Serena let go of the seal and stepped back. Her breathing hitched, then turned fast and ragged. Edmund and Leif rushed to her side. Noel, who had only been watching her for two seconds, looked utterly lost. He knit his brows, unaware of the vision she’d just seen.

  “Is it the blood? I can wipe it so you can look at—”

  Before Noel could do anything, and before anyone else could look at it, Marc grabbed the seal and wrapped it in cloth. “It’s okay, Noel. Serena wouldn’t want to touch something straight out of a burning corpse, right?”

  “Yes… it’s fine,” she said too quickly. “I’ve… seen enough of it.”

  Edmund and Leif exchanged a glance. They knew her, and they’d seen her react like that before. Even without her saying anything, or either of them asking, it was clear she’d seen something. Noel and his companions, on the other hand, could only assume Serena simply found the thing too uncomfortable to touch. Marc made sure the seal was wrapped tight before tucking it into the inner pocket of his coat.

  The scent of the monster’s burnt remains still clung to the air, thick and sour. It was becoming unbearable, and the group agreed it was time to leave.

  “Where is that man?” Damien asked Gualter. “The one who brought us here?”

  “We left him tied to a post outside,” Gualter said. “Why do you ask?”

  Damien’s jaw tightened. “He’ll have to explain what happened here.”

  Everyone agreed without question. Facing a horde of moving corpses had not been part of anyone’s plan. They quickened their pace, wanting answers just as much as they wanted to be anywhere else. But the moment they stepped outside, anticipation collapsed into shock, fury, and dismay all at once.

  The man was gone. His bindings were undone. Damien let out a long exhale before turning on Gualter, blaming him and his poor rope work for the escape.

  “I tied him well, honestly!” Gualter exclaimed.

  Edmund, just as bitter about losing their only lead, went to inspect the post. He checked for footprints, torn cloth, anything that might suggest a struggle or a hurried escape. No clues presented themselves… except for two.

  The first was obvious the moment he grabbed the rope.

  “Damien, look at this!” he called.

  The knight hurried over, everyone following. Damien clicked his tongue, his frustration shifting from Gualter to whoever had freed the man. The rope had been cut cleanly.

  The second clue was subtler, so easy to miss it could’ve passed for trash if it hadn’t been tucked neatly into a narrow gap in the near wall, intentionally hidden. Leif plucked it out and unfolded it. The message inside only made their earlier ordeal feel less like misfortune. On the paper, addressed to no one in particular, was a simple note. Leif read it aloud.

  I hope you enjoyed the treat. If you survived, that is.

  If you did, please take the seal. We no longer have any need for it.

  It’s not cursed, tainted, or anything of the sort,

  so don’t worry about turning into a monster.

  I’m not lying if you think I am!

  P.S. If you’re reading this,

  just assume I left a compliment.

  Peace!

  Noel’s eye twitched. So did Marc’s. Jules’s. Practically everyone’s. Noel’s face went red, brows knotting, eyes nearly bulging as he unleashed what seemed to be every inappropriate word ever written.

  “Scumbag!” Noel shouted. “Come out so I can punch your face repeatedly!”

  “Who in the Creator’s name would set up something like this and treat it like a game?” Leif asked in bewilderment.

  Marc whirled on Jules, grabbed him, and started shaking the latter like he was a faulty lantern. “Once I find that bastard, I’ll—I’ll—”

  Jules went limp, completely dazed, and crumpled to the ground. “Why are you taking it out on me?!”

  They traded guesses and theories for a short while. What kind of man did this, where he went, whether he was even real. Serena stayed quiet the entire time, until she finally spoke, voice small and tired. “Can we go back now, please?”

  “Yes, of course,” Edmund said at once. “We should all rest, and maybe… ponder it some other time.”

  “Right,” Marc agreed, having calmed down just enough to remember he was alive. “We have the seal, and we’re all still alive. That should be enough for one day.”

  They left that rotting neighbourhood as fast as they could, without looking back. Remaining there any longer might draw more unwanted attention. When they emerged into the populated part of town again, they all finally breathed in relief.

