"Is there anything else you need to report?" The Queen's voice was smooth, yet dangerous.
"No, Lady Nyxelene. I'm afraid that is all the information I have," the soldier answered, his voice steadying itself through sheer effort. He kept his gaze lowered, terrified of accidentally offending the woman on the platinum throne.
"Then go and treat your injuries, Karlo," Nyxelene said softly. "You have worked hard."
The soldier froze. 'She... she knows my name?' A surge of disbelief washed over him. 'I never thought the Queen would know my name. Even Lord Javier, whom I have worked beside for months, has never bothered to learn it.'
"Thank you, Lady Nyxelene," Karlo said, bowing low before dismissing himself with a newfound sense of pride despite his missing limb.
As the doors creaked shut, Orin stepped forward, his eyes burning with an intense, dark light. "Lady Nyxelene, with your permission, I would—"
"Do not speak again, Orin," the Queen interrupted. Her voice wasn't loud, but it cut through Orin's words like a guillotine.
"Not without my permission."
A suffocating silence filled the throne room. Not a single breath could be heard from the rows of nobles. Orin stood frozen, his mouth still slightly open.
"I haven't forgotten that you let the Cannibal escape last time," Nyxelene continued, her gaze finally fixing on him. "I would go so far as to say you even opened the door for her. But the reason you want to go now isn't just because of Aeloria. It is because your son, Javier, is the one leading the pursuit. I told him not to strike anyone who wasn't involved in our business, but I doubt he would be able to keep his hands off his daggers once he smells blood."
Ramius saw an opening and cleared his throat. "In that case, perhaps—"
"You too, Ramius," the Queen said, her eyes shifting to him. "Your son, Michael, was the one who stood in the way and made a bigger mess of things. So, it will not be you either. Who knew the two of you would give birth to such troublesome children?"
She leaned back against the platinum throne, her expression unreadable. "But in that sense, I suppose my daughter is the one making the biggest mess of all by getting involved with the Cannibal."
A brief, flickering memory crossed Nyxelene's mind. 'When they were young, they were just a trio of troublemakers. Javier, Michael, and Rya... who knew they would turn the kingdom upside down when they grew up?'
"We leave things as they are for now," she commanded.
Orin's face turned a deep shade of red as he fought the urge to protest. Ramius's jaw tightened, his tactical mind screaming for action. But under the weight of Nyxelene's gaze, they could do nothing. With a final, sharp gesture, the meeting came to an end.
....
Miles away, within the quiet sanctuary of the kitchen, the world felt much smaller and warmer.
"Rya, hold this for me," Aeloria said, handing Rya a heavy wooden bowl filled with fine wheat flour.
Rya took it carefully as Aeloria swung the heavy iron pot over the hearth fire. The water inside began to hiss as it caught the heat. Aeloria moved with a practiced grace, her movements in the kitchen as precise as a warrior's on a battlefield.
"While you learn the rhythm of the stir," Aeloria said, looking at Rya with a gentle smile, "let me continue with the rest of the story."
"Please do, I'm really enjoying the story," Rya said, leaning closer to the steam of the pot. "You left off where you and Hanon were wandering around Norco until nightfall. You were supposed to meet Sir Krazel... but at that time, did you like him? I mean, really like him?"
The question took Aeloria by surprise. She paused, the wooden spoon hovering over the bubbling wheat. A soft, distant look entered her eyes.
"I guess so," Aeloria answered with a faint smile. "But it wasn't until much later that I found out I was truly in love with the coward."
"At that time," she continued, her voice warm with nostalgia, "he had stuffed me with so much food I could hardly walk straight. But I was still better off than him. He was acting like he was possessed by a restless spirit."
In the memory, the sun had already dipped below the horizon. The torches of Norco were being lit, casting long, dancing shadows across the dusty street.
"It's not time yet... there's, there's still one more food stall I haven't tried,"
Hanon muttered, his face pale and his stomach bulging, yet he looked toward the next vendor with a desperate glint in his eye.
Aeloria had to grab his sleeve to pull him away. "As if you could survive another bite, Hanon. Besides, it would be rude to keep Sir Krazel waiting any longer. We have an appointment."
"I guess you're right," Hanon sighed, stumbling slightly. Just as they turned the corner, a large, burly man slammed into Hanon's shoulder, nearly knocking the wind out of him.
