The soft clink of porcelain and the faint scent of chamomile hung in the tea room as Queen Rebecca sat poised, her fingers cradling a dainty cup she'd barely sipped from. The room was calm and silent.
But something nudged her attention.
Her eyes slowly drifted toward the grand arched window, the silk curtains parting just enough for one to peak at the outside world — then she locked sight on it.
A carriage.
Moving.
Her brows pinched.
One of their carriages.
Her brow rose as her hand set the teacup down with a fluid grace.
Where could a royal carriage be going — especially when both her sons were already out?
She rose to her feet, pacing steadily toward the curtain and prying them apart with a finger, broadening the vivid view of the lone carriage rolling into the capital's main city.
Who could be leaving in that carriage at the peak of the afternoon? Unannounced. And not without her knowing.
She frowned.
"Justina?" She called, her tone calm, but her eyes sharp like the edge of a ceremonial blade.
A young maiden in a blemished cotton dress quickly stepped forward and curtsied. "Yes, Your Majesty?"
"That carriage." Rebecca gestured toward the window with a slight tilt of her head. "Who is in it?"
The maiden hesitated. "I— I believe it was Princess Sylteena, Your Majesty."
Rebecca blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
"The princess, Your Majesty. She… left."
The Queen's voice turned syrup-thick with suspicion. "And where, exactly, is she going?"
The maiden's lips parted, then pressed shut again like a locked box. "We're not certain, Your Majesty."
"Not certain?" Rebecca repeated the words as if they tasted bitter on her tongue. "So you're telling me the Crown Princess left the castle, in a royal carriage, and not a single soul thought it wise to inform me?"
At this, one of the guards stationed nearby stiffened and stepped forward, his armor catching a sliver of light.
"Forgive the intrusion, Your Majesty," he said, bowing low. "But it was Sir Darian who instructed us. He arranged for the carriage and gave clearance."
Rebecca didn't speak right away.
She looked down in thought for a moment before pacing back to her seat. She leaned back, one hand resting on the carved armrest, the other curling beneath her chin. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"I see…"
The maid and guard shared a wary grimace.
"You may leave," she waved a dismissive hand, earning their final bow before they stepped out of the room.
Rebecca inhaled deeply.
A long, heavy silence settled in the room as her gaze flicked back toward the window.
She didn't know where that creature of a daughter-in-law was going, but she certainly hadn't expected this sudden bloom of boldness after just a few days as Princess.
Since when did the once-traumatized child of the Elfedon Duke household grow the gall to move freely — without permission? And with the escort of the head guard, no less?
She licked the walls of her inner cheek.
Something told her this wasn't just a ride for air. It was too sudden. Too bold.
Contradictory to the timid description the Duke and Duchess gave of her…
Something was moving beneath the surface.
She cracked her knuckles.
And she would find out what.
• • •
Meanwhile…
The inside of the moving carriage was tight. Tensed. Silent.
Sylteena sat upright, her shoulders tense, fingers curled tightly around a hide-skin bag balanced on her lap. It looked ordinary enough — but inside, it held the Chronicle of Beasts, along with her father's documents she hadn't even dared to open yet.
Her thumb tapped a nervous beat on the flap. Should she read it now? In front of Darian?
She glanced at the knight seated directly across from her, his polished armor catching flecks of sunlight streaming through the curtained windows. He was still. Completely still.
Almost too still.
Sylteena shifted in her seat uncomfortably.
The knight — helmet on — had no expression, no questions, no voice. Just silence.
Like a statue.
If statues could breathe and glare through metal.
To her left, Philip sat stiff, his eyes flicking between her and the knight. His gaze lingered the longest on Darian — filled with confusion, suspicion, and… mild admiration for the audacity of accepting Sylteena's request. Probably shock too.
The middle-aged man hadn't said a word since they left. His mind was too preoccupied with the mystery of Sir Darian.
Sylteena turned back to the window, the outside world rolling past brick buildings, market stalls, people who didn't know a damn thing about what was brewing in her mind.
Her dim reflection stared back. Wide-eyed. Alert. Uneasy.
She gulped softly before her voice came out quiet, almost to herself. "I… I hope we will not get into any trouble…"
"No," Darian said, his voice level and smooth like chilled steel beneath his helm. "There will be no problem, Your Highness."
Philip finally stirred, voice dry. "Even if we left the royal household without permission?"
Darian's head tilted faintly, tone unbothered. "Her Highness may do as she wills. There is no need for permission — for who is to grant it?"
Sylteena blinked, looking at him with wide eyes. "Y-You… I am sure you are referring to the Q-Queen, of course… Right?"
Darian subtly bowed. "The Queen-to-be? Yes."
Sylteena was too stunned to respond. Philip let out a disbelieving chuckle.
He shook his head. "You sound confident, Sir Darian…"
"I am."
Philip scoffed quietly. "Guess I'm just paranoid, then."
Sylteena exhaled through her nose, trying to ease the churn in her chest. Her fingers tightened on the bag again before she looked back at Darian.
"Sir Darian?"
"Yes, Your Highness?" His voice was somewhat softer.
"Why have you not asked anything?" she said, finally addressing the elephant in the room — or carriage.
Darian's head tilted slightly. "What do you mean, Your Highness?"
"You've not asked why I need a Black Witch. Nor why I asked you to help in secrecy. Or what exactly we're doing… Don't these raise questions for you?"
There was a pause in the air.
Then, the softest clink of shifting metal broke the silence as Darian leaned back against the seat.
"I am obligated to protect the Crown and its members," he said. "Not question them."
Her eyes narrowed. Searching him. "That is all?"
"That is enough for me, Your Highness."
Sylteena looked at him a second longer. Then, almost imperceptibly, her lips tugged into the smallest hint of a crooked smile.
"You are either the most loyal knight I've ever met… Or the most terrifying one."
To that, Darian gave no reply.
Only the quiet hush of the carriage wheels rolling forward.
Even Philip was short of words.