  “We haven’t thanked you yet for helping us get our seal back,” Marc said.

  “Those things would’ve eaten us if we went there by ourselves,” Jules added.

  Noel stepped forward and extended his hand to Edmund. “We would’ve been killed if not for your help. Thank you.”

  Edmund hesitated, then shook it. “Our first meeting was rough. But I’m glad we were able to help.”

  Gualter stepped forward with his arms crossed. “Now, as for our rates—”

  “Gualter!” Damien barked.

  Laughter followed, tired, breathless, but real, loosening the knot the encounter had left in their chests.

  “But seriously,” Marc said, “if you guys need anything, looks like you don’t, but… anything we can get you, or help with… we’re just around.”

  Gualter still tried to press for payment, and before the conversation could go anywhere else, the two groups bid each other farewell and went their separate ways.

  Aristide and the soldiers were waiting outside when Edmund’s party reached the inn. Surprise hit them the moment they saw Edmund and his companions: spent, bloodstained, and looking like they’d just crawled out of something that should’ve swallowed them whole. Edmund didn’t explain right away. He asked, first, that they be allowed to wash and change. The bloodstains on his clothes, the undead horde it had come from… all still too fresh in his mind.

  Afterward, Edmund gathered everyone in his room and told them what they had encountered.

  “Did—did you say… walking corpses?” Lyam asked, a slight tremor in his tone.

  A cold hush washed over the room.

  “Ed—Brother,” Aristide whispered, suddenly too serious. “You don’t think—”

  Edmund closed his eyes, thoughts racing.

  “What is it?” Leif asked.

  “The plague,” Edmund muttered. “The Conqueror’s Bane.”

  Elias was casually eating a biscuit, not fully paying attention. When the word fell, his biscuit stopped inches from his lips. A sudden chill ran down his spine. “The—the plague? Here?”

  “What is… the plague?” Serena asked, her voice careful.

  Aristide didn’t mince words and went straight to the point. “A disease,” he explained, “that brings the dead back to life. Or… perhaps it’s better to say it makes them move again. The corpses rise mindlessly. They have no higher thinking, no memories, not even feelings.”

  “And worse,” Edmund added, “they attack people the moment they rise. Even loved ones.”

  Serena’s questions came fast after that. Where did it come from? How did it spread? How could it raise the dead at all?

  “No one knows for sure,” Aristide said. “All that’s known is that it first appeared in the wake of a conqueror from the east—hence the name. It shows up sporadically since then, infecting small numbers in random locations before being put down, and the only way to stop them is by destroying the head… or burning them completely.”

  “It just appears,” Serena said slowly, “without warning?”

  “That’s about right,” Aristide replied. “There is one sign, though, but it leans more on myth and superstition than evidence.”

  Serena swallowed. “What is it?”

  “A person or a group of people, either in the middle of conquest or just about to begin,” Aristide said. “They’re the ones the plague follows.”

  “But don’t worry,” Gualter said. “Just because you were near an infected doesn’t mean you’ll get it. Besides,” he flicked his gaze to Serena, “you’re an Alvarynn. You don’t have to worry about getting it anyway. You lot are immune to all kinds of diseases, from what I’ve heard.”

  “Has it appeared in Aurelith before?” Serena asked.

  The question dropped into the room like a stone into deep water. Even Aristide, who had been answering everything Serena asked without hesitation, went quiet. The knights and soldiers suddenly found the floor very interesting. So did both princes. No one met her eyes.

  Serena frowned, confusion tightening her expression. “What is it?”

  Aristide cleared his throat, and when he spoke again, his tone had changed. “Maybe… some other day,” he said. “I’ll tell you everything about it once we return to the capital.”

  “We should all rest for now,” Edmund added, voice firm in that way that meant we’re done with this.

  Serena didn’t press. Not because the answer satisfied her, far from it, but because the silence around it made her feel like she was pushing on something sharp. She nodded, and everyone else followed her lead. One by one, the men returned to their rooms, leaving only the four of them behind. Edmund, exhausted from the fight, fell asleep first. Aristide followed not long after, his breathing steadying into a slow rhythm.

