Chapter 106

Rezette bypassed the corridor and doubled back into the bedroom. Confirming Elise’s absence again, he descended the stairs, the same ones yesterday’s frantic entry had marred.

“Your Highness?” Rebecca Petisson’s surprise was evident as Rezette burst into the study, his usual afternoon repose forgotten. The room was in the midst of being tidied by Petisson and a young maid. “Is there a problem? Should I fetch Ivetsa?”

Rezette’s voice was clipped. “Where is the Princess?”

“Pardon, Your Highness?” Petisson’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Surely Her Highness would be in her chambers. Isn’t that where she usually relaxes until the afternoon, door ajar?”

“…You haven’t seen her?” His voice was flat.

Petisson hesitated. “We haven’t… Perhaps Her Highness is not in her room?”

The first tendrils of concern snaked through Petisson’s demeanor. Rezette spoke a single, clipped word.

“Search.”

Chaos erupted within the castle walls as the news of Princess Elise’s disappearance spread like wildfire. Servants scurried about, akin to a swarm of ants, scouring every corner in search of their missing charge. Despite their exhaustive efforts, every nook and cranny yielded no sign of the princess.

“There’s no evidence of forced entry!” one servant reported frantically.

“The only visitor this morning was the milk delivery man, as usual. The gatekeeper swears he saw no one else entering the castle,” another added, their voice tinged with frustration.

An hour passed in a blur of frantic activity. Alfredo burst into the study breathless, his urgency palpable. “Perhaps she went for a morning stroll. Her Highness sometimes enjoys a brief walk around the castle perimeter while you’re away, sir. She instructed the attendants to ensure her comfort.”

Yet, the situation remained perplexing. The day had begun in the dim twilight before dawn, and while there were no maids on the top floor, it seemed implausible that the princess could have slipped out unnoticed.

Rezette’s temple throbbed with mounting tension as he pondered the unsettling turn of events. Though his mind raced with fears of wyvern attacks, a thorough sweep of the castle revealed no trace of unfamiliar magic in the air.

Elise had vanished without a trace, leaving behind a palpable sense of anxiety and impatience that had simmered beneath the surface overnight, now unleashed in full force.

“Where exactly did she go for her stroll?” Rezette’s voice carried a tinge of urgency, his brow furrowed in concern.

“It’s always… she always went accompanied by Ivetsa…” Rebecca hesitated, her tone reflecting the weight of the situation. “However, she never spent more than an hour. Was there perhaps a note left by Her Highness?”

Rebecca maintained her composure, though a chill ran down her spine as she met Rezette’s gaze. The man stood motionless in the center of the study, his deep blue eyes betraying a flicker of emotion. As the intensity of his stare grew, Rebecca felt a tempest brewing within those irises, until finally, his focus seemed to drift into the abyss of his pupils.

Though it had become a distant memory, Rebecca vividly recalled the aftermath when the thread of reason, diligently honed by this master, snapped.

She needed to tread carefully. Acting impatiently would only exacerbate the situation.

“The princess is not one to leave silently at such an early hour. She must have left something in the bedroom or the study so as not to disturb His Highness’s sleep. Please search again,” Rebecca suggested calmly, hoping to ease the tension.

But her attempt at defusing the situation proved futile.

As Rebecca had surmised, a bundle of papers lay neatly pressed on the living room table. Rezette drew a deep breath, his hand reaching for the papers as if grasping for a lifeline in the midst of uncertainty.

A fleeting sense of relief washed over Rezette as he laid eyes on the papers, only to be swiftly replaced by a ruthless contortion of his features as he recognized their contents. It was something he hadn’t seen in a long time, not since it was first drafted.

It was a marriage contract—crafted by Elise and signed by him six months prior in Opel’s palace.

“Why would this be here…?” Rezette murmured, his mind racing to comprehend the implications.

Nestled beneath the contract was a small note, bearing Elise’s distinctive handwriting.

[Do you remember, Rezette?

You said I could run away anytime after six months had passed.]

As he absorbed the words, a bitter laugh escaped him. They say that when faced with incomprehensible confusion, one often retreats into denial, and in that moment, Rezette found himself teetering on the brink of disbelief.

“This is too much of a joke, Elizabeth,” he muttered, the words tinged with a mix of incredulity and frustration.

But was Elise truly the type to jest with him in such a manner? The smirk faded from Rezette’s lips as he pondered the gravity of the situation. While he was known for his gruff demeanor and occasional teasing, it was Elise who approached life with a steadfast seriousness and sensitivity.

It didn’t take long for Rezette to grasp the gravity of the situation, the weight of reality settling upon him like a heavy cloak.

