But the door didn't budge.
Talia tugged at the handle several times before realizing it was locked from the inside. She clenched her teeth.
Damn that Ayla…
The fury she had held back all night surged up, ready to explode.
Biting her scabbed lips, Talia glared at the tightly closed door—then turned away.
Perhaps it was for the best. If she had acted on impulse without preparation and failed, she'd only end up dying a meaningless death.
She had to prepare more thoroughly before making her move. There was still a long road ahead; soon enough, an opportunity would come.
Regaining control of her breathing, she strode swiftly down the corridor. She was just about to head downstairs to her own quarters when she heard a faint clunk from somewhere nearby.
Talia hastily hid behind a pillar.
The dawn light was beginning to filter through the corridor, casting faint shadows on the walls.
Peeking cautiously from her hiding spot, Talia saw a slender figure standing before the door to the room right beside her own.
She narrowed her eyes to get a better look. It was a middle-aged woman with plain features and dark brown hair.
It took Talia a few moments to recognize her—one of the attendants her mother had assigned to her.
The woman quietly closed the door, pulled a dark brown hood over her head, and slipped away down the corridor with silent, practiced steps.
Talia stared after her, then immediately began to follow.
The woman left the building and made her way quickly down the muddy, puddled road. Her agile movements suggested she had received some kind of covert training.
After scanning her surroundings, the woman stopped near the small garden behind the main chapel.
Hiding behind a columned arcade, Talia spied on her. The woman lingered in front of the gazebo, pacing slightly, as though waiting for someone. Then, noticing something, she hurried forward.
Following her gaze, Talia spotted a priest in a black habit emerging slowly from the shadows.
His face looked familiar—one of the monks who had attended the banquet.
The priest, who seemed to be around forty, pulled a small vial from his robes and handed it to the woman. She opened it to check the contents, then closed the stopper and tucked it into her sleeve before turning back the way she came.
Talia ran as fast as she could back to the lodging.
She scrambled up the stairs and burst into her room, legs nearly giving out beneath her.
Leaning against the door, she caught her breath and listened.
A few seconds later, she heard the sound of another door opening and closing nearby—then silence.
Talia swallowed hard.
She couldn't tell exactly what she had just witnessed.
Who was that priest?
Was he one of her mother's secret aides? And what had he given her attendant? Could it be poison? Was her mother planning to kill someone?
She forced herself to swallow against her tightening throat.
If it were poison, there would be no need to involve outsiders—she could have easily obtained it through her own means. The fact that she had gone to such lengths meant that whatever it was, it couldn't even be brought into the capital legally.
What on earth is she plotting?
Talia turned over countless possibilities in her mind, but no clear picture formed.
One thing's for sure… something big is about to happen.
Senevia always accomplished whatever she set her mind to. If she had decided to eliminate her long-time obstacles, then the Crown Prince was as good as dead already. If fortune smiled on her, Ayla might vanish from this world as well.
Feeling her heart pound with excitement, Talia's lips curved into a satisfied smile.
A long and arduous journey began once again.
Hundreds of knights and foot soldiers marched on under the blazing sun. At this pace, they would reach the border of the former Kingdom of Osiria in ten days.
Holding a map, Edric Lubon estimated the remaining distance, then turned his gaze toward the carriage that sat as still as a coffin.
As usual, the princess had drawn thick curtains across the windows and hadn't emerged once.
He rode closer, studying the faint shadow cast upon the curtain. Even the horses were panting in the heat. He worried she might suffocate inside.
"Your Highness, perhaps you should open the window for some air?"
"…Go away."
At least she was still breathing.
Edric sighed softly and rode toward the front.
As always, the Crown Prince led the procession atop his golden stallion from the Nornec Mountains.
Edric cautiously studied his expression. Gareth's flushed face was contorted in irritation as he snapped at Sir Shearkan. From what Edric overheard, the prince was complaining about when they would finally rest.
This won't be an easy journey, he thought.
The days ahead would be filled with rough plains and mountains, as barren as any wasteland. Would the pampered prince endure such hardship?
Shaking his head, Edric approached Varkas's side.
His superior ignored the prince's whining entirely, his keen eyes scanning the path ahead. The heir to the Empire could shout in his ear all he liked—Varkas didn't even flinch.
Edric found himself admiring him all over again.
"Sir Shearkan," he began carefully, "the men are struggling in this heat. It may be a bit early, but perhaps we should find a suitable spot to rest?"
Varkas turned his head toward him, and Edric instinctively straightened in his saddle. He had never once seen the man raise his voice or lose his composure, yet just standing before him always carried an inexplicable weight.
He swallowed nervously and added,
"I beg your pardon if I'm overstepping, but the rear ranks seem to be falling behind…"
"There's a lake about half a league ahead. We'll rest there," Varkas interrupted.
Edric blinked for a moment before quickly bowing his head. The Crown Prince, watching the exchange with annoyance, scowled.
"So when I talk, you ignore me, but you listen to him?"
"I only remained silent because Your Highness required no answer. I assure you, I heard every word."
"Who said I didn't need an answer?!"
The prince's roar rang out, powerful enough to make Edric's ears buzz.
Suppressing a sigh, Edric turned his horse toward the rear again. It was still strange to see the notoriously hot-headed prince reduced to a tantruming child before Sir Shearkan.
…The day Sir Shearkan leaves the Order will be a dark one, he thought grimly.
Once Varkas Raedgo Shearkan departed for the east, there would be no one left in the capital capable of restraining the prince. And since the First Princess would be accompanying Varkas eastward, only Gareth and Talia Roem Guirta would remain in the imperial palace.
The thought of the two reckless royals left Edric feeling a deep, weary dread.
He exhaled heavily and rode toward Talia's carriage.
Soon, the sharp sound of a whistle signaled a halt.
Edric stopped his horse and ordered the men to pitch tents on a nearby stretch of level ground. Within moments, the knights had erected a few makeshift awnings to provide shade.
He approached the carriage and knocked on the window.
"It's time to rest, Your Highness. You should step out now."
"…"
"How long do you plan to stay locked in there? You've been cooped up all day. If you don't get some air, you'll collapse."
He deliberately spoke harshly, thinking she might only respond to forceful words—but there was no answer from within.
Edric frowned.
Had she actually collapsed?
A sense of dread crept over him. He yanked the door open, perhaps a bit too roughly—and was hit by a wave of heavy, stifling heat, thick with a sweet scent like honey mixed with milk.
Grimacing, Edric peered into the dim interior—and froze when he saw the princess lying motionless on the floor.
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