I Got Isekai’d, Well Shyt!

Vol.4 Ch.231 Three Hours Ago.

Princess Hilda found a rare moment of solitude in the lush garden of the Maldura Royal Palace, nestled in the vibrant land of Fiafyr. Slipping away from the watchful eyes of her handlers, she craved a brief escape from the suffocating expectations of court life. In the grand tapestry of her royal duties, where emotions were masked and vulnerabilities suppressed, this serene spot was her own hidden sanctuary.

With her chin tilted down and hands delicately cradling a bracelet gifted by Prophet Paul, Hilda stared at the intricate design. The trinket was meant to assist her prayers to the Divine Three, deities in whom she held no faith—merely a symbol of her position, a reminder that she was but a pawn in a game far larger than herself. 

Though clothed in the finery of royalty, Hilda carried the weight of unspoken thoughts and concealed sorrows. The fear of scorn kept her silent; tears were a luxury she dared not indulge in openly. So, in the embrace of the garden’s blooming flora, she let the walls she’d built around her heart crumble, allowing her tears to flow freely, away from the judgmental gaze of those in the court. For just a moment, she was not the stoic princess but simply a girl lost in her own quiet anguish.

"Why?! How did it all come to this?" she pondered, her mind racing back through the whirlwind of events that had led her here. Memories flooded in, each one sharper than the last, especially the moment earlier that day when she had been set to meet her fiancé. What had started as a normal morning had spiraled into chaos, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was slipping through her fingers.

***

(3 hours ago)

As dawn broke over Ecros Manor, a soft golden light filtered through the curtains, casting an ethereal glow in the room. Hilda, the radiant princess, admired her reflection in the mirror. She wore an exquisite white dress adorned with delicate frills that danced lightly around her as she moved. Her personal maid, Dori, an attentive brunette with sparkling dark eyes and fair skin, had just finished tidying her appearance.

"Your Highness, the time has come," Dori announced, her voice steadier than her expression, which gave away a hint of the day's gravity.

Hilda let out a soft sigh, nodding with resignation as she rose from her seat. A flutter of nerves coursed through her, yet a spark of determination ignited within.

Taking a deep breath, she slowly turned the ornate door handle, the cool metal grounding her. As she stepped into the corridor, anticipation swirled in her chest. Her gaze fell upon two imposing White Knights standing at attention. Though their faces were stoic and unyielding, their presence loomed large, signaling the day’s fateful events ahead.

With a silent command, they began to escort her down the hall. The sound of their armor echoed softly, a reminder that Hilda was embarking on a journey far beyond the familiar confines of the Marquess' manor.

"Just play the role," Hilda reminded herself as she walked purposefully between the two white-clad knights. The cold marble of the manor's halls gleamed under the flickering torches, their shadows dancing ominously on the walls.

As they approached the meeting room, the heavy oak door creaked open, revealing an austere atmosphere inside. The room was dominated by a long, polished table surrounded by a dozen ornate chairs, and behind the table stood four elegantly lined couches, waiting silently for the proceedings to unfold.

At the head of the table sat Father Gil, a striking figure in flowing white and gold robes. The soft glow of the candles highlighted his wise, weathered face, framed by a long white beard and tied-back brown hair. He exuded both authority and warmth, but Hilda felt a shiver run down her spine as she caught sight of her half-brother, Zane, kneeling at his feet alongside a formidable group: Sir Darius, the holy paladin, Sir Kaelin, his eager squire, and the highest ranking member of the Holy Order, Prince Terenthiel Marrell, the Fifth Son of the Principality.

“May the Three give us strength,” Father Gil intoned solemnly, bowing his head as he united his hands in prayer.

“And may they grant us their blessing,” the four men responded in unison, their voices a harmonious echo of devotion.

Hilda felt herself drawn into the moment. “Ah, Lady Hilda...” Father Gil began, his gaze shifting towards her as he noticed her arrival. “We just finished the sermon. Do you—”

“You’re late,” Prince Terenthiel interjected sharply, rising from his position with a gaze that cut like ice.

