A few weeks had passed since Roan and Keith departed with their soldiers.
Inside the manor's small laboratory, Velzra and Luren worked tirelessly, mixing herbs and brewing potions to aid the wounded on the battlefield.
Just as Luren was corking another vial, Marian entered briskly. "A few soldiers have just arrived," she reported.
"I'll go meet them," Luren said, wiping her hands on a cloth before making her way to the entrance.
Outside, five weary soldiers stood waiting, their armor dusty from long travel. Luren's eyes widened as she recognized a familiar face.
"Fiona?!" she exclaimed, stepping forward.
"Greetings, Duchess," Fiona replied with a tired bow, her voice carrying both respect and exhaustion. "We were hoping to rest here for a short while before continuing to the capital."
"To the capital?" Luren asked softly, concern flickering in her gaze. "What calls you there in such troubled times?"
"Archbishop Desmond has requested a convoy," Fiona explained, glancing at her companions. "He must return to the temple, but the war trapped him here in the North. We've been tasked to ensure his safe
passage."
Luren nodded with understanding, a gentle warmth in her eyes. "Of course. You've traveled far and deserve rest. Butler Serio will prepare rooms for you."
Relief washed over Fiona's face as she bowed again. "Thank you, Duchess… truly." She followed the butler inside, her shoulders slightly easing for the first time in days.
"I heard Duke Craige was badly injured," one of the soldiers whispered, his tone heavy with concern. They were part of Fiona's team.
"Shhh… The Duchess might hear you," another soldier hissed, glancing around nervously.
But it was too late, Luren had already overheard them. His heart pounded painfully in his chest, dread and fear twisting inside him.
"Duchess?" Fiona's voice suddenly came from behind, making Luren flinch.
Luren turned quickly, eyes wide with desperation. "Is it true? Is Craige… badly injured?" His voice cracked, barely holding back tears.
Fiona hesitated, guilt flickering across her face before she finally nodded. "Yes… Velgarith sent more reinforcements. His Grace's soldiers were outnumbered. I heard… he can't even move because of his injuries." Her voice trembled with sadness.
Luren's breath hitched. It felt as though the world was collapsing around him, his chest tightening painfully.
From the distance, a soldier called out, "Fiona, we're leaving soon!"
Fiona looked back at Luren, her expression softening. "Do you… want to come with us?" she asked gently.
The question stunned Luren. For a moment, he couldn't speak. He wanted—no, needed—to go. His entire being screamed to be by Craige's side.
He nodded as a reply
"Please, don't tell anyone, Duchess," Fiona whispered, a hidden smile tugging at her lips. "Meet me at the back entrance—I'll be waiting for you."
"Okay," Luren replied softly before hurrying back to her room to pack her things for the secret journey.
Before anyone could notice, Luren quietly slipped out, leaving only a small handwritten note on her bedside table. At the back
entrance of the Manor, where the lush forest lay blanketed in glistening snow, Fiona's carriage stood waiting, wheels half-buried in the frost.
"Get in, Duchess," Fiona said gently, taking Luren's bag. As soon as they stepped inside, the carriage jolted forward, wheels crunching
against the icy path.
Meanwhile, Velzra knocked on Luren's door. They were supposed to meet in the lab, but there was no sign of her. Silence answered.
With a growing sense of unease, he slowly turned the doorknob—it wasn't locked.
"Luren?" Velzra called out, stepping inside. His eyes darted around the room, but it was empty. A faint chill ran down his spine as he
realized she was gone.
"Velzra, is the Duchess still asleep?" Butler Serio's head popped into the doorway.
"He's not here…" Velzra muttered, eyes falling on the letter resting on the table. He picked it up and quickly scanned it. "I'm heading to meet Craige. Please, watch over the Manor while we're gone."
"He must've left with the soldiers, escorting the Archbishop to the Capital," Butler Serio guessed.
Velzra's chest tightened. Without another word, he bolted outside. "Mara!" he shouted, voice laced with urgency.
"Velzra?" Mara emerged from the kitchen, still chewing on a piece of bread, crumbs clinging to her lips.
"You have to follow Luren," Velzra said breathlessly. A knot of dread coiled in his stomach. "Something feels wrong… I fear he's in danger, leaving with Fiona and the Archbishop."
Mara's expression hardened, the last bite of bread swallowed hastily. "Understood," she said, already moving. "How long ago did they leave?"
"Not even an hour," Butler Serio answered.
"Good," Mara said sharply. "I can still catch up." She rushed out to the barn, boots pounding against the dirt. Grabbing the reins of her horse, she whispered, determination in her voice, "Fairy… come with me."
The white dove with a red ribbon around its neck fluttered down, landing gracefully on her shoulder as if it understood her call.
Mara took the hidden shortcut high in the mountains, where steep cliffs and rocks covered in snow made the narrow trail dangerous. From there, he could see the road below like a dark line cutting through the white valley.
After riding for an hour, Mara finally spotted the carriage moving slowly on the snowy road. Staying hidden among the snow-covered trees, she quietly followed, her breath turning to mist in the cold air as she kept her eyes fixed on her target.
Luren and Fiona remained silent during the ride to the Capital. Luren's body was tense, worry pressing heavily on his chest as he
silently prayed for Craige's safety. He gently rubbed his swollen belly, whispering words of comfort to his unborn babies, promising that their father would return to them unharmed.
From the corner of her eye, Fiona kept glancing at Luren. Her heart twisted with envy. It should have been her sitting there with the Duke's child, not him. She had always dreamed of becoming the Duchess, standing proudly beside Craige… but instead, this delicate man had taken that place, carrying the heir that Fiona wished was hers. She clenched her fists in her
lap, forcing herself to stay composed while bitterness burned in her chest.
After a long and weary carriage ride, the horses finally slowed to a halt. The door creaked open with a faint metallic groan. Desmond appeared first, his familiar smile stretched wider than usual, almost too warm,
followed closely by another man with sharp, calculating eyes that didn't quite match the pleasant grin on his face.
"Hello, Luren," Desmond greeted, his tone dripping with honey as he stepped closer.
"Hello, Desmond," Luren replied politely, though he felt a strange unease stirring in his chest.
Desmond climbed into the carriage, sitting close to Luren as if they were old friends, while the other man stepped in and sat opposite them, beside Fiona, who gave Luren a reassuring smile that somehow felt… off.
"Greetings, Duchess," the man said casually, his voice smooth but lacking respect. "I am Hajim, a close friend of Desmond's."
"It's nice to meet you, Hajim," Luren said softly, extending his hand despite the unsettled feeling in his stomach.
"I already know who you are," Hajim said, his lips curling into a wider grin as he clasped Luren's hand and brought it to his lips. "I've
been wanting to meet you… for a long time."
Fiona's eyes glimmered faintly as she glanced at Hajim, her smile unwavering.
Desmond chuckled, breaking the moment. "Hajim has been eager to meet you ever since we started this trip," he said smoothly, though there was an underlying tone that felt rehearsed.
Hajim tilted his head, his grin deepening. "Can you blame me? The Duchess is truly… remarkable. It's no wonder everyone talks about you."
Fiona leaned forward slightly, her voice soft but carrying a strange weight. "You must be exhausted, Luren. Don't worry, once we reach the Capital, everything will change for you. Desmond and I will make sure of it."
Desmond nodded, his hand gently brushing Luren's arm as though to comfort him. "Yes… things will finally be the way they're meant to be," he said, his smile never faltering but his eyes glinting with something
darker.
The carriage jolted forward again, the sound of hooves masking the quiet exchange of knowing looks between Fiona, Hajim, and Desmond, a silent promise of a plan only they understood.