A Royal Obligation
Chapter 254: The Fugitive Plight (2)

Chapter 254: The Fugitive Plight (2)

Amelia scowled but said nothing, following him reluctantly as he approached the mansion. The front door creaked loudly as Carl pushed it open, the sound echoing through the empty halls. Dust and cobwebs clung to every surface, and the air was thick with the smell of decay.

Inside, the mansion was dark and quiet, the only sounds coming from their footsteps on the creaking floorboards. Amelia stayed close to Carl, her unease growing with every step. "This place gives me the creeps," she muttered under her breath.

Carl ignored her, his focus elsewhere. He moved with purpose, as if he knew exactly where he was going. Amelia noticed his demeanor had shifted, he seemed less frantic, more determined.

"What are we doing here?" she asked, her voice cutting through the silence.

Carl stopped abruptly and turned to face her, his expression unreadable. "I need to pick up something," he said.

Amelia frowned. "Pick up what? What could possibly be worth coming to this, this ruin?"

"You’ll find out," Carl replied curtly, turning away and continuing down the hallway.

Amelia’s frustration bubbled to the surface, but she bit her tongue and followed him. Her curiosity gnawed at her, even as her instincts screamed at her to leave this place behind.

---

Carl led them to what appeared to be a study, its walls lined with dusty shelves filled with rotting books and peeling wallpaper. A heavy wooden desk sat in the center of the room, its surface cluttered with broken quills and empty inkwells. The air was stale, filled with the scent of mildew and abandonment.

Carl strode straight to the desk, kneeling beside it and running his hands along its edges with the focus of someone who had done this before. Amelia watched him with growing impatience, her arms crossed. "What are you looking for?" she demanded, her voice sharper this time.

Carl ignored her again, his fingers finding a latch beneath the desk. There was a quiet click, and a section of the floor shifted. Amelia gasped as a narrow trapdoor slid open, revealing a dark staircase descending into what appeared to be a hidden room.

"You’ve got to be kidding me," she whispered, taking a cautious step back. "What is this?"

Carl didn’t answer. He grabbed a nearby lantern, lighting it with practiced ease. The soft glow revealed the steep steps leading down into darkness. Without waiting for her, Carl descended, his footsteps echoing faintly in the hidden chamber below.

Amelia stood frozen, staring into the dark void beneath the floor. She didn’t want to follow. Everything about this felt wrong, ominous and unnatural. But her curiosity, coupled with her fear of being alone in this house, pushed her forward. She gritted her teeth and followed Carl down the stairs, clutching the hem of her dress to avoid tripping.

At the bottom of the stairs, Amelia’s breath caught in her throat. The room was small and dim, its stone walls damp and stained with age. Old chains hung loosely from the walls, some rusted to the point of disrepair. Wooden crates were piled haphazardly in the corners, and the air smelled of mold and something far worse, something metallic and sour.

But none of that compared to the figure chained at the far end of the room.

An old woman sat slumped against the wall, her wrists bound in heavy iron shackles. Her hair was matted, her face gaunt and pale, her hollow eyes barely flickering open as Carl approached. She looked like she hadn’t seen food or sunlight in weeks, her fragile frame trembling with every shallow breath.

Amelia clapped a hand to her mouth, her heart thundering in her chest. "Oh my god..." she whispered, taking a step back. "Your Highness, who is this?"

Carl’s expression was unreadable as he turned to look at her, the lantern’s flickering light casting deep shadows across his face. He looked calm, too calm, as he gestured toward the woman with a devious smirk.

"This," he said slowly, his voice cold and casual, "is what I’m here for."

Amelia’s blood ran cold. "What... what do you mean?" she stammered, her voice barely audible.

Carl ignored her question and took a step closer to the chained woman. "Still alive, are you?" he said mockingly, his voice dripping with contempt. He nudged her with the toe of his boot. The woman groaned weakly but didn’t move, her head lolling to the side as though even that effort was too much.

"Please, stop Your Highness!" Amelia snapped, her voice sharp with disbelief. "What are you doing? Who is she?"

