397 Dinner At Zestel
"You wished to speak with ?" I asked, my voice neutral.
I stood inside a modest guest room within the grand Zestel Royal Palace. The room, though simple, bore a certain rugged charm, much like its usual occupant—Randor Ironbeard. The walls were lined with dark wooden panels, and the furniture was sturdy, built to last rather than impress. A large, heavy table dominated the center of the room, flanked by two solid chairs that looked like they had weathered many years, perhaps even as many as Randor himself.
After my conversation with lfina, I made my way here, knowing that Randor had requested to speak with about sothing of apparent importance.
Randor nodded slightly, his expression a mix of gratitude and lingering regret. "First of all, let thank you for saving ," he began, his voice gruff, yet tinged with a rare vulnerability.
"You are welco," I replied, my tone asured, offering little more than a courteous acknowledgnt.
Randor's lips curled into a bitter smile. "You're right, you know. I've been a coward. A coward for all these long years, and because of that cowardice, Sara is dead… and Celeste, well, she nearly t the sa fate."
He paused, his gaze dropping to the worn wooden floor as if the mories themselves were too heavy to bear. Though I hadn't said as much out loud, it seed his guilt had already passed judgnt on him. If that guilt could spur him into crafting the weapon I needed, I was more than willing to let him unburden himself.
After a mont of silence, Randor lifted his eyes, a new resolve gleaming within them. "But after witnessing what has happened, I've made a choice. I will no longer run away from my responsibilities…"
His voice hardened, and his eyes narrowed slightly. "However, that doesn't an I'll simply hand over everything you ask for."
I felt a flicker of irritation rise within . Had he summoned here just to refuse my request? The thought was irkso, to say the least.
But then, as if sensing my growing impatience, Randor continued, "I will make you a weapon. But only one weapon."
At this, my lips curved into a smile, a mix of satisfaction and triumph. That was all I needed.
"That's exactly what I asked for," I replied, my voice laced with a hint of satisfaction as I reached into my ring and retrieved a stack of papers. I handed the carefully prepared docunts to Randor, watching as his brows furrowed in surprise.
"All the necessary information is there," I explained, "The specifications, capabilities, and other details about the kind of weapon I want."
Randor's eyes widened slightly as he began to flip through the pages, absorbing the detailed plans I had ticulously outlined. His expression shifted from shock to grudging admiration.
"You've really thought this through…" He muttered, more to himself than to .
"Well, of course," I replied, a touch of impatience creeping into my voice. "It would be ideal if you could complete it before the war breaks out."
Randor grimaced, clearly not appreciating the pressure. "Who do you think I am? If you want a weapon of true quality, you'll need to be patient."
I shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm just saying it would be good to have it ready before the war begins."
Just then, the door creaked open slightly, and a soft, yet clear voice cut through . "My Lords."
I turned to see a familiar figure standing in the doorway. It was Lera, Celeste's personal maid. She had always carried herself with a quiet grace, her presence calming and reassuring. Today, she seed no different, her deanor polite yet purposeful.
"My apologies for the interruption, but the Princess has invited both of you to join her for dinner," Lera announced, her voice respectful.
"Right," I replied, rising from my chair, and Randor followed suit.
I had already inford Christina that I would be staying at the palace for the night. I had also briefly explained the details of the attack to her, knowing she would be worried. Despite her concerns, I reassured her swiftly—she had enough on her plate without additional troubles to weigh her down.
"It's been a while, Lera," Randor greeted the maid with a small, genuine smile, a rare sight from the usually gruff man.
"Indeed, Lord Randor," Lera replied with a soft chuckle, her eyes sparkling with a warmth that suggested she was more than just a servant in this grand palace.
"You don't have to call that, it feels too strange—even for ," Randor chuckled, his laughter deep, as he tried to wave off the formalities.
"I'm afraid I must, Lord Randor," Lera responded with a warm smile, her tone respectful. "You are still an esteed guest, one whom Queen Sara herself took into her care."
Randor shook his head, his expression softening as he looked at her. "Does that really make a difference? I've always considered everyone here as my own, like family," he said.
I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at their exchange, a smirk tugging at the corner of my lips. "Excuse for a mont," I interrupted, my voice cutting through their friendly conversation. "Do I need to pretend I don't notice the obvious flirting going on here? Especially you, old man—can't you see she's not interested in you?"
"..."
"..."
A heavy silence fell between us.
Randor glared daggers at , his face flushed with embarrassnt, while Lera continued to walk ahead, her expression carefully neutral, though I thought I caught the slightest hint of amusent in her eyes.
"This brat…" Randor grumbled under his breath, clearly annoyed. "Maybe I shouldn't bother making you that weapon after all."
[
User Comments
0 comments from readers