Chapter 95

The expeditionary forces entered the city to the cheers of a grateful crowd, only to immediately collide with reality. Eisenwald, once no more than a small provincial town, simply could not swallow the thousand-odd soldiers Hermann and Jocelyn had brought with them. Every inn was already stuffed with mercenaries and travelers; the hotels of the inner district, built to host only a handful of minor nobles at any given time, were far too few in number to accommodate a host of this scale.

In the end, it was decided that as many men as possible would be quartered within Blair’s castle, and the rest of the knights were left to arrange lodging on their own. The hotels and the castle assigned their rooms by seniority, which meant that the lower-ranking knights were effectively shoved out into the cold.

“What a decrepit, miserable excuse for a castle,” Hermann grumbled the moment he set foot inside. “Even a five-hundred-year-old ruin would be in better shape than this.”

He hadn’t even bothered to remove his gloves before launching into complaint after complaint. Blair met him with a thin, strained smile.

“It is an old castle, my lord.”

“If you were made lord of this place, the first thing you should have done was renovate the keep.”

“Eisenwald’s finances are… less than generous. Last year we had to rebuild the outer wall after the Vanagand beasts razed it. And winter preparations followed right after, so time was scarce.”

Jocelyn gave a low, knowing laugh. “Then fortune favored you after all. The Vanagand attack may have been a disaster, but look at the result—your walls are now stronger than any in the region. Wouldn’t you say so?”

“I suppose I was fortunate,” Blair replied.

He forced another polite smile, trying to convince himself that Jocelyn hadn’t meant the words as a slight. The man was well liked, generous, and attentive to his own people; surely he hadn’t intended to dismiss everything Blair had labored to rebuild as mere luck.

“Tch. You bring the hardship upon yourself,” Hermann muttered, clicking his tongue. He stalked through the castle’s interior as though inspecting a crime scene, griping nonstop—about the idea of staying long-term in a drafty, dust-choked place like this; about the age of the servants, which surely meant they couldn’t perform their duties properly; about the furnishings, the stairs, the tapestries, the layout. It didn’t feel like a tour of the keep—it felt like he was looking for something.

Blair, noticing this, clenched his jaw in unease. The mere thought of what might have happened if he hadn’t already sent Odelliana into hiding made his skin crawl.

Hermann, after circling the inner keep and confirming that Odelliana was nowhere to be seen, made a short, irritated click with his tongue. Judging by his expression, he looked one breath away from demanding she be produced immediately, but with the prince present, he barely restrained himself and stalked back to his quarters.

Jocelyn, however, lingered leisurely in Blair’s study, entirely unbothered by Hermann’s exit.

“Is there something you require, Your Highness?” Blair asked.

“It seems Hermann doesn’t yet realize you’ve set up a household here,” Jocelyn remarked, a light, conversational lilt in his tone.

Blair blinked. “A household, Your Highness?”

“I hear whispers that the lord of Eisenwald keeps a competent lady of the house,” Jocelyn said, eyes glinting with amusement.

Blair went still. What absurd nonsense—The color drained from his face. His lips parted and closed as he scrambled for an appropriate answer, before he managed an awkward smile.

“I’m not sure where such rumors originate, but… I’m unmarried, Your Highness. There is no official lady of the house.”

“Unofficial, then?” Jocelyn asked smoothly.

The prince’s smile deepened as Blair’s discomfort grew. Blair had no idea how to respond—anything he said would invite trouble. Before he could find a path out, Jocelyn gave a booming, playful laugh and clapped him on the shoulder.

“I’m joking, man. No need to look as though the sky is falling. You’ll make a fellow embarrassed.”

Blair kept quiet.

“Well, enough about housekeepers. Tell me instead about that promising new knight making waves in the region. That, after all, is my true point of interest.”

This, at least, was safer ground. Relieved to find Jocelyn’s attention shifting away from Odelliana entirely, Blair allowed himself a small smile and reported Matthias’s latest movements.

“He’s not here at present.”

“…Not here?”

“He’s marched out. He joined the allied forces as of last week.”

“How unexpected,” Jocelyn murmured. “I’d heard he was scarcely more than a boy—practically a child soldier. With your temperament, I’d imagined you would never send someone so young into danger, no matter his skill.”

“I tried to dissuade him. His resolve was stronger than my protests. And though he is young, he is regarded as one of the most outstanding talents in the entire order. He distinguished himself during the Vanagand extermination as well.”

“A pity. I had hoped to meet him.”

“You’ll likely cross paths soon enough once you reach the front.”

“Well, there is that.”

Jocelyn rose from the chair with a languid stretch.

“I’ll retire here. The journey was long, and I’m feeling it.”

“Rest well, Your Highness.”

After leaving the study, Jocelyn gave a soft, private snort.

If ever we meet at the front, he thought, it will be sheer coincidence.

He had, in truth, no intention of setting foot on the battlefield. His knights would do the fighting—that was their duty, not his. A gemstone needed to be acquired while still unpolished; only then could its true value be shaped.

Humming faintly, he summoned Aidas.

“You called for me, Your Highness?”

“It seems the prodigy you mentioned has already deployed.”

“…So it seems.”

