"You, of all people, should know better," Avendial hissed, stepping closer, the chill of his presence penetrating the butler's skin like a dagger.
"Your Majesty," the butler squeaked, his voice barely a whisper, "I assure you, I will find her! I will bring Deventhia back to you!"
His heart raced as he clutched the edge of his jacket, the fabric damp from sweat.
"See that you do," Avendial replied, his voice dripping with cold menace, each word carefully measured to instill fear.
"And if you fail, you'll find yourself joining your fallen comrades."
The threat hung heavily in the air, a dark promise of what awaited those who dared to cross him.
As the butler scrambled to his feet, his mind racing with the gravity of the emperor's words, the others around him understood the stakes.
Avendial was not merely a ruler; he was a tyrant forged in blood, and the hunt for Deventhia was not just a task but a desperate measure to regain control over the chaos threatening his reign.
"I want her found!" Avendial shouted, the intensity of his command causing the remaining guards to flinch.
"And bring me the head of anyone who gets in the way!"
With a final, chilling glare, he swept from the hall, leaving behind a macabre scene.
While making his way with a cold gaze, he pulled out a letter from his pocket, which he had found from Devanthia's room written = [ Yo punk Emperor, you ever tasted shit? I bet you have, you pig!!! Your lovely , whoopsie (~￣³￣)~ ]
'You pray I don't find you.' Reading the letter, the Emperor's mouth twitched as he hardly controlled his anger, feeling additionally annoyed for losing the woman who carried his child.
The air was thick with the scent of blood and fear, the bodies of the fallen serving as a grim reminder of the consequences of failure in the eyes of a merciless ruler.
The servants exchanged terrified glances, each one knowing that the hunt had only just begun, and the empire's dark secrets were far from buried.
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Five years passed.
Here I am, traipsing through the bustling market, the sun shining down as if it were judging my life choices.
Can you believe it's been five years since I ran from the Emperor's clutches?
Sometimes, I still pinch myself to check if it's all real.
From the royal palace to this quaint countryside, it feels like a fairytale—albeit one where the princess is perpetually broke and living on bread.
I used to think I'd die in the desert, parched and begging for mercy, until that sweet old auntie found me.
Her herbal remedies brought me back to life—along with her infamous herbal shop, which I'm still convinced has a sinister side effect because she kicked the bucket just a month after I showed up.
Sure, I'm not a witch or cursed or anything, but let's just say her passing did leave me with a bit of a complex.
And here I am, years later, the town's finest herb seller, making just enough to support my newfound love for carbs.
As I lugged my bag of fresh loaves, I couldn't help but chuckle at my good fortune.
"Look at me! A runaway with a steady income and a culinary dream!"
I grinned, picturing the feast I would create with my golden-brown treasures.
My mouth watered as I imagined smearing warm bread with my homemade ketchup—crafted with love and spices I'd spent hours collecting.
It's the little things in life that matter, right?
"Ah, sweet mozzarella, I can almost taste you!" I declared to no one in particular, feeling light-headed with anticipation.
Today was a good day.
I'd escape the dreariness of my past and create a glorious spread in my cozy little home.
Who knew the simple act of baking bread could turn a girl into a culinary genius?
I was practically a kitchen sorceress at this point.
With a spring in my step, I finally made my way back toward my home, reveling in the delightful aroma wafting from my precious loaves.
I giggled, imagining the delicious concoction of spices I had gathered.
"Oh, life is good!" I exclaimed, dancing through the streets.
But suddenly, an ominous feeling settled in my stomach, like a storm cloud hovering over my parade.
I glanced down, and that's when I realized the horrifying truth: my bag had a gaping hole!
My loaves—my beautiful, delicious loaves—were gone!
"No! My bread!" I howled, flailing my arms as if I could somehow summon it back to me from the clutches of fate.
Panic surged through my veins like a jolt of electricity, and I mentally calculated how much I would need to sell just to replace my precious loaf.
"I was so close to mozzarella! I can't believe this!"
Fueled by a heady mix of rage and desperation, I launched into a sprint, weaving through the bustling market.
The aroma of spices and grilled meats enveloped me, but all I could focus on was the sight of my bread disappearing.
Vendors glanced up, their eyebrows raised in surprise, likely thinking I had finally lost my marbles.
"Who do I need to kill to get my bread back?" I muttered under my breath, imagining myself racing through the sun-scorched desert, bread in hand, a triumphant hero in a post-apocalyptic landscape.
Just as despair threatened to engulf me, I caught sight of a small child in tattered clothes, a hood pulled low over his face, darting away with a loaf of bread clutched tightly in his tiny hands.
My blood boiled, a primal instinct rising within me.
"Hey, you little thief!" I screamed, my voice echoing through the market like a battle cry.
He was quick, expertly weaving between stalls as if he had rehearsed this escape a thousand times.
"You can't get away with my bread!" I yelled, my feet pounding against the cobblestones, the rhythm matching the frantic thumping of my heart.
The market's vibrant chatter faded into a dull roar as I focused solely on my target, determination fueling my every step.