Clack— Medith dropped the attacker’s corpse before Haidra and the others, like a felled stag on cold stone. She didn’t bother to question; anyone with a spark of sense could see too many tangled threads.
“Isn’t… isn’t he one of yours?” Milia’s shock hit like cold water; she’d never imagined the attackers were “their own.”
Iling’s thoughts snagged like cloth on thorns. Phiby covered her eyes, fearing the ruin laid out. Sais said, “Are they just disguised as your soldiers? No… your armor isn’t handed out to everyone… unless…”
“Stop guessing. They’re rebels.” Haidra’s eyes dimmed like dusk; no anger, only mourning. “I can’t say much. It’s our shame, our scar. Decades ago, an incident carved this wound, and this is its echo.”
Medith held her tongue; you don’t air family shame in open wind. The king’s riders saw the armor, and their faces fell like winter leaves. “Lord Haidra, that’s Darre…” a rider crouched and recognized the face.
“You…” Milia caught the meaning like a sudden gust, then bit back her words.
“Bury Tris with him…” Haidra didn’t look back. She swung onto her horse and moved on, a lone shadow on the road.
Medith and the rest shook their heads and vaulted into their saddles, following. Sais looked at headless Tris; she drew a green leaf, pressed a kiss to it, and set it in his stiff hand, a tiny prayer of spring.
Then she rode off, hooves beating a muted drum.
…
The mood settled heavy after that, fog pooling in a valley. Medith’s group kept silent as the miles slipped by. Dusk bled in. She checked her pocket watch without thinking—17:47. Ahead, an immense defense line rose, a white cliff in their path.
“Huh? You’ve got a pocket watch?” Kailon’s hawk eyes caught the glint. Medith looked puzzled. “Huh? Aren’t these pretty common?”
Haidra’s look turned wistful, like someone watching distant rain. “Common? The Western Kingdom limits exports hard. That model—only a thousand sold a year. With five hundred million on the continent, scarcity sets the price. How’s that common?”
“Huh? Then where did the Queen get them?” Medith frowned. Her room held plenty of Western Kingdom gadgets, stars tucked in drawers she’d barely noticed.
“What about cosmetics? You don’t have those either?” At that, Haidra’s eyes went wide, bright as lanterns. “You have those too? Any on hand? Will you sell me some?”
Sais snorted, a sharp winter gust. “Our great Commander Medith doesn’t like girlish trinkets, so I graciously accepted many.” She drew a smooth, slender lipstick from the valley of her peaks.
“Oh, heavens…” Haidra snatched the lipstick, studying it like a child with a new toy. She popped the cap and smeared it on, eager as spring birds.
“Wait—when did you take that?” Medith asked. She’d never kept count; things vanished from her shelves like quiet snow.
“None of your business. You didn’t want it anyway.” Sais wore a sly-cat smile; she’d stashed plenty. Milia and Phiby looked sheepish, clouds trying to hide the sun—they’d joined in too.
“Uh? Where did the Queen get them?” Medith couldn’t puzzle it out; the world kept its distance, yet those goods flowed in like hidden rivers.
“Could you gift this? No, no—I’ll buy it. Name a price.” Haidra already held it like it was hers, fingers clenched tight as a sparrow guarding seed.
The vivid red warmed Haidra’s pale lips until they looked ripe as cherries. “Forget it. It’s not pricey—take it,” Sais said. “Our Commander Medith’s loaded, after all, she’s got—”
“Hey! We’re here! That gate’s magnificent!” Medith’s shout snapped the thread. Everyone looked up at the massive gate—eight meters tall, five wide, its body pure white like carved bone. At its heart bloomed a Sixpetal Rose. Hundreds of guards patrolled the wall above, ants along a high ridge.
They spotted Haidra’s group and shouted, voices ringing like bells. “Lord Haidra has returned—!”
“Quick, quick—!” The guards burst into motion. Before Medith’s group could react, the great doors went creak—thud—and swung open. Haidra saw Milia’s awe and let a proud smile bloom. “Come. The Royal Capital’s still some distance.”
Medith rode in, hooves crossing into the Eastern Nation at last. She took in the grand walls and the bustling streets, and a long sigh rose, wind over wheat.
“Lord Haidra!” A middle-aged man in rich clothes jogged over, belly soft as harvest, around fifty. “And… you must be our honored guests?” He’d spotted the features of Medith’s company.
“Heavens—folks say the Elf Clan’s beauty is ethereal, and today proves it true!” He praised Medith’s face like spilling pearls. Then he saw Sais, and his knees nearly melted to the cobbles.
“Th-this…” He pointed at Sais, words wobbling. Medith smacked the swell of Sais’s peak with a backhand. “Can you tone it down?”
Sais winced and cupped her peak, pouting, honey-sweet. “Fine, fine—I’ll fasten it. Why so fierce?”
“Mmm…” The nearby riders let out a strangled murmur, hands trembling on their reins like leaves in a breeze. Milia and the others stared, dumbstruck. Maybe Sais carried a passive charm from birth.
“Ahem. Forgive my rudeness—please, follow me.” The noble had weathered storms; his composure returned like a tide settling.
“My, who knew the famed Marquis Powell Williams could be swayed by mortal desire.” Kailon seemed to know him; he teased with a grin, sparks dancing in his voice.
“Lord Kailon, you put me on the spot. The sprites in green are so breathtaking; how could a worn old man not be drawn?” Powell didn’t bother to hide it.
“Haha, truth be told, I lost it even worse at first.” Kailon laughed, big as thunder under an open sky.
“Enough, you two. We’ve honored guests. If you want to chatter, take it elsewhere!” Haidra’s tone had the bite of frost as their banter slid toward the gutter.
“Don’t be mad, Lord Haidra. I find their praise rather pleasant.” Sais laughed, proud as sunrise. Her smile flowed like spring light, her hills rose and fell; the sight left throats dry as sand.
“Tsk… this woman’s bound to get herself in trouble one day…” Medith looked at Sais’s incendiary figure and angelic face, feelings tangled like wind through flames.