"Hey! Watch where you're going!" Hanon shouted, fueled by a mix of indigestion and a sudden urge to look tough in front of Aeloria.
The man, a grumpy fellow with a scarred brow and a sour smell, spun around with a deep frown. "What did you say, idiot?"
"You heard me," Hanon shot back, puffing out his chest. "You need to apologize before I beat you into next week."
Aeloria watched from the sidelines, her curiosity piqued. 'It looks like he's possessed by pride,' she thought, 'but this is the perfect chance to see what a Protector is truly capable of. I'm sure he has some deadly techniques hidden under those sleeves.'
"Listen here, you overconfident moron," the grumpy man said, cracking his knuckles. "This is Norco. That means as long as I don't kill you, I can beat you senseless and no one would give a damn."
"Funny," Hanon replied, narrowing his eyes. "I was about to say the same thing."
There was one crucial thing Hanon had forgotten in his attempt to impress Aeloria: the reason he usually steered clear of fights wasn't because he was a secret killing machine that could take out any opponent in one shot—but rather, someone who could get knocked out in a single shot.
"Hey, look over there! A fight's breaking out!"
Within seconds, a circle of spectators formed, smelling blood and entertainment.
"I bet fifty copper the scrawny man wins!" one gambler shouted, pointing at Hanon.
"A silver on the grumpy one!"
"Eighty copper on Grumpy!"
"One silver and twenty copper on Scrawny!"
The bets flew through the air like autumn leaves.
"This is your last chance to apologize," Hanon declared, standing just inches from the man's face. "I'm going to humiliate you in front of everybody."
"That's right! You tell him, Scrawny!" someone from the crowd cheered.
Hanon pulled back his arm, folding his fist slowly, his face twisted in a mask of concentration.
"Here I come! Hyaaa!"
Hanon lunged forward and threw a punch straight at the man's jaw. There was a sickening crack—but it wasn't the man's jaw. Hanon let out a high-pitched yelp, jumping back with tears pricking his eyes as he clutched his own hand. He had broken his fingers against the man's chin.
"What... was that?" the grumpy man whispered. He had been in dozens of bar fights, and he couldn't believe a grown man was capable of throwing such a weak, childish punch.
Aeloria watched in stunned silence, her jaw nearly dropping.
"Stop fooling around, Scrawny! I bet two silver coins on you!" someone in the crowd yelled, sounding personally insulted.
"Are you looking down on me?" the grumpy man roared, offended by the pathetic attack.
He threw a massive, swinging hook of his own. It landed squarely on Hanon's face, sending the grown man flying backward through the air.
Hanon hit the dirt face-first, groaning in genuine agony.
'What was that?' Aeloria thought, her heart sinking. 'He's... he's actually weak. He's incredibly weak!'
"Hey, what just happened to my two silver coins?" a gambler asked with a blank, shell-shocked stare.
"That's the way, Grumpy! Come on, I'll buy you a drink tonight," a friend said, trying to lead the victor away as Hanon showed no signs of getting up.
"I would love nothing more," the grumpy man said, wiping his knuckles. "But first, I think I should teach this brat a few more manners."
"That's the spirit!" the crowd cheered.
"Please," Aeloria stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. She moved between Hanon and the man.
"My companion was in the wrong. Please, could you find it in your heart to overlook his mistake?"
The man stopped, his eyes roaming over Aeloria. "Wow... you're a beauty. Of course, I'll let it go—but only if you're willing to spend the night with me instead."
"That's not... hap... happening," Hanon wheezed, coughing as he struggled to his feet, his face bruised and swollen.
"You're a dead man if you think I'd allow something like that!" Hanon let out a desperate cry and sprinted clumsily toward the man again.
"Just stay down, you idiot!" the grumpy man yelled, winding up a powerful kick aimed straight at Hanon's ribs.
But the kick never landed.
Aeloria stretched out her hand, catching the man's heavy boot mid-air with effortless strength.
The impact didn't even make her shoulder flinch.
"I believe that is enough beating for one night, kind sir," Aeloria said. She wasn't smiling anymore. A cold, predatory stillness settled over her features—the look of a beast that had been sleeping for far too long, finally opening its eyes.