Chapter 45

“It’s alright,” Elise whispered, her voice barely audible. The pain gnawed at her, a persistent reminder that all was not well. If someone were to question her about fear, the truth was she trembled with it, though she’d never admit it aloud.

Today, though, a critical truth solidified in Elise’s heart. A suspicion she’d harbored for some time now had finally crystallized into certainty. Rezette Kyrstan couldn’t take her life, not even accidentally.

The memory was etched into her mind—the vice-like grip around her throat, an otherworldly strength coursing through it. But then, like a fractured mirror, that force had shattered, crumbled away.

“There was something that compelled him to halt,” she mused, the words escaping her lips as if speaking to the wind.

It had to be the ancient blood of the Great Dragon Sameshita that coursed through his veins. That forbidden essence carried within it a recognition of Elise’s lineage, a binding oath written in the very fabric of her ancestry.

And Rezette, a dragon of unparalleled prowess, stood at the pinnacle of his kind. His veins pulsed with Sameshita’s might, his connection to the taboo stronger than any other. It was the reason she dared to hope, even in the face of this reckless marriage she found herself entangled in. For within Rezette Kyrstan resided her sanctuary, an unlikely protector in a world where few were on her side.

Elise’s gaze returned to the mirror, her eyes fixing on an undeniable mark etched into her left chest. The memory surged forth—hot breath, a whisper of contact through her corset, the press of his lips against her skin. The intensity blazed in his azure eyes, an inferno of passion that had seared into her very soul.

The sensation left goosebumps on her flesh. Amidst the throbbing ache spreading from her neck, an unbidden yearning emerged, one she hadn’t even recognized until now. She found herself wishing his touch had lingered, a forbidden desire taking root.

The memory drove her to contemplate, to question. Should she, perhaps, be the one to bridge the gap? “Next time,” she resolved, “I won’t stay still. Perhaps I should touch him too—anywhere.”

Yet, the path to such desires was paved with absurd conditions that Rezette had imposed. Gain twenty pounds or more—the notion seemed improbable. Ivetsa, reading Elise’s concerns in her own astute way, blinked her sharp eyes in response.

“Your Highness, truly… I’ll bring a towel for you first. And you should see the physician as soon as possible. Please wait a moment.” With those words, Ivetsa exited the room, leaving behind a trace of her distress in the form of muffled sniffling.

“…I won’t die, Ivetsa,” Elise murmured, her voice a quiet affirmation.

Resting her head against the bathtub’s cool porcelain, she let her thoughts weave through the tapestry of her lineage. “The bloodline of Sameshita,” she mused aloud, as if whispering a secret to the water that cradled her. “It’s an ancient covenant, a sacred pact that shields the descendants of Gallian from harm.” Her sigh rippled through the water’s surface, a ripple of introspection.

Or was it, perhaps, a pact of lovers?

***

Upon the pinnacle of Argan Fortress, a scarlet banner danced with unrestrained fervor in the clutches of the wind. Its vivid crimson backdrop bore the image of a bull’s severed head, its gaze defiantly fixed upon the heavens—an emblem synonymous with the Ugel Barbarian Kingdom.

In the shadow of breached ramparts that had steadfastly repelled every previous assault, the heart of Grandel trembled. The fall of Argan Fortress, once deemed impregnable, whispered tales of an era’s demise. Across the land, the dominion shifted, succumbing to the grip of the advancing northern forces.

Yet, appearances can deceive.

A select few clung to a concealed truth, sheltering knowledge that the helm of Argan’s leadership had clandestinely slipped through the fingers of the marauding barbarians, vanishing into the ether.

“Vile Argan scoundrels!”

With a resounding thud, the opulent oak desk shivered, as if threatened to shatter under the weight of the prince’s indignation. The chamber that had once hosted the wisdom of past Argan emperors now metamorphosed into the council hall for the Ugel royals, this transformation accomplished in the fleeting span of months.

Prince Rihan Sihat, Ugel’s first scion, pounded the table with an unrelenting fist.

“That wily serpent, Aseica, even managed to slither away with that scheming brain of hers!”

Before Rihan, there rested a box, swathed in coarse fabric. Moments earlier, he had unveiled its contents—an act that now lingered in his thoughts. Within the four-sided wooden enclosure lay a severed head, purposefully bereft of any preservative measures. As he lifted the lid, the fetid odor of decay tumbled out, accompanied by a writhing troupe of maggots that danced upon the wind. A quick drape of cloth was all it took to quell the grotesque display.

The head belonged to Yanok Sihat, the fourth prince of Ugel. Rihan stared at the pitiable visage of his half-brother and clenched his teeth in suppressed fury.

“To imagine even the princess has slipped beyond our grasp!”

Grand Duke Kyrstan had, at last, spirited the girl away to his domain. Within Rotiara’s confines, vigilantly guarded by the Duke himself, entry was nigh impossible unless his consent had been granted. The princess had discovered an ideal sanctuary, custom-made to suit her needs. Much like his own twin sibling.

