The morning sun rose, its gentle rays spilling over the front of the snow-draped Duval Castle, where the drifts glittered crystalline in the light.
Guards stood in neat formation before the castle gate, their breath pluming white in the frigid morning air.
Princess Margaret and Archbishop John, flanked by a retinue of attendants, walked slowly out of the main gate. Murphy, dressed in formal baronial attire, was there to personally see them off.
"We have been quite the imposition these past few days, Baron Silvin," Archbishop John said, his tone solemn as he held his Scepter. "May the God of Truth bless the Duval Territory."
Murphy placed his right hand over his chest and bowed slightly. "I am grateful for the Archbishop’s blessing."
Just then, Margaret, who was standing beside the Archbishop, discreetly crooked a finger in Murphy’s direction.
Her dignified smile never wavered, the subtle gesture perfectly concealed by her wide sleeves, so discreet that no one else noticed.
Murphy’s expression remained unchanged. "Have a safe journey, Her Highness the Princess. The Duval Territory will honor its commitnt to the Royal Family."
Margaret nodded gracefully. "I will not forget your hospitality, Baron."
While the attendants were busy loading the luggage, Princess Margaret "accidentally" dropped her silk handkerchief.
The handkerchief, embroidered with violets, fluttered down to land right at Murphy’s feet.
"Oh, dear," the Princess exclaid softly. "My handkerchief..."
Murphy imdiately bent to retrieve it. As he handed it back, he felt the Princess’s fingertips brush almost imperceptibly against his palm.
He snatched his hand back, the movent so quick it was almost imperceptible.
"Please keep it safe, Your Highness." His voice was steady, but his eyes held a warning.
Margaret took the handkerchief. "Thank you, Baron."
As a princess of her station, she would never deign to pick up a dropped handkerchief, much less use an item that had been sullied by dust.
But now she simply folded the handkerchief and tucked it away into her dress.
The warning in Murphy’s eyes deepened.
Nevertheless, Princess Margaret boarded her carriage with a composed expression. Just as the door was about to close, she leaned out. "Baron Silvin, don’t forget our agreent."
Murphy bowed slightly. "Rest assured, Your Highness. I will never forget."
As the procession slowly set off, Murphy maintained his respectful posture until the last carriage vanished down the road.
Only then did he finally breathe a sigh of relief.
’This Princess... she’s even bolder than I imagined.’
’So bold I wanted to teach her a lesson right then and there, to make her understand just how dangerous this ga is.’
’Too bad I can’t.’
’Under the watchful eyes of so many people, I have to maintain my righteous persona and not reveal anything out of the ordinary.’
’Perhaps it’s this very inability to act that makes Princess Margaret so audacious.’
Murphy understood now. At her core, she craved this kind of thrill, relishing the sensation of walking on the edge of danger, enjoying the rebellion of being bound by rules yet attempting to break them.
This, naturally, infuriated him.
He made a silent vow. The next ti he saw that audacious Maggie alone, he would teach her a harsh lesson and make her understand that so lines must not be crossed.
...
Inside the lavishly decorated carriage, charcoal burned silently in an exquisite copper brazier, dispelling the biting cold of the Northern Territory.
Princess Margaret gracefully smoothed her skirt and sat primly on the velvet seat.
Archbishop John sat opposite her, his Scepter resting at his side.
"So," the Archbishop began slowly, his gaze sharp as it fixed on the Princess, "did you finally do what you wanted to last night? Did you visit the Baron’s workshop?"
Margaret gave a slight nod, her fingertips tracing the pleats of her skirt. "I did."
The Archbishop asked, "And the result? Was there anything unusual about Baron Silvin? Did you find any clues related to the chanical Witch?"
Margaret shook her head slightly, her expression serene. "I inspected it thoroughly. There were no items or traces in the workshop related to my cousin. As for why the curse on him vanished..." She paused, a flicker of confusion in her eyes. "It is indeed peculiar, but I could find no evidence of outside interference. It’s as if it simply dissipated on its own for no reason."
Upon hearing this, Archbishop John let out a soft sigh. "A sha. I had hoped that through this Baron, we might find a lead on the chanical Witch. After all, Othilia did stay here for so ti twenty years ago."
Princess Margaret lifted her face, which bore a striking resemblance to Othilia’s, and a faint, fleeting smile touched her lips. "That was always a minuscule possibility. Knowing my cousin, it’s more likely another one of her smokescreens. What she excels at is laying false trails, making people run themselves ragged chasing phantoms."
The Archbishop nodded. "True enough. That Witch’s cunning far exceeds normal imagination. And these ’smokescreens’ often conceal a deadly poison; one mustn’t touch them without absolute certainty. I rember twenty years ago, Bishop Alberto, who was stationed here, fell into one of her traps."
