“What could Blayden possibly want with you, someone who looks like there’s nothing to gain?”
Kalian mused, his voice dripping with condescension, his gaze lingering on Leni’s captive form.
“I hate leaving him to have all the fun alone.”
What is he trying to do?
The chilling memory of Kalian ordering Blayden to violate her at the banquet hall flashed through Leni’s mind, and her vision went white with renewed terror.
His hand on her scar tightened slightly, a possessive, unsettling touch.
“It’s up to you whether you continue to live as a slave or become a free person again,” Kalian purred, his voice a deceptive balm.
Freedom. At the dream-like word, Leni’s eyes widened, a flicker of desperate hope igniting within her.
Kalian’s lips stretched into a long, thin smile, as if sensing her agitation, relishing her emotional turmoil.
“I’ll let you leave with your father. I’ll also continue to support the Scarson Troupe.”
“Will you really do that?”
Leni asked, her voice barely a whisper, clinging to the hope like a drowning person clutching a fragile straw.
“Of course,” Kalian affirmed, his ease of promise making her uneasy, yet she dared not question it.
“Please release Uncle Thomas first,” Leni pleaded, remembering the kind, gentle man.
The soldiers had taken Thomas, who was captured with her in Forêt Forest, to the dungeon.
The old administrator who had dragged her here had threatened that Thomas would be harmed if she didn’t cooperate, a cruel leverage.
“Very well,” Kalian conceded, a hint of impatience in his voice.
“And please remove the soldiers guarding the troupe members too,” Leni pushed her luck, emboldened by his compliance.
“I’ll grant your every wish,” Kalian promised in a voice so sweet it sent shivers down her spine, a promise that felt more like a threat.
Then he whispered in her ear, his breath warm against her skin, “If you become my person.”
***
Blayden tied his horse to a tree, its reins secured to a sturdy branch, and meticulously searched the surrounding area.
According to William, Leni had gone to Forêt Forest with Gabriel to pick mushrooms.
The area around the stream was where Gabriel usually collected his herbs, but there was no one, not even a shadow of a person.
Had they simply missed each other?
Gabriel might have returned to the apothecary while he was coming to the forest.
Leni would have surely followed him, eager to avoid his wrath.
Blayden, about to untie his horse, tilted his head, a nagging doubt settling in his mind.
Or not.
The thought that Leni was unpredictable, a creature of impulse, crossed his mind.
Members of the Scarson Troupe were camping in this very forest.
Why had Leni, who had shown a sudden, inexplicable interest in weapons, suddenly decided to follow them into the forest, seemingly for mundane mushroom gathering?
Little girl, you had a motive, he concluded, his instincts rarely wrong.
Blayden patted his horse’s flank as if telling it to wait patiently, then crossed the stream and walked on, his steps purposeful.
The spot where Leni had tried to practice kissing wasn’t far from here, a ridiculous memory that now held a strange significance.
Moving west from there would lead directly to the troupe’s campsite.
He needed to check if Leni had indeed slipped away to find her comrades, to seek refuge among her own people.
He hastened his steps, his ears straining, and a distinct rustling sound came from the bushes ahead.
Blayden drew his sword from its scabbard, the metallic whisper a familiar comfort.
He poked the rustling bushes with the tip of his sword, and a thin, trembling voice emerged.
“P-please help me.”
“Who’s there!”
Blayden demanded, his grip tightening on the hilt.
“Don’t cut me.”
A youthful, terrified face peered out from between the dense green leaves.
Blayden’s hand, holding the sword, tightened then relaxed, recognizing the boy.
It was Peter Colbert, the boy with ruddy cheeks full of freckles, Leni’s troupe friend.
The one who had run away without even getting a kiss right.
What was he doing here, so far from the campsite?
“Come out,” Blayden commanded, his voice firm but not unkind.
The boy, his neck hunched and eyes wide with terror, nervously pushed through the bushes and stood before Blayden, trembling like a leaf.
“What’s your name?”
Blayden asked.
“M-me?”
Peter stammered, still dazed with fear.
“Yes, you!”
Blayden reiterated, his patience wearing thin.
“Peter Colbert.”
“Peter, have you seen Solenia today?”
Blayden inquired, using Leni’s true name.
At his question, Peter’s face contorted as if he was about to burst into tears.
