Ashenhold Tower
What Dietrich didn’t know was that Gerhard had been planning his escape for a long ti, from the mont he decided to side with the Grand Duke of Borgia. The resignation letter had only been a signal, the final move in a strategy that had taken months to prepare.
He hadn’t planned to resign that morning. The words had simply slipped out, born from exhaustion, anger, and years of swallowing his pride. But once they were spoken, there was no turning back.
Frustration had pushed him past the point of hesitation, and now all he could do was move faster than he’d intended. If plan A was ruined by impulse, then plan B would have to begin sooner than expected.
He had seen it coming: the Emperor’s growing paranoia, the thinning patience in court, and the way the nobles whispered about loyalty as if it were a fragile coin to be traded. Gerhard knew that once he left his post as Chancellor, Dietrich would never let him simply walk away.
That was why he had been careful. In the Royal Guard, among the Emperor’s most trusted n, he had built a small circle of his own: knights who had once served under his family’s banner, n who owed him debts of honor, or who simply believed that the Empire was rotting from the inside.
By the ti he stepped out of the Emperor’s office that morning, the plan was already in motion. He didn’t glance back. The great hall of the palace is like staring behind him, its white pillars catching the early sunlight, and for a brief second, he felt sothing like grief. Decades of service, years spent beside a man he had once called his ruler, and now, all of it would vanish the mont he left the palace gates.
But he couldn’t afford sentint. In a narrow corridor reserved for the royal guards, he slipped into a small armory. There, one of his loyal n was already waiting with a different uniform, a Wyndham Knight’s attire, the insignia polished, the fabric plain enough to blend in.
Gerhard stripped off his Chancellor’s cloak, folding it once before setting it aside, and put on the armor piece by piece. The weight felt strange, heavier sohow, but necessary. By the ti he pulled the hood over his head, he no longer looked like the Emperor’s right hand.
The knight who accompanied him gave a short nod. Together they walked through the western passage, where supply carts and soldiers ca and went. No one questioned them. To the guards stationed there, they were just two n on an errand, escorting a spy caught in the city outskirts.
"Another Borgia spy found," the knight said curtly as they reached the Ashenhold Tower, his tone carrying the confidence of habit.
The tower guard frowned but didn’t seem suspicious. "That’s the third one this week. The Emperor will be pleased."
"Aye," the knight said with a grin. "And pleased n reward well. We’ve got roasted beef and a cask of wine from the Emperor’s own table. Co join us. My friend here will lock the spy inside." He gestured lazily toward another knight who held Gerhard, who kept his hood low, hands bound with a short piece of rope for realism.
The scent of spiced wine and promise was all it took. The tower guards, n of low pay and lower patience, exchanged eager looks. "You an it?" one asked.
"Would I lie about food?" The knight chuckled, slapping the man’s shoulder. "It’s still warm." Temptation was stronger than duty. Within monts, the guards were following the promise of at and drink, leaving the heavy door of the tower unattended.
"We’ll eat just outside," one of them said. "They’re not going anywhere."
"Yes, yes, you’re right," the other replied, his voice already fading down the corridor.
As their footsteps disappeared, Gerhard exhaled slowly, his hands falling free from the rope with a flick. The knight beside him gave a silent bow before stepping back. Gerhard looked up at the dark interior of the Ashenhold Tower, the place that would hide him until nightfall, and nodded once.
The knight moved swiftly; every motion was fast and precise, while Gerhard ascended the narrow stairs two steps at a ti. Below, the knight played his part perfectly; he unlatched one of the smaller cell doors on the lower level and swung it open with a loud, echoing creak that filled the tower halls.
"Viscount Wyndham! Open the door!" Gerhard hissed urgently from the door, his voice a harsh whisper that barely carried.
Anton reacted instantly, pulling out the small key he’d managed to keep hidden and unlocking the cell door from within. The soft click of the lock is swallowed by the heavy clang of the iron door below, perfectly masked by the noise.
Then ca the pause, the kind of silence that tests nerves, before the knight below slamd the empty cell shut again, twisting the bolt into place with deliberate force. The tallic thud echoed through the stairwell like a signal. It’s done.
That sound was the cover. While the guards outside believed another spy had just been locked away, Gerhard slipped inside the Wyndhams’ cell and closed the door behind him, his breath steady but his pulse racing. The plan had begun.
Inside, the cell was dim but surprisingly orderly. The faint scent of brewed tea lingered in the air, and on a small, uneven table between two porcelain cups sat a steaming pot. They’re inside a cell for nobles indeed. The Viscount and his wife sat close together, calm despite their confinent, as if imprisonnt had long since lost its sting.
"Well, well," Anton said with a quiet chuckle, lifting his cup after he got back to his chair. "To what do we owe the honor of having the Duke of Eisenwald in our humble cell?"
Gerhard exhaled, lowering his hood. The flickering lantern light caught the bruises still marking his face. "To run away tonight," he said plainly, his tone clipped and low. "The emperor has lost his mind."
Anton arched an eyebrow, half amused, half wary. "Ah, so the empire truly is falling apart." Gerhard pulled out the empty chair and sat down heavily, fatigue settling into his posture.
"Tea?" Sarah Wyndham asked, her voice soft but steady as she gestured toward the pot.
"Please," Gerhard replied with a faint smile. "I’m parched."
Sarah poured him a cup, the clinking of porcelain faint against the stone walls. For a brief mont, the three of them sat in silence—sharing tea like old comrades on the eve of rebellion.
anwhile, outside the tower walls, the imperial capital is in chaos. The search for Gerhard de Eisenwald had begun in full force; streets were sealed, gates locked, and soldiers marched in restless columns through every district. Torches blazed through the dark alley, their flas reflecting off armor and cobblestone as the royal knights spread through the city like a storm.
Dietrich remained in the palace, standing before the great scrying mirror in his war chamber, his reflection fractured by the web of runes glowing across its surface. Through it, he watched everything, the capital laid bare beneath his command. His voice echoed through the communication crystals, sharp and cold as steel.
"Search the western district. Check the noble quarters. Every gate, every tower—no one leaves without my order." He said.
Reports poured in one after another, yet none of them gave him what he wanted. No one had seen Gerhard. No one had seen his n. When word reached him that the Eisenwald estate stood empty, the emperor’s fury erupted like a storm.
He crushed the crystal in his hand, shards scattering across the floor. "Empty?" he snarled. "Find them! Tear the place apart if you must!"
The royal knights obeyed without hesitation. They broke through the gates of the Eisenwald mansion and stord the halls but found nothing—no servants, no guards, not even a trace of life. The house was silent, untouched, as if it had been abandoned long before dawn. It was as though Gerhard had vanished into thin air.
What Dietrich didn’t know was that the Duke had prepared for this mont long ago. Every knight, butler, maid, and servant in the Eisenwald household had been given a single instruction: if the magic orb in the Duke’s study ever turned red, they were to flee imdiately, no hesitation, no questions. They were to scatter and seek refuge in Wyndham or Blackwood territory, far beyond the emperor’s reach.
The orb itself had been sent by Roxanne, delivered by Red a day before. Its purpose was simple but vital: if Gerhard is in danger, it would glow red; if he’s safe, it would remain blue. Now, inside the empty manor, the orb pulsed faintly crimson atop the Duke’s desk, bathing the vacant study in a heartbeat of warning.
And in the palace, Dietrich stared into his mirror, eyes burning with rage. "Run, Gerhard," he whispered. "Run as far as you can. I’ll find you—and when I do, I’ll bury your na with your lands."
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