The Princess' Harem
Chapter 126: The Cracks of Relief

Chapter 126: The Cracks of Relief

Reyes’s expression shifted, the pragmatic commander resurfacing. He released Viana gently, moving with the quiet efficiency of a warrior.

"They will be looking for us both," he said, rising from the bed. He smoothed down his tunic, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "There is much to do."

"Indeed," she replied, her voice firmer. She looked at Reyes, a silent acknowledgment passing between them.

He moved down from the bed, then went out from her room, again from balcony. Viana watched him, then sat up, pulling the blanket around her.

***

Meanwhile, far to the south, in the hidden fortress of Count Lazarus Bloodworth, anger simmered like a venomous cauldron.

The chamber was opulent, yet dark, lit by flickering oil lamps that cast dancing shadows across tapestries depicting ancient, forgotten wars. Lazarus sat at a massive obsidian table, his face a mask of barely controlled fury. Before him, a nervous courier knelt, clutching a crumpled report.

"Repeat that, you blithering fool," Lazarus hissed, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that made the very air vibrate. His fingers, adorned with heavy, dark rings, drummed a restless rhythm on the polished stone.

"Arin’s forces... annihilated? And Elysia still stands?"

The courier, a pale, trembling man, swallowed hard. "Yes, Count. The report are confirmed from multiple sources. Valendale’s Imperial Guard, led by Prince Rayne himself, struck from the north. The Elven forces, with their beasts and treants, flanked them. And Elysia’s own defenders, bolstered by their duchies and even... even other monstrous races from the wildlands, surged from the city. Arin was encircled. Captured, they say."

Lazarus slammed his fist on the table. A tremor ran through the room, making the oil lamps sway. "Impossible! I meticulously planned this! Arin was supplied, his path cleared! Elysia was starved, weakened! How could they have rallied such a force?"

"There were... unforeseen alliances, Count," the courier stammered, risking a glance at the fearsome man. "The Elves, the Centaurs, Gryphons, Magical Wolves, even Fairies... they fought alongside the humans. They broke through our agents blockades. It was a convergence that no one anticipated."

Lazarus’s eyes, cold and calculating, narrowed to slits. "Unforeseen? Or unforeseen by fools?"

His anger was a palpable force, yet beneath it, a chilling intellect whirred. He had gambled, and he had lost a significant piece on the board.

Arin, the hot-headed prince, was a useful pawn, but a disposable one. The true loss was the exposure of his influence, the shattering of the illusion of Elysia’s isolation.

"And the reports," Lazarus continued, his voice dangerously soft, "of suspicion. What of those?"

The courier winced. "My Lord, the whispers are spreading. The coordinated nature of Arin’s invasion, the sudden blight that preceded it... the Emperor’s court, especially, grows suspicious. They are connecting the dots. Many are now openly naming... naming you as the likely orchestrator behind the scenes, given your recent travels and... associations."

A fleeting shadow of unease crossed Lazarus’s face, quickly masked by a sneer of contempt. He rose from the table, his tall and imposing figure casting a long shadow across the room.

He moved to a large map spread on a nearby table, tracing a line with a long, thin finger.

"Fools," he spat, his gaze fixed on the map. "They can suspect all they like. They can whisper my name in their gilded halls. But suspicion is not proof. Arin is a broken pawn, a common traitor. He knows nothing of the true puppet master. He dealt only with my intermediaries, who themselves are now conveniently... unavailable."

His lips twisted into a cruel smile. "No one can link all of this directly to me. My hands remain clean, my presence in the shadows absolute."

He chuckled, a dry, grating sound devoid of humor. "They believe they have exposed the serpent. They merely pricked its tail. The true head remains hidden, its fangs ready."

He turned back to the trembling courier, his eyes gleaming with a renewed, chilling ambition. "This setback is merely a delay. A new opportunity. Tell my agents to intensify their efforts. The pieces are merely shifting on the board. The game is far from over. In fact, it has only just begun."

He strode to a wine cabinet, pouring a generous measure into a goblet. The scent of rich, dark wine filled the air. He raised the goblet, not in celebration, but in a silent, menacing toast to his own unseen power.

"Let them celebrate their petty victory. The true reckoning awaits."

***

The sun, a fiery orb now high in the sky, beat down on Elysia. Despite the heavy work of clearing the battlefield and tending to the wounded, a palpable sense of relief and jubilation permeated the air.

The sounds of hammers rebuilding shattered walls mingled with the laughter of children playing in the newly safe streets. The city was alive with a vibrant energy, a testament to its survival.

Citizens embraced in the squares, sharing what little food they had, their voices hoarse from cheers, their faces smudged with dirt but alight with hope. Even the lingering scent of smoke from the pyres could not dim the joy of a kingdom that had defied annihilation.

King Clive, though still drawn with exhaustion, moved among his people, his hand on Queen Isabella’s arm. They offered words of comfort to the bereaved, praise to the tireless healers like Kaley, and quiet gratitude to the returning provincial commanders.

The sheer scale of the victory, against such overwhelming odds, felt almost miraculous.

Amidst this bustling aftermath, the Valendale legions, under Prince Rayne’s command, prepared for their departure. The Imperial banners, once a symbol of overwhelming power descending upon Elysia, now fluttered gently as the disciplined ranks formed up.

Rayne, his golden hair gleaming in the sunlight, approached Viana and her parents near the castle gates.

"Your Majesties," Rayne said, bowing deeply to King Clive Yanis and Queen Isabella. "Princess Viana. My duty here is done. Arin will be escorted back to Valendale, where he will face the full justice of the Emperor for his treason and his vile trade in slaves."

His gaze hardened as he spoke of his brother, a cold resolve replacing the weariness in his eyes. "His ambitions end in a dungeon. He will answer for the shame he brought upon our house."

King Clive Yanis placed a hand on Rayne’s shoulder. "Prince Rayne, Elysia owes Valendale a debt that cannot be easily repaid. Your timely arrival, your unwavering courage... you saved us."

"The debt is shared, Your Majesty," Rayne replied, his eyes meeting Viana’s. "We fought for justice, for balance. And we exposed a deeper enemy, one that threatened us both. The hunt for Lazarus begins now."

Viana nodded, a silent pact passing between them. "May your journey be swift, Prince Rayne. And may your pursuit of Lazarus be fruitful."

Rayne gave her a long, appraising look, a flicker of something unsaid passing between them.

"And for you, Princess Viana," he said, his voice lower, "may your healing be complete, and your strength grow. I trust we will meet again under better circumstances."

With a final, respectful nod to her parents, Rayne mounted his warhorse. His voice, clear and commanding, rang out, "Valendale! Forward!"

The vast column of soldiers began to move, a river of steel flowing southwards, taking with them their captive prince. Arin, bound and under heavy guard, was a grim reminder of the recent war, and of the invisible strings of Lazarus that still remained.