Chapter 103: Arrival in Paraphal
The towers rose above the snow-capped hills, shrouded in a cold mist that reflected the pale glow of the afternoon sun. The walls were vast, reinforced with black iron and crimson banners that fluttered heavily in the wind. The banners bore the duchy’s symbol—a silver falcon with its talons spread over a field of wine.
The road leading to the main gates was lined with rows of ice-covered pine trees. The sound of Ester’s white horse’s hooves echoed along the path, accompanied by the relaxed rhythm of Damon’s laughter.
"Beautiful place," he comnted, leaning over her shoulder, his voice thick with irony. "But it seems... cold. Like you."
Ester didn’t answer. Her eyes were fixed on the approaching walls, taking in details—the archers positioned on the parapets, the way the guards exchanged discreet glances, the reinforced plates of the gate. The Duchy of Paraphal had always been known for its ostentation... and its paranoia.
"Damon," she said quietly. "When we’re inside, refrain from speaking."
He arched an eyebrow. "Refrain from speaking? You’re asking
to deny myself."
"I’m asking you not to give
a reason to hang you."
He let out a soft laugh, pressing his body a little closer to hers. "What if I tell you I like it when you talk like that?"
"I’ll pretend I didn’t hear."
The horse slowed as they approached the main gate. Four soldiers stood at the entrance, wearing polished armor and red cloaks. Their crossed spears blocked the passage before Ester could even say a word.
"Halt!" one of them ordered, his voice firm. "Identify yourselves."
Ester raised her head, her gaze cold and imposing. Even covered by a simple traveling cloak, there was sothing about her posture that bespoke authority.
"My na is Ester Deathstriker, personal servant and guard to Countess Elizabeth Valemont."
The na fell through the air like a blade.
For a mont, none of the guards moved. The one who had spoken earlier blinked in confusion—then took a half-step back, as if the ground had beco thinner beneath his feet.
"D-Deathstriker...?" one of them repeated, his voice almost trembling.
The others exchanged apprehensive glances. One of the younger ones swallowed and, almost automatically, lowered his spear.
"The... The ’Deathstriker’? The Countess’s monster hunter...?"
Ester nodded only once. "The very one."
The older guard, a man with a gray beard and an experienced gaze, frowned. "You... are known." The word "ma’am" ca out as if it were an admission of fear. "But she hadn’t been seen outside Valemont in months."
"The Countess sent
on a direct mission," Ester replied calmly. "I have business with the Duke."
Silence fell again. The soldiers looked at each other, as if waiting for soone else to make the decision. Damon, of course, found this highly amusing.
"Wow," he murmured close to her ear, with a lazy smile. "You say the na and they almost kneel. I bet if you said ’open the gate,’ they’d apologize first."
Ester gave him a sidelong, deadly look. "Damon."
"I’m just saying... it’s nice to see soone afraid of you other than ."
"You’re not afraid of ."
"True," he smiled. "I just like to provoke danger."
One of the guards cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. "Mrs. Deathstriker... the Duke isn’t accustod to receiving unannounced visitors."
"Then today will be an exception," she said firmly.
The man hesitated, then gestured quickly to a subordinate. "I’ll send soone to notify the castle." Her eyes then shifted to Damon, who until then had seed completely at ease, sitting on his horse behind her.
The guards’ gazes traveled slowly over him: his tousled blond hair, his careless smile... and finally, his horns—black with purple highlights—curving gently over his head. Just below, small black wings folded against his back, barely visible beneath his cloak, but enough to chill the soldiers’ blood.
The air seed to shift.
One of the guards instinctively reached for his sword. Another took a step back.
"By the Gods..." one of them murmured. "He... he’s a..."
Ester sighed, crossing her arms. "Yes. It’s exactly what it looks like."
"An incubus," the captain finished, his voice tense, his eyes fixed on Damon.
The blond just smiled, tilting his head theatrically. "The very one. And before you ask—no, I’m not going to steal anyone’s soul. At least, not before dinner."
The younger soldier’s eyes widened, nearly stumbling back. "He... he talks?!"
"Sotis too much," Ester replied dryly.
Damon laughed, pleased. "Geez, you talk about
as if I were a dangerous demon."
"You are," she said flatly.
"Exactly!" He winked at the guards. "Then rest assured, she knows how to handle ."
The n exchanged glances, clearly unsure of what to do. An incubus in Paraphal would be reason enough to mobilize half the guard, but with Ester Deathstriker, Countess Elizabeth’s handmaiden—a woman rumored to have slain a dragon with her own hands—no one dared lift a finger without knowing what would be more dangerous: stopping them or letting them pass.