“She was captured by soldiers,” Peter blurted out, his voice cracking.
“An old administrator on a white horse ordered them to seize Leni, and they tied her with a rope and dragged her away. Uncle Thomas was dragged away with her too!”
Helping Gabriel was just an excuse after all, Blayden thought, a wave of annoyance washing over him.
Little girl, do you get sick if you stay still?
Why do you keep making things complicated?
“Leni took a sword from a soldier,” Peter continued, a note of awe in his voice despite his fear, “but before she could fight, a net flew in, and that was that.”
A sword?
A net?
Blayden was surprised at himself for checking first whether Leni was hurt.
But he quickly pushed away the complex thoughts, the unexpected concern that flickered within him. Saving Leni was urgent now.
Any personal feelings he had for her wouldn’t help solve the problem.
The old administrator on the white horse was undoubtedly Atenak, the chief administrator, Kalian’s confidante.
If she was caught by him, was Leni now in Kalian’s hands?
Peter’s next words confirmed his suspicion.
“That administrator said the Prince wanted to see Leni,” Peter recounted, his voice thick with emotion.
“I was hiding behind the bushes and saw Uncle Thomas and Leni, but I couldn’t even make a sound. I was a coward and just stood there, unable to help. What’s going to happen to Leni now? Ugh!”
Peter finally burst into uncontrollable tears, his face red and distorted by hiccups.
“Stop that,” Blayden commanded, placing a reassuring hand on Peter’s shoulder.
Peter glanced up at him, trembling, as if he thought he was being threatened instead of comforted.
Blayden stifled a sigh and lowered his voice, trying to soften his tone.
“Surviving isn’t cowardly.”
When he spoke as gently as possible, Peter’s eyes widened, a flicker of surprise amidst his grief.
Hiccup!
He was still hiccupping and watching Blayden’s reaction intently, but Peter was clearly relieved, his fear momentarily forgotten.
“If you’d stepped forward, you would’ve been dragged away too,” Blayden stated sincerely, then asked, “Are the troupe members still camping?”
“Yes. The soldiers have surrounded the campsite, but thankfully, they haven’t harmed us. They didn’t even take our food,” Peter confirmed.
Since Tigrinu had fallen, it was highly likely Kalian who sent the soldiers, exerting his newfound authority.
“Go back to the campsite for now.”
Hiccup!
Blayden pulled a square steel plate from his chest, intricately engraved, and handed it to Peter.
“If the soldiers bother you, show them this.”
Hiccup!
“Tell them if they torment the powerless, the Red Wolf will come.”
Peter’s hiccups worsened when he saw the wolf emblem engraved on the plate, a symbol of fear and renown.
“A-are you… hiccup… the Red… hiccup… Wolf?”
He even rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, as if wondering if he was dreaming, if this fearsome legend stood before him.
What an airhead.
Blayden thought, a flicker of exasperation.
How’s he going to navigate this tough world looking like that?
Blayden, frustrated by the boy’s lingering fear, slapped Peter lightly on the back, a sharp, surprising gesture.
“Snap out of it, little friend!”
“Yes!”
Peter exclaimed, startled, then froze for a moment before a wide smile spread across his tear-streaked face.
“Oh! My hiccups stopped. You’re amazing!”
Yes, amazing.
Blayden was confused whether to laugh or be angry at the boy’s simple-mindedness.
“Go quickly. Don’t wander alone; stay with the troupe members. And especially protect the young women while the soldiers are there.”
“Yes, yes,” Peter stammered out an unconvincing reply, then turned and started running, his scrawny legs carrying him quickly through the undergrowth.
Blayden watched his figure cut through the wind, then sighed.
He’s good at running away, at least.
Yes, that’s a talent too.
Survive, Peter Colbert, no matter what.
***
Blayden strode across the Hall of Mirrors with long, purposeful paces.
He had just heard from a servant that Kalian was inspecting the room, declaring it needed renovations, a pretext for his current presence.
Kalian, who had been admiring a mirror in the corner, bathed in the sunlight streaming through the window, turned at the sound of footsteps.
“Ah, Sir Leharth. You’ve come at just the right time. I’d like to decorate the golden frame around the mirror more elaborately, and I’m curious about your opinion. Would an eagle’s head be better, or a sun? Or perhaps an eagle with the sun in its mouth?”
Kalian prattled on, his tone mockingly amiable.