***

“She seems to have…ridden off,” Petisson reported with a hint of tension in her voice, breaking the silence that had enveloped the room.

Two hours passed relentlessly, yielding little progress, as Petisson relayed the information she had gathered.

“A stable boy discovered a horse wandering in the marketplace with its reins loose,” she continued, her tone measured. “It was confirmed to be one of the horses kept within the castle—a horse that had gone missing a few days prior, suspected to have fled after its bridle was cut.”

Despite her efforts to convey the details, there was no discernible reaction from the duke, who remained stationary in the center of the bedroom.

“Did anyone witness two discreet women moving about during the early hours?” Rezette asked.

“No sightings were reported. It’s possible she ventured to a secluded area before mounting the horse. No one saw anything,” Petisson confirmed solemnly. “The horse’s reins were removed beforehand.”

The duke’s voice pierced the silence, chilling the air with its frosty edge. “So it appears she had planned her escape.”

“That…seems to be the case,” Petisson conceded, her words heavy with resignation.

No one, including Rebecca Petisson, could offer a defense for the princess any longer. Without a meticulously orchestrated escape plan, her disappearance seemed implausible.

Yet, no one within the castle, including the duke himself, had anticipated such audacity from her.

The princess, once adored by the people as a living blessing, seemed to lead a life limited to simple pleasures—eating meals alone, leisurely strolls, delving into books, exchanging letters, and sharing intimate moments with the duke in their chambers. Such routines comprised the extent of her existence.

I noticed you’ve been particularly despondent and restless lately… Could it be that you deliberately left the door ajar, seizing the moment when I let my guard down?

Petisson’s concern grew as she observed the Duke, who remained absorbed in the papers clutched tightly in his hands, poring over them for over half an hour now.

Alfredo, having scoured every inch of the princess’s chambers and beyond with the help of numerous servants, grew increasingly agitated. “There’s no sign of anything missing, Your Highness. Not even spare clothing. It’s likely she had an accomplice. Should we begin by questioning the servants?”

The duke’s silence hung heavily in the air, his attention seemingly elsewhere as Alfredo continued his report.

“The princess’s personal maid has been evasive, but other maids have spotted her frequenting the laundry room in recent weeks. Just last week, she ventured outside the castle, purportedly on an errand for Her Highness. Shall we track her movements, Your Highness?” Alfredo pressed, seeking guidance.

But the duke remained aloof, his focus unwaveringly fixed on the papers before him. Abruptly, he lifted his gaze, turning to stare out the window. Beyond the glass, a golden field basked in the warm embrace of sunlight, casting a glow upon his inscrutable expression.

“Autumn…” His voice trailed off softly, as if suddenly grasping the significance of the season.

A moment later, the solemn atmosphere was shattered by a joyous voice, ringing out amidst the tension.

“Your Highness!”

Freya, the princess’s physician, dashed into the room, her face alight with emotion.

“Your Highness, congratulations…!”

The unexpected proclamation hung in the air, leaving everyone stunned and bewildered.

The duke, along with others intimately familiar with the princess’s circumstances—Petisson, and even Alfredo, who had sensed a shift in the air—paled at the news.

Freya, beaming with evident joy, scanned the room, seeking reassurance in the faces around her. It was the announcement the duke had been fervently awaiting.

The method of determining pregnancy by dropping a single drop of blood onto a grain of millet or barley was arduous but remarkably accurate. After six months of anticipation, it was finally confirmed— the princess was pregnant.

Having forged a close bond with the princess during six months of examinations in the capital, the elderly physician’s face reflected a blend of depth and joy. With the confirmation of her pregnancy, a weight seemed to lift from her shoulders—no longer would she fret over the absence of a child, nor need she retreat from public view.

Though the thought of her belly swelling over the next ten months brought a mist to her eyes, the miraculous conception of life warranted celebration.

“I’ve never had the privilege of examining a woman bearing a dragon’s child,” Freya mused aloud, her tone a mix of concern and anticipation. “Perhaps I should seek guidance from herbalists or physicians within the palace.”

As she glanced around, expecting to be met with an outpouring of congratulations, an uncomfortable silence enveloped the room. The palpable unease contrasted starkly with Freya’s own jubilant mood.

The duke, his countenance frozen like a statue, finally stirred, his voice barely above a whisper. “When?”

“Pardon?” Freya’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“When did she conceive the child?” The duke’s words hung in the air, laden with unreadable emotion. One thing was certain: the expression etched upon his features lacked the pure joy one would expect from a husband upon learning of his wife’s pregnancy.