Roland opened the door to his chambers.
Anna and Violette were waiting quietly in the hall.
Anna, ever-efficient, stepped forward. She had clearly been awake for hours.
"My Lord," she reported, her voice low. "All the supplies are ready."
"The three carriages are loaded. The seventy able-bodied slaves you purchased are assembled in the outer field."
She paused, looking at his tired face. "My Lord, you can still go back and rest for a while. I have everything under control."
Roland looked at Anna with appreciation.
"Thanks, Anna."
Violette stood to the side, silent.
She watched Anna with an envy.
'She's so capable,'
'So useful to Lord Roland. She's... needed.'
She, on the other hand, was just... cargo.
Another mouth to feed.
She felt small. Useless.
The feeling was so strong she couldn't stop herself from stepping forward.
"Is there... anything I can do?"
Her voice was barely a whisper.
Roland looked at her, and a small smile touched his lips.
"Don't worry."
"There's more than enough for you to do."
He didn't explain.
His gaze shifted back to both of them. "Get some more rest. Both of you. You'll need it for the journey."
He himself did not rest.
He turned, his boots echoing in the empty corridor.
He walked toward the audience hall.
...
The great hall was empty.
It was vast, and cold, and dead.
His father, Earl Valerius, was absent.
Only the old family steward stood by the chair. His face was a mask of professional neutrality.
When the steward saw Roland, he didn't speak.
He simply bowed, his back stiff.
He stepped forward, holding a small, velvet-wrapped object.
Silently, he handed it to Roland.
The Awakening Stone.
Roland took it. The velvet was cool against his palm.
"Where is Valerius?" Roland asked.
His voice was flat. It echoed slightly in the empty room.
"The Earl is sleeping, My Lord."
The steward's eyes never met his.
'Sleeping.'
Roland almost laughed.
His own father.
His son was being exiled, sent to the most dangerous place, and he was sleeping.
It was the final, perfect insult.
"He left orders yesterday," the steward continued, reciting the words from memory.
"You must depart for the Northern Reaches today."
"You are to assume your post as the Baron of Nightingale Territory."
"Knight Rena will escort you to the border fortress, Windsor Castle. From there, you are on your own."
The steward finished speaking.
He stood there, waiting.
Roland felt his lips twist into a smile that held no warmth at all.
A short, cold laugh escaped him.
He didn't say another word.
He turned and walked away.
...
He went to the open field outside the castle walls.
His entire expedition was waiting.
Three simple carriages, loaded with sacks of grain and barrels.
And seventy able-bodied slaves.
They were arranged in three perfectly neat rows, standing silent in the dim morning light. Their faces were blank, their eyes empty, staring straight ahead.
'Anna's work,'
'She's impressively competent.'
Nearby, a group of armed men waited.
A knight, encased in shining, full plate armor, sat atop a massive warhorse. His visor was down.
A dozen light cavalrymen, all leather and steel and spears, sat behind him, their expressions bored and disdainful.
This had to be Knight Rena.
His "escort."
As Roland approached, the knight spurred his horse forward a few paces.
He stopped, his horse snorting in the cold air.
He did not salute.
"Sir Rena," he said. His voice was muffled and curt, booming from behind the steel visor.
It was a self-introduction.
And clearly, it was the beginning and end of their conversation.
The knight's contempt was a palpable thing. It radiated from him like a wave.
'A good-for-nothing.'
'A waste of a noble name.'
'A disgraced boy playing at being a Lord.'
Roland could practically hear the man's thoughts.
He didn't even bother to reply.
"Well, well. Look at the exiled man."
That voice.
Roland turned.
His brother, Cassian, was strolling across the field.
The wounds Roland had given him—the broken nose, the split lip—were gone.
Healed by magic.
Of course.
Cassian's face was pristine, but his eyes were filled with a raw, burning hatred.
He looked like he wanted to tear Roland apart with his bare hands.
He stopped a few feet away, smirking.
"It's a pity, really," Cassian sneered, his voice dripping with venom. "I was so looking forward to killing you with my own hands."
He shrugged, a false, casual gesture that was painfully over-acted.
"But don't worry."
"The monsters in the North will get my revenge for me."
He leaned in, his smile widening. "They'll tear you limb from limb. A fitting end for trash like you."
Roland just stared at him.
He didn't say a word.
You don't wrestle with a pig; you both get dirty and the pig likes it.
He turned his back on his brother, walked to his own horse, and mounted.
He glanced around.
The air was cold. It bit at his cheeks.
The massive castle gates loomed behind him, silent and closed.
Not a single person had come to see him off.
Not one.
His parents were, apparently, still "sleeping."
The only person from his "family" who did show up was here to mock him.
To kick him while he was down.
Roland let out a long, slow breath. It plumed white in the air.
He gave a self-deprecating smile.
"What a pathetic life."
But then, his gaze fell upon the small group standing near the lead carriage.
Anna.
And Violette.
They were watching him.
They were coming with him.
They were here.
A corner of his mouth hooked into a slight, almost imperceptible smile.
'Pathetic, maybe.'
'But not alone.'
He was not alone.
He drew his sword. The shing of the steel rang clear and sharp in the cold morning.
He pointed it forward.
"Move out!"
...
The caravan lurched into motion.
The heavy wheels of the carriages groaned. The slaves began to march, their feet shuffling in unison on the dirt road.
The cavalry escort fell in around them.
They left the Earl's territory.
They traveled for half a day, the silence broken only by the plodding of hooves, the rumble of wheels, and the creak of wood.
At noon, the group stopped to rest by a small, muddy stream.
The moment his horse stopped, Roland dismounted.
He didn't rest.
"Violette. With me."
He pulled her aside, away from the slaves and the watchful, irritated eyes of Knight Rena.
He took her behind one of trees nearby, out of sight.
She looked confused.
"My... My Lord?"
"Stand still," he commanded.
He reached into his tunic and pulled out the velvet-wrapped object.
The Awakening Stone.
Violette was in a complete daze.
She had no idea what that object was.
But she could feel it.
A low, humming power thrummed from within the velvet. It made the tips of her fingers tingle.
She knew, with an absolute, gut-wrenching certainty, that it was something incredibly precious.
Something worth more than she could possibly imagine.
And he was...
Before she could form another thought, Roland pressed the cold stone against her forehead.
The stone broke into pieces all of the sudden.
This was how the stone should be used.
And then, it flared.
It didn't just glow. It erupted.
A burst of pure, blinding white light shot from the stone, enveloping Violette completely.
It was so bright, Roland had to shield his eyes.
The light was... strange. It seemed to bend, to twist the very air around her.
At the same time.
And a holographic prompt flashed before Roland's eyes.
A line of text only he could see.
[Violette's Shadow Assassin bloodline has been successfully activated!]
Roland let the dust fall from his fingers.
He smiled.