The heavy wooden door creaked open, and the servant gasped softly as she found herself staring up at a knight—tall as a tower and clad in armor that glead with the dull sheen of a long ride. He lood in the doorway like a statue of war, broad-shouldered and formidable, the crest of House of Connor emblazoned across his chestplate. His shadow stretched across the stone floor like a dark on.
She tilted her head back slowly, her breath caught in her throat as her eyes traced his height—easily over 195 centiters. For a heartbeat, she stood frozen.
"I seek the young Duke, Sandoz," the knight said, his voice deep and resonant, like thunder rolling over distant hills.
Blinking rapidly, the servant finally found her bearings and bobbed a hasty curtsy before spinning on her heel and rushing down the corridor. Her footsteps echoed against the high ceilings as she burst into the dining hall, where the clink of cutlery halted and a dozen curious eyes turned toward her.
"Sir," she said breathlessly, "a knight is at the door. He is asking for Sandoz."
At the head of the table, Sandoz rose with quiet dignity. His movents were smooth, asured—marked with a maturity that hadn’t always been there. Ivan, seated beside him, watched with silent admiration. So much had changed.
Without a word, Lara and Jethru stood and followed Sandoz, their expressions tense with anticipation.
At the door, the knight bowed with military precision before speaking. "Duke Connor returns to the capital this afternoon. He requests that young Lord Sandoz be ho by then."
Sandoz gave a curt nod. "Understood."
Once the knight had turned and disappeared down the long stone path, his cloak billowing behind him like a storm cloud, Lara turned sharply to Jethru. Her voice dropped to a low murmur.
"Why is Duke Connor leaving so suddenly? Did sothing happen in the capital?"
Jethru’s jaw tightened. "Word is, the Estalis army has taken Carles. They’re pushing toward Hainai now."
Lara’s brows drew together in alarm. "Already? But Carles was heavily fortified. My father and my brothers—they spent the last two years building its defenses."
Jethru’s gaze shifted, unreadable. He was studying her reaction. "Did Alaric not tell you?"
"No," she said, her voice quieter now. "We haven’t spoken much about Carles. Father ntioned hearing whispers—murmurs of unrest. The people still believed in him, believed he was wrongly accused. Even if they were angry... surely they wouldn’t hand Carles over to Estalis."
She turned, pacing a few steps, her mind spinning. "It’s barely been a month since Father was exiled. How could Carles fall so quickly? The walls are strong, the garrison loyal..."
"Loyalty can crumble faster than stone when doubt takes root," Jethru said grimly. "And sotis all it takes is the right voice in the right ear."
"But my father’s soldiers are loyal to him. They would not betray nor doubt him. I don’t believe that it’s the reason."
"Well," Jethru said, lowering his voice and glancing around as if the stone walls themselves might be listening, "word is your second cousin wasn’t just incompetent—he was a fool. But he didn’t fall by the sword." He paused, his eyes narrowing as they t Lara’s. "He fell... because of a woman."
Lara blinked, taken aback. "A woman?" She stopped pacing. "And Alaric—he knows sothing, doesn’t he?"
"I’d wager he does," Jethru replied. "Ask him. He won’t say it freely, but if you press... he might tell you what really happened."
The west wing of Hevenfort palace was quieter than the rest. It was Alaric’s living quarters, more shadowed, and filled with rooms people do not visit unless they had business they didn’t want overheard. Lara walked its narrow corridor with purpose, her boots clicking softly against the stone, her cloak whispering behind her.
She found Alaric in his study bent over a map of the Alta-Sierra and the eastern provinces, his fingers tracing the black-inked borders of Carles.
"You should’ve told ," she said, her voice cutting through the still air like a blade.
Alaric didn’t look up. "Told you what?"
"That Carles didn’t fall to Estalis—it was handed to them? By soone inside?"
He finally t her gaze. His expression was unreadable. "Her na is Briella. I know you rember her. She is Bener’s girlfriend."
"Briella?" Then scenes from two years ago flashed before her eyes. She was the woman who riled the citizens of Carles to go against the soldiers of Northem. And when the war ended, she was the woman who almost fooled them with her antics. The woman who Bener pitied.
"Please explain it to !" she demanded, stepping closer.
He hesitated, then walked to the window and stared out at the hills that rolled like sleeping beasts beneath the afternoon sun.
"When your family was taken out of Carles and brought to the capital, your father’s fief was handed to your uncle Marlon and since he was busy in the capital, it was rlin Norse, your cousin who took over. Briella seduced your cousin was infatuated almost imdiately—paraded her like a queen. No one dared question it... until it was too late. The night the gates opened, she disappeared. Left no trace."
Lara’s stomach twisted. "A spy?"
"Worse," Alaric said darkly. "A whisperblade. One of zira’s shadow won. Trained in charm, manipulation , poison, and secrets. She got close to him, broke the chain of command from the inside, and let their soldiers through the southern breach."
Lara turned away, pressing a hand to her mouth. "Idiot!"
"She didn’t just take Carles," Alaric continued. "She humiliated us. Made it look like weakness and lust brought down our walls. And now the people talk—about your cousin’s failure, about your family’s fall, about how the east is no longer invincible."
Silence fell between them for a mont, heavy and raw. "He is still a Norse, Lara."
"Yeah." She replied sarcastically. "The scourge of the Norse na."
She breathed heavily.
"I need to speak with Duke Connor," Lara said finally. "He’s going to the capital. If what you’re saying is true, there are more of these whisperblades. And they won’t stop at Carles."
Alaric turned toward her. "The capital isn’t safe. Actually, Estalis is just a pawn. The true power behind the fall of Carles is Turik and their target is Savadra."
"Turik. I rember him. I was supposed to be gifted to him," Lara said, her voice like steel.
"What do you plan to do, Alaric?" Lara asked after a long pause.
"Wait. I will wait for the right mont. To be honest, I admire Turik’s strategy. He skipoed the bloody part of war."
Lara stepped out of the study, her breath shallow, her thoughts racing. The fall of Carles had only been the first strike. And sowhere in the heart of Northem, shadows were gathering.
Reviews
All reviews (0)