The captain took a deep breath, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Lady Deathstriker, with all due respect, demonic creatures are not permitted to enter the Duchy without Church registration."
Ester looked up, impassive. "He is under my supervision."
"Even so, I—"
She interrupted him, stepping forward. "Do you wish to take personal responsibility for delaying a direct order from the Countess of Mirath?"
The ntion of the na felt like an invisible blow. The man paled, flinching.
"The Countess... Elizabeth...?"
"Yes." Her voice was sharp. "And I advise you to think carefully before creating a diplomatic incident between two noble houses."
The captain hesitated only a second longer before lowering his spear. "Of course." He swallowed hard. "Open the gates!"
The other guards hurried to obey, turning the heavy crank that raised the iron bridge with a tallic creak. Damon watched with genuine interest, his smile growing wider by the second.
"You should teach
that trick," he whispered. "Saying soone’s na and seeing doors open."
"It’s not a trick. It’s authority."
"Oh, I see." He rested his chin on her shoulder, his voice low. "So that’s what I’m missing."
"I’m missing a lot, Damon."
The gate opened with a final click. The bridge lowered, revealing the interior of the Duchy of Paraphal—wide streets of gray stone, tall buildings with colorful stained-glass windows, and an imposing castle in the distance, surrounded by frozen gardens and towers guarded by sentries.
As the horse passed through the gate, curious glances began to gather. Citizens stopped what they were doing, staring at the slowly advancing pair: the warrior with the icy expression and the blond demon who smiled as if he were at ho.
Ester kept her gaze straight ahead, ignoring the murmurs. Damon, on the other hand, seed to relish the attention.
"I think they’re looking at ," he said. "I have that effect on people."
"They’re looking because they think you’re going to kill soone."
"Or because they think I’m too handso to be human."
She let out a heavy sigh. "I prefer the forr."
As they advanced down the main street, the guards at their posts still watched them, alert. So discreetly made the sign of the cross; others whispered short prayers. An incubus in Paraphal was a bad on—and Ester’s presence only reinforced the strangeness of the scene.
Soon, the captain approached again, mounted on another horse, his tone more humble:
"The Duke’s entourage will be notified of your arrival, Mistress Deathstriker. But..." he hesitated, glancing at Damon, "...does... he... need to be present at the hearing?"
Ester glanced over her shoulder, her gaze sharp enough to silence any protest. "Yes."
Damon smiled, satisfied. "See? I’m indispensable."
"You’re a burden."
"An indispensable burden." He smirked. "That’s a start."
The captain didn’t insist. He simply walked away, visibly relieved to be keeping his distance.
As they rode toward the main castle, Damon leaned closer, whispering, "You know... I think I like it here. The people are so... expressive."
Ester gave him a look that promised death. "Damon, if you open your mouth in front of the Duke, I swear I—"
"I know, I know." He laughed, finishing for her. "’You’ll kill .’ I’ve heard that speech before."
"And I’m still considering following through."
The horse trotted steadily over the stones, the cold wind carrying the distant sound of church bells. Ahead, Paraphal Castle rose in all its glory—a monunt to ambition and power.
Damon looked at him, his smile softening.
"So this is where the man who wants to marry the Countess lives?"
Ester held his gaze. "This is where the problem lies."
The horse advanced a few more ters, until the shadow of the towers covered them completely.
The castle’s inner gates slowly opened, revealing the frozen gardens of the Duchy. Rows of dead rose bushes stood between stone paths covered in a thin layer of snow. The fountains were still, the statues—angels and falcons—covered in ice.
The white horse advanced silently, the sound of its hooves echoing between marble columns. The air here was different—heavy, as if the very atmosphere carried the weight of the nobility that lived within its walls.
The Duke’s mansion lood ahead, a colossus of Gothic architecture with slender turrets and dark blue stained-glass windows. The silver falcon crest was carved above the double doors, flanked by guards in black armor with the symbol embroidered on their chests.
Damon whistled, impressed. "Wow... looks like soone wanted to make it clear they’re important."
Ester didn’t respond. She watched each guard, every detail—the way their hands rested close to their swords, the way their eyes followed their movents. No gesture escaped her notice.
A herald rushed into the courtyard, panting. The man wore a blue doublet bearing the house crest and held a scroll of parchnt.
"Lady Ester Deathstriker?" he said, bowing slightly.
"Yes."
The herald glanced at Damon and paled visibly. "Duke Reginald of Paraphal has already been notified of your arrival. He requested that you both be shown to the main room imdiately."
Ester nodded. "Understood."
Damon smiled, dismounting from his horse with a light bounce. "Both." Look, I’ve already been promoted to official escort.
"Be quiet," she murmured.
He raised his hands. "I haven’t even said anything yet."
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