The grandeur of the Eldrath royal quarters assigned to the Crown Prince is astonishing, befitting his status as the Empire's heir. The suite is spacious, illuminated by gentle, flickering light from wall sconces, its heavy draperies sealing out the night. Mikhail, now alone and free from the restrictive presence of the court, sheds the last vestiges of his diplomatic mask. He's seated in a magnificent, velvet-upholstered armchair, his long legs propped casually and irreverently on a finely carved side table. A delicate goblet of the local Eldrath wine—rich and slightly sweet—is balanced expertly in his hand. The initial, bitter rage over Princess Meilin's betrayal has been refined into cold, precise focus.
A discreet, firm knock sounds at the heavy door, a sound immediately recognized as Hilowat's. "Enter," Mikhail commands, his voice holding an edge of sharp anticipation.
Vice Commander Hilowat enters the chamber with the practiced silence of a trained military officer. He performs a deep, formal bow, his armored form a stark contrast to the plush surroundings. "Your Majesty. My men have identified the man as you requested—Ren Takahito. And he is now under our observation."
Mikhail takes a slow sip of the wine, savoring the small taste of vindication before asking the crucial question. "Oh? Tell me more about him, Hilowat."
Hilowat straightens slightly, adopting a posture of report. "From our observations, he presents as a skilled warrior, exceptionally proficient, though not affiliated with any formal military. Professionally, he's registered as a hunter, a plausible cover for a man of his abilities. More significantly, he has established discreet connections with the Eldrath palace. He was observed entering and exiting the palace grounds secretly, utilizing unconventional access routes that suggest a long-standing, covert relationship with someone high up within these walls." Hilowat's eyes briefly flicker to the Prince, suggesting his own unspoken suspicions.
"Good," Mikhail murmurs, the word carrying predatory satisfaction. The Hero is not only present but already using his ill-gotten access. The lore is unfolding exactly as expected. Mikhail leans forward, his feet dropping to the floor, the time for patience now over. "I want you to discreetly abduct him tonight. Use your most skilled, silent men. Do not harm him, but ensure he is thoroughly restrained and hidden somewhere secure, under your direct watch. I want him preserved for tomorrow. At the court ceremony, you will bring him out when I order you to. Have him ready and waiting just outside the main hall."
Hilowat executes a crisp, immediate bow of acceptance. "Understood, Your Majesty." But then the loyal soldier permits himself a rare, measured inquiry, demonstrating his trust by seeking context. He kneels once more, his head slightly lowered. "But if I may be so ignorant as to ask, Your Majesty, why go to such lengths? Who is this man really? The secrecy suggests he is far more than a simple hunter."
Mikhail recognizes the moment: he needs to solidify Hilowat's trust and justify his actions with a narrative that masks his foreknowledge but still makes him appear exceptionally astute. He cannot reveal the mind-reading truth, but he can invent a convincing, impressive lie about his intellect.
"Hilowat," Mikhail says, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial register, "I have something that I have not revealed to anyone, and you must treat it with absolute gravity." He pauses for emphasis, letting the fabricated confession settle. "I am highly capable at analyzing the slightest expressions and involuntary reactions of others. A skill that goes far beyond simple observation." He holds the knight's gaze. "Today at the banquet, I could see that Princess Meilin was suspiciously trying to hide something—a profound inner conflict that her manners could not quite suppress. I can't help but suspect that this man, this hunter who sneaks in and out of the palace, has everything to do with her secret. This is not about a hunting expedition. This is about an affair that could destroy the alliance and humiliate the Empire."
Hilowat, utterly convinced by the Crown Prince's sudden, formidable focus and the logical precision of his deduction, is overwhelmed. He immediately kneels lower, dropping onto one knee and bowing his head completely. "I understand, Your Majesty. Forgive me for ever doubting your methods. Your insight far exceeds mine."
Mikhail extends his hand, a gesture of gracious dismissal. "You are forgiven, Vice Commander. You acted out of loyalty. Now go. Secure the Hero. And prepare for tomorrow."
Hilowat rises, gives a final, deeply respectful salute, and melts back into the shadows of the night. Mikhail is left alone once more, the wine tasting infinitely better now. The fate of the Hero—and his own destiny—is sealed, not by a legendary sword, but by a simple, discreet kidnapping based on knowledge harvested from a low-graphic video game.