The Prince in Question Is Not Stable-Chapter 42: Price of Mercy [Part - 3]

_..._ [Chapter 19 -flashback-]

"What do you have in mind...Your Highness," Elowen Grier looked at me, emphasising the word ’Highness’ instead of lord.

"Do you want to play a game, Grier?" I asked.

"What’re the stakes?" He asked.

"I’d say trust," I paused. "But life, too, if you’re not careful,"

"My trust and my life...are already yours, Your Highness," He replied.

I smiled, "I knew I could count on you, Grier," and patted his back once.

_..._

I’m not really the sentimental type. Most of the time, I just try to observe the situation, and the political play might just be my first ever game.

I’ve never lost. Neither a match of chess, nor a game of cards. Even when I gamble, I’m confident enough to know the cards my opponent keeps based on their expressions, because that’s how simple human beings are.

I’ve staked many things. I was a man with vices, too. I gambled, I loved women dominating me, I loved the thrill of heights, and anything that brought me joy.

But a life...a life is not something I’ve ever put on stake. And for the first time, I was feeling the weight of trust.

I love to live on the edges of life because they keep your senses sharp, but edges cut both ways. And now, I was feeling the possibility of losing something that didn’t come back in favour.

Maybe that’s why living on the edge has made me clumsy in a way I’d never been.

Careful, where I used to be reckless, silent where I used to talk to fill the space, the old games taught me to predict faces, outcomes, but they never taught me how to hold a life without breaking it.

Exiting Elowen’s room, I glanced at the stacks of papers on his library table, remembering the last time I met him.

That man, he placed his trust in me. And I feared breaking that trust more than anything.

The last thing I would want is to disappoint someone who knows I have their back.

"Finding the assassin is useless," Janus spoke as we walked through the corridors of the castle.

Maids were sent off duty, and the only workers that were permitted in the outer-circle of the castle were the ones who were handling the docks and trade routes under Bart’s authority.

"They’re called ’Blind Spot’, and as the name suggests, they hide in plain sight. The problem is how they deal with their cores...these guys perform a bloody ritual to seal their cores, sacrificing their growth in return for concealment, so an assassin, which is not active, is basically a normal person with no core," Janus spoke, reading out his notes.

"I’ve heard of them too..." Selene murmured.

"When did you arrive here?" I asked, looking at her.

"Last night...past-midnight," She replied.

"We planned to pursue Elowen and look for him in his hometown, but our officials were diverted to Vahn County to control damages. I doubt any of us can stop the wrath of a Duke...Mordrak Krell at that," she continued.

"If you’re going to look for Elowen...shall we accompany you, Count?" She asked.

"Sur-"

"Please do, I’ll be glad," Janus answered in my stead. He sure was acting like a man who fell in love at first sight.

"Uh...alright." Selene nodded and recited the information she knew. "Elowen Grier’s home is in the border town of D’Arterri. Apparently, to reach the Vahn County, we need to take the East route that crosses from the Arterri Dukedom, so we’ll be able to reach the Vahn County within twenty-four hours with our magic-enforced carriages."

"Isolde D’Arterri? Mosquito?" Janus was puzzled reading his own notes.

Apparently, he had written ’Blood-sucking Mosquito’ beside Isolde’s name in his notepad.

"I wouldn’t recommend slandering Lady Isolde in that manner if I were you; she’s a peak clearance five blood-magician," Selene replied, trying to laugh it off.

Janus just smiled at her comment. Selene isn’t aware that Janus himself is stronger than most of the clearance six mages.

"So...Elowen’s home is where his daughter lives. She’s married and has two little children. Her husband is a clerk. If he were to make a run...or someone were to stage his kidnapping, they would threaten his family and mess up their house a little to leave the trail..." Selene said as we arrived near the entrance of the castle, and gestured to her officials to prepare the carriages.

The carriages rattled against the stone path as the officials prepared them.

"My lord," I heard Bart’s voice as he jogged his way through the corridors.

He had a long hanging neatly in his arms, and a bottle of scent in the other.

"You should change your clothes before you leave," he said.

I looked down at myself and sighed. ’I’ve been wearing this bathrobe for long enough to be comfortable in it.’

"Twenty-four hours," Selene repeated, as Bart slid the long coat over my shoulders after I took off the robe.

"If the roads hold, and if the enchantments don’t falter," She murmured. "We need to be in Vahn County before Mordrak does something ... cruel,"

"What can be crueller than losing a war?" I whispered.

"...A lot," Her voice was low.

I never witnessed the dark side of this game. But...it can’t be worse than dozens of men dying.

I looked at her, reading her expressions. Brows together in a soft knot, lips pressed together briefly, then parted as if to speak, but she stopped.

"..." I don’t like this feeling.

.

.

.

[Serica, Border Town of D’Arterri]

Our ride in the carriages was silent. No one uttered a single word.

All we heard was the silent hum of magic circuits, regulating mana from the mana stone to increase the speeds of the carriages and assist the horses.

During our ride, Janus would occasionally glance at Selene and write something in his notepad.

Roads narrowed between the high stone walls as our carriage sped through the alleys of the Serica.

Every face we pass turned towards the same place. People would stop mid-step and hold their breath.

It was awfully quiet.

The sun was right above our heads. It was daytime, yet not a single child was seen playing around.

Shutters sealed, doors closed tight, and anyone who saw the carriage would bolt inside their homes.

These people had witnessed something...tragic.

"I don’t have a good feeling about this," I murmured.

"..." Janus tilted his head towards me. He was about to say something, but he didn’t. He just looked down, adjusted his spectacles, tapping his feet on the floor, and took out his notepad and started writing something.

Selene tried to peek at his notepad several times throughout our journey, but he would hide it.

We turned the final corner as the roads widened a little. Revealing Elowen’s small manor.

A house he’d built over his years of service to Ymir.

The carriages stopped just outside the entrance of his manor.

Officials opened the gates of the carriage as I lifted my foot to step outside, but I paused, looking at the ground beneath me.

Blood. There was a whole lot of blood.

Trailing through the entrance of his main gate.

My heart was pounding against my chest, staring at the long trail of blood seeping beneath the gap of the main gates.

Several black talismans were pasted on the walls and gates of Elowen’s two-story manor.

No matter how much I tried, but I couldn’t feel any presence inside.

I made sure not to step on the trail of blood and looked back at Janus. He was still staring down, feet tapping on the floor of the carriage.

He gestured to Selene not to exit the carriage and spoke, "It’s better if only you go in there."

I nodded and approached the gates.

The moment I placed my hand on it, all of the black talismans that had magic circuits inscribed on them burned away simultaneously.

The gates of Elowen’s house opened with a soft creak, and I could feel everything again. I could sense each and every corner of this house the moment those talismans burned.

The hearth fire still crackled low.

The flames of the heath casted shadows across the room.

That fire illuminated the horror that froze me.

Elowen was kneeling rigid on the floorboards, his white hair was drenched in his own blood.

Eyes left wide in terror, a knife protruding from his chest, blood spilt all across the floor.

Across the table, slumped down in a stew of blood and broth was his son-in-law, skull pierced clean through with a rusted steel dagger that once was a decoration of their own house.

Elowen’s daughter lay crumpled nearby, neck encircled by a deep, ragged gash from the garrote, hands frozen in mid-claw at the thin wire that gagged her.

Even her two little children were murdered in cold blood.

Above the hearth, scrawled in the blood of her children was the phrase –

’YOUR LOYALTY DOES NOT END WITH YOU.’