  Serena remained awake. She lay still, staring at the wall as if she expected it to shift and reveal an explanation. Leif noticed. He turned slightly on his pillow and whispered, “Can’t sleep?”

  Serena rolled over and shook her head.

  “What’s the matter?” Leif asked, then lowered his voice even further. “Did—did you see another vision?”

  Serena narrowed her eyes. “How did you know?”

  “You have that look,” Leif murmured. “Like the first time I saw it happen.”

  Serena hesitated at first, contemplating.

  “I did,” she finally admitted. Quietly, carefully, she told him what she’d seen and heard. The symbol, mentions of a rebellion, Laurent, and the way his words had sounded like grief sharpened into something else.

  “I don’t know…” Her fingers curled into the blanket. “I don’t know if I should say it to the prince. That seal… someone connected to it… wanted him and his family dead.”

  Leif’s face tightened, sleepiness fading. “Any idea who it could be? Where he is? Or… how long ago that was?”

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  She spoke of what little else she had: Laurent’s father, the assumption that he was in prison, and the truth, spoken like a wound reopened, that the prince’s ancestor had been responsible for killing him. Leif exhaled slowly. “Then it was a long time ago,” he said. “That man should be dead by now. The prince should be safe.”

  He paused, then looked at her more seriously. “But still,” he added, softer, “once you’re comfortable… you should tell him. At least. If Noel and his brothers got that seal from their grandparents, then they must be related.”

  Serena nodded. “You’re right.”

  She thanked him in a whisper and turned onto her side. Her eyes finally closed.

  But the thought didn’t truly leave her mind.

  Elsewhere in Danuville, Noel and his two accomplices reached their house.

  “Finally,” Jules exhaled. “We’re home.”

  “And with the seal in hand,” Marc added, unable to hide his grin.

  Jules practically glowed. Marc looked like he might start laughing from sheer relief. Noel, however, was strangely quiet. He didn’t join the celebration at all. He simply shrugged off his coat, tossed it onto a chair, and headed for his room without another word.

  Marc’s smile faltered. “Something wrong?”

  “Nothing,” Noel replied, not even turning. “Just tired. Not to mention… terrified.”

  “Cheer up,” Marc said, lifting his arm as if it were proof of victory. “I got bit, and I’m not letting it hold back my excitement!”

  “We have the seal,” Jules said. “That’s what’s important.”

  “He’s right,” Marc agreed, but then his tone shifted, less triumphant and more serious. “And with this back, we can proceed with the exchange… without having the White Raven cutting our heads off.” He glanced between them, as if making sure the walls weren’t listening. “Like the boss said, just remember our end goal.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Noel muttered as he disappeared into his room. “Bring Aurelith and the Aureliens down…” His voice dulled with exhaustion. “I’m gonna need to lie down before that. I want to sleep.”

  “What’s wrong with him?” Jules asked.

  “Let him be, we’re all tired,” Marc said. “Anyway, I’ll have to tell the boss tomorrow we got the seal back. You two can stay here or do whatever you want.”

  And while they talked, Noel lay down on his back, eyes staring at the ceiling, wondering when he could see Serena again.

  The next morning, Edmund and his men returned to their usual routine: breakfast, plan, divide, explore.

  This time, Aristide took two knights and half the soldiers with him, just to ensure they wouldn’t wander into another tavern and get themselves drunk. Who knew what they might end up saying once they were dazed. That left Edmund with Leif, Serena, Damien, another knight, and the remaining half of the soldiers. Gualter, Lyam, and Elias were taken by Aristide as well, purely to remove the risk of Edmund letting them do as they pleased.

  Filandra stayed at the inn, as usual, tidying rooms, keeping beds neat and clean, and making sure no one came back to find their belongings scattered like a battlefield.

  Edmund’s group headed for the town square again. And, just as expected, before they even reached it, they heard the familiar preaching of a certain cleric. They watched him from a distance once they arrived, quietly weighing their options. He seemed knowledgeable about Danuville’s history, about its current affairs, meaning that despite the embittered remarks he loved to throw at Aurelith and the royal family, he was still the best guide they had if they wanted to learn anything useful about the state.