Blayden ignored Kalian’s words, his eyes fixed on the Prince, and advanced.
He stopped only when the distance between them narrowed to a single, tense step.
“I heard you took my slave.”
Kalian slowly stretched his lips into a long, thin smile, a chilling expression.
“How amusing. Sir Leharth, the great, rushing over to reclaim a slave. That bone you licked last night must have been very tasty.”
“The slave is my private property,” Blayden stated, his voice low and dangerous.
“Even a king cannot arbitrarily lay hands on a knight’s property. She was a slave you personally bestowed upon me last night. Do not disturb the kingdom’s discipline.”
“Hmph! Since when did you worry about the kingdom’s discipline?”
Kalian scoffed, thrusting his face closer to Blayden, his eyes narrowing.
“So, are you going to draw your sword? For the sake of just one slave girl?”
Blayden immediately sensed he had fallen into a trap. Kalian was desperate to uncover his weakness, to understand why he had asked for Leni at the banquet.
He couldn’t give the impression that he truly valued Leni here, not in front of Kalian.
“Don’t add more sin to the sin you’ve already committed, Blayden. You stood by and watched Kiabel die,” Kalian hissed, twisting the knife.
The secret mission at the banquet, his forced complicity in Kiabel’s fate, was a trap, just as he had expected.
“I could have you accused of royal murder and sent to prison,” Kalian continued, pressing his advantage.
“You’re in a situation where you should be worrying about your own life, not a slave’s. I’ve given you a task to atone for your sins, so just handle what you’re told to do properly.”
Even if he brought back the Shadow Flower, it wouldn’t count as a merit for him.
Bringing the flower back would barely break even, and failing the mission would simply add to his guilt, ensuring his downfall.
“You’re punishing me, then,” Blayden snarled, his eyes blazing with fury.
“I’m giving you a chance,” Kalian corrected, his smile widening.
“You lost the princess, so save His Majesty and beg for forgiveness.”
Blayden snarled at Kalian’s arrogant face.
“I have no intention of being forgiven.”
“Do what you’re told if you want to live,” Kalian’s voice hardened, becoming cold and menacing.
“You are a dog, Blayden Leharth. Your master will now change from your father to me. If you want to continue to be favored, wag your tail with discretion.”
The burning gazes of the two men clashed in the air, a silent battle of wills.
How could he get information about Leni’s whereabouts from this man, this calculating snake?
As Blayden pondered, a rhythmic thumping noise caught his attention.
Kalian’s eyebrow twitched, annoyance flickering across his face.
Thump!
Thump!
The noise from the corner of the room grew louder, more insistent.
A mirror at the source of the sound was subtly shaking, vibrating with the impact.
“Quite an active slave. Is this why you fell for her?”
Kalian sneered, a cruel amusement in his eyes, turning and approaching the vibrating mirror.
He pushed aside the large, rectangular full-length mirror, revealing a hidden inner space, a cramped, sunless alcove.
Leni was huddled in the cramped, sunless space.
Her limbs were tightly bound with ropes, restricting her every movement, and her mouth was gagged with a wide black cloth, silencing her cries.
Fear was clearly visible on her pale, strained face.
Kalian dragged Leni out from behind the mirror, her body awkward and stumbling, and pushed her onto the marble floor.
“Take her,” he commanded Blayden, his voice dismissive.
“She’s food for the dog.”
As the sprawling Leni lifted her head and looked at him with tear-filled eyes, a strange, unfamiliar sensation gripped Blayden, a tightening in his chest.
“How is it, slave? Are you glad to see your master?”
Kalian bent down, his voice a mocking whisper, and stroked Leni’s head, a possessive gesture.
Leni, holding her head up stiffly despite her fear, put all her force into her gaze, a silent defiance.
Even after all this, you still haven’t come to your senses.
Blayden thought, an exasperated concern bubbling within him.
Being defiant will only provoke them further.
Blayden strode toward Leni and gripped her shoulder.
Her small, round shoulder fit snugly in one hand and trembled beneath his touch.
Contrary to his worry that she would resist, Leni merely huddled herself, seeking comfort in his touch, however rough.
Blayden tightened his grip on Leni’s shoulder, a silent promise of protection, and glared at Kalian, his eyes blazing.
“Take your hands off. So I can take what’s mine and leave.”