Clint left the Duke's office with relaxed shoulders, but eyes as sharp as a blade. The distant aroma of tea and incense still lingered in the corridor, mingling with the subtle perfume of the young woman who waited outside.
Emylle stood against the wall, hands clasped, posture impeccable. She wore the plain uniform of the maids, but there was something in the way she held her chin high and kept her eyes alert that set her apart from the others.
Clint approached with calm steps and a faint smile on his face.
"You said you'd fulfill any request I made, right?"
She looked up, surprised by his casual tone. She quickly composed herself and answered with a firm and respectful voice:
"Exactly, My Lord. Any request... within my capabilities."
Clint's smile vanished and his gaze hardened.
"I want every bit of information on Iris of Kamira. What she wants, what she's hiding—anything at all."
He paused for a moment, then resumed.
"If you need help, ask Gareth. Try to get something before the trip."
The shift in tone was sudden—an order, not a request.
Emylle seemed to understand the gravity of the mission. She bowed deeply.
"I'll do my best to find out what I can."
And without wasting time, she walked away down the corridor with the lightness of a moving shadow.
---
Clint headed in the opposite direction, in silence, toward the Duke's chambers—where Elara was. The former maid who now held the title of the Duke's wife. And Clint knew her position was more useful than it was legitimate.
She was seated in front of the mirror when he entered, brushing her hair slowly. Her reflection noticed him before she even turned.
"Well, if it isn't my dear son."
He stepped closer to her.
"Why did you agree to the Duke's request? To pretend to be my mother... and become his wife?"
Elara set the brush down on the vanity and turned with a soft smile.
"Because it's every maid's dream. To elevate her status... to stop being invisible. To have the chance to marry a noble—especially when that noble is one of the most powerful men in Kamira."
She paused, folding her hands in her lap.
"Who in their right mind would refuse such an offer?"
Clint merely nodded, expressionless.
"I see."
Silence settled for a moment. Then he spoke again.
"Do you know the servant the Duke assigned to me? The one named... Emylle?"
Elara raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Not much is known about her past, to be honest. No one knows exactly where she came from or how she arrived at the estate. All we know is that she's 17... and has worked here since she was a child. The Duke brought her in as an apprentice."
She leaned forward, as if sharing something more personal.
"But I must say, despite her age, she's exceptional. Extremely capable. One of the best in the household. There are rumors… that she knows how to fight. And that she's reached the peak of the third stage of Mantra."
Clint's eyes narrowed. "Third stage?"
"That's right. For a maid, that's a remarkable feat—especially considering her age. But sometimes she's a little... how should I put it... naive, perhaps?"
Clint questioned, "What do you mean, naive?"
"It's like she doesn't feel the weight of her words or actions, you know? So she can be a bit difficult to deal with at times."
He nodded, thanked her briefly, and left.
---
Night fell quickly over the Ravenhart estate. The corridors were extinguished one by one, leaving only the dim light of torches in the main areas.
Clint lay in bed, arms crossed behind his head, staring at the ceiling. His mind boiled with thoughts about Iris and the academy.
A discreet knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.
"Come in."
Emylle entered with light steps. Her hair was tied back in a simple bun, her eyes focused, and she held a small rolled-up scroll. She gave a light bow before speaking.
"I found some information about the princess."
Clint raised an eyebrow.
"You were quicker than I expected."
She blushed slightly. A satisfied gleam appeared in her eyes, like a child who had just earned a reward.
"Thank you, My Lord."
She stepped forward, unrolling the scroll and placing it on the desk.
"She doesn't wield magic… nor Mantra. Which is, at the very least, strange considering her royal lineage."
Clint stood up, walking closer.
"Go on."
"There are consistent records and rumors about her deep connection with Kamira's underworld. Many smugglers and informants know her by name. Apparently, she's looking for allies… and personal guards. People who can support her once the struggle for the throne begins."
"Struggle…?" Clint murmured.
"Yes," Emylle confirmed. "It's not official yet. But it's obvious. Many warriors offer to protect her... but she never accepts. Always refuses. As if she's waiting for something... or someone specific."
Clint furrowed his brow.
"You did a good job," he said—and for the first time, his tone was genuine.
Emylle smiled as if the world had suddenly become lighter. And then… something unexpected.
Without warning, she began to undo the knot of her dress.
Clint blinked, confused for a moment. But reality quickly set in.
"...What are you doing?"
She continued, now pulling down the sleeve from her shoulder, with an innocent expression.
"Don't you need help at night?"
Clint took a step back, his face impassive but his voice firm.
"Get dressed. Now."
She stopped. Her eyes widened slightly—not in fear, but in confusion.
"But… I thought that was the kind of service the Lord might want. It's common... for maids assigned to personal chambers."
"I'm not a common man," Clint replied, cold as ice. "And I'm not weak enough to need distractions right now."
She held her clothes tightly against her body, blushing to the roots of her hair.
"...Forgive me, Master. It won't happen again."
He pointed to the door.
"Leave."
She gave a hurried bow and disappeared into the hallway, her steps nearly inaudible.
Clint turned back to the window. The moon was high and full, casting silver light over the gardens. His face remained impassive.