The carriage rattles violently as it approaches the heavy wooden gates of the settlement. Up close, Aval looks less like a peaceful retreat and more like a fortress preparing for a siege.
Scores of sweat-drenched townsfolk are frantically hoisting massive logs, reinforcing the outer wooden walls. Scattered along the ditches are the splintered remains of broken carriages, left behind like grim warnings.
Despite the bright sunshine, an undercurrent of desperate panic grips the air. Merchants crowd the muddy streets, and groups of zealots[1] march past carrying faded flags, their voices rising in a frantic, synchronized chant.
"Oh, Aval, protect this town once again! Keep looking over us!"
Henry navigates the chaotic crowd with careful precision, finally halting the carriage in front of a modest, two-story building. A weathered wooden board hangs over the entrance, creaking in the breeze: The Inn of Aval. It isn't grand, but it isn't shabby either.
Leonard steps down first, his boots hitting the dirt with a heavy thud, and motions for Henry to follow him inside. The tavern floor is packed to the brim with rough-looking merchants drinking cheap booze and laughing loudly to drown out the tension outside.
Leonard cuts through the noise, stepping up to the wooden counter. He catches the eye of the tavern lady. "How much for two rooms for a day? Two beds in each."
The lady eyes Leonard's massive frame and the longsword on his back, her sharp demeanor softening. "Three silvers, traveler."
Leonard reaches into his pouch, counts out the coins, and places them onto the counter.
Before she can pocket them, he tosses a heavy bronze coin right alongside them. "This is for looking after the carriage outside. Have your boys unload our gear and bring it up to the rooms."
The lady's face lights up with a wide smile. "Absolutely, sire. Right away." She slides two iron keys across the scarred wood. "Rooms are just upstairs, right at the end of the hall."
Henry steps back outside to escort the ladies. He opens the cabin door, offering a respectful nod as Elsbeth and Grace step out into the crowded street.
As Henry hands one of the room keys to Grace, Leonard steps up beside them. "I'll be in the next room," he says in a low, grounding voice. "Call if you require anything at all."
Grace nods, her silk sleeves rustling as she wraps a protective hand around Elsbeth's arm. The moment they step across the tavern threshold, the rowdy laughter of the merchants instantly dies out.
The room goes dead silent. Dozens of hardened, dirt-caked faces turn to stare open-mouthed at Elsbeth. The sight of a delicate girl in silk fabric wearing the ghostly, blood-red painted face of a court jester sends a cold shiver through the room.
Ignoring the burning stares, Grace swiftly guides the silent Princess up the wooden stairs, leaving the heavy atmosphere behind.
Leonard and Henry follow shortly after their belongings are inside, turning the keys to their own room right next door.
A quiet hour passes. Inside the room, Leonard sits on the edge of his bed, trying to massage the tension out of his neck, while Henry cleans his boots.
A sharp, rhythmic knock echoes against their door.
Henry stands up and cracks it open. He blinks in surprise, then turns his head back toward the veteran. "Sir... it's Lady Grace."
Leonard gets up from the mattress, rolling his shoulders. "Let her in already."
Henry opens the door completely. Grace steps into the room, her usual expression replaced by something uncharacteristically tense and heavy. She looks at the young guard. "Henry... would you give us a minute?"
Henry looks between them, nods quickly, and steps out into the hallway, closing the door firmly behind him.
Leonard raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "What is it?"
Grace hesitates for a moment, her fingers tightly interlacing. She takes a quiet, grounding breath. "There is something I'd like to ask you. It's about Her Highness."
"Go on," Leonard says, his tone shifting into focus.
"When we stopped last night... when I was asleep beside her," Grace begins, her voice dropping into a hushed, troubled whisper, "the sound muttering woke me up. I didn't move. I pretended to stay asleep so she wouldn't shut down."
