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Chapter 60: Final Night in Braggs Part 2
The heavy wooden door, adorned with gilded patterns, creaked open slowly. The air stirred, and a low rumble resonated through the hall, as if an ancient kingdom long sealed away was finally opening its gates to welcome visitors.
The light from outside gradually brightened, revealing a furious young woman standing in the doorway. The half-elven princess wore a flowing silver-white gown, its ruffled hem cascading down to the polished marble floor. She stood tall, her smooth silver curls spilling over her shoulders, her hands clasped neatly atop her skirts. Her cold gaze swept over the figures emerging from the shadows—
Against the deep marble backdrop, her beauty bloomed like a lily in the dark.
"Your Highness," Marquis Kluge, his somber face breaking into a faint, sardonic smile, stepped forward and bowed deeply, his hand resting on his side. This seasoned statesman, who had served the House of Colcova since the Gran era, raised his head slightly, his lips curling upward with an ever-present hint of mockery.
"There’s no need for formalities, Marquis Kluge," the princess replied without sparing him a glance, her voice cutting through the air like ice. "Is my father inside?"
"I’m afraid, Your Highness, that His Majesty is currently receiving the ambassador from Madara and cannot see you at this time," Kluge responded smoothly, his tone polished yet distant. A flicker of concern passed over the princess of Eruin’s brow, but it vanished almost instantly.
"Then I will wait here," she answered firmly, lifting her chin. "It’s late. The ambassador from Madara surely won’t linger much longer."
"Please take care of yourself, Your Highness," Kluge said, his eyes betraying a mixture of admiration and insincerity. Still, his smile didn’t reach his eyes.
"Thank you for your concern."
"If you’ll excuse me, then."
"Go ahead."
The princess’s silvery-gray eyes remained fixed and emotionless as she watched them leave. But as Marquis Kluge, clad in his regal purple-and-gold robes, brushed past her, the princess of Eruin suddenly spoke again. "Marquis Kluge, be careful playing with fire—heed my warning."
Kluge froze momentarily. The princess’s words carried a grave seriousness, a clear caution. The trusted minister of Obergu VII paused, his mind racing before a shadowy smirk crept across his face.
"What do you mean, Your Highness?" he asked, his voice calm but probing.
"What I mean, you already know," the princess replied coldly. "Whatever has happened in Braggs and Kurk Castle, I couldn’t stop it. But don’t forget—on whose side the Temple of Flames stands in Eruin."
Kluge’s expression shifted slightly, though he quickly masked it. This old fox, with his unfathomable depths, drew a breath and responded with a hollow smile. "Thank you for the reminder, Your Highness."
Neither side seemed eager to prolong the conversation. With a brief exchange of glances, Kluge and his entourage hurried away.
One of the younger men accompanying Kluge finally broke the silence. "My lord, what did she mean by that?"
"The flower of the royal family is not to be underestimated, Wilmar," Kluge said, his face darkening. "Though we seem to hold all the advantages now, she hasn’t been idle either. Rumors from beyond the court suggest that the princess has been raising funds through the Havriel Faith. Whatever her plans, they’re bound to be significant."
Kluge glanced out the arched windows at the oppressive night sky. "Tonight, she came merely to send us a message. But the fact that she felt the need to do so shows that even our princess treads carefully—"
"A case of hesitating to strike lest she break something precious."
He sighed, polishing the ring on his glove. On its dark band, an ouroboros coiled, its bronze glint catching the light like a living thing.
The group fell silent.
The half-elven princess watched Kluge and his retinue leave without uttering another word. When she turned back, she saw Sir Beninger emerge from the shadows behind one of the great columns in the hall, clad in a pale golden robe. "So?" she asked immediately as he approached.
The young man shook his head, his face grim. "I’m sorry, Your Highness. I still haven’t been able to see His Majesty."
The princess’s expression hardened.
"Your Highness?"
"Tonight, I’m returning to my land. Take Hazael with you and accompany me," she said calmly, her gaze fixed ahead. "Be discreet. Don’t draw their attention."
"Is there truly no other way, Your Highness?" Beninger asked, his youthful features etched with worry. As the youngest son of Duke Sifah, he was born into privilege. Yet ever since meeting Princess Grifine a year ago, he had been utterly captivated by her charm, willingly serving her despite his noble status.
