Chapter 48: Inspection
’Rosie..? Rosie..? Rosalie, my dear, wake up. Open your eyes, child. Co now, wake up.’
Furrowing her delicate eyebrows, Rosalie heard a distant whisper reaching out to her through the abyss of darkness. Uncertain if the voice belonged to a man or a woman, it seed to be a chorus of many lding into one. Yet, it persistently called to her, urging her to awaken, until she relented and lifted her heavy eyelids.
Alas, all she encountered was darkness once more.
"Ugh..."
The young woman attempted to shift her body, but only a dull ache responded, as if soone were pulling her bones apart. Her head weighed heavily, and sharp throbs of a headache pounded her forehead with each rapid beat of her galloping heart.
As her mind began to clear, Rosalie finally rembered – she had been attacked on her way to the Holy Temple and rendered unconscious. Now, she found herself completely immobilized, her hands and legs bound with coarse, thick rope, and her mouth muffled by a piece of cloth.
Attempting to move once more, she sought any clue to her whereabouts. Her eyes had adjusted to the surrounding darkness, revealing only one detail – sothing dense, heavy, and rather pungent enveloped her, concealing her entire body.
’No way... It’s a dead beast’s skin! It was him, he attacked us! Raphael!’
That sudden realization seed to ignite a flicker of strength within her once again, as she found herself frantically moving around, attempting to break free from the suffocating pressure of the dead grip over her body. Unfortunately, her attempts rendered to be futile and she had no choice but to surrender as her body was rapidly losing its resolve.
As the pieces of the puzzle fell into place, Rosalie’s mind raced with realization. Indeed, Raphael was smuggling the mbers of the Demonic Cult in the pelts, drugging them to ensure their cooperation. Now, her heart pounded with the fear of being implicated in his treacherous plot.
Regret and panic washed over her, like an unrelenting tide, as she grappled with her own gullible nature and foolish curiosity. If only she had been more cautious, she could have spared Damien and those close to him from the troubles her failure might unleash.
’I wonder if Logan is okay... Damn it, Rosalie, just why did you have to make that stupid choice?!’
As Lady Ashter berated herself for her misjudgnt, the equipage finally ca to a halt. Despite the difficulty in hearing, she could discern that the carriage was undergoing inspection.
’This must be it, we must have reached the trading gate at the border.’
"Your Grace, I fail to comprehend the nature of this predicant! Each and every one of my articles underwent a ticulous inspection by the esteed Imperial Trading Organization and received their unequivocal approval for export. Rest assured, all the pertinent details are well-docunted in the comprehensive reports. I implore you, why must we embark on this arduous endeavor at this very mont?"
With an air of reluctant compliance, Raphael stood before the freight carriage, gracefully unveiling its contents by opening its doors. The carefully arranged goods were now exposed for Damien’s crew to inspect. His deanor grew somber and tense as they proceeded to enter the carriage, drawing nearer to the solitary rolled fur he desperately hoped would remain undiscovered.
"As you are well aware, Lord Ashter, recent months have seen a rise in reports of illegal border crossings, and as such, we must exercise due caution. His Majesty himself has decreed that every carriage crossing the border be subject to inspection. It is a asure to ensure the security of our realm."
With a discerning gaze, Damien continued to study Raphael’s countenance, detecting a distinct hue of uncertainty creeping across his face. Patiently, he awaited his team’s findings, hoping for a breakthrough that would lead him closer to unraveling the intricate case.
And yet, it appeared that today’s efforts had yielded no success once again.
"Your Grace."
The man cast a final suspicious glance at Raphael, who rely responded with a nonchalant smile. He then walked up to one of his knights, bracing himself for what seed like an impending disappointing report.
"Every item in the carriage corresponds with its listing in the exporting report. So of the pelts are sewn for further direct exploitation, which was also reported by the tailor in charge. I’m afraid he might not be the one, Your Grace."
Damien, with his elegant fingers gliding through his lustrous, raven-black hair, released an exasperated sigh. An unsettling feeling lingered within him, and he was far from ready to surrender. In a determined yet perhaps futile effort to unearth even the tiniest flaw in the items, the grand duke impulsively leaped into the carriage, impatiently treading amidst the neatly rolled-up pelts. With his gloved hands, he ticulously scrutinized each one, only to be t with frustration and mounting anger as his investigation yielded disappointing results.
anwhile, Rosalie held her breath, desperately trying to distinguish the muffled sounds seeping into her ears through the thick layers of leather and fur that surrounded her. It was impossible to discern precisely what was happening in the carriage and whether her desperate plan would bear fruit, but she knew she had to try it regardless. After all, her life itself depended on it too. The weight of the situation pressed upon her, and with a surge of determination, she steeled herself for whatever lay ahead.
’I cannot let him have his way. Enough is enough.’
With such a daring thought in mind, Rosalie began to fervently jerk her body around, grunting through her covered mouth in a desperate attempt to free herself from the restraints or at least move the pelts around her to attract sobody’s attention. However, despite her utmost efforts, she found herself t with an unyielding resistance.
Drenched in sweat and nearly out of breath, the girl was already losing hope, her physical exhaustion starting to overpower even her determination. Nevertheless, she refused to surrender, her mind clinging to the slimst thread of hope that remained amidst the darkness that engulfed her.
’God... Soone, please!’
Damien already turned around prepared to leave the carriage when sothing unusual seed to have caught his attention.
"Did I see it wrong?"
He pondered, fearing that even his vision might be succumbing to wishful thinking, conjuring illusions of lifeless pelts moving as if they ca back to life. Convinced that he had not yet gone completely insane, Damien marched back to the furthest corner of the carriage and began shifting the rolled-up furs until he finally stopped, his eyes widening in perplexity.
"What in the world..."
The duke retrieved a knife from the holder of his belt, carefully slicing through the tight seams of the fur. As he unfolded the fur with his strong hands, his heart seed to pause montarily before leaping to his throat, for what he beheld before him was a sight that sent chills down his spine.
"Lady Rosalie?!"
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