Prince Galin sent a carriage and four cavalry escorts for Crecyda. She was relieved that Lieutenant Varokar wasn't present and silently prayed she wouldn't encounter him at Stromgarde. Before departing, Niaes approached Crecyda discreetly, ensuring the guards wouldn't overhear.
"Be cautious," Niaes advised.
"Galin won't harm me, will he?"
"Not that. If any unexpected events occur en route, don't act on your own. These riders can protect you."
"I trust they can. At least they give me a better impression than Lumei's gang."
"Also, the Arathians aren't unwelcoming, but it's a time of war. Entering the city so conspicuously..."
"I'll keep my head inside the carriage."
"I don't know how Prince Galin will arrange things. Whatever the situation, don't complain."
"I understand. I'm not going on vacation."
"And..." Niaes paused, took a breath, and hastily added, "Am I saying too much? Just trivial things you already know. I heard someone in the army gave me the nickname 'Nanny.' It angered me, but I can't find out who started it... Anyway, what I want to say is, stay safe, Crecyda."
"Thank you. Well then, I'm leaving..."
"Wait."
Crecyda halted her steps, waiting for Niaes to continue. The woman who once calmly severed Lumei's head and saved her now furrowed her brows, caught in a silence torn between urgency and hesitation.
"What do you want to say, Niaes?" Crecyda approached her.
"Do you think... Can you really find him at Stromgarde? No, let me rephrase that... Are you going to Stromgarde solely for that purpose?" She quickly added, "I sound like I'm prying, maybe I am, but not with malicious intent. Uh, how should I put it..."
"It's alright, I understand. If you're asking whether my sole purpose is— I can assure you that once I see him, this wandering of mine for the past few years should come to an end. In that sense, you're correct. But before that, my thoughts aren't just about that. There are many other things swirling in my mind that make me continue on this path. I can't pinpoint them individually, but I can say, among them is you, Niaes."
"Me?"
"I don't know when we'll meet again—maybe we won't at all... So, let's be clear. You know what's troubling you and its vague connection to my experiences. But neither of us brings it up; we've been keeping it from each other. Now there's no need for that secrecy. I'll look into these things that trouble you at Stromgarde because they're related to my original purpose. Since I'm doing this, I can try to help with your worries. I can't solve them for you, but I can at least figure out what's bothering you. Is that alright?"
"Yeah... You're right. All of it. You know what I've been thinking. If you hadn't said it first, I probably wouldn't have had the courage... So, I entrust it to you, Crecyda. We'll keep in touch. Take care." Niaes wanted to hug Crecyda but remembered her rib injury, settling for a squeeze of her hand. "Be safe."
Crecyda boarded the carriage, thinking that, perhaps to outsiders, the recent parting words seemed amusing. After all, the destination, Stromgarde, was clearly visible. However, sometimes, farewells had nothing to do with distance, especially on the battlefield. You never knew when you might unexpectedly cross the line representing death. Boarding the carriage severed her connection with the ground. Advancing along the road severed the connection with the stones behind. Closing her eyes severed the connection with the plateau's gray-green scenery outside the window. But there were countless ways to sever a person from life.
Not until the guards escorted Crecyda out of the carriage did she open the black curtains. While she knew when she passed through the city gates, the subsequent journey was a blur. Normally, passing through a marketplace, even relying solely on hearing, would indicate whether she was in a bustling area or an alley. However, within Stromgarde, it was different. To describe it, Crecyda would think she passed through one abandoned square after another. Footsteps and chatter were present, but in the peculiar silence, they seemed chaotic. What eased her slightly were the fleeting smells of grilled food—perhaps someone was eating outdoors or from a street vendor. These simple scents of daily life relaxed her tense shoulders a bit.
The guards led Crecyda through a back entrance of the castle. While outside the castle, she glanced up, but before she could grasp the building's full view, a guard nudged her from behind. The nudge, not forceful but far from friendly, immediately made her realize she wouldn't have the freedom of movement she had in the Refuge Valley. She only knew this building had considerable age, but it was hard to call it beautiful—too many scars adorned the walls, and some obvious repair marks not only failed to make it look neater but also revealed a discordant awkwardness.
Not long after, Crecyda realized the long corridor was for servants and laborers, passing through a room storing ingredients and a rudimentary bedroom. The guards led her up a greasy staircase, taking her to a guest room.
"Rest for a while, madam, but please don't fall asleep. Prince Galin will be here shortly," the guard said, leaving the room and closing the door.
Crecyda turned around, facing the interior. Despite the stale air, worn furniture, and dusty bedspread, the room was enormous—like the bedroom of a noble's daughter. Perhaps she was indeed in a castle that had once left countless nobles dizzy with revelry and dancing, but now lacked the bright figures to fill its aging, war-torn shell. Honestly, this treatment was much better than she had imagined. She never applied for any "guest" status from Prince Galin, so this peculiar situation made her uneasy again.
Did he just say Prince Galin wants to see me? See me... for what? As a leader of a kingdom in endless turmoil, he specifically wants to meet her right after her arrival at Stromgarde. Perhaps the most optimistic explanation was that he also cared about the issue of the missing bodies of soldiers, coming to ask for her opinion—impossible. Crecyda sighed, slapping her cheeks with her right hand.
To get some fresh air, she approached the sliding window but found it jammed. Just as she was about to withdraw her dust-covered hand, a leggy insect crawled onto her hand, prompting her to quickly shake it off. This minor setback made Crecyda think of sitting on the dull bed edge, but the nearby conversation downstairs caught her attention.
"Have you seen Lord Jorgen?"
"What lord? I don't have any respect for that guy from MI7. Neither should you."
"Me neither. What does he look like?"
Crecyda leaned slightly out of the window. Two maids were having a conversation below, perhaps unaware that someone had suddenly moved into the room.
"...What does he look like? Pretty ordinary. Probably not yet forty, not bad looking."
"You can only tell me this? It's useless asking you."
"What do you want to know? I can't just stare at him. I just glanced at him when I was serving tea to him and Prince Galin..."
"How tall is he, is he thin or fat, what color are his eyes, you must know these things."
"Why are you so interested in his appearance? This outsider might be an enemy of Prince Galin."
"I'm just asking, can't I?"
"You're captivated by those rumors, huh. Something about him having a sleeping lover... or something."
"Yes, yes." Crecyda sensed excitement in the maid's voice, remiNiaescent of schoolgirls discussing romantic entanglements among nobles. "Don't you find this story fascinating? The ruthless head of MI7, actually devotedly guarding an unconscious woman... Oh, I'll take your place serving tea next time; I want to see him."
"Fine, honestly, I'd be nervous in front of him. But if you go, and something happens, I won't take responsibility."
"By the way, did you hear what he and Prince Galin talked about?"
"Don't talk nonsense! If I heard something I shouldn't have, I'm afraid I won't live through today..."
Crecyda left the window. The maids' conversation gave her an unreal feeling. A few years ago, when she learned of the unfortunate accident of Lady Dalia who had purchased the wooden carving, she suddenly had the idea to visit. Unable to prove herself as a safe visitor, she faced resistance from hospital guards and met Jorgen for the first time. She knew the truth was not as romantic as these maids' rumors from half a continent away. The him in her eyes—
As the door opened, Crecyda turned abruptly, clenching her fist behind her back. She saw a middle-aged man in armor walk in and say to the guards behind him, "You may withdraw."
"Yes, Prince Galin." The guards closed the door again.