By all accounts, Beninger should have returned to his father’s lands long ago; letters urging him to assume his inheritance arrived with increasing urgency. But the young man lingered, unable—or unwilling—to leave.
To those who observed closely, it was clear that his heart was tethered to the princess of Eruin. Grifine, who had just turned sixteen—the age when royal marriages were traditionally arranged—was doted upon by Obergu VII, who wished to keep her by his side for a few more years. Moreover, Hazael, the king’s youngest son, was timid by nature and relied heavily on his sister’s guidance.
For Beninger, this arrangement was a blessing. He knew well that any union between himself and the princess was unlikely. Each day she remained in the capital gave him another reason to stay.
Yet, he wasn’t without moments of self-pity. If only he were the eldest son instead of the youngest, things might be different. But now, the princess’s announcement set his heart racing. A trip to her land? Such visits were rare in Eruin’s history, but whenever they occurred, monumental events followed. As Beninger looked at her, anticipation and apprehension warred within him. He sensed that this journey would unleash far more than a mere storm upon Eruin.
In the dim candlelight, the resolute gaze of the sixteen-year-old princess contrasted sharply with the uncertainty etched on the young man’s face. The hall fell silent.
"What troubles you, Beninger?"
"I have concerns, Your Majesty…" The youth hesitated, unsure how to articulate his thoughts.
Since June, or rather since the arrival of Madara’s envoy, none of the king’s former intimates—not even his own children—had seen Obergu VII. Rumors swirled that the king was under house arrest, though this elicited little reaction among the nobility. After all, Kluge, appointed chancellor by Obergu VII, wielded immense influence. His faction dominated the court, yet avoided direct contact with local lords, earning the king’s trust.
Kluge’s governance was impeccable, earning him comparisons to Poivre, the legendary Archbishop of the Havriel Faith during Anson XI’s reign. But by April and May, the situation had deteriorated. Kluge appeared to be consolidating power, while the Black Rose War raged on. Eruin teetered on the brink of chaos.
Despite growing suspicions among the nobility, key figures like Orville and Everton were occupied elsewhere, finalizing agreements with Madara. Of the remaining triumvirate, Archbishop Gregor of the Havriel Faith had withdrawn entirely. Thus, the capital grew darker and more uncertain.
And now, the princess intended to return to her land. Could they escape this gilded cage? And how could she abandon her beloved father?
Grifine’s bond with Obergu VII was well-known. Beninger, as her confidant, understood this better than most. Yet the half-elf remained composed, her voice steady. "Knowing my father’s character, he would never agree to such an absurd pact with Madara. Though I don’t fully understand Kluge’s motives, one thing is clear—we are powerless here."
"First, I must get my brother to safety. That is my duty. Above all, I must act in the best interests of the royal family. If anything happens to Father… I believe he would understand."
"Your Highness…" Beninger stared at the young half-elf, marveling at her maturity. She seemed less like a sixteen-year-old girl and more like a seasoned politician.
Grifine met his gaze. "Don’t worry, Beninger. I’m not unprepared. Through my mentor’s connections, we can make our own moves. Remember—I’ve never trusted Kluge. They wouldn’t dare harm Father, lest they incur the wrath of the kingdom."
Her words trailed off as she noticed the ambassador from Madara stepping out of the inner chamber.
For a fleeting moment, the living and the dead locked eyes before passing each other by.
---
While the capital of Eruin braced itself for the coming storm, Brandon sat comfortably in the ‘Crossed Stars’ tavern in Braggs’ Swan District. Casually questioning the bartender about rumors of the fabled Golden Wine, he occasionally glanced at the ornate clock hanging behind the bar.
The hour hand neared midnight.
Brandon wasn’t counting on luck to deliver the next clue in his quest so quickly. He was simply biding his time, waiting for someone while keeping himself entertained.
As the clock struck twelve, the tavern door swung open. Standing outside was a girl in a navy-blue military uniform, her long ponytail tied neatly behind her, cheeks flushed and eyes shining with a warm, honey-brown glow.
Freya had clearly come into her own as a knight. Her attire was immaculate, complete with ceremonial ribbons and a finely polished sword at her hip. Her boots gleamed, and her presence radiated confidence.
Yet her worried expression betrayed her. Scanning the room, her gaze landed on Brandon. Taking a deep breath, she strode over and asked, "You’re leaving, Brandon?"
"Yes."
Freya fell silent.
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