Mayor Ivanka stood near the center of the banquet hall, his posture proud, his wine glass raised just high enough to command attention. The lively chatter dulled as eyes turned toward him, the warm glow of the chandeliers gleaming off the gold trim of his attire.
"My friends," he began, voice steady and carrying through the hall. "I extend my deepest thanks to each of you who have answered my call. The dungeon lying between the Sanda and Nirveda mines has become a threat to the lifeblood of our region. Our miners have endured attacks—too many in recent weeks. Left unchecked, the danger will spread."
He paused, sweeping his gaze across the gathered nobles and captains.
"Your presence here is not merely an act of duty—it is an act of loyalty. For that, you have my gratitude."
His smile deepened slightly as he gestured toward the grand doors.
"As a token of appreciation, the mayoral palace will be your home during your stay. Should you encounter any inconvenience, speak to the nearest servant—they will see it resolved without delay. Tonight, I ask you to set aside the burdens of your journey and enjoy the hospitality of Velhein."
He lifted his glass higher.
"To the success of our mission."
The room echoed his toast, crystal clinking against crystal. The hum of voices returned almost immediately, louder and more animated than before. Nobles drifted between clusters, exchanging pleasantries and glances laced with calculation.
Evalyn and Rowan remained in their quiet post along the far wall. Rowan's assistant appeared at the banquet hall entrance and gave a single, subtle nod.
Rowan looked to Evalyn. She returned the look, then tipped her head toward Sylvie. The three slipped toward the exit, moving with an ease that drew little attention.
Near the doors, Rowan's assistant stepped forward.
"Everything is in place, sir. We're ready," he murmured.
"Good." Rowan didn't slow his pace as he stepped into the cool air beyond the hall.
Evalyn and Sylvie followed, boots crunching on the frost-dusted stone.
"Commander Rowan!"
They turned to see Mayor Ivanka hurrying after them, his cloak billowing and breath misting in the cold. The smile was still there, though slightly strained.
"Mayor," Rowan said, amusement flickering in his tone, "shouldn't you be enjoying your own banquet?"
"And you should be as well," Ivanka countered, catching his breath. "Tell me—was something unsatisfactory? Were the accommodations lacking?"
"No," Rowan replied evenly. "Everything is fine."
"Then why depart so soon?"
"I'm a soldier," Rowan said flatly. "And soldiers have duties."
"But the raid doesn't begin for three more days," Ivanka pressed.
"It doesn't," Rowan agreed simply—and stepped into the waiting carriage.
Evalyn and Sylvie followed without another word. The mayor stood in the open, watching as the door shut and the wheels began to turn.
Inside, Evalyn glanced sideways at Rowan.
"He really wants you to stay."
Rowan smirked faintly. "So it seems."
The carriage rolled forward, lantern light spilling over snow-dusted streets. The muffled sounds of music and laughter from the banquet faded behind them.
"Huh… one second more and I would've floored that whole damn place," Evalyn muttered.
"Yeah," Rowan said quietly. "It was worse than we expected."
Across from them, Rowan's assistant adjusted his glasses with deliberate calm. Sylvie, still in the dark, leaned closer to Evalyn.
"Am I the only one who doesn't understand what's going on?" she whispered.
Evalyn didn't bother lowering her voice much. "That entire hall was laced with spells."
Sylvie blinked. "Spells?"
"Eavesdropping spells," Evalyn clarified. "They were listening to every single word spoken in there."
Sylvie frowned. "That's… not unusual, is it?"
"It isn't," Evalyn admitted. "But what's troubling is how obvious they made it."
Sylvie tilted her head. "So… you think it was intentional?"
"Spying at gatherings like this is nothing new. But if they wanted to hide it, they could have done so flawlessly. The fact they didn't means they wanted us to notice."
"A warning?" Sylvie asked.
Evalyn's eyes narrowed slightly. "Or a statement."
Rowan finally spoke again. "It's always bothered me that Ivanka still calls himself 'Mayor' instead of taking the title of king. His family was granted that autonomy generations ago."
He glanced at Evalyn. "If someone told you that you could call yourself a king starting today… would you?"
Evalyn didn't answer.
"The problem for the Vilyoski family," Rowan continued, "is that they didn't earn it. That title wasn't withheld out of respect—it was given so no one had to deal with them anymore."
His gaze shifted to the frosted window, where the city lights of Velhein glimmered against the snow.
"And in all this time, their relationship with the crown hasn't changed. Not in three generations."
He turned back to Evalyn. "Being called 'King' is their greatest shame—because they never earned it."
The carriage grew quiet, the creak of the wheels and the muffled clop of hooves the only sounds.
"If I were them," Rowan said at last, "I'd be looking for any chance to wipe that shame clean. By the right means or the wrong ones—it wouldn't matter. And after all this time…" He leaned back in his seat. "…I think they've decided to make their move."
Evalyn's brow furrowed. "Are you saying this could mean war?"
"Maybe," Rowan said. "But they won't face us directly. That's not their way. We'll have to stay cautious."
Snowflakes drifted past the carriage windows as it rattled toward the military encampment, the air inside thick with unspoken tension.