His gaze grew distant. "I was just an ordinary priest back then. I had the good fortune to attend Bishop Alberto’s sermons. He was an elder full of wisdom, but in his pursuit of Othilia, he fell into her trap step-by-step, and in the end..."
Margaret straightened her posture, her tone gentle. "Let the past remain in the past. At least we have confird that Baron Silvin is not connected to my cousin, and that is good news. A stable Duval Territory is always beneficial for the Kingdom’s border defenses."
The Archbishop nodded slightly, but his brow remained tightly furrowed. "It’s just... I can’t shake the feeling that the Baron is hiding sothing. His performance at the banquet, his obsession with the tax reduction policy..."
Margaret’s pearlescent fingernails lightly traced the frost on the windowpane. "Perhaps he’s like those ’benevolent’ lords who have appeared in the South, harboring so kind of unrealistic ideal."
"Benevolent?" The Archbishop’s voice dripped with obvious disdain. "The kind of benevolent that demands the equal distribution of wealth?"
He snorted. "The Northern Territory is nowhere near as prosperous as the South, yet it still managed to produce such an eccentric. Co to think of it, Lord Silvin did take refuge in the South for a while. He was probably tainted by so dangerous ideologies there."
Margaret gazed at the snowy scenery outside the window. "Perhaps those contraptions he’s studying in his workshop are also influenced by those Southern ideas. Do we need to take action to stop him now?"
Archbishop John shook his head. "There’s no need. If we replace him just before the upcoming border war, I fear we won’t even be able to guarantee the basic tax revenue. Right now, the most important thing is to concentrate our efforts on eliminating the Heresy. Other matters can wait until after the war is over."
The carriage fell silent.
CREAK!
The carriage rolled steadily onward along the snow-covered road, carrying its two occupants, each lost in their own thoughts, into the distance.
...
Morning light stread through the high windows into the dining hall, where a long table was laden with a sumptuous breakfast.
Steaming-hot oatal was sprinkled with nuts and dried fruit, slices of ham were fried to a golden-brown with slightly curled edges, roasted mushrooms gave off the scent of garlic and basil, and there was a plate of freshly baked bread with butter.
According to the custom of the Church Court, the morning al was supposed to consist of only ad, bread, or cold ats—just like the simple breakfast Princess Margaret and Archbishop John had before leaving.
But in the bitter cold of the Northern Territory, such a light diet was hardly enough to fend off the bone-chilling cold.
Well, that was all nonsense. It was just an excuse for Murphy to enjoy a hearty breakfast, and naturally, Aurora was happy to keep him company.
"Our esteed guests are finally gone," Aurora said cheerfully, sitting beside Murphy and deftly slicing a piece of savory ham.
Murphy took a sip of warm milk. "Yes, gone at last."
Last night, under his control, Margaret had confessed many secrets, including the trap involving the tax installnts.
The first two installnts might be paid on ti, but afterward, the Royal Family would use the insufficient tax revenue as a pretext to directly intervene in the affairs of the Duval Territory.
When he learned of this conspiracy, Murphy had been furious and had made the Princess suffer the consequences then and there.
In addition, Margaret had revealed a good deal of intelligence last night, and the two of them had discussed nurous plans.
He just didn’t know if the Princess would be able to carry out his instructions successfully.
But regardless, she at least had to help him eliminate the Archbishop’s suspicions and ensure Option Two was completed successfully.
Aurora toyed with her fingers, saying thoughtfully, "Brother, I want to paint my nails a pearl color. Do you think it would suit ?"
Murphy thought of the black silk stockings she had deliberately worn that morning. He put down his silverware and watched her with a gentle expression. "Pearl would complent your skin tone well. But if you want sothing more unique, I heard a new batch of dyes recently arrived from the East. There’s a pale purple one that can even be decorated with patterns of stars and moons."
"Really?" Aurora’s eyes instantly lit up. "Wouldn’t that be too flashy?"
"Not at all," Murphy said, smiling as he poured her a glass of warm milk. "It would look beautiful on you. Besides..."
He paused, his voice gentle. "In my eyes, you’ll always be the most special."
A faint blush rose to Aurora’s cheeks, and she continued happily, "Then... should I do my toenails, too? That way, when you give a foot massage, looking at them might put you in a better mood, right?"
Murphy’s gaze softened. "Whatever makes you happy. But..." He reached out and gently stroked her hair. "Rember, Aurora, the most beautiful adornnt can never compare to your own uniqueness. A dewdrop in the morning light needs no embellishnt, because it already shines with a light all its own."
A happy smile blossod on Aurora’s face. "Then it’s settled. You’ll co with to pick out the dyes later."
"Alright." Just as Murphy agreed, he suddenly froze, the milk cup in his hand faltering.
"What’s wrong?" Aurora asked, concerned.
Murphy felt a stream of information from the System flow into his mind, and he nonchalantly shook his head. "It’s nothing."
User Comments
0 comments from readers