Grace lowers her eyes, a flicker of genuine distress passing through them. "I heard her highness muttering to herself. over and over again. 'Luan, are you safe... are you alright... mercy, where are you...' She just kept repeating that exact sentence, frantically flipping through the pages of that book in the dark. She wasn't asleep at all, Leonard. That's what keeps bothering me."
Grace snaps her gaze back up, searching his face. "Is there anything you know about this?"
Leonard brushes his hand over his brow, letting out a heavy, tired sigh. He looks toward the shared wall of their rooms. "I don't know. But if she isn't ready to share it with us, we shouldn't force her. We need to let her be."
He drops his hand, his dark eyes looking older than usual. "My Lady is avoiding me too. To be honest, I can't even bring myself to talk to her right now. Let's just hope she gets better soon. You should try to take it easy too, Grace."
Grace stares at him for a beat, realizing she won't get any deeper answers today. She lets out a slow breath, her posture softening. "Very well."
Grace leaves the room, opening the door to let Henry back inside. Henry slides past her, waiting until the latch clicks shut before he turns around. He slowly steps forward, a massive, mischievous grin spreading across his face as his eyes dart from the door back to Leonard.
"So..." Henry draws out the word, wiggling his eyebrows. "Lady Grace visited the room privately..."
Leonard narrows his eyes, his voice warningly flat. "Henry."
"And she even asked me to leave..."
"Henry."
"And she stayed for several minu—"
THWACK.
A heavy down pillow flies across the room with terrifying velocity, striking Henry squarely in the face. The sheer force of the impact knocks the him clean off his feet. He crashes onto the floorboards with a groan, rubbing his nose.
"THERE'S NOTHING LIKE THAT, YOU IDIOT!" Leonard roars, his face tinged with a mix of exhaustion and secondary embarrassment.
"I was only asking!" Henry whines from the floor, clutching his face.
"Stop asking stupid stuff," Leonard snaps, pointing a stern finger at the kid. "And don't you dare ever mention anything like that in front of her if you value your life. Am I understood?"
Henry gulps, remembering Grace's sharp tongue and hidden sting. "U-Understood."
In the next room, Grace spreads the map across the scarred wooden table. Her movements are hushed, deliberate, careful not to disturb the heavy silence bleeding from the room where Elsbeth lies with her eyes closed.
Grace's eyes scan the labyrinthine ink lines radiating out from the troubled town of Aval.
*If the main route is somehow blocked, we will be forced into the margins,* she thinks, her finger tracing a jagged, unlabeled pass. *The smuggler's path. A dangerous route—one I want to avoid at all costs—but it doesn't hurt to be prepared for the worst.*
She calculates their remaining timeline. Two days of hard travel through the lawless wilds separate us from the next town. We need rest and also need to restock our iron rations and clean water. Yet Aval feels like a cornered beast. The market squares are thick with desperate traders, the air sour with an unspoken dread. The splintered skeletons of broken carriages we passed at the gates are still haunting me. Should we flee before whatever shadow looming over this place finally falls? Or will rushing only break our fragile vanguard before we ever reach the border?
"I should ask around and gather rumors," she mutters, rubbing the persistent throb behind her temples. Grace lets out a sharp sigh. She has always prided herself on her intellect, but high-society court politics have never prepared her for the heavy, suffocating weight of the commoner's world. *Agh, my head might explode. I knew it was going to be hard, but I never expected a commoner's life to be this brutal.*
Grace rolls the map, her gaze shifting to the table where the nameless black book rests beside the princess's bed. She sets the map down and reaches a hand toward the leather cover, but stops herself mid-motion. *Don't just rest, Grace,* she scolds herself silently.
Collapsing backward onto her mattress, she stares blankly at the cracked ceiling plaster. No amount of grand strategies will matter if their center does not hold. I need to help the princess in her current state. No matter how much I plan, it's all going to go down the drain if she doesn't get herself together. Run your brain, Grace... how can you help her highness? Before her mind can fashion an answer, the exhausting toll of the road claims her, dragging her down into a deep, dreamless slumber.
