"What? Is that true, Princess?"
"It is, Nicolas."
Astrid sat at a table inside her private mansion, a teacup in hand.
Textbooks were spread out before her, though her focus had shifted entirely to the man in front of her—her personal knight, Nicolas.
She had called him here for one reason: to share the news about someone they often discussed.
Vanitas Astrea.
"Desmond Wyndale's attempted murder, the incident at Index... His name keeps coming up, doesn't it?" Astrid said.
Naturally, as the princess, she had access to information far beyond what the general public could ever hope to know.
Nicolas was silent. His brows furrowed in thought. His fingers drummed lightly on the table.
"If it were the old Vanitas…." he muttered. "He would've ran the moment he heard the inmates escaped."
It wasn't like him to speak so freely. This was only the second time Astrid had seen him lose his calm.