“Oh, no, no... Your Highness,” Father Gil interjected, his smile strained yet insistent. “Lady Hilda was not late at all. In fact, she’s precisely on time. Isn’t that so, my dear?”

"And why is that, my lady?" Terenthiel inquired, an edge of impatience creeping into his tone.

“Because it is the only way for Three to hear my prayers. Whenever I pray in your presence, it feels as though my pleas become mere whispers drowned out by the crowd,” Hilda asserted, her gaze unwavering as it locked onto the prince's. She hoped her candidness would satisfy him.

"Hmmm..." Terenthiel narrowed his eyes, considering her words. "You make a fair point, my lady. But, regrettably, your father has decreed that you should be present whenever we gather."

“Of course, your Highness,” Hilda replied, her voice steady but her heart racing.

Terenthiel studied her for a lingering moment before settling back into his chair. The tension in the air was palpable.

'That was close. If he was not satisfied, I might've been punished for my insubordination,' Hilda thought to herself and suppressed the urge to sigh.

Just then, the door on the opposite side of the room creaked open, revealing Dreth, the ever-reliable butler, stepping inside with an air of formality.

"My Lords... breakfast is ready for—" he began, but his words were cut short.

"Where's Duval?" Prince Zane interrupted, his impatience palpable.

Dreth straightened, his composure unshaken. "I’m afraid, my Lord, the Marquess is not at the Manor. He has pressing matters to attend to."

Zane's brow furrowed. "Tsk! Sounds like he's avoiding—"

But before Prince Zane could finish, Terenthiel raised a hand to halt his words. His gaze locked onto the butler, a mix of curiosity and irritation flickering in his eyes, making Dreth swallow hard.

"We've been here for nearly a week," Terenthiel said, a steely edge to his voice that sent a chill through the room. "And still, no word from the King or the Crown Prince. Prince Zane's youthful impatience is palpable, a reflection of his inexperience, but he's not alone in his frustration. I came here under the impression that we were invited not merely as a political maneuver but as a genuine gesture of goodwill towards the Alliance. After all, we are allies, are we not? So I must ask, where is the Marquess?"

Dreth offered a wry smile, his bow betraying nothing of the tension. "I assure you, Your Highness, the Marquess is not evading you or your people. He had an unforeseen emergency that required his immediate attention," he replied, his tone measured. "Rest assured, he will return shortly, and I will convey your concerns to him." The air between them thickened, a silent battle of wills as they navigated the complexities of diplomacy.

Terenthiel rose from his chair, an air of authority surrounding him as he approached the butler with Sir Darius and Sir Kaelin at his side. Dreth’s heart raced as he stood his ground, sensing the tension in the room. The sound of the door slamming shut echoed ominously behind him as two imposing White Knights took their positions, sealing his fate.

'So, the door is locked. No escape...' Hilda’s mind whirled with thoughts, her gaze fixed intently on the three men looming in front of Dreth. She felt bad for him, but there wasn't anything that she could do.

"Do you take me for a fool?" Terenthiel’s voice dripped with venom, his patience wearing thin. "I have shown remarkable patience, but every time my prayers reach the Three, their answer is the same. There is an insidious darkness lurking in this city, and it's our sacred duty to purge those who interfere with the Divine Ones' designs." His words hissed through the air, charged with righteous fury.

"Your Highness, I implore you to trust in the Marquess," Dreth stammered, his voice steadying as he met the prince's fierce gaze. "I assure you, he will return and shed light on all that has transpired."

In a swift, menacing motion, Sir Darius unsheathed a portion of his sword, the polished blade glinting like a warning under the sunlight.

"The Divine Ones have whispered to me that deceit lurks in shadows," Terenthiel hissed, his teeth clenched tight in fury. “And I believe that deceit stands before me now... You have one last opportunity to tell me where that spineless coward of a Lord is hiding.”

The tension in the room was palpable as the paladin's piercing gaze bore down on the butler, a weight that felt like an iron shackle. Yet, the butler summoned every ounce of his resolve, inhaling deeply as a spark of determination flared within him. "My Lord is no coward..." he asserted, a defiance lacing his trembling voice.