When she wakes, the fierce, blinding glare of the sun has dissolved into long amber shadows. She checks her silver pocket watch and lets out a breathless sigh. Ten hours completely lost to sleep. I can't believe it. This common inn bed is far more comfortable than I thought.
Turning her attention to the princess, she finds Elsbeth still soundly asleep. Grace stands up, her curiosity winning out as she walks over to the the table and lifts the mysterious book. She unclasps it and flicks through the parchment.
Nothing. Every single page is a stark, unblemished void.
"Mercy..." Grace mutters, the heavy silence of the room swallowing the word. Why has Elsbeth whispered that same word while desperately searching these blank pages? It defies every law of scholarship she knows.
Then, the memory of Sir Azik's low, resonant voice echoes in her mind, drifting like incense from a lost life:
"The world does not weave its grand design to fit the narrow lens of human logic, Grace. There are forces that breathe far beyond the margins of our books, mysteries that will never bow to a scholar's reason. Do not exhaust your spirit trying to untangle every shadow. When the mind is blinded by the dark, the heart must simply learn to believe in the dawn. For the universe is a terrible, beautiful expanse, storing wonders and secrets far greater than the fragile imagination of humans."
The memory clears the fog from her thoughts. Coming back to her senses, Grace quietly places the book back on the table. She ties her blonde hair back, neatly adjusts the creases of her dark blue silk dress, and moves to wake the princess.
Elsbeth's eyelids flutter open slightly, her vacant gaze focusing until she sees Grace looking down at her with a soft smile.
"Pardon me for waking you up i was just thinking that we should look around the town together, your highness..." Grace suggests gently. "The heat has settled already, and I have a few things I need to buy. I don't want to venture out alone."
Elsbeth doesn't answer. She merely looks away, her hand instantly locking around the spine of the black book.
Grace sits on the floorboards directly in front of her, capturing one of Elsbeth's cold hands.
"Your highness, you can't stay hidden in the dark forever. I can't even begin to imagine the horrors you went through... but you are not alone here. Leonard is here. Everyone is waiting for you. If you keep refusing help, we can't accomplish anything."
Elsbeth's chest hitches. A fragile, trembling whisper escapes her lips. "The sun..." She chokes, her large, beautiful eyes suddenly filling with brilliant tears. "I—I am his sun. His sun... I have to make my light reach him. I have to... so the darkness doesn't devour him."
Grace has no idea what the cryptic reference to the sun means, but the sheer, agonizing depth of the princess's trembling grief tears through her defenses. Standing up, she pulls Elsbeth off the bed and into her arms, burying the girl's face against her shoulder.
"I am here, your highness..." Grace whispers, before correcting herself with fierce, protective intimacy, "No... Pardon me for this. I am here, Elsbeth. I am right here with you."
The warmth of the embrace seems to anchor Elsbeth's senses. Slowly, hesitantly, her hands creep up to return the hug, her silent, heavy sobs dampen the dark blue silk of Grace's gown as tears run down her painted cheeks.
Grace holds her close, softly consoling her until the worst of the storm passes.
"You've never been outside the Central District before, have you, your highness?" Grace asks gently.
Elsbeth gives a slight, muted nod.
Grace squeezes her hand again, offering a warm smile as she takes a lace handkerchief to wipe the tears from Elsbeth's face, careful to leave the fierce red pigment intact. "Then let's go see the town outside. I promise it'll make you feel better. But before we do that, let me tidy you up."
Elsbeth doesn't resist as Grace unclasps her travelling cloak, puts it beside the bed, and sits behind her, takes a silver comb, and runs it gently through Elsbeth's long, black, silky hair. With practiced elegance, she weaves the strands into a noble style.
As the comb clicks against the wood, Elsbeth speaks in a voice so low it is barely a breath. "C—call me Elsbeth. You can call me Elsbeth."
Grace steps down from the bed, dropping into a flawless, traditional curtsy, her eyes shining with genuine affection. "Just when we're alone."