Carl turned slightly, fixing Amelia with a withering glare. "Nobody you need to concern yourself with," he said coolly, before turning back to the woman. He crouched down, his lips twisting into a cruel smirk. "You’re more strong-willed than your son," he said darkly. "I’ll give you that."

The woman’s cracked lips moved, her voice a mere whisper. "S... Sa...diki..."

Carl chuckled under his breath. "Oh, don’t worry," he said softly. "You’ll be seeing him again soon. In the underworld." His tone was laced with venom, and Amelia flinched as she watched him.

The name hit her like a blow. Sadiki? Amelia’s mind spun as the pieces started to fit together. Isn’t Sadiki prince Eirik of Valeidio personal guard? This woman... was she Sadiki’s mother? What is going here? Amelia’s throat tightened as she watched Carl with growing horror.

"You...you did this," she said, her voice trembling with disbelief. "This was all intentional. You’re... you’re a monster!"

Carl shot her a sharp look, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "I don’t remember asking for your opinion, Amelia," he said coldly. "Keep quiet."

Amelia opened her mouth to argue, but Carl stood and unfastened the woman’s chains. The heavy iron fell away with a loud clang, and the woman crumpled to the floor, groaning weakly. Carl stared down at her without a shred of pity.

"What are you planning to do with her?" Amelia asked, her voice small and unsure.

Carl didn’t look at her as he replied. "Leave her for the wild animals, of course. She’s too weak to come with us."

Amelia’s eyes widened, horror washing over her. "You can’t be serious! She’ll die out there, she’s barely alive as it is!"

Carl finally turned to face her, his expression cold and unyielding. "That’s the point," he said bluntly. "She’s served her purpose. Worry about yourself, Amelia, not her."

Amelia shook her head vehemently, taking a step forward. "There has to be another way. We can take her withus, help her..."

"And slow us down?" Carl cut her off, his voice sharp. "Do you want to survive, Amelia? Because if you keep talking like that, you won’t. You don’t know what’s at stake here, so do yourself a favor and keep your mouth shut."

Amelia fell silent, her chest tight with frustration and fear. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing, what Carl was capable of. The prince she thought she knew was gone, replaced by someone cruel and unrecognizable.

Carl crouched again beside the woman, lifting her frail form with little care and dragging her toward the room’s exit. The old woman groaned faintly, her strength all but gone.

"Let’s go," Carl said over his shoulder, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Amelia hesitated, her heart aching as she glanced at the woman. But Carl’s cold glare pinned her in place, and she had no choice but to follow as he led them out of the hidden room and back into the rotting mansion above.

Her mind raced as she trailed behind him. Who are you, Carl? she wondered. And what had she gotten herself into?

The moment Carl and Amelia stepped out of the rotting mansion, they froze. The sight before them was nothing short of a nightmare.

Soldiers surrounded them in a perfect circle, their weapons gleaming in the pale daylight. Zephyros troops stood at the ready, their midnight-blue armor casting shadows across the overgrown clearing. Beside them, Warcrest Sentinel loomed like silent predators, cloaked in heavy fabrics with their golden insignias glinting ominously on their chests. Bows were drawn, swords at the ready, the air itself felt sharp with the promise of violence.

At the center of it all stood Drystan, Prince Kaelix’s personal guard. His presence was unmistakable: tall, unyielding, and every inch the warrior. His expression was carved from stone, but his eyes, burning with fury, were locked on Carl like a predator who had finally cornered his prey. The veins in his neck stood out, and his hand gripped the hilt of his sword so tightly it seemed the leather might split beneath his palm.

Amelia stumbled back, her breath catching. "Carl..." she whispered, panic threading through her voice.

Carl, too, was stunned into silence, though it didn’t last long. His face twisted into a sneer, masking the flicker of fear that had crossed his features. His gaze darted across the clearing, assessing the soldiers, calculating his odds. But when his eyes landed on Drystan, all arrogance drained from his expression.

"Drystan," Carl muttered, his voice low and tight. How did he find this place?

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