Inside Queen's Road Prison, there were only two floors—each holding roughly twenty cells.
In other words, this noble-exclusive facility could hold no more than forty inmates.
But that was more than enough. Clinton was just a backwater with barely any nobles to speak of.
Even if Rhode’s entire family were arrested and thrown in, they wouldn’t fill ten cells.
As if to declare its “noble” status, the cells weren’t forged from cheap steel.
Instead, they were built from polished, sturdy stone.
The choice wasn’t for strength—it was for show.
As if nobles needed superiority in everything, even their prison had to look refined.
Rhode neither agreed nor argued.
He simply felt the decor was meant for outsiders to see, not for inmates to enjoy.
Once locked up, who cared about aesthetics anyway?
Queen’s Road Prison wasn’t ordinary. Beyond nobles, it held political prisoners and war criminals.
None here faced a gentle fate. All would eventually be transferred to the massive prison in the Imperial Capital.
Trials would be handled there.
If Rhode didn’t find his mother soon, she’d be sent away.
Rumors said execution was likely—consorting with foreign powers meant death.
Especially for a Vankarel noble; collusion charges drew harsher judgment.
Yet noble trials moved slowly, tangled in procedure. Without solid proof, no execution.
Rhode clung to that sliver of hope—even alone.
Inside, he had to avoid guards *and* other prisoners.
One shout could ruin everything.
Still, slipping past guards was easy—and evading nobles locked away for who-knows-how-long? Even easier.
*“I should’ve asked which cell she’s in first…”*
Halfway through searching, Rhode realized his mistake.
He’d avoided questioning anyone to stay hidden—but checking every cell carried equal risk.
Even with just two floors, it took time.
He wasn’t strolling openly; he moved silently, dodging sightlines.
Fortune favors the diligent. After careful searching, he found her.
A slender back, utterly forlorn.
He choked back the urge to call her name.
Queen’s Road Prison was small—and designed to amplify every sound.
A normal whisper would echo. Guards would notice instantly.
Hands gripping the cold bars, he peered inside.
His mother still wore her bloodstained gown—the blood was hers.
During resistance, a guard had struck her.
Others tried to tend her wounds, but her fierce struggle left no chance.
Not even to change her clothes.
Some noble had even tried to take liberties.
So the noblewoman remained seated in her gown.
Dim light, but Rhode saw clearly: her pale face, hollow eyes.
He tossed his pen and diary notebook through the bars.
The motion caught her dazed attention.
She picked them up, looked up—and their eyes met.
She opened her mouth to speak his name… then saw his urgent *shhh* gesture.
She took the pen and wrote.
Quietly stepping closer to the bars, she coughed softly—*cough, cough*.
Her injuries worsened daily; coughing was routine. Guards ignored it.
A small mercy. Otherwise, Rhode would’ve been spotted already.
—*“How are you here? Run! It’s dangerous.”*
Rhode read it, paused.
—*“I’m fine. I came to get you out.”*
—*“Don’t worry about me. Escape. If you can… save your father and Shilo in the Imperial Capital.”*
—*“I’ll save them. Right now, I’m here for you.”*
—*“Taking me? I’ll slow you down. Please… don’t.”*
—*“Later. Just tell me what happened.”*
After Rhode wrote that, his mother hesitated, then slowly picked up the pen.
The truth was complex—she could only share key details.
She wouldn’t let him risk rescuing her.
The cell needed a specific key. Finding it meant danger.
Though… coming here was already a gamble.
She shoved the notebook and pen back into his hands.
Nothing left to write.
—*“Don’t worry. I’ll be alright. They’ll only transfer me to the Imperial Capital.”*
She kissed his forehead.
Her slender, pale hand reached through the iron bars, stroking his hair.
*How do I say it?* She’d always felt guilty toward Rhode.
A parent’s heart *is* biased—just as the saying goes.
But Rhode was still her child…
She only wished he’d escape this calamity and live peacefully.
As a mother, she wanted both her children safe, free of sorrow.
Reaching through the bars, she pulled him into an embrace.
This hug might be their last.
*“Go far… just live well,”* she whispered into his ear.
She gave him a gentle push, eyes locked on his—steady, resolute.
Rhode froze.
He came to save her… yet she refused to let him risk it.
In her gaze: fierce will to live, woven tightly with love for him.
She wanted to survive—but wanted *him* to live more.
*“Hey! Who are you?!”*
A guard’s shout shattered the moment.
Rhode had slipped—just for a second.
A blinding spotlight pinned him.
*“RUN! NOW!!!”*
His mother gripped the bars, voice raw with desperation.