“Send the swiftest tail we can spare. Have them track down the battalion Eisenwald dispatched. I want eyes on the boy.”

“As you command.”

The matter of the “promising knight” was handled. Only one task remained. As he imagined that pale, pathetic woman’s infuriating face, Jocelyn’s smile curled into something resembling a tune.

“Let’s begin a little game of hide-and-seek.”

***

Days at the poorhouse passed peacefully. Work was plentiful, the schedule fixed: rise at dawn, prepare meals, wash the dishes, prepare more food, help with odd chores, and by the time one realized it, the sun had dipped again.

The living quarters attached to the poorhouse were small—barely a room, really—but sufficient for two women. The fireplace kept it warm through the lengthening chill.

Liam and Martin stayed at her side twenty-four hours a day, assisting with whatever tasks the poorhouse required. Other knights rotated positions around the perimeter as well, ensuring that the curious men who came sniffing around to glimpse the rumored saintess never made it farther than the doorway before being turned back.

“My lady,” Martin said one afternoon, watching her stance with an impressed frown, “when did you learn to handle a sword and bow? You’re quite skilled.”

“Malena used to be a mercenary,” she replied. “She taught me. It’s important to know how to protect oneself.”

“That explains it! I knew there was something unusual about Miss Malena’s aura.”

During breaks, the four of them—Liam, Martin, Malena, and she—engaged in light exercises: simple drills, short sparring bouts, a few arrows loosed into makeshift targets. It wasn’t much, but it was enjoyable.

“Ah! My lady—this is for you,” Liam said suddenly.

“What is it, Sir Liam?”

He offered a finely crafted dagger, its hilt smooth and beautifully engraved.

“Fergus asked me to deliver it.”

“…It’s excellent work. Do you know him well?”

“He’s the best blacksmith in the region. Within the order, men practically fight for the chance to have him maintain their gear.”

So the quiet Fergus had grown quite famous. Fitting, considering he would one day earn royal commendation.

“Fergus worried about your safety,” Liam added. “He made this specifically so you’d have something reliable at hand. You should keep it on you at all times.”

“…I’ve been too busy to visit the forge lately. I didn’t expect a gift like this. Please tell him I’ll use it well.”

The dagger was not only lovely—it was practical. Fergus had even crafted a custom belt that could be worn under clothing for concealment. Thoughtful, sturdy, perfect.

But Martin, who had been silent until now, brought up a far more unwelcome subject.

“The First Order seems ready to depart again. But it looks like the Second Prince intends to stay here.”

The mere knowledge that she breathed the same air as that wretched dog of a man made her stomach clench. And he intended to stay—settle in, even?

“If he’s not going to lift a finger, then why bother marching out at all?” Liam exploded. “The Duke of Grüsewald and half the nobles are putting themselves at the front, commanding their forces directly, while he sits safely behind them hoping to snatch easy credit.”

Malena regarded Liam. “You dislike His Highness?”

“It’s not ‘dislike’—it’s the fact that the lady has to hide in a place like this because of him! And isn’t it outrageous? If he bothered to come all the way here, you’d think he planned to earn some real military merit. But no—his knights will bleed while he lounges around and waits to claim their accomplishments. How is that anything but infuriating?”

Martin coughed, attempting to rein him in. “He is the commander, Liam. It’s natural that a royal focuses on supervision rather than leading charges.”

“He could supervise from the front! You get better oversight out there—doesn’t he know that?”

“He’s still royalty. He must stay safe.”

“If he wants safety, he should’ve stayed at the palace! Why drag himself all the way here?”

As rude as the rant was, she couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out—because none of it was wrong. What worried her more was the question of how long he intended to remain in Eisenwald. The thought that he might stay through winter chilled her more than the weather.

She couldn’t stay at the poorhouse forever. She had duties waiting in the keep by spring, and avoiding him indefinitely wasn’t a real solution.

Useless bastard.

If he died at the front, all her problems would simplify. He had once sent Matthias into reckless infiltrations just to steal the credit afterward, and now that Matthias wasn’t here, he intended to do nothing at all—simply observe from afar and collect honors.

“My lady,” Martin asked tentatively, “will you stay here long? You’ll need to return to the castle once winter passes…”

“I don’t know,” she murmured.

“Luckily,” Liam said, “the young master is deploying with the First Order again. Perhaps you could return then? Even if the prince makes it uncomfortable at the castle, you can’t keep avoiding him forever. And really, there’s no reason for you to flee.”

It was a small comfort that Hermann wouldn’t remain behind.

“…I’ll return,” she said at last. “After a while.”

She would endure as long as she could, then go back.

“It’s snowing,” Malena noted. “Let’s head inside.”

Snow began to fall heavily, thick flakes hurling from a bruised sky. The next day, the storm worsened—an unrelenting blizzard that trapped half the region indoors. Reports of severe damage reached them by morning: low-lying villages buried, entire hamlets cut off.

Liam and Martin trudged through the snow at dawn to receive updates from the order. When they returned, their faces were grim, their boots soaked.

“My lady…” Martin began.

“What happened?”

He hesitated before answering.

“The battalion dispatched from Eisenwald… was ambushed. Most of them were wiped out.”

It struck her like a thunderclap.