The night of Ophelia's palace is quiet as water, and the light of the cold moon shines through the huge stained glass into the study of the fourth Prince Reynaud, and the whole room is set off like a cold church. Reynaud was sitting at his desk, holding in his hand a brief but murderous order he had just drawn up.
"An APB hunt for Elena Cassirer will kill her wherever she finds her."
This order is Renault's final decision. Elena's existence is no longer a controllable variable for him, but a growing threat. As long as she lives, her name will make waves in both folk rumors and royal power struggles. He needs to clear this time bomb for good.
Reynold picked up the quill, dipped it in ink, and slowly signed his name on the document. The sound of the pen across the paper was particularly harsh in the silence of the room. He placed the document in an envelope, stamped it with the royal seal of fire, and then called in his confidants.
"Send it to the Motion Picture Department for immediate action." His voice was low and cold, without hesitation.
The guard took the command and quickly retreated after a salute, and the room resumed its dead silence.
Renaud sat back in his chair, closed his eyes, and rubbed his fingers lightly between his brows. Even though the decision had been made, a nagging sense of irritability lingered in his mind. His eyes inadvertently glanced across the corner of the table, where a small wooden box with simple decoration was placed.
The box was unremarkable and stood out against the other ornate objects in the study. Its surface is covered with tiny scratches, and the corners are even slightly worn, as if it had been through many years.
Raynor's brow furrowed slightly as he unconsciously reached for the box, momentarily stunned by the cold touch as his fingertips touched the surface.
He knows the box.
This is Elena's.
Renaud appeared hesitant in opening the wooden box. When the lid was lifted, a faint aroma wafted out of the spices Elena had used, and the familiarity was palpitating. There was nothing of value in the box, just a few scattered items: a letter, a quill with scuff marks, and a small metal badge.
Renaud's eyes fell on the badge. It was Elena's badge when she was in the Angels' camp, a symbol of her glory and status. The surface of the badge has faded somewhat, but the angel emblem is still visible. Renault held the badge in his hand and looked at it with mixed eyes.
He remembered well that it was her reward for joining the Angels. She showed him the badge that day with excitement and pride in her eyes. Her voice still rings in her ears: "Renault, this is not only my honor, but also our honor."
"Our glory..." Renault repeated the words in a low voice, a slight crack in his voice.
His fingers ran gently over the badge, then his eyes moved to the letter. There was no name or mark on the envelope. After a moment's hesitation, he opened it and unfolded the neatly folded paper.
The handwriting was Elena's, strong and forceful, with the same determination as ever.
'By the time you read this, Renault, I may be long gone.'
"I used to think that our marriage was a covenant between us, a faith that you and I would defend the empire together. But now I see I'm just a pawn, a tool you use to gain power."
"Even so, I still don't hate you."
"I just feel sorry for the feelings we had. If we could do it all over again, I would like us to be true to each other instead of using each other."
"But I know that's not possible."
"If you ever decide to hunt me down, remember that I will never stop my sword for you again."
The paper quivered slightly in Reynold's hand, and his eyes rested on the last sentence, and the coldness of his eyes finally opened a gap.
"I will not stop my sword for you..." Renaud murmured, with an almost imperceptible trace of pain in his voice.
Renaud slammed the paper down on the table and clapped his forehead. His body trembled slightly and his breathing became rapid. His mind kept coming back to Elena's face, the face that had once touched his heart, but also let him hate.
"She's nothing but a traitor," he whispered, as if trying to convince himself. "Everything I've done is necessary."
But another voice deep inside asks him, "Is it really necessary? Did she really deserve to die?"
His hands were clenched into fists, his fingernails almost digging into his palms. He knew he had gone too far, but every time he recalled her gaze, a vague sense of guilt and loss arose in his heart.
Renaud looked up and his eyes rested on the quill in the wooden box. She had given it to him as a gift, and there were faint marks of wear on it, which she had carved with her own hands. He remembers her smiling and telling him, "Write down your ambitions, and this pen will see your future."
"My future..." Leno whispered, with mixed emotions in his eyes. "Elena, what do you want me to see?"