  The decision was unanimous. Even Damien agreed. Reluctantly, they approached him.

  Before they even reached him, the cleric noticed them. His lips curved into a wide grin.

  “My favorite tourists!” he called. “It’s a pleasure to see you all again on such a fine day!”

  “It’s a… pleasure… to see you today as well, Mr. Paul,” Edmund replied, already bracing himself.

  The cleric didn’t hesitate. He placed his hat back on his head with the flair of a performer. “Am I right to assume you seek to continue your tour of our humble state?”

  Edmund hesitated, then mustered the will to endure the man’s rambling. “Yes, please. We’d… love… to hear more about the state… and your, um… honest opinion about everything.”

  “Of course!” Paul laughed. “I’d love to walk you around and show you more of our beloved city.”

  And so the tour resumed.

  Paul led the way while Edmund’s group followed behind. Damien kept himself at the very end, as if distance alone could soften the cleric’s voice. The two Alvarynn stayed closer to the front, near Edmund. The prince reasoned that since they were the least informed about the region’s history, they would also be the least offended and the most natural to sound when asking questions.

  The cleric spoke at length about Danuville’s origins, how it had once been the primary trading town between Durandal and Aldana. At the time, he explained, Eostre had grown too large and too populous, and smaller, newer merchants struggled to compete with the well-established ones. Danuville, back then, had been nothing like the dilapidated town it was now.

  Eventually, they reached a statue.

  A knight stood carved in stone, shield strapped to his arm and a scabbarded sword resting at his side. Leif leaned closer and frowned. There was no hilt carved atop the scabbard at all.

  “Oh, that wasn’t a mistake,” Paul said, catching his look. “This is Roland Archambault, first in his family to be knighted by the Cervolnan king.”

  “Then why is the sword missing?” Leif asked.

  “Ah,” Paul said, delighted, “now that’s a tale to tell. You see, he and House Rohan’s founder—Hugh Rohan—were knighted at the same time, and each named his sword after an important person.”

  The group went quiet. Even Leif and Serena knew of Hugh Rohan at the very least.

  “Hugh named his sword after a woman he was rumored to have fallen in love with,” Paul continued. “Roland named his sword Durandal, after his friend Durand, who gave his life to save him at the climax of a war between Cervolna and Mezentius.”

  “And then?” Leif asked, visibly hooked.

  “It’s a long, long story,” Paul replied with a smile. “But essentially, after being knighted, their first mission was to drive out a group of barbarians harassing Eostre, then a smaller town. Not yet the mighty city it would become.”

  “After much fighting, they discovered the barbarians were being driven onto Cervolnan territories by the Order of Logres, the knights protecting the lands that would become Trinovantes, back when it was still a territory of Magenholt.”

  Serena stepped closer. “Why were they being driven away?”

  Paul’s tone didn’t change into mockery for once. It became almost… sincere.

  “The barbarians, the Rogians, as they call themselves, were the natives of this land,” he said. “But after it was conquered, they were forced to hide in the forests in the central regions. When Magenholt began pushing further west, the Rogians lost more and more territory, and with it their hunting and gathering grounds. They were forced to raid Cervolnan towns simply to survive, fearing the Order’s wrath if they returned east.”

  The way he spoke—clear, articulate, almost solemn—made even Edmund and Damien listen more intently.

  “And how does it connect to the missing sword?” Leif asked again.

  “Well,” Paul said, “after capturing them, the barbarians told Roland everything: where they were hiding, and what had happened to their kin. Roland learned that many of them had been captured by the Order… and were lined up for execution.”

  He paused, letting that settle.

  “He felt empathy for them,” Paul continued. “And to free their captured kin, he challenged the leader of the Order, Arthur Carnarvon. Evidently the ancestor of Trinovantes’s ruling family.”

  “He won,” Paul said, and something like satisfaction flickered in his eyes. “And afterward, Arthur handed him custody of the natives. Roland led them somewhere far, somewhere they could start over. Their new home is said to be located on the easternmost parts of Ambria, on the mountain ranges that marked the region’s boundary.”

