"They say the Duke was wounded on the journey to the capital. My brother fled the place... it's a tragedy."
The innkeeper turned toward the customer speaking at the counter and regarded him with surprise: "Is the situation that dire? We felt tremors... what the hell is going on?"
"You should see the roads up ahead. The signs of disaster are plain to see... I believe it's the will of the divine. A wrath raining down upon us! I've said for years that having a foreign queen would bring nothing but discord!" the man declared, heedless of the consequences his convictions might bring. Indeed, not far away, at a table in the inn, sat the group accompanying the Queen of Arran. Iza had to restrain herself from confronting the madman who was badmouthing the Queen in public, and Snow White's expression darkened. She didn't know if the man was telling the truth about the Duke's condition, but the scenario was worrying nonetheless.
"People are always quick to point fingers. Fear makes them say absurd things," Scarlet commented disdainfully, tearing off a piece of bread to eat. Grimilde was still in her room with Adelina and William, who were helping her prepare for their departure. Snow White had once again been sent away to eat with the others. She wasn't angry, though; she had woken up beside her beloved, who had showered her with kisses.
"The situation is serious... just as we suspected." Derek ran a hand through his dark hair, mussing it up, before glancing briefly at Snow White.
"Duke Helmholtz must have tried to reach the capital with his soldiers to provide aid, and was likely wounded along the way..." The princess's words masked deeper concerns: what had happened at the capital? How much destruction would they witness? Her thoughts grew even darker, making her anxious and unable to remain in the inn a moment longer.
"We had best be off."
The others nodded and rose from the table. Derek and Scarlet went to fetch the horses and the wagon, and Iza paid the innkeeper, while Mark and the others helped Grimilde back onto the wagon without straining her. She could not walk due to her injury, though she was recovering from the severe pain and exhaustion that had plagued her over the previous days.
Snow White carefully adjusted the hood over her head so that no one would see her delicate face or blonde hair; anyone would have recognized a noblewoman of her stature, and her features were distinctly Nordic. Grimilde smiled gently at her.
Once everyone was either on the wagon or mounted on horseback, the group set off again. A few hours passed—filled with uncertainty about what lay ahead—until they found themselves facing the same devastation they had witnessed just days earlier in the territory of Umgard.
"The epicenter..." Grimilde murmured, furrowing her brow. "It might have started here. Or perhaps there were two separate earthquakes." She turned her gaze to the road ahead. "We must watch our path carefully."
Given the mountainous terrain and roads flanked by woods, it was reasonable to expect landslides or paths blocked by rocks, fallen trees, and the like. Caution was of the utmost importance.
As they had suspected, the closer they drew to the capital, the more destruction and chaos they encountered. The mountainous landscape along the Arran border, near the Erfen peaks, proved the most treacherous. Fortunately, soldiers were already at work clearing and securing the roads. Indeed, at one point, they found themselves facing a roadblock situated just a few meters from a wooden bridge. A soldier saw them approaching and stood in the middle of the road, raising his hand: "You cannot pass this way. The bridge isn't safe."
The problem was obvious: finding and taking an alternative route would have taken hours. They could not afford that. The risks of crossing the bridge paled in comparison to the danger—silent for the moment—awaiting them in the capital. Derek dismounted and approached the soldier, showing him a document bearing the Queen's seal, which he always carried with him. "Her Majesty is traveling in this wagon. She needs to reach the capital as soon as possible."
"Forgive me! I am glad she has arrived here safe and sound..." The soldier wiped his sweaty brow and gave a slight bow toward the wagon. He did not know what had happened, but he was ready to help. "You will need an escort; I'll see to it that—"
"The most useful thing you can do is clear the road and ensure we have a passable route. Can you send some men ahead?"
"Oh, certainly, but—"
"It is an order from the Queen. There is no time to lose."
The soldier nodded gravely and hurried to alert the rest of the soldiers, to clear the blockade. They moved the logs they had left in the middle of the road, then stood aside at the edge. The soldiers eyed the carriage with confusion—almost suspicion; for some reason unknown to them, the queen had not revealed her presence.
"What is happening?"
"She might be injured." A veteran spoke the words quietly, heard only by the comrade beside him. The other looked at him in surprise: "Injured?"
"The earthquake caused terrible damage, injuries, and deaths..." He lowered his head, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. "It is a time of great fragility for our kingdom, and our queen cannot afford to appear weak."
"Are you referring to what happened yesterday?" The day before, they had been forced to use force against a group of peasants who had come to protest and shout at the army stationed in the region. The people claimed the queen had brought misfortune and death to the kingdom because she was a foreigner—a woman of unknown origins. In that situation, the commander had been unable to reason with the civilians, and the soldiers had been forced to intervene. The conflict had been resolved quickly, but it left a mark on the troops; they now knew for certain that they had to keep their guard up, even around civilians.
"Do you think a revolt will break out?"
"I don't know. History teaches us not to underestimate situations like this."
The carriage moved across the bridge, maintaining a steady pace—neither too fast nor too slow. Within a few minutes, they had reached the other side. The mounted soldiers following them took charge of scouting the road ahead, but they encountered no further obstacles over the next few kilometers.
"Why would they believe you are responsible for this cataclysm?" the princess asked, turning her gaze toward Grimilde. She was still thinking about the words she had heard at the inn.
"Witch hunts have always existed..." Scarlet remarked, interjecting into the conversation. Grimilde nodded. "I knew it would happen sooner or later... my power is unstable, and my presence isn't fully accepted. After the king's death... securing a stable position was always going to be difficult. I was counting on you—politically speaking."
The princess was a highly educated woman; she loved to read and had spent years studying history, politics, and philosophy. Although she perfectly understood the dynamics of the situation, she refused to accept it. To her, it was sheer madness to think that a wise, kind woman like Grimilde could be viewed as a harbinger of misfortune for the kingdom. Her political actions, her tenacity, her attempts to improve the people's living conditions and social standing—all of it erased simply because some citizens were afraid and needed a scapegoat.
"It won't end like that. We'll return to the capital now and deal with the damage. To rebuild the kingdom, we must stand united."
The queen reached out and stroked Snow White's arm. She said nothing, for she did not wish to lie; in truth, she did not know how optimistic she could be about the kingdom's future. A massive, unknown entity lay beneath the soil of Arran, threatening to expand, break free, and dominate at any moment. Demons were often cruel creatures, incapable of understanding human emotions. And yet... she had demon blood her.
"We're almost there! We're on the road to the capital."