Chapter 108.1

At noon that day, a delegation dispatched from the capital Opel passed through the gates of the Rotiara, signaling the arrival of grave news. Leading this envoy was the resolute Imperial Deputy Knight Commander Riman, whose keen eye immediately caught the tension lingering in the air upon his arrival at the castle.

A venerable chamberlain emerged to greet them, his demeanor reflecting the gravity of the situation. “Welcome to Rotiara, Sir Riman,” he intoned with a respectful bow. “His Grace is presently indisposed. Considering your arduous journey, I implore you to take respite before any proceedings.”

Riman’s countenance darkened with displeasure as he surveyed the castle grounds. This was no ordinary visitation; it bore the weight of imperial summons, a decree demanding immediate attention. Proper protocol dictated that the lord of the castle should have received them promptly, not proffer excuses of absence.

Yet, Riman’s urgency lay elsewhere. The essence of the decree didn’t concern the Duke alone; it pertained to the safeguarding of a certain woman within these walls.

“Time is of the essence. Where is the Princess of Argan?” Riman demanded, cutting short to the chase.

The chamberlain hesitated, his distress palpable. “Without His Grace’s consent…”

“Are you suggesting the Duke’s authority supersedes imperial decree within the jurisdiction of Van Yela?”

“No, that’s not it,” came the faltered response.

A flicker of concern passed over Rebecca Petisson’s face. The Duke had marshaled all resources within the castle, launching investigations not only within its confines but also along every route leading from Rotiara. With the Duke himself venturing towards the paths frequented by the princess, the hours stretched ominously without his return.

“What’s the meaning of this? The Deputy Knight Commander himself, leading elite knights…” Lady Petisson’s voice betrayed her astonishment as she tallied the formidable array of knights assembled before the main tower. After months of tranquility, it was evident that the Emperor had decisively acted this time.

“The Duke still requires stability. His Grace shares our concerns deeply. Please, let us not disrupt the castle’s peace,” she pleaded, her tone tinged with apprehension.

Riman’s brow furrowed in response. Had they foreseen this scenario too? Just before their departure, the Emperor had issued a stern directive.

“If the Duke is absent or if there’s any resistance in surrendering the princess, deploy the knights covertly and scour Rotiara thoroughly. Even if the Duke becomes aware, it matters not. Any resistance will be met with charges of rebellion.”

Riman conveyed a subtle signal to his subordinates. Without delay, six knights wheeled their mounts and thundered through the castle gates.

In that instant, the pursuit of the princess intensified twofold.

***

The night air possessed a biting chill that seemed to steal one’s breath away. Elise drew in a deep lungful of the outdoor air, a rare respite from the confines of the castle since the harvest festival.

Even in the typically temperate Rotiara, nestled in the northern expanse, the onset of cold was unmistakable. As darkness descended upon the midsection of the Grenthern Mountains, an eerie silence enveloped the surroundings, chilling to the bone. The occasional gust of wind sent branches colliding, their eerie whispers echoing through the stillness.

“Just a bit further, Your Highness,” Ivetsa’s voice was barely a whisper, urging Elise onward. “Once the foliage begins to darken, we’ll be nearly there. Stay strong.”

“How much farther must we travel?” Elise inquired, pausing momentarily to catch her breath before offering a soft chuckle. “It has only been half a day since we departed from the castle. Surely we can endure a while longer.”

In truth, endurance was waning. Just the day prior, Elise had remained under Rezette’s vigilant watch until the moon had shifted a mere hand’s breadth to the west. Since then, respite had been an elusive luxury.

In the dim light of dawn, the two women found sanctuary within the cargo-laden cart that made its daily pilgrimage into the castle grounds. Hidden amidst the deliveries, sheltered by the guise of a freshly-filled milk jug, they relied on the routine of a plains-dwelling rancher from Rotiara’s southern flatlands. While he busied himself vending his wares at the bustling marketplace, they slipped away unnoticed, seeking refuge in a nearby secluded alley. There, shrouded within the shadows of the marketplace, awaited the horse Ivetsa had arranged for their escape.

Their journey unfurled along the winding mountain paths leading northward, where the terrain gradually grew more rugged and steep. Confronted with a particularly challenging ascent, Elise relinquished control of the horse, directing it with a nod towards the distant silhouette of the castle they had left behind. The trusty steed, a relic from Rotiara’s noble knights, galloped off purposefully into the distance.

That had been only yesterday, yet since then, their progress had been relentless. Time blurred as they forged ahead, covering half a day’s distance with determined strides. However, as dusk descended upon the mountain path, their pace slowed beneath the shadowed canopy.

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