Chapter 70: Playing with Fire...
"Is this all?"
Olga’s scowl was aimed at the mess of reclaimed belongings dumped on the table, but her eyes fixed sharply on her brother instead.
Lenko quickly pushed back his satchel, abandoning his half-check bag to look through the pile.
"Yes. Thank you, sister," he said softly, the gratitude plain in his voice. Then he glanced up at her, brows knit in curiosity. "How did you get it?"
Olga crossed her arms. "The same way I always do. By scaring the truth out of men who talk too much and dragging it out of those who don’t." She huffed, but her gaze softened a fraction when she saw the awe on her brother’s face.
Lenko’s mind went back to their hurried explanations earlier, how he had told her, when she ambushed them in the alley, that at the city gate the knights had chained them like criminals, tossed them into the dungeon without even glancing at their entry papers. He had told her, too, how their possessions were taken, scattered, or destroyed. Olga had listened without interrupting, and now, somehow, here was proof she had believed him.
"So you escorted us here..." Lenko murmured, shaking his head in disbelief. "Silenced the knights, too. Sister, what did you even say to them?"
Olga smirked faintly. "Enough that they’ll think twice before sticking their noses in the princess’ affairs again. They know better than to press when she’s involved." She flicked her chin toward the far end of the table where the Saint sat.
The Saint of the Kingdom had been silent through most of the meal, her composure perfectly intact, her delicate fingers barely touching the food set before her. But suddenly she rose, the sweep of her white dress falling back into place around her.
Her eyes met Keiser’s.
He stiffened under the weight of that gaze. It was direct, unyielding, as if no one else in the room existed.
"Follow me," she muttered, her tone quiet but edged with command. Without another word, she turned and began to walk back toward the grand chamber where she first received her guests.
The scrape of chairs echoed faintly as Lenko instinctively moved to follow. "Princess," he began, worry tightening his voice.
But Olga’s hand caught his arm.
"Let them be." Her voice was firm, brooking no argument. "were don’t need to be involved anymore."
Lenko blinked at her, lips parting as though to protest, but her eyes warned him off. He shut his mouth with a tight swallow, fingers curling around the strap of his satchel instead.
All he could do was watch, heart thudding, as Muzio, cloak hood shadowing his face, rose slowly from his seat and followed after the sixth princess into the dimly lit hall.
Keiser found himself alone at last with the sixth princess. The guest chamber felt too wide without the noise of the others, lit only by the warm glow of a tall candelabra and the faint shimmer of moonlight filtering through latticed windows.
Althea sat across from him at a low table, her white dress set aside neatly over the chair, her delicate hands cupping a porcelain teacup. Her eyes were closed, lashes resting against her cheeks, the very picture of composure as she sipped.
Keiser shifted in his seat, staring down at the untouched tea that had been set in front of him. The fragrant steam curled upward, mingling with the silence until,
Clink.
The sound of her cup returning to its saucer echoed louder than it should have.
Her crimson eyes opened.
"What happened to your..." She let her gaze drift slowly over him, her hand lifting vaguely to gesture at the strips of cloth wrapped around his arms, his shoulder, the faint discoloration creeping up from beneath his collar. "...everywhere."
Keiser blinked, caught off guard. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Right, how could he possibly explain that he had scarred himself with a forbidden art of magic, carving sigils into his own flesh to channel a kind of mana not meant to be use that way?
He forced a shrug, keeping his voice flat. "...Burns."
It was true, in its way. Burns from the inside out. Mana that seared his veins until it spilled onto his skin in the shape of runes. But she didn’t need to know that.
The sixth princess tilted her head slightly, studying him in silence. The candlelight caught in her eyes, making them flare brighter.
"Burns?" she repeated, her tone soft yet edged with suspicion. "How careless. Or..." Her gaze lingered on the lines hidden beneath his bandages. "...how deliberate."
Keiser’s throat tightened. He shifted his eyes down to his teacup, pretending to examine the surface of the liquid. His fingers itched, the phantom ache of the sigil pulsing faintly in his arm.
"...Accidents happen," he muttered.
"Accidents," she echoed, as though tasting the word. Then she leaned back in her chair, resting one arm on the carved wooden rest. "You’ve always been clumsy, Muzio. But this doesn’t look like clumsiness to me."
Her voice carried no sweetness now, no pretense of the saintly charm she showed her people. It was sharp, inquisitive, dangerous.
Keiser clenched his jaw, forcing himself to meet her eyes.
"...And what do you think it looks like?"
The sixth princess did not blink. "It looks like a boy who plays with fire, knowing he’ll be burned. And yet..." She tilted her head again, a smile ghosting her lips though it held no warmth. "You’re still alive."
The silence that followed was thick, pressing down on him.
Keiser’s hands tightened around the cup, careful not to let his voice betray the unease running through him. "...just enough."
The princess’ frown deepened as she suddenly rose from her chair.
The legs scraped faintly against the polished floor, a sound too sharp in the quiet chamber. Keiser’s eye followed her movements warily as she circled the table. Every muscle in his body went rigid, his shoulders stiffening as if bracing for another slap.
But instead of striking him, she lowered herself onto the seat beside him.
Keiser’s breath caught. The nearness unsettled him more than her anger had. He turned slightly, ready to spring back if she moved too quickly. Yet all she did was reach out, slender fingers, pale in the candlelight, until they closed around his hand.
It was the one still marred with dried blood, dark and flaking from where he had stabbed himself with the rusted key in the dungeon.
Her grip wasn’t rough, but it was firm. She turned his hand over in her own, her thumb brushing along the jagged edge of scabbed cloth.
Keiser swallowed hard, forcing his expression flat even as unease prickled under his skin. "...What are you doing?"
The princess’ scowl did not ease. Her eyes reflected the lamplight, glowing like embers in the dim chamber. For a moment, it was as though the gilded walls around them melted away, and he was trapped not in a guest chamber, but in a cage, golden, ornate, suffocating.
"You hurt yourself," she said quietly, her voice sharp despite its softness.
Keiser let out a short, bitter laugh. "You make it sound like I had a choice."
Her eyes flicked up to his, and for the nth time since she slapped him, he thought he saw something flash behind them. Not anger. Not suspicion. Something heavier.
"You always had a choice, Muzio." Her fingers tightened around his hand.
"You just never chose wisely."