Terenthiel's eyes narrowed into slits, a predator sizing up its prey, causing beads of sweat to trickle down Dreth's forehead. 

"B-But he is in the west wing of the Maldura Royal Palace... He’s engaged in a meeting with several Major Nobles... I’m not privy to the details, but I assure you, it holds considerable significance," the butler confessed, bowing his head to mask his unease.

To his surprise, a slow, enigmatic smile spread across Terenthiel’s lips. Sir Darius sheathed his sword, and the knights stepped back into the shadows, leaving the room free from the looming presence of the White Knights.

"Is that so?... Then it seems we shall forgo breakfast here. Prepare the carriage," the prince commanded, his voice smooth as silk, as he and his men turned to exit, leaving a trail of tension in their wake.

"Yes, Your Highness," the butler nodded and approached the door. He tried to go through it, but the white knights stared him down, refusing to move.

Dreth cleared his throat, trying to remain calm.

"Let him through," Terenthiel's voice cut through the silence, the knights instantly moving aside to allow the butler's departure.

Once Dreth was out of the room, he quickly ran down the hallway, the thud of his footsteps echoing off the marble floors. When he was certain he was out of the prince's sight, he collapsed against the wall, his legs wobbling, barely able to hold his weight. After a minute, he made sure to get Prince Terenthiel's carriage ready.

"Fifth Son? What are we going to do now?" Prince Zane inquired with a raised brow.

"We will go to the Royal Palace and see what that idiot Marquess is up to. Come now, Lady Hilda... It's time for you to see your new home," Terenthiel said with a chuckle as Hilda reluctantly followed them.

***

The grand party swiftly made its way to the opulent foyer of the manor, the soft glow of crystal chandeliers illuminating their path. As they approached, Hilda was met with the courteous nod of a waiting servant.

"Your Highness, Lady Hilda, and esteemed guests… The carriage is prepared and awaits your presence outside," the servant announced, gracefully pulling open the door to reveal a cool evening breeze and the soft glow of lanterns lining the path.

"Finally! Let's get moving!" Zane shouted, a spark of excitement in his voice as he strode out into the sunlit courtyard, a sense of adventure in every step.

"Yes, brother," Hilda murmured, her heart pounding slightly as she trailed behind him, feeling the anticipation crackling in the air.

"Listen closely, Sir Darius. I’m putting my trust in you to guard Lady Hilda and Kaelin. You must keep her within your sight at all times. I won’t tolerate any delays—we’ve waited far too long for this moment," Prince Terenthiel commanded, his voice laced with urgency.

"Of course, Fifth Son," Sir Darius replied, bowing low, the resolve in his stance affirming his commitment as he joined Terenthiel.

The prince strode forward, flanked by Sir Darius, with Sir Kaelin closely shadowing them. 

"My lady," the knight said, offering Hilda a respectful nod, but she merely sighed, her thoughts elsewhere as she quickened her pace. 

Ahead, she glimpsed Zane waiting by the carriage, the sight of him beside the two armored White Knights waiting for her sent a surge of anxiety through her. The journey was about to begin, and she knew there would be no turning back.

"Lady Hilda... After you," Terenthiel said and smiled, waiting for Hilda to enter the carriage.

"Thank you, your Highness," Hilda bowed and entered the carriage.

The Princess climbed into the luxurious carriage with Prince Zane in tow. A gentle breeze brushed her cheek, and the cool air was a welcome relief from the heat of the day. Prince Terenthiel was the last to enter, taking the seat beside Zane, his face etched with tension.

"Are we ready?" Terenthiel asked.

"Ready as we'll ever be," Sir Darius nodded and signaled the driver.

Hilda sighed, the weight of the situation pressing down on her. 'Ugh... How could we forget Dori?' Panic flickered in her chest as she glanced at Terenthiel, who was still fuming. 'I’ll have to send for her later, once things have settled. I just hope she’s alright,' she thought, worry gnawing at her.