A sudden twist of Rihan’s head revealed his restive demeanor.

“Is there still no trace of the Emperor?”

“Should we have found him, Your Highness, he would be present here,” quipped Ugel’s third prince, Hanan, with an undercurrent of sarcasm.

“He’s vanished without a trace. Unless he’s mastered the art of becoming air or buried himself in the ground, there’s no logical explanation. Even after scouring the depths of his prison cell, no escape route emerged…”

“You were overseeing his confinement!”

“I only applied a bit of pressure. How he manipulated his broken arm to unlock the prison door, how he slipped from his captors with severed tendons in his ankle… well, I’m equally intrigued. Still, he reached that point, so he’s probably alive and just unable to reveal himself yet. It’ll take quite some time to recover.”

The haunting rumor of the Argan Empire’s last emperor, Andrei, succumbing to a brutal throat-slitting and a desecrated corpse was just that—a rumor. The Ugel people hadn’t orchestrated his demise. With hundreds of pieces of information that should’ve come from the emperor’s mouth, would it be wise to send him to the afterlife so easily?

Had it been an error? The emperor, shackled by a lifetime in the subterranean depths of the imperial prison, vanished as if into thin air. Despite the cruel loss of an eye and the severance of half his right arm, he had defied his frailty and slipped away.

Over decades, King Geor and his quartet of sons had conspired to ensnare the Argan Emperor. They’d interwoven Thorn Vines, renowned for quelling magic, into a cord and studded a restraint with demon-forged fangs. Bound by these, the young man had suffered relentless agony for over ten torturous days, his captors’ vigilance unwavering.

Yet, the ashen youth clung to silence, preserving the secret of his imprisonment to the bitter end.

Obstinate brat.

Ugel’s grasp on dragon magic remained woefully incomplete. At best, they could access the records from the emperor’s personal study and office. Yet, the true treasure trove lay buried in the depths of the imperial palace’s sanctuary.

There, nestled within, rested volumes of magical research—an odyssey spanning from the exploits of the Great Dragon Sameshita to the tapestries of Galian mythology, and the breakthroughs etched by the dragon’s five disciples.

To fathom their squandering of a potential fortune! Yet, this was merely one facet of their predicament.

Rihan Sihat clenched his teeth. “The Emperor of Argan himself is a justification and a cause. The fact that he’s alive must not be revealed.”

Across the land, tensions were rising. Not only did the southern realms harbor unease, but even the imposing Grandel Northern Federation, nestled with Ugel, held reservations about the looming conflict. Despite the collective reluctance, a coalition of forces, led by the enigmatic Van Yela, rallied behind Ugel. The catalyst was Ugel’s rapid ascent, an ascent that cast a shadow large enough to eclipse all others.

A mere fifty years had transformed Ugel from obscurity to a juggernaut that threatened the very foundation of Van Yela’s domain. A reputation for cruelty and violence had etched its mark deep into the annals of Grandel’s history.

Should Ugel’s insatiable ambition lead to the capture of Argan and its coveted treasures of nobility and magic, the dominos would surely fall in their favor. The question hung heavy in the air like a storm-laden cloud: would the alliance, anchored by Emperor Van Yela himself, dare to oppose this newfound might? Ugel, for all its power, danced on the precipice of strategic calculation, avoiding early commitment to its audacious plans.

However, a solitary figure disrupted the delicate balance. If the Emperor of Argan yet drew breath, concealed among the southern allies, orchestrating a hidden symphony of resurgence, the dominion Ugel had so craftily built might crumble beneath the weight of revelation. 

Stripped of their hastily donned mantle of supremacy, wresting control back from eager hands would prove no small feat. The destiny of Grandel trembled on a knife’s edge.

And in the North, where allegiance was a fluid notion, a turning tide awaited. Should the Federation abandon Ugel’s side, gravitating instead towards Argan, the aftermath was etched in grim certainty. Kingdoms, painstakingly forged, would dissolve like sand carried away by the wind, and the barbarians who formed the nation, uniting the desert and wastelands, would be torn into tribes once more.

There’s no need to grovel to Van Yela and the like. But it’s foolish to unnecessarily increase enemies. Rihan coldly stared at the box containing his brother’s documents.

“You acted so foolishly. You should have known when to yield in front of Rezette Kyrstan. I warned you multiple times,” he muttered under his breath.

Rihan wasn’t like his younger siblings. He had confronted that devil himself, up close and personal.

He had been the shield and blade of Emperor Van Yela. Through every bout of internal strife, each conquest of the throne, and the relentless pursuit of territorial dominion, the grand duke had stood steadfast. He had even tamed the treacherous, unknown demon-infested wilds of the northern high-risk zone.

Over a decade had elapsed since Rihan last laid eyes on that monstrosity. Memories of Grand Duke Kyrstan amidst battles against these demons resurfaced. The lad who had barely crossed into his twenties during those times appeared frail in recollection, yet the being he confronted was hardly human to begin with.