Chapter 126

The horses tied at the edge of the forest began to rear and scream the moment they saw Kennard and the knights rushing toward them in their wolf forms. Terrified out of their minds, the animals rolled their eyes until they seemed about to pop from their sockets, snorting violently and crying out as if their lungs might burst. Had they not been secured to the trees, they would have scattered in all directions without hesitation.

As Kennard neared the entrance, he shifted back into his human shape and vaulted onto his horse without a moment’s pause. While he soothed the trembling animal with a firm pat along its neck, Serin darted forward to untie the rope that held it. Kennard dug his heel hard into the horse’s flank and launched straight toward the fortress. Before long the thunder of Serin’s horse and the others pounded up behind him.

The faster he drove forward, the more the gentle breeze became a harsh wind that whipped across his entire body. After a full sprint across the mountain, a vast river opened before them, the Bellad River that cut directly through the heart of the Baruchella Empire. Beyond the long, high bridge stretched over the water stood the main citadel. Its size was so tremendous that even from afar it dominated the view.

The fortress held twenty three towers and five gates, and every gate and wall was manned by armed soldiers keeping watch. All gates except the main one stayed shut except during emergencies on the scale of war, and all entry in ordinary times was allowed only through the main gate. To reach that gate, one first had to cross the stone bridge ahead, and then pass through a drawbridge built like an ironclad barrier. Beneath that, a group of guards usually observed the outside through a single small opening and vetted every visitor before allowing the drawbridge to lower.

Yet for some reason, just as Kennard and his group had crossed half the bridge, the drawbridge, which should have been firmly locked, began to lower toward the stone bridge as if waiting for them. Even along the ramparts circling the fortress, the number of watchmen was strangely low.

“It could be a trap,” Serin shouted from right behind him, his tone tight with worry. The noise of the hooves and the wind was so loud that he would not have been heard otherwise.

“Do not slow down,” Kennard shouted back. “Even if we are attacked, we push through and reach the main keep.”

He kept every sense fixed straight ahead and refused to ease the pace. Seeing his expression, Serin drew in a sharp breath as if bracing himself.

“You all heard him,” Serin shouted over his shoulder.

“At your command,” the knights roared together, their voices booming like thunder.

The thick chains along the pulleys groaned and scraped as the drawbridge dropped onto the bridge with a heavy thud. Kennard rode across and passed through the fully opened main gate, flicking his gaze upward. Above the gate hung a massive iron grille, its end sharpened to pierce intruders clean through. The chains holding it could be released so that the heavy structure fell with great speed. Anyone standing beneath would die instantly or, even if still alive afterward, would beg for death.

Kennard remained tensed for an attack that could come at any moment. Yet nothing happened, not until he entered the village within the walls. Instead, the scene before him appeared just as peaceful as any other day.

The capital of Baruchella differed strikingly from other regions. Its streets were neatly planned in a grid, with houses built at even intervals and wide main roads allowing carriages to move in both directions every few blocks. One section of the capital held a massive market where stalls packed tightly together sold fruits, vegetables, and local goods. Crowds of commoners, servants, and merchants from foreign countries always thronged the area. On the grand avenue filled with fine dress shops, restaurants, and taverns, most passersby were nobles in bright attire, and their carriages lined the roadside.

Not knowing where an enemy might appear, Kennard scanned his surroundings while charging straight down the avenue. Wherever he and his knights passed, the thunder of hooves echoed and clouds of dust swirled up behind them. People who recognized him in the blink of an eye froze on the spot, unable to trust their own sight.

Noblewomen covered their shocked faces with their fans while men fished monocles from their pockets and adjusted them, frowning as they watched Kennard’s entourage storm past. It had been far too long since he last appeared in the capital, but more than that, he rode as if fleeing a battlefield, and everyone around them grew frightened and wary.

Kennard saw none of it. His mind held only Elena. The image of her writhing in pain flickered before his eyes, and every time it did, he felt as if someone had clenched a fist around his heart and refused to release it. The agony made it difficult even to breathe.

***

“Tell me I am not dreaming,” Emperor Ruys asked with a laugh in his voice as he reclined sideways upon the imperial throne. In his hand was an underripe fruit, half bitten. Kennard frowned as the Emperor licked the juice trickling down the back of his hand. Even before one’s own younger brother, such conduct was unbecoming of an Emperor.

Kennard steadied his breath and glared at Ruys. In his heart, he wanted nothing more than to lunge forward and drive a blade into his brother’s soft stomach. But until he confirmed Elena’s safety he could not act recklessly.

Entering the Emperor’s audience chamber had been far too easy. The guards at the outer walls, the soldiers in the keep, even the attendants and servants inside the castle had opened every door for him as if they had been waiting. Yet after they reached the main keep, Kennard’s knights had been stopped, leaving only Kennard and Serin permitted to enter.

“Your Grace, do you feel it,” Serin whispered, leaning close so that only Kennard might hear. Kennard knew exactly what he meant.

“Yes,” Kennard replied without even moving his lips. He had sensed Elena’s pheromones strongly even before stepping into the audience chamber, but the hope of seeing her vanished in an instant. The scent that struck him, one he knew too well, made his heart plummet. It was blood.

“It is the smell of blood, is it not,” Serin murmured. Kennard clenched his jaw instead of answering. Elena’s blood and her pheromones filled the air, yet she herself was nowhere to be seen. Rage surged through him uncontrollably, and it felt as though his blood might boil over and spill back through his veins.

“Where is my wife,” Kennard demanded as he slowly surveyed the hall. He tried not to expose his emotions, but there was no hiding the fury lacing his voice.

“Your wife? What wife,” Ruys asked, taking a large bite of the fruit and chewing with his mouth open. Wet smacking noises filled the air, droplets of juice and spit spraying outward. Kennard clenched his fist until his nails threatened to break the skin.

“You know exactly who I mean,” Kennard said. “Do not play games with me.”

Ruys snorted and lifted one corner of his mouth. “Of course I know. But the woman is a murderer, is she not? You spirited away the very person I summoned in order to judge her crimes, and then you married her without even seeking my permission.”

He tossed the fruit onto a tray beside him, its pulp scattering. He ignored the mess and wiped his hands across the fabric of his ceremonial robes. Kennard could hardly believe Ruys dared summon him alone and then continue behaving with such shameless indulgence.

“I am sorry to disappoint Your Majesty,” Kennard said, “but Elena is no murderer. And I have long said that I will choose my own mate.”

“A Grand Duke defying tradition,” Ruys said as he sprang to his feet and started down the steps, “and defying the command of his own Emperor.”

“Discuss that later,” Kennard said. “Return Elena to me. My patience has reached its limit.”

He began walking toward Ruys, fighting the urge to shout. Ruys halted halfway down the steps, then slowly retreated back toward the throne. Kennard stopped at the foot of the dais and looked at the steps before him. Without the Emperor’s permission, taking even a single step onto them would brand him a traitor. Only the Emperor and the attendants who served him closely were allowed there. Even a Grand Duke, even the High Priest Argon, dared not touch that sacred space.

Time seemed to slow as Kennard lifted his head and looked up at Ruys. “Are you truly ordering me to set foot there,” he asked. His tone remained calm, but his golden eyes burned with barely contained fire.

Ruys, who had been lowering himself awkwardly into his seat while gripping one armrest, turned to look back at him. He tried to maintain a mask of ease, but beneath his lowered lashes his gaze trembled.