“So, sister... When are you planning to bless us with some nieces and nephews?” Zane teased, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face.

Hilda felt a shiver run down her spine at the thought of raising children with a man she had yet to meet. Attraction? That was a distant notion. “I’ll wait until I’m married, my lord,” she replied, her gaze drifting out the window to avoid his penetrating stare.

“Oh, come now! You should be thrilled! Your marriage is arranged to a powerful and incredibly handsome prince,” Zane said, his pride evident.

“Yes, yes... A ‘very powerful’ prince... A ‘handsome and charming’ prince,” Hilda droned, her voice dripping with sarcasm as the carriage lurched into motion.

She caught a glimpse of Zane’s face, his expression shifting from amusement to irritation, but it barely registered. The walls of the carriage felt like they were closing in, and all she could think about was the desperate need to escape this moment.

***

The carriage glided silently through the bustling streets of Tairal, the rhythmic sound of hooves echoing against the cobblestones. For a moment, the atmosphere was serene, a stark contrast to the vibrant energy surrounding them. The buildings, painted in a kaleidoscope of colors, stood tall, their intricately designed facades adorned with hanging flower boxes bursting with blossoms. As the party observed the throngs of people navigating the lively thoroughfare, they noticed a distinct difference from what they remembered in the Capital City of Istur, nestled far away in The Holy Kingdom of Chalced. Here, the inhabitants wore expressions of contentment and joy, their laughter ringing through the air, unlike the downtrodden faces that often populated the streets of Istur. The aroma of street food wafted by, mingling with the sounds of merchants calling to customers, creating a vibrant tapestry of life that left the group feeling both intrigued and at ease.

'No beggars or starving children. No stench of piss and shit... No guards harassing citizens for no reason. These people seem so carefree,' Hilda thought as she looked around.

"What is it, Sister? I thought you weren't a city girl," Zane snorted.

Hilda gave him a sideways glance and ignored him as the carriage continued on.

The ride was bumpy, and Hilda had to hold on tight to avoid hitting her head. She was not used to riding in these things.

'Ugh... I hate being cooped up like this. It's hot and stuffy. Plus, there's not much legroom with those two wearing their armor,' she thought.

"Don't worry, Lady Hilda, we will arrive soon," Terenthiel said, a smile stretching across his face, though it felt anything but reassuring. 

"Yes, thank you," Hilda replied, a heavy sigh escaping her lips. Something was unsettling about the way Terenthiel gazed at her—he was one of the pivotal council members of the Holy Court, yet his lingering looks sent a chill racing down her spine as if he was a creep trying to undress her.

‘Just think positive thoughts,’ she reminded herself. ‘We’re on our way to meet the Crown Prince, and then I can finally escape Terenthiel’s unsettling presence.’ 

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting her mind wander to thoughts of her future husband. What would he look like? The sketches she had seen were beautiful but didn’t quite capture the essence of a person. Would he be charming, or would he possess a quiet strength? The anticipation mingled with a flicker of anxiety, as the carriage rumbled onward, each bump pulling her further into her swirling thoughts.

Hilda stared into the distance, her thoughts swirling like a storm. 'Will he truly respect me?' she pondered, a knot tightening in her stomach. It felt as if every man in her life had sought only to exploit her in some way. 'Is he just like the others, or could the whispers of his kindness hold some truth?'

Her heart ached as she recalled her family. 'Unlike my father, my stepmother, and my half-sister, who all treated me like a pawn in their games... Even the Holy Knights and priests of the Holy Church seem to see me as a means to their own ends.' A deep sorrow washed over her. 'It’s as if even the Gods look upon me as a mere tool to be used.' She frowned, the weight of her loneliness pressing down on her tightly.

Suddenly, the carriage jolted to a halt, the door creaking open. Hilda’s breath caught in her throat as she beheld the Royal Palace, its grandeur a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing in her heart.

'I suppose it’s time to meet my husband... Let’s hope he’s not too insufferable,' she mused, stepping down onto the stone steps that led to the entrance.