  Leif crossed his arms and tilted his head. “You still haven’t told us about the sword.”

  Paul let out a small laugh. “Of course. After freeing them, Roland vowed never to take another life with a blade bearing his friend’s name. So he put it down.”

  “You mean he stopped fighting?” Leif asked sharply.

  “Oh, he still fought,” Paul said. “With a different sword, of course, but only in defense. He never took part in wars where Cervolna was the aggressor.”

  Edmund’s gaze returned to the statue. “So… if his sword was named Durandal… does that mean the Archducal State of Durandal was named after—”

  “Yes,” Paul said, pleased. “Very intuitive. Just as House Rohan named their land after Hugh’s sword, House Archambault named theirs after Roland’s, after both families were elevated to nobility.”

  The group went silent again. Somehow, the more Paul spoke, the clearer it became why his hatred, and most of Danuville’s, had never truly faded.

  “Those of us who know the truth… our full history,” Paul said, his voice turning solemn, heavier than it had been a moment ago, “we understand what it took the two Houses, even the Carnarvons, and their people to build this nation.”

  He looked up at the statue, not with admiration exactly, but with something closer to grief shaped into pride. “Every period of joy. Every war. Every plague. Every heartbreak… All of it.”

  Then his gaze slid back to them, and whatever sincerity he had allowed himself snapped into something sharper.

  “Those damn Aureliens,” he spat, reminding everyone that his bitterness had never gone anywhere. “They can try to claim everything, to rule, but we will never bow to those usurpers.”

  His voice rose, carrying just enough for the nearby passersby to glance over. “We will defend what the two Houses left us,” Paul declared. “Their legacy doesn’t belong to devils pretending to be kings.”

  No one responded. No one even dared to look at him, not right after he’d called Edmund and his entire bloodline devils. The prince was visibly slighted, more than he had been the last time they’d endured Paul’s company. His gaze stayed on the ground, jaw set, shoulders just a touch too rigid. Still, he didn’t leave. Neither did the others.

  Paul drew a slow breath, forcing himself to settle. He turned back to them and caught the expressions on their faces. Unaware of who they truly were, he could only assume his tone had shaken his clients. “Pardon my way of speaking just now,” he said, voice quieter. “I just… can’t help myself sometimes.”

  “It’s… not a problem, Paul,” Edmund replied, swallowing whatever else wanted to rise up with the words. “Please. Let’s resume the tour.”

  “Right,” Leif chimed in quickly. “We’d love to see more of the place, and its… history.”

  Paul brightened at once. He clapped his hands together, grin returning like nothing had happened, and moved on.

  He guided them past abandoned mansions and shuttered guild halls, past more statues weathered by rain and neglect. Yet, strangely, there were still decent homes tucked into certain streets, well-off residents who had chosen to stay, apparently, even as the rest of the town rotted around them.

  “Um… Paul,” Edmund called as he glanced around. “May I ask a different question?”

  “Please,” Paul replied with a smile.

  “What do you think of Count Nicolas of Charlemont?”

  “Count Nicolas?” Paul echoed, almost amused. “Well, he’s a good man. Charitable, well-mannered, approachable. Exactly what you’d expect from a noble in our times.”

  “And what do you think of his plans,” Edmund continued carefully, “to open Danuville as a trade route between Cervolna and Aurelith?”

  Paul slowed, then stopped entirely. His gaze lingered on a nearby home, as if he were weighing the question against something older than reason.

  “Ah,” he said at last. “So you’ve heard about that.” His mouth twisted. “Opening the border to Aurelith’s merchants is… a questionable choice… but if the Count’s purpose is to help us rebuild, and if it’s his plan, I see no harm in it… yet.”

  “So you’d actually support it?” Edmund asked, genuinely surprised.

  “Of course,” Paul said, and resumed walking as if the answer were obvious. “The toll fees from passing merchants would help with the state’s funding. So long as Aurelith’s rulers keep their hands to themselves, I can bear seeing their caravans on our streets.”

