Chapter 16 - Jekyll and Hyde

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A familiar voice called out behind them, a tinge of surprise and mischief in the man's tone.

"Who do we have here?"

Mahalia recognized that voice, and she hated the fact that he was there with them.

"I could say the same thing myself," she muttered.

She turned to face Zachary, and she visibly flinched—not because he was frightening, but because the Zachary before her seemed different. Normally, he exuded the aura of a dutiful hound, one that would drag the body of anyone who crossed his master's path. But today, he looked like he was the master.

"What are you doing here, Lymer?"

Zachary managed a small smile. "I'd rather keep that to myself."

Mahalia rolled her eyes. She didn't really care, though a sense of wariness crept in. The possibility that he might be there on Awin's request crossed her mind and left her perplexed. Still, there were more pressing matters to attend to. She turned to leave when Zachary spoke up again.

"Just so you know, I didn't tell the king I was coming here."

Mahalia stared at him, caution and surprise etched on her face. "What?"

"I'm just saying I'm here for myself. The king has nothing to do with it, so you can rest assured."

"But why would you feel the need to tell me that?"

"I find it infuriating how you look at me—like some sort of lackey incapable of my own actions."

Mahalia nodded in understanding. His reasoning made sense, but something about his unusually shy demeanor made her feel like that wasn't the whole truth.

He walked away, with some men following closely behind.

She turned to her cousin. "Let's be on our way then."

"Okay," Jaslin answered in a chirpy tone. Though she wasn't too keen on the trip, she couldn't deny that staying on an island like this was a bit exciting.

"It's still surprising that Lord Zachary is here," she added as the duo made their way back to their quarters.

"I think I know why he's here, though it's just a guess."

Zachary took one last glance at Mahalia as her small figure grew smaller in the distance. Someone lightly tapped him on the shoulder.

"Lucius."

"It's nice to see you, Your Majesty." Lucius bowed.

He was the hooded figure who had delivered the king's message to Zachary. On the Occident coast, Lucius was one of the king's best vassals despite his young age—a famed strategist, academician, and politician. His blond hair and scholarly aura presented quite the visage.

Zachary let Lucius take the lead as they snaked through the busy path into a deserted, secret alleyway.

"Why here?" Zachary asked, partly embarrassed that Mahalia had seen him.

"I apologize, but it's the most unsuspecting place. Our kingdom has no official connection with Porto Jamon. Unlike other nations, this is the safest location to discuss our plans."

Zachary nodded. He had taken some days off under the guise of visiting his sick father for two reasons: first, to secretly carry out the crown prince ceremony, and second—a reason that would soon reveal itself.

He turned to his companions, an unmistakable glint of anticipation in his eyes.

"So, shall we, gentlemen?"

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MEANWHILE, AT EASTEFORD

The King's Palace

The king's palace stood as an opulent fortress disguised as a haven. Its golden spires and intricately carved facades glistened in the sunlight, hiding a truth as sharp and deadly as a dragon's fang. The grand halls whispered of power, and though its walls were adorned with fine tapestries and paintings, the shadows seemed to pulse with danger—like a dragon's lair cleverly masked as a sanctuary.

Awin strolled around his orchard, his mood melancholic. It was the first time he had felt this way in years.

"The last time I felt like this was when she appeared," he thought.

For most of his life, Awin had always felt in control. Even when events seemed to spiral out of his grasp, he always managed to seize the reins again. But this evening, he felt the cold, harsh wind of change blowing against him—fervently, relentlessly.

He paused to admire a flower, a delicate plant he had nurtured and pruned into the beauty of his orchard. While it was neither vast nor impressive like the towering trees, its small, fragile form made it all the more alluring.

A tall man in a monster mask swooped down and knelt before him.

"Reaper. Any news for me?" Awin asked, his gaze never leaving the flower.

"He went to Porto Jamon."

Awin flinched. For a moment, he seemed perturbed, but he quickly reverted to his usual demeanor.

"That certainly is news. Coincidence?"

"I doubt it. He met with men from the Occident coast."

He let out a bitter chuckle "You keep a stray dog, tend to it, nurture it, and then it turns back to bite the very hand that fed it. Zachary Blainesweith, you never cease to amaze me."

"That's not all."

"Go on." Awin's fingers grazed the petals of the flower.

"It seems several people from Easteford were also there. I saw Lady Mahalia and—"

"Really?" Awin straightened, his gaze suddenly malevolent. He gripped the flower tightly, crushing it before ripping it from the stem.

"So everyone decided to meet without me? Is that what this is? Then I'll make it worth their time."

He turned to Reaper. "Get in touch with the rest of the pack. I need them to take care of something for me."

"Yes, sir." Reaper bowed.

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THE TRAVELER'S INN

The inn reeked of animal dung, sweat, and stale alcohol. Its wooden beams were splintered, and the walls bore stains of unknown origin, yet it brimmed with an inexplicable, almost jovial energy. The patrons—drunken travelers, rowdy sailors, and shady dealers—filled the air with boisterous laughter, raucous singing, and the occasional clash of mugs.

"So much for a cozy vacation," Jaslin frowned. "Do we really have to stay here? And what's with the weird name?"

They were at a traveler's inn known as Angel's Bosom. Completely run-down, it somehow enjoyed great patronage. Mahalia was certain it wasn't without reason. She held her cousin close and smiled reassuringly.

"Of course we have to stay here. I came to gather information, and no one will trust me if I come as a noble's daughter. Besides, I'm almost certain this place has a wide network of information."

"I'm sure that's not the only wide network it has," Jaslin pouted as she stepped into a slimy mess she didn't even want to identify.

They walked up to the receptionist's counter.

"A room for two, please," Mahalia said in a cheery, innocent voice.

"Names?" the receptionist asked gruffly.

"Qaya Wright."

The keys were handed over, and they walked up to their room. As Mahalia fumbled with the door, Jaslin's voice took on an unusually stern tone.

"What was that all about?"

"What?" Mahalia looked up with an innocent expression.

"The name you gave—"

"Oh, that. We can't give our real names."

"Okay, but why choose a dead girl's name?"

Mahalia flinched. "I understand why you're perplexed, but I promise, I have my reasons."

"Then carry me along, dammit!" Jaslin immediately caught herself and apologized, but Mahalia only laughed.

"Why are you apologizing? It's natural to feel that way. Stop feeling guilty."

"I'm really sorry. I don't know what came over me."

"I said it's okay. And I've noticed—you're more expressive and informal with me lately. You talk to me like we're peers, not like I'm your superior. I like that."

Jaslin kept quiet. Mahalia's words stirred something in her heart, and it took considerable resolve to stop herself from shedding tears.

"Finally! I got the door open. I was beginning to think we had the wrong key."

They dragged their luggage inside, unaware of the figure lurking behind them. The shadow watched with bloodlust, like a beast from hell.

"So this is where you are?" the figure, Melinda, muttered to herself.

Even as she hid in the corner, watching the girls settle in, it felt unreal to her that she was in Porto Jamon. Melinda had someone tailing Mahalia, reporting everything she did. Desperate to uncover a secret—any secret—she was certain Mahalia held.

"Gosh, the irony. You willingly walked into this place yourself and decided to go by the name of the very woman I killed. It's as if the heavens are telling me I'll succeed in killing you. And to make things better, I won't be killing Mahalia Heris, but Qaya Heris—someone who's already dead."

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To be continued...