The sun hung high in the vast azure sky, its golden rays spilling across the land and enveloping everything in a warm, inviting glow. However, an undercurrent of tension rippled through the air at the grand gates, where the Royal Guards stood resolute, their armor gleaming and weapons at the ready, confronting Sir Darius. 

With an imposing figure and a fierce scowl etched onto his rugged face, Sir Darius took a step forward, his voice low and intimidating. "You will let us pass," he growled, the words laced with authority and impatience.

The chief guard, steadfast and unwavering, narrowed his eyes at the imposing knight. “We haven’t received any orders concerning an emissary from the Holy Alliance,” he replied, his tone firm yet cautious. “Now, I advise you to leave this place peacefully before we are compelled to take action.” The tension thickened, a silent battle of wills unfolding between them, as the sun continued to bathe the scene in its relentless warmth, oblivious to the confrontation brewing beneath its rays.

Hilda and Zane watched from a safe distance while Terenthiel and Sir Kaelin approached the Royal Guards at the Palace's gate.

"Are you sure that's a good idea, Terenthiel?" Zane whispered.

“Just trust me, Zane. Everything will go as planned,” Terenthiel replied, his voice steady, exuding a confidence that seemed to fill the air around them.

As they reached the Royal Guards, Terenthiel stepped forward, his posture regal and unwavering. He took a deep breath and spoke, his voice resonating with authority. “I am Prince Terenthiel Marrell, Fifth Son of the Holy Council Member of the Divine Three. We come seeking an audience with the Royal Family to discuss urgent matters concerning the Holy Alliance.”

He unfurled his cloak, revealing the intricate crest that shimmered in the sunlight, a symbol of their mission and a reminder of the gravity of their quest. The tension hung thick in the air as the guards exchanged glances, the fate of their meeting hanging delicately in the balance.

"My apologies, Your Highness. But if we don't have approval from the King or Queen, then you cannot enter," the guard replied.

"But we were told that we were honored guests from the Marquess... Duval Wrightwood... Or is it that the Fiafyrian hospitality is lacking?" Terenthiel said and smirked.

The guard shifted uncomfortably, his confidence wavering. "That may indeed be the case," he replied, "but without the royal family's approval, you're not permitted to pass."

"STEP ASIDE! OR WE WILL FACE THE DIVINE THREE'S WRAITH!" Sir Darius shouted and drew his sword.

The Paladin's thunderous roar echoed across the sprawling palace grounds, sending a ripple of unease through the ranks of guards who instinctively took a step back. They gazed up in awe and apprehension at the formidable figure draped in a flowing white cloak. 

"Stand down!" one of the guards called out, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. "This is the Royal Palace of Fiafyr Kingdom. We do not yield to threats!" He tried to project calm, but the weight of the Paladin's presence loomed large, filling the space with an electricity that sent shivers down their spines.

***

Meanwhile, General Douglas strolled purposefully around the opulent palace grounds, accompanied by his lieutenant, Sir Richard, and two stalwart Royal Knights, Lady Rachel and Sir Bret. Their measured pace was suddenly interrupted by the distant sound of commotion, drawing their attention toward the unfolding scene.

"What the fuck is going on?" he muttered.

"The Alliance is here?" Sir Bret exclaimed, his brow furrowing in disbelief. "I thought their arrival was set for the treaty signing ceremony!"

"Honestly, what did I expect? The Prime Minister must have really messed this up," General Douglas grumbled, his voice low and tense. "I warned him—the Alliance can't be trusted!"

"We need to find a way to calm the situation before it spirals out of control, Sir," Lady Rachel interjected, her tone urgent.

"Indeed... Sir Bret!" General Douglas turned sharply. "Inform the Prime Minister that his esteemed guests are going to be put in an early grave if he doesn't hurry his ass up!"

"Right away, sir!" Sir Bret replied, a look of resolve crossing his face as he took off at a sprint.

Without wasting another moment, the three of them raced towards the gate, adrenaline surging as the stakes escalated.