Elsbeth gets up, pulls her travelling cloak back over her shoulders, and draws the deep hood forward until her face paint is entirely swallowed by shadow. Grace takes her hand, and they step out into the hallway, walking over to knock on Leonard's door.
"Leonard?" Grace calls out. "We're going out for a while. If Henry is awake, send him with us."
No reply. Grace pushes the door open a fraction and peeks inside, only to find him sprawled across the mattress, completely out of touch with reality, snoring softly in a state of utter exhaustion.
"Hey, Leona—" Grace starts, but Elsbeth's hand gently falls upon her forearm, stopping her.
"Let him rest," Elsbeth murmurs softly.
"Understood," Grace replies, quietly pulling the door shut. She casts a wry look down the corridor, thinking to herself, Now, where is that Henry with the silly, angry face?
Hand in hand, the two women step into the chaotic currents of Aval. The streets are a dense sea of traveling merchants, pack animals, and shouting vendors. Yet underneath the commercial clamor, a grim undercurrent stains the town.
Locals are frantically hoisting timber beams to fortify the wooden walls, while small clusters of townfolk kneel in the dirt, their low murmurs raised in desperate prayer.
"Hold my hand tightly, your highness," Grace instructs, guiding Elsbeth safely through the thick of the crowd.
They pause before a small stall where a jewelry merchant sits polishing his wares. The merchant looks up, his eyes instantly tracking the expensive silk of Grace's dark blue dress.
His gaze flicks briefly to the shadowed figure of Elsbeth; seeing the stark, unsettling crimson paint beneath the hood, he quickly looks away, dismissing her as an eccentric servant or an outcast.
"Oh my, it really is a bright day today!" the merchant chimes, rubbing his hands together as he focuses entirely on Grace. "A noble lady here in Aval! How can I help you?" He points proudly at his display. "This is all crafted from rare minerals and gold by my own hands, and it's one thousand percent original."
Grace glances at Elsbeth, careful to hide her royal title to avoid suspicion. "Do you like anything?"
Elsbeth looks down at the glittering trinkets. Raised in a palace where every piece of finery was chosen for her, she has never been allowed to simply choose. Her eyes drift across the display until they lock onto a striking necklace—a delicate chain threading raw, jagged stones of deep obsidian black and brilliant blood-red. She points a slender finger toward it.
"I'll get that one," Grace declares instantly. "How much?"
The merchant scratches the back of his head, sizing up Grace's wealthy attire. "For that piece... Just ten gold only."
Grace's lips curve into a sharp, noble grin. "Four gold. Just because I'm a noble, you think you can just rip me off, huh?"
The merchant laughs slightly, raising his hands. "Four gold is too low! It's made with the finest material, and you will not find anything like this anywhere else. It's a single, rare piece crafted from those stones."
"Three gold," Grace counters smoothly, her expression turning to ice.
"But I just said it's too low—" the merchant begins hesitantly.
"Two gol—"
Before Grace can even finish the syllable, the merchant frantically snatches the necklace and hands it over. "Three gold! Three gold it is," he says with a pained smile.
Grace tosses three heavy gold pieces into his palm from her pouch and walks away, turning to hand the necklace to Elsbeth. The princess stares down at the jagged stones, her voice dropping into a reverent, heartbroken whisper. "It reminds me of his motley."
Grace's expression goes completely unreadable for a fleeting second before melting back into warmth. "Let me help you put it on," she says softly. Once the clasp clicks, she smooths the stones against Elsbeth's collar. "Look at that. It looks so pretty on you."
Before Elsbeth can answer, a violent roar of voices erupts from the near distance. A dense crowd is rapidly gathering around a local food stall, the sounds of splintering wood and angry shouting cutting through the market air.
Above the din of the furious men, a familiar voice pierces the square.
It is Henry.
[1] The term Zealots is used to describe the peoples who are extremely passionate, uncompromising, or fanatical in pursuit of a cause, ideal, or religious belief