6 - Arrival
The morning the Crown Prince arrived in Forebros, the skies were an unsettling shade of gray. Not storming. Not bright. Waiting. At the southern gates of the ducal territory, two horses slowed to a steady halt.
Upon the first sat the heir to the Empire of Clematis, Crown Prince Zafiel.
Black military coat tailored to perfection. Dark gloves fitted snug against steady hands. His amethyst eyes surveyed the towering walls of Forebros without visible emotion.
Beside him rode his closest companion and personal knight, Sir Leonhard.
Broad-shouldered, dark hair tied loosely at the nape, a scar cutting faintly across his jaw-a remnant of wars fought in silence.
His green q
eyes were alert, calculating.
Zafiel did not announce himself. He did not request trumpets.
He did not demand procession. Instead, he turned slightly toward Leonhard.
"Book an inn."
Leonhard blinked once. "Your Imperial Highness?"
"There are only two of us. We do not require spectacle."
A pause.
Then a faint, knowing exhale from the knight. "As you wish."
The Crown Prince adjusted his gloves calmly. "Two rooms."
Leonhard's brow twitched almost imperceptibly at that. "Of course." They rode deeper into the city rather than toward the ducal castle.
Above them-
Unseen-
A pair of sharp crimson eyes watched from a rooftop.
Alistair la Vernon did not breathe loudly. Did not shift unnecessarily. His black cloak blended seamlessly with chimney shadows as he crouched low, observing.
An assassin did not merely see. He assessed. The Crown Prince traveled light. No escort. No herald. Only Sir Leonhard. Two horses. Minimal luggage. Alistair's gaze sharpened.
Suspicious.
A Crown Prince choosing an inn over the grand ducal residence was either arrogance, or caution.
He followed from the rooftops as the two men entered a modest but reputable inn near the central plaza.
Leonhard handled the transaction personally.
Alistair noted the coins exchanged. Two keys handed over.
Two separate rooms. Interesting. Very interesting.
When the pair ascended the stairs, Alistair slipped back into shadow.
Moments later-
He was gone.
-
Within the grand ducal castle, Grand Duke Maximus la Vernon stood in his study reviewing estate reports when a knock came.
"Enter."
Alistair stepped inside silently, bowing once. "Father."
Maximus did not look up immediately. "Report."
"The Crown Prince has arrived."
That earned his attention. "So soon?"
"This morning."
Maximus' lips curved faintly. "And?"
"He did not approach the castle."
Silence thickened.
Alistair continued evenly. "He booked two rooms at an inn near the central plaza. Only Sir Leonhard accompanies him."
The Grand Duke leaned back slowly in his chair. Not offended. Not amused. Thoughtful.
"He chooses neutrality," Maximus murmured.
"Or distrust," Alistair offered. Crimson eyes met identical crimson eyes.
The air shifted. Zafiel was not careless. He was precise.
Choosing an inn signaled independence. Refusal to appear dependent on ducal hospitality. But it also avoided immediate political entanglement. Maximus stood.
"If the Crown Prince wishes distance," he said calmly, "we will offer courtesy."
He walked to the wide balcony doors and raised his arm.
A servant immediately approached carrying a gilded perch.
Upon it sat a magnificent eagle-feathers streaked in hues of ember and gold, eyes blazing like coals.
A fire-messenger. Bound to the Vernon bloodline.
Maximus took parchment and pen. His handwriting was bold, decisive.
To His Imperial Highness, Crown Prince Zafiel Abaddon Morrigan von Clematis.
Forebros welcomes your arrival. It would be an honor to host you within our estate during your stay.
Signed, Maximus Einarr Galbraith la Vernon.
He rolled the letter, secured it within a small golden canister, and fastened it to the eagle's leg. The bird shrieked-a sharp, fiery cry-before launching into the sky in a burst of heat-distorted air.
Alistair watched the flames trail briefly behind it. "A direct invitation," he observed.
Maximus crossed his arms. "If he declines, we learn something. If he accepts, we learn more."
Alistair inclined his head.
Politics was a game of movements. And both sides had just made their first.
-
In the quiet of her chambers, Mariana was not aware of rooftop surveillance or political signaling. She was spiraling.
"He's here."
The words echoed like a death knell. A maid had delivered the news breathlessly moments ago. The Crown Prince had arrived in Forebros. Her fiancé. Her executioner. The male lead-Zafiel.
Mariana clutched a pillow tightly to her chest.
Nope. Nope nope nope. Not ready!!
She paced. Okay. Think.
In the novel, their reunion was dramatic. She rushed to greet him at the gates. Clung to his arm. Demanded attention. Embarrassed herself. Public tension ensued. Saintess foreshadowing intensifies.
Execution speedrun activated.
She stopped pacing abruptly.
"I refuse."
A maid blinked nervously. "Your Highness?"
"I will not greet him."
Silence.
The poor maid looked as though she had just heard treason spoken aloud.
"B-But... Your Highness... he is your-"
"I am unwell," Mariana declared firmly. "Emotionally."
That part was true.
"I will remain in my chambers."
The maid swallowed. "Should I inform the Grand Duke?"
Mariana hesitated.
Father would likely storm the inn personally and drag the Crown Prince to dinner. No! Let politics handle politics.
"I will speak to Father later," she decided.
For now, retreat.
She sat heavily on her velvet couch and pressed her palms to her face.
Why does my villainess life have to involve a terrifyingly competent Crown Prince?
Outside her window, clouds drifted slowly over the Forebros estate.
Somewhere in the city below, fiery eagle descended toward a quiet inn balcony.
And inside one of those rented rooms, Zafiel stood by the window, sensing the shift in air as wings approached. He did not smile. He rarely did. Forebros had made its move. Now, he would make his. Unaware that within the grand castle walls, rhe girl he was engaged to-
Was actively avoiding him out of pure survival instinct.