The company crossed the mountains and reached the surrounding plains, moving at a brisk pace. Only about twenty soldiers had survived—wounded or unharmed—but the Captain considered the heavy toll a necessary sacrifice for the fulfillment of their mission, which had indeed succeeded.

  Upon arriving at an imperial outpost, most of the exhausted soldiers were relieved by fresh troops. The Captain, charting the route to the palace, was provided with a horse, while the lady, who had ridden alongside them until then, was installed in a palanquin so they could resume the journey without delay. Carrying her on horseback might have allowed them to travel faster, but they could not afford to rely on her condition.

  Cerena accepted the situation in silence, yet her fists clenched despite herself. She had preferred returning to the palace rather than see her children suffer again because of her. Her heart heavy, she thought of Elvira, wounded, and of Owen… shaken by the events he had inadvertently worsened. She wished with all her heart that he would not let guilt consume him. If only she had been stronger, perhaps she could have done more.

  Half-reclined in her litter, she tried to rest, despite the swaying caused by the soldiers’ march.

  The Captain of the Guard rode up alongside her.

  “Are you comfortable, My Lady?” he asked.

  She did not answer. The veils shielded her from prying eyes, yet she could discern the man’s silhouette and hear his voice clearly.

  “I understand that this must be difficult to accept. But you will be far safer at the palace than here.”

  In response, he heard only a faint murmur of protest from behind the veils.

  “Hm. You probably thought you were safe in that remote village, yet here we are. Was it worth the price, given the losses?”

  A silence followed, before her voice finally rose.

  “Were you not sent for Owen? Why me, then? I have nothing to offer him.”

  “You are mistaken, My Lady. You are far more precious than you realize. As for Sire Owen… it all depended on him. We could not compel him to follow. But rest assured, His Majesty will explain it far better than I ever could.”

  He paused, reflecting.

  “He has grown so much,” he continued. “I would have barely recognized him, had he not been the very image of His Majesty. He has truly become strong.”

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  Cerena caught a strange mixture of pride and melancholy in his voice, as though he spoke of a son of his own.

  “Who exactly are you to him?” she asked.

  “I was once his master-at-arms.”

  Cerena’s heart skipped a beat.

  “Is it… because of you that…”

  “He was unsettled, that is true. My pupil will always remain my pupil. Though his time at the palace was brief, I never forgot how he fought. When he began to master his powers, he immediately sought to use them to gain an advantage over me. And he has not changed. His Majesty was right to send me.”

  Cerena sighed. How far did the Emperor’s schemes reach? How many moves ahead had he been?

  “Do not worry. I have sworn to protect you at the risk of my life. I will bring you to the palace unharmed.”

  Cerena closed her eyes. He misunderstood her. It was not her immediate safety that worried her, but what awaited her upon arrival.

  ???

  Days passed as the soldiers continued their relentless march, stopping only to resupply or rotate the weary. Their progress remained steady; they never halted for sleep, moving faster than she had ever traveled with her son.

  The tired bearers and soldiers were quickly replaced, and she never slowed the convoy. Brief pauses—for food, water, or attending to her needs—were strictly regulated. During these, the Captain personally escorted her, offering minimal privacy while ensuring she did not stray.

  This man stood out. He rode without faltering, changing mounts only when necessary. His resilience left no room for doubt, and Cerena found herself almost admiring it.

  From their brief exchanges, she deduced that he was extraordinarily loyal to the Emperor, perhaps one of his most faithful vassals. The respect he showed her made her uneasy; she had never been treated with such deference. Why did she feel something had shifted?

  ???

  It took them only a month to reach the capital. Boredom had made the trip exhausting. Relief might have followed, had she not felt led straight to the scaffold.

  The pace gradually slowed. Cries of encouragement, joy, and applause rang through the streets as the populace pressed forward, captivated by the majestic procession of soldiers, as if celebrating a victory. Accustomed to the oppressive silence of the journey and the measured rhythm of her escort’s steps, Cerena was taken aback.

  Hidden behind the palanquin’s veils, she slid a finger between the fabric and peeked out. Hundreds lined the streets, straining for a glimpse of the high-ranking dignitary. Overwhelmed by the attention, she quickly withdrew, letting the curtains conceal her once more.

  Her heart pounded, breath quickened. With each step toward the palace, pressure mounted within her. Terror gripped her at the thought of returning. She closed her eyes, recalling the family she had left behind in the mountains: the happy moments shared together, her companion’s kindness, Elvira’s cheerfulness, Owen’s thoughtfulness.

  Her thoughts turned to the villagers who had perished in the attack. These memories had haunted her since leaving the village, leaving her heart heavy.

  Torn between the melancholy of the past, the sorrow of the present, and fear of the future, tears rose to her eyes as the funeral cortege drove her inexorably toward her fate.