced herself from Irene because of those malicious rumors and publicly called off the engagement, severing the last tie with Irene with her own hands!
The shock, the feeling of being duped, and a bone-deep defeat mixed with fear strangled her heart.
“So… it was you!” Veer’s voice was dry, trembling with a bitter, almost admiring respect. “Empress Fredricia… what a strategy! What audacity!”
To dare, as a monarch, to risk herself by penetrating the enemy’s heart, playing the humble maid—such cunning, patience, and courage were beyond what ordinary people could comprehend!
Fredricia bowed gracefully, accepting the “praise” from her subject with calm composure.
Her eyes scanned Veer’s pale face with a hint of amusement: “Prince Veer, you flatter me. These are but small measures taken to achieve my goals. Compared to Your Highness’s ‘just governance’ and ‘great wisdom,’ my petty tricks are nothing.”
Her words were gentle but pierced Veer’s deepest wounds like poisoned needles.
Veer’s face paled further. She forced herself to calm down—it was not the time to dwell on the past.
She straightened her back and maintained her dignity as heir apparent, cutting straight to the point: “Your Majesty has proposed peace talks, so there must be terms. What are the conditions?” Her voice tightened imperceptibly.
Fredricia leaned slightly forward, fingers elegantly interlaced on the polished table, her posture relaxed yet pressing down like a mountain: “The terms? Very simple.”
Her clear and penetrating voice hammered on Veer’s taut nerves: “The Empire will immediately withdraw its troops. The fortresses of Maria, Rose, and Xina, including all defensive installations, armaments, and supplies, will be returned to the kingdom intact and spotless.”
She deliberately emphasized “intact” and “spotless.”
Veer’s heart leapt wildly! Return three fortresses?! It was an unbelievably tempting offer! Excitement surged through her head, but immediately after came a deeper, more intense wariness!
There is no such thing as a free lunch, and the Empress was no philanthropist! She suppressed her excitement and asked cautiously, “… The cost? How much war reparations must the kingdom pay? How much land must be ceded?”
She braced herself for astronomical demands.
“Reparations? Ceding land?” Fredricia laughed shortly, the sound mocking and amused, shaking her head, “No, Prince Veer. I don’t want a single penny.”
Veer was utterly stunned, her mind blank.
No reparations? This completely overturned her understanding of politics and war! A cold vine of unease instantly wrapped around her whole body, making it almost impossible to breathe.
“Then… what are Your Majesty’s terms?” Her voice trembled unknowingly.
A sharp gleam, as keen as a blade, flashed in Fredricia’s violet eyes as she spoke clearly and unequivocally:
“First, the Raven Territory.” Her finger tapped lightly on the table, as if confirming a trivial token, “From the moment this treaty is signed, the Raven Territory and all its subordinate towns, populations, and resources shall officially secede from the kingdom and belong forever to the Empire! It shall become an inseparable and sacred part of the Empire!”
Her tone was resolute, leaving no room for negotiation.
Veer furrowed her brow deeply, her heart sinking.
Raven Territory—home of Irene! Although strategically important, exchanging an entire territory for the return of three key fortresses and the Empire’s withdrawal… in such a critical moment for the kingdom’s survival, perhaps it was not unacceptable?
After all, fortresses were the kingdom’s gateways, far more significant.
She swallowed hard, bracing for the next, heavier demand.
Sure enough, Fredricia’s following demand thundered like a bolt beside Veer’s ear:
“Second,” the Empress’s voice suddenly rose, radiating an irresistible authority, “The imperial army requires passage through the kingdom’s land. Destination—The Holy Capital!”
“Passage?!” Veer exclaimed, jumping up in shock, her face draining of color like paper. “Allow the Empire to march through the heartland, directly to the Holy Capital?! Your Majesty, do you really think that once given passage, the Empire will ‘return’ the way it came?!”
This was a naked invitation to the wolf! Once tens of thousands of imperial soldiers penetrated the kingdom’s interior, who could guarantee they wouldn’t pillage and burn? Who could guarantee they wouldn’t seize towns along the route?
What difference was there from throwing open the gates to thieves? The kingdom would become nothing but fish on the Empire’s chopping block!
“Of course they will ‘return’,” Fredricia smiled slyly, her confidence absolute. She leaned back leisurely, watching Veer lose composure like enjoying a brilliant drama, “Because that is my agreement with Irene. I promised her, as long as she follows me back to the Empire, I will withdraw the troops and help the Shadow Blade Guild retake the Holy Capital and destroy the demon Jerorel.”
She paused, her eyes flickering with a strange light as she emphasized her vow, “My word is my bond.”
“Irene?!” Veer felt her heart gripped by an invisible hand, stopping its beat before thundering wildly.
Breathing became impossibly difficult. A surge of panic flooded her instantly.
“Where is Irene?! What have you done to her?! What did you do to her?!”
She could no longer maintain her composure as heir apparent. Her voice sharp, full of urgency, panic, and uncontrollable rage, she slammed her hands on the table, leaning forward, almost lunging to question her.
Fredricia watched Veer’s complete loss of control, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, her smile growing brighter and more radiant—almost cruelly triumphant and mocking.
She elegantly interlaced her fingers before her, relaxed into the chair, speaking slowly with a tone of deliberate provocation and pride:
“Irene? She is well. Very well.” She paused to savor the sudden pain and dread flashing in Veer’s eyes, then continued at leisure, “Moreover, she has gladly agreed to return to the Empire with me.”
She deliberately stressed “gladly,” fully aware of what Irene’s “agreement” truly meant.
“As for where she is…” Fredricia tilted her head slightly, emerald eyes dripping with unhidden contempt and irony, her tone cold and distant, “Prince Veer, forgive my frankness, but it seems that you and she, witnessed by the kingdom’s nobles and people, have long since severed all ties, yes? The annulment papers, the ink likely still wet? Where she chooses to go, whom she chooses to follow, it seems—”
She deliberately dragged out the tone, each word a poisoned ice pick stabbing Veer’s heart, “—is no longer for Your Highness to concern or inquire about.”
This sentence, like the sharpest executioner’s blade, struck with crushing force, severing Veer’s last shred of hope and fantasy!
Indeed! She was the one who publicly annulled the engagement! At the royal banquet, she was the one who openly condemned Irene as “arrogant” and allowed her to be slandered by rumors!
She had personally, bit by bit, cut off all ties, trust, and bonds with Irene!
What right did she have? By what position? In what capacity? To question Irene’s whereabouts?
To care about her safety? To interfere with her choices?!
Veer felt her strength drain in an instant. Darkness flickered before her eyes, the world spinning wildly.
She staggered back a step, clutching the cold chair to avoid collapsing.
The overwhelming regret was like the most corrosive acid, ravenously eating away at her insides, bringing unbearable pain.
She was dazed, lips trembling, unable to utter a sound, finally forcing out a few dry, broken syllables from deep in her throat:
“… This matter… concerns the kingdom. Please… allow me to… consider it…”
Her voice was faint, as if it might dissolve into the air at any moment.
Sole City, the heir’s cold temporary bedchamber.
Heavy velvet curtains were drawn tightly, shutting out the raging snowstorm and the gloomy daylight beyond.