***

As the tense confrontation unfolded at the grand main gate of the Royal Palace, a beautifully crafted carriage emblazoned with the intricate coat of arms of House Revelia rolled into view. Its polished wooden frame gleamed in the soft light, drawing attention as it was escorted by four imposing Guards clad in gleaming armor, their expressions stern and watchful.

Inside the carriage, the Duke of Revelia sat with an air of contemplation, his brow furrowed in thought. He was en route to the Royal Palace for the critical preliminary discussions of an emergency meeting summoned by Duval. Ordinarily, the Duke would have found Duval's theatrical behavior quite irritating; however, today was different. He sensed the urgency woven into the situation—it was a matter of safeguarding their interests ahead of the impending arrival of the Alliance. 

The clock was ticking down for the peace treaty negotiations, and the atmosphere was thick with tension. The presence of the dark elf was causing palpable unease, particularly for the Prime Minister, who was growing increasingly anxious as the minutes slipped away. The stakes were high, and the air crackled with the weight of impending decisions that could alter the course of their realm.

Duke Alaric Revelia found himself conflicted. Although he had often opposed the Prime Minister's views in the past, today, he loathed the thought of relinquishing his kingdom to the Holy Alliance, especially through the dubious union involving that princess. His loathing for her was as strong as ever, but he faced a unique challenge. The dark elf who had captured his nephew Quinus Meredydd's heart possessed healing abilities so rare that they had not been seen in millennia. With combat no longer an option, Alaric knew he must turn to the intricate dance of psychological and political maneuvering to safeguard his family's legacy. The game was on, and he was determined to play his cards wisely.

Duke Alaric Revelia stood at a crossroads, torn by a tumult of emotions. For years, he had clashed with the Prime Minister, staunchly opposing his views. But today, he found himself wrestling with the unsettling notion that he might have to align with him. The thought made his stomach turn—a bitter pill to swallow. The prospect of the Holy Alliance taking over his kingdom through the offspring of this whore of a princess they sent to seduce his nephew was intolerable. But he found himself at an impasse, unable to harm the Dark Elf who had captured the heart of his nephew, Quinus Meredydd. Her extraordinary healing abilities were unlike anything the world had witnessed in a millennium—or more. Realizing he couldn't overpower them through brute strength, he knew he had to turn to the subtle arts of psychological and political warfare to achieve his goals.

The Duke was practically brimming with anticipation at the prospect of voting to expel the Dark Elf from their ranks. He knew full well that she would likely disregard any decree issued by the Prime Minister, believing herself above such authority. Yet, the unfolding situation held various possibilities for him, each more enticing than the last. This could very well tip the balance of power in his favor or create openings he could exploit to his advantage. The thought swirled in his mind, each scenario more thrilling than the last.

The initial scenario unfolds with her adamantly rejecting the order, standing her ground against the Prime Minister. In a dramatic confrontation, she exposes his vulnerabilities, weakening his position to the point where many of the Major Nobles begin to waver in their loyalty. As a ripple effect of her defiance, the once formidable Duval would find himself stripped of his authority and influence, leaving an opportunity for the Duke to emerge as a new Prime Minister of the kingdom.

In an alternate scenario, she may unleash a wave of aggression, attempting to eliminate The Prime Minister along with several key members of the Nobility. Such a violent outburst would thrust the Prince and the entire Royal family into the harsh glare of public scrutiny and suspicion. Seizing the moment, the Duke could rally support from the other Major Nobles, positioning himself strategically to usurp the throne and declare himself King. But the tricky part would be to get rid of her without incurring the wrath of both his nephew and her. As they were both monsters with unfathomable powers, the Duke knew it would be a fool's errand to attempt a head-on assault.

In the third scenario that Alaric envisions, the Dark Elf chooses to respect her sentence of expulsion and leaves without resistance. The news of her departure ignites a furious rage within Quinus, prompting him to forsake his loyalty to the kingdom and renounce his claim to the throne. This outcome would be nothing short of a triumph for Alaric, for it would not only strike a devastating blow to his younger brother, King Cyndre Meredydd, but it would also unravel the delicate threads of the peace treaty that Duval has labored over with the Alliance. The repercussions could spiral into chaos, potentially igniting an all-out war between the Divine Three and the Kingdom of Fiafyr, plunging the realm into turmoil and conflict.

