Urged by the knights’ cries of “Captain, the carriage is ready!”, Arman climbed into the carriage he disliked, pondering when he could finally retire for good.

Though he hated it, he had no choice but to sit obediently inside—the royal insignia blazed far too conspicuously.

The carriage rocked and swayed, lulling him toward sleep. He stifled another yawn, forcing himself to stay alert. Attacks in the capital’s heart were rare… but one reckless arrow from a blind spot would be trouble enough.

Had he ridden his horse, he’d have arrived ages ago. But etiquette barred him from galloping through crowded streets on his beloved steed. So he endured this cradle-like carriage.

“Yawn…”

After countless yawns, Arman reached the palace gates. At the guards’ signal, he smoothed his wrinkled clothes and stepped into the imperial courtyard.

Though never without a blade, he obediently surrendered his visible sword before entering the Crown Prince’s chamber. Yet the entire Royal Knights Order answered to him—the guards at the door were his own men, already briefed by the Crown Prince. He’d handed over the obvious sword, but hidden weapons remained for emergencies.

A rare trust: repayment for years of loyal service. Arman was the only soul permitted to conceal arms while alone with the Crown Prince.

“Arman, you’re finally here.”

Pushing the door open, he faced Crown Prince Solore Cleia behind his desk. Same age—twenty-six—but worlds apart in station. After all, master and dog never stand on equal ground.

“Hmph… What brings your summons this time, Your Highness?”

Once the servant poured tea and left, Arman plopped casually onto the guest sofa. The Crown Prince ignored the minor breach of etiquette, rising from his document-strewn desk to sit opposite him.

“Just catching up. How do you find the manor I gifted you?”

Unlike Arman’s ease, the Crown Prince embodied grace—golden hair like a storybook prince, features inherited from his mother: clear brows, gentle eyes, scholarly poise. Only his blood-red eyes and unreadable expression shielded that soft face from the old ministers’ schemes.

Yet with Arman, he spoke and laughed freely. Aside from the Crown Princess, only Arman—the man who’d served him over a decade—saw him without masks.

“If you’d given that manor to some show-off, they’d adore it. But me? Too flashy. I’m already a target. Handing me something that grand is practically a death warrant.”

Arman shunned attention. As a youth rescued by the Crown Prince, he’d been tight-lipped. Only that desperate look—“You’re the only one I can trust”—had drawn him in. From humble guard to Captain of the Royal Knights Order before thirty.

Rumors swirled at his appointment. Those coveting the post—Evelia included—whispered the Crown Prince favored his looks. Some even petitioned against “beauty leading the nation astray.” Only Arman’s proven merit and the Crown Prince’s marriage to the Duke’s daughter silenced them.

Still, after the wedding, Arman shifted from sole confidant to one of two.

Yet even pressured into the captaincy, he refused any noble title. Positions could be resigned; titles lasted forever. He’d saved quietly, chosen a retirement nook—only the Crown Prince’s stamp on his resignation remained.

“I know the manor shows your favor… but did it need such extravagance?”

“You returned victorious. Let ministers see my regard. Our bond clarifies where military authority lies—so those old fools stop treating me like a puppet.”

“Hah…” Arman sighed. “Why not take the captaincy yourself? Then power rests squarely with you.”

“To them, command belongs to the ‘Royal’ family—not the ‘Crown Prince.’ Hence *Royal* Knights Order. They know you’re mine, yet can only mutter I’m currying favor. But questioned openly? I state you serve the Crown. And your appointment wasn’t favoritism—your medals outnumber their spiteful words.”

Arman sighed again. Being used as a pawn stung… yet the Crown Prince never hid the pitfall’s depth or pain. Better to brace than break bones blindly.

He truly saw Arman as a friend… and just as truly sold him like a brother.

But his aftercare never failed—you’d never mend broken bones alone.

“Still, Arman—stay vigilant.”

“Hm?” Arman’s expression sharpened at the sudden gravity.

“Since your return, ‘Crimson Crow’ has vanished. Our scouts have no trace.”

“…”

Silent, Arman’s fingers tapped rhythmically against the sofa.

Crimson Crow stayed quiet until he struck big. Disappearance meant danger. Enemy hidden, them exposed—who knew what the Second Prince’s right hand plotted?

Yesterday’s intel confirmed a spy nearby. Evelia topped the list… but she was clearly a woman, while Crimson Crow was confirmed male. How could they connect?

Suspicion wasn’t proof. Maybe Crimson Crow targeted elsewhere.

“You have a lead?” The Crown Prince caught his odd look. “Share it.”

“Sort of… not yet. I’ll verify first. Or it’s just a smokescreen.”

Arman hesitated, swallowing the far-fetched thought.

Hah—He couldn’t exactly strip Evelia to check.