  For the first time, Paul had said something Edmund and his companions could tolerate about their kingdom. After that, his rambling shifted into praise—of Nicolas’s character, of his effort to revive a state once ruled by his own family. Paul spoke as though it were expected, almost sacred, that someone of the former royal blood would try to mend what had been broken.

  Eventually, their path circled back to a street the group had walked the other day. Unsurprisingly, the same three old men sat outside with newspapers in hand, as though they had been planted there to age in place. Paul was still talking about Nicolas when the elders overheard him.

  “Still ramblin’ ’bout that noble?” the first one called, without lifting his eyes.

  “The Archambaults have long forgot’n ’bout us,” the second muttered.

  “In that, you are wrong, geezer,” Paul snapped, a spark of annoyance returning. “Count Nicolas Sabran-Archambault is doing his best to help us rebuild as we speak.”

  “Ain’t their family that brought us here in the first place?” the third old man said, voice dry as dust. “With the last king spendin’ the kingdom’s money chasin’ colonies west, in case you’ve forgot’n.”

  “That was one man. The king,” Paul shot back. “He fled afterward, yes. But the rest of the family, and the other branches, stayed to keep guiding us until Rucaldia came, in case that slipped your mind.”

  His attention drifted fully to the old men now, pulled in as the bickering swelled. They went back and forth, about whether House Archambault had been a family of saints, or failed despots with better manners. Paul snapped, the elders scoffed, and the street began to feel smaller with every raised voice.

  Serena leaned closer to Edmund and whispered, “Should we stay? I don’t think he’ll be going anywhere until he wins this argument.”

  “I think so too,” Leif murmured back.

  Damien, already irritated by the entire morning, turned to Edmund. “What should we do?”

  Edmund kept his eyes on Paul and the three elders, watching the argument harden into something stubborn and endless, when another voice called out, bright and entirely uninvited.

  “Hey there!”

  They all turned. Noel was approaching, with Jules trailing behind him. The former looked oddly composed for someone who’d spent the previous day nearly being eaten. He stopped a short distance away, wearing that same casual air he always seemed to carry, like trouble simply bounced off him.

  “What a coincidence,” Noel said. “Didn’t think I’d see you guys here.”

  He jabbed his elbow into Jules’s side, less gentle than he intended. “Right, Jules?”

  Jules blinked, then forced a grin a beat too late. “Oh! Right! Really. Just a coincidence.”

  Edmund’s group returned the greeting, their attention shifting from the bickering to Noel and Jules.

  “I see old man Karl and his buds are debating their ‘facts’ again,” Jules said, nodding toward the trio with faint amusement.

  “Just teachin’ sir priest here,” Karl snapped back, not even bothering to look away from Paul.

  “Wrong,” Paul cut in at once. “It is I who’s educating you, old man.”

  Edmund took the opening before the argument could swell again. “We’re thinking of going somewhere else while they bicker here,” he said, voice polite but firm. “Mind showing us some places?”

  “’Course,” Jules replied eagerly. “We’ll show you around gladly.”

  “Great,” Leif said, then glanced back. “Is that okay, Serena?”

  At the sound of her name, Noel’s attention snapped toward her.

  She stood just behind Leif, quiet as usual, and Noel… stared. Not rudely, not exactly. More like he forgot, for a moment, that staring was something people noticed. Then he seemed to catch himself and shifted his weight.

  “I’ll show you around,” he said, tone suddenly a touch more careful. “If you don’t mind.”

  Serena gave a faint smile and nodded. “All right.”

  Meanwhile, Edmund reached into his satchel and drew out a small bag of coins. He held it out to Paul. “Your payment for today’s tour,” he said. “Thank you for showing us around, Paul.”

  Paul paused mid-argument, took the bag, and bowed with a practiced flourish. “Thank you, my dear clients, and I apologize for this interruption.”

  With that, they turned to leave. Jules was already ten steps ahead, walking like he’d been waiting all morning to get away from Paul’s voice. Noel lingered behind, waiting for the group… or, more specifically, for Serena. When she moved, he fell into step beside her.

  “So,” Noel said, falling into step beside her, “where do you want to head first?”