The Prime Minister's reputation lies in tatters, a once-respected figure now marred by scandal and betrayal. The Royal Family, once the epitome of grace and dignity, stands humiliated in the eyes of their subjects, their royal lineage overshadowed by shame. Yet amidst the turmoil, a glimmer of hope emerges, as whispers of a true King arise—one destined to restore glory to the faltering kingdom. Alaric, with his noble blood coursing through his veins, is poised to reclaim his birthright.

However, the path to his legacy remains fraught with challenges. To solidify his claim to the throne, he must secure an heir. If his beloved wife is unable to bear him another son, he finds himself at a crossroads. He contemplates a future where one of his five spirited daughters might ascend to power, even if they lack the cold ruthlessness and shrewd calculation that define their father’s leadership. In a realm where tradition looms large, Alaric must grapple with the unconventional prospect of a female ruler, determined to ensure that the royal lineage does not fade but instead thrives, regardless of how unconventional the means may be.

The Duke would not settle for anything less than reclaiming his throne and kingdom. His sole purpose was to honor the memory of his son, Marcus, who was brutally murdered under Quinus' orders. The Duke is determined to avenge his son's death. Quinus's very existence is an affront; he and his wife plotted to poison the Queen's tea, ensuring she would bear no children. Their scheme was supposed to secure Marcus's path to kingship. But fate intervened, and his sister-in-law defied their plans by giving birth to a healthy boy. Now, the Duke finds himself shackled to a reign that should never have been, forced to play second fiddle to a royal who has no rightful claim to the throne.

"Alaric?... You're daydreaming again," Duchess Leandra Revelia said.

"My apologies, my dear... But I don't know why you wanted to come along?" Alaric asked.

"Well, if I'm going to be attending the meeting, and that dreaded sister-in-law of mine isn't in the capital... It's only fair for me to see if I can take something that has sentimental value to her," Duchess Leandra said and smiled.

"Well, if you can... I'll allow it. As long as you don't get caught," Duke Alaric said, and he smirked.

"Someday, she will learn the pain of losing a son, and she will feel the same pain as I felt. I hope it hurts her even more than what I experienced. For her, it will be even worse since she'll be losing her son and her husband," the Duchess said, smiling wickedly.

"I couldn't agree more... But like I said... We need to play our cards right... With that Dark Elf by our nephew's side, makes it nearly impossible for Rianna to witness her son's death. We need to make sure the Dark Elf is either exiled or dead. That's when we strike," the Duke said, smiling darkly.

The carriage halted abruptly, which made Alaric frown.

"What in the hell's is Franklin doin—"

"STEP ASIDE! OR WE WILL FACE THE DIVINE THREE'S WRAITH!" Roared a voice in the distance.

Alaric and Leandra exchanged bewildered glances, their brows furrowed in confusion. Just then, Alaric’s lips curled into a smile, breaking the tension and sparking a hint of curiosity in Leandra’s eyes.

"Do you know who that is?" Duchess Leandra asked.

"No clue... But I have an idea... Come, my dear... Let us witness Duval's incompetence firsthand," Duke Alaric said, and he grinned evilly as he offered her his hand.

Leandra arched an eyebrow, curiosity mingling with uncertainty, but she couldn’t resist the captivating allure of her husband’s words. She smiled and placed her hand in his, feeling a thrill course through her. Together, they descended from the carriage, a sense of mischief enveloping them as they made their way toward the grand gates of the palace, eager to see what awaited them.

***

There was one more carriage that was on its way to the palace as well. It had House Dule's coat of arms on the side, and a dozen royal guards were escorting the carriage. Inside were the young couple, Johan Dule and his wife Tayna. They were visiting the palace to see the crown prince and his fiancée. Their journey took an unexpected turn when Quinus stopped in the city of Dorn.

First, the Prince and his Fiancee helped his relationship with his wife. Then it turned out that Rya was a healer, and not only did she heal the scars and missing finger on his wife, but she also healed his mana vein that was being inflicted with some mysterious particles that could have been a curse from a blood contract. He was now a powerful and rare Illusion Mage who still needed training.

Second, they joined the Prince's convoy through Johan's father's domain, heading towards the Royal Capital. That's when a band of brigands tried to target him and his wife. He was able to save her, and his bond with his wife has never been stronger.

Now that they were in the capital city, Johan and his wife were staying at his family's manor on the outskirts of Tairal. He couldn't help but enjoy some passionate moments alone with his beautiful wife. She seemed determined to conceive a baby, and Johan was open to the idea of becoming a father.

But the reason they came to the capital was for the peace treaty meeting. The Messenger had left a day after they arrived at the Dule Estate looking for his father, Baron Jonathan Dule. But Johan decided to go in his father's stead until the Baron was in the capital. The messenger explained the situation and gave the official letter that Duval gave him while Johan told the messenger where he could find his father. And now that he's arrived at the Royal Palace. He hoped that everything would go well.

“Johan? Can you hold me just a little longer?” Tayna murmured, her voice soft as she snuggled closer to him.

“Of course, my love,” Johan replied, wrapping his arms around her and drawing her into a warm embrace.

A bright smile spread across Tayna’s face as she nestled against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. 

“Are you sure you’re okay, Tayna? I-I was a bit too rough earlier,” Johan said, a hint of pink creeping onto his cheeks.

“Mmm... I’m perfectly fine,” she replied playfully, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Besides, it was me who decided to tease you, remember?” She giggled, warmth blooming in her cheeks as she met his gaze.

“Still… I’m not looking to hurt you,” Johan said softly, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Don’t worry, my love… I’m not some delicate flower,” Tayna replied with a playful glint in her eye. Johan couldn’t help but smirk at her fearless confidence.

“Besides,” she continued with a teasing smile, “I’m thinking of asking Rya for tips on how to keep you on your toes next time.” With a sultry flick of her tongue across her lips, she drew him in closer.

"Well... Someone has become a naughty girl," Johan remarked, a playful challenge sparking in his gaze.

“Yes… and it’s all your fault,” Tayna said, closing the distance between them and leaning in for a kiss that promised undeniable heat.

As they leaned closer, their hearts racing with anticipation, a sudden, thunderous roar shattered the intimate moment, echoing through the air like a distant storm.

"STEP ASIDE! OR WE WILL FACE THE DIVINE THREE'S WRAITH!"

"What was that?" Tayna asked.

"Not sure," Johan replied.

They heard a knock at the door and saw the coachman had opened the door.

"My lord and lady, I am sorry for the sudden interruption, but there seems to be a commotion near the palace gate," the coachman said.

"We noticed. What's happening?" Johan asked.

"There are some men with white and gold clothing," the coachman said.

Johan grimaced as he knew who they were.

"Do they have any holy symbols that are triangles?" Johan asked.

"A Triangle?... Oh! Yes, they do. Do you know what's going on, my lord?" the coachman asked.

"It's the Divine Three... Tayna... You need to find Lady Rya and warn her. Those zealots will attack her on sight," Johan said.

"Wha? What are you talking about, Johan?" Tayna asked.

"Demi-humans are banned from the Divine Three's creed, and they would rather kill a dark elf than let one live. They will be the enemy and will try to kill her. I will do what I can to distract them, but I can't hold them for too long," Johan said.

"Okay... Johan. Please be careful," Tayna said and gave him a passionate kiss.

"You too. I love you, Tayna," Johan said.

"I love you, too, Johan," Tayna said.

Johan stepped out of the carriage, his heart racing with anticipation as he made his way toward the tense scene unfolding before him. The Divine Three stood resolute, their expressions a mixture of defiance and determination, facing off against a formidable line of guards. The air crackled with tension, and Johan could see the unmistakable glint of armor and weapons glimmering in the dim light, setting the stage for the standoff that could change everything.