---
Ragnabor was true to its reputation—or better put, its disrepute.
The weather was cold and dry, the lands barren, and the stark contrast between the bustling city and Ragnabor was glaring.
Despite this, people still respected it as the first settlement of Easteford and as the former seat of the king. But after countless castle sieges and tragic wars, it became desolate. Even the nobles here were impoverished, surviving on tales of Ragnabor's glorious past while neglecting its present.
Milton watched through his carriage window with nonchalance. It was his third day here, and he had already gotten down to business. Given the nature of the land, he had decided to focus on trade and the industrial sector.
Awin might have sent him here to die, but Milton was determined to rise—alongside Ragnabor—and claim the throne.
"Sir, we are here," the coach driver called out.
They had returned to the mansion—a massive, Gothic building that was once the palace but now lacked both servants and maintenance.
Milton walked up to his room, a cigar in his mouth. He puffed out a cloud of smoke and sighed.
"This place is stuffy enough as it is," an annoyed voice called out.
Milton turned and gave a satisfied grin. "Shadow, when did you arrive?"
He gestured for the veiled, towering figure to take a seat, but Shadow declined.
"I came with news."
Milton nodded, exhaling a puff of smoke.
"Lord Fuliz has moved for the king's dethronement," Shadow said.
Milton froze. This was an interesting piece of news.
"The grounds are failure to secure succession," Shadow added.
"Oh," Milton said, disappointed. "That's no big deal. There's no reason to celebrate."
"But, my lord, there's speculation that the king doesn't want to marry—"
"And so? You think he'll give up the throne over something so trivial?"
Leaning back in his seat, Milton appeared deep in thought. "Still, why would Fuliz do such a thing? Is this his way of protesting my dismissal? If so, he went about it foolishly."
Shadow kept quiet, unsure if he should answer.
"When you leave, where will you go?" Milton asked.
"Back to base. We still need more intelligence."
Milton nodded thoughtfully. "Next time, just send a letter—a coded one."
Shadow nodded in understanding and left as unnoticed as he came.
Milton muttered to himself, "But really, Fuliz, what were you thinking? I hope you don't regret this."
---
Elsewhere: Fuliz's residence
Whip. Fwip.
The whip landed on Fuliz's back, tearing into his skin and leaving a bloody mess.
Awin laughed in delight as Fuliz writhed like a dying worm.
"Forgive me, my king!" Fuliz cried, his body convulsing.
Awin rolled up his sleeves. "Don't be. After all, I'm a king not worthy of respect."
The servants of Fuliz's mansion watched in horror as their master was beaten until he no longer had the strength to cry. Finally, Awin threw the whip aside and washed his hands.
Smiling at the whimpering Fuliz, he said, "Don't worry, I won't kill you. I'm a grateful person, even if I don't deserve respect. After all, your foolish actions have brought me one step closer to my plan."
He turned to the servants. "Clean up this mess."
As Awin left, the servants rushed to Fuliz, desperate to save his life.
---
The Mariale-Heris Mansion
"He said what?!"
Dylan and Marie bowed their heads as their daughter badgered them incredulously.
"The audacity of that man! How dare he propose marriage and then invite us to a stupid ball?!"
"Mahalia, calm down," Marie said gently.
"Don't tell me that!" Mahalia stormed off to her room, slamming the door behind her.
Tears streaming down her face, she sank into her soft, luxurious bed. She was furious that Awin even considered her for marriage, yet relieved that he hadn't forced the issue when her parents rejected him.
Still, the invitation to L'oracle de la Reine unnerved her. What was he planning?
She tried to make sense of it, but the thought only made her nauseous. In a sad, broken voice, she asked no one in particular, "But why?"
---
(Three years ago)
"But why?" Qaya asked in a whiny voice as Awin dropped a pile of books on her desk.
"Just because," he replied with a cheeky smile.
Qaya raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Really? You tell me I have a gift, I should use it, and then you make me do this?"
"I don't see the problem."
"Awin, why must I lie and defame these people?"
For a moment, he looked annoyed but then sighed. "Even with your lost memories, you know lying is bad."
"Awin, I lost my memories, not my common sense."
"That's just how politics is, Qaya. Some people have to be taken out of the game because they're incompetent. In the long run, I care for my citizens, and if that means I have to do a few bad things for the greater good... then so be it."
Qaya stared at him, still unsure.
"You need work," Awin continued. "Ever since you woke up, you've been obsessing about your memories and family. You need money to find them."
Qaya seemed to consider his words. Awin smiled and pressed on.
"No one will take you in, and even if they do, you'll only earn stipends. By the time you save enough to search for your family, they might already be..."
"Awin!" Qaya glared at him, tears in her eyes.
"I apologize, but it's the truth."
"How did you even find me?"
"I've never told you, have I?" he said thoughtfully.
She shook her head.
"I've been working to end the slave trade since I was a child. I went to Zajey, the heart of the trade, and emancipated all the slaves. That's where I found you. You were sick and alone, so I took you in."
"Zajey? My parents might still be there!"
"They could be," Awin agreed. "But it's not safe for anyone to enter Zajey without the right connections."
He paused before adding, "Work with me, Qaya. Together, we can change things—and you can find your parents."
"Okay," she said quietly. "I'll work with you."
[End of flashback]
---
The afternoon sun shone brightly over the bustling market.
Dusty feet shuffled through the streets as vendors shouted to attract customers.
At a stall, a woman frowned at her customer, who had been inspecting her wares for what felt like an eternity.
"Sir, are you going to buy something or not?" she snapped.
"Oh, sorry!" The man blinked and smiled sheepishly. "I'll take a packet of pepper puffs."
He handed her more money than the snacks were worth and told her to keep the change.
Zachary walked through the market, biting into the spicy-sweet snack. His thoughts wandered to Mahalia.
"Maybe they're a bit spicier than I remember," he muttered.
Even so, Zachary had always loved spice.
He was so hungry once that he snuck onto a farm to steal food, but all he found there were peppers. At first, eating them raw caused him immense discomfort and relentless heartburn. Yet over time, he grew to love the fiery taste, so much so that he could munch on them as if they were sweets.
Zachary had endured unspeakable hardships after abdicating his title as Duke and Crown Prince. He was on the verge of death when Awin saved him.
That day, Zachary swore loyalty to the man who gave him a second chance. Returning home was out of the question, so he chose to work for Awin, hoping to repay his debt by staying close to his savior.
But over time, Zachary realized a harsh truth: just because someone does an occasional good deed doesn't mean they are a good person. That realization could not have been more fitting for Awin, who turned out to be the worst of the worst.
"Did I make a mistake?" Zachary often wondered, much to his own chagrin.
His entire life had been guided by the principle, "Don't live with regrets." Even after abandoning the luxury of his home and suffering under the scorching sun on an empty stomach, he never once regretted his choices.
But that resolve began to crumble the day he witnessed Awin manipulate not just him but the entire court. He felt betrayed and livid as he watched the master he'd been loyal to ruin the life of an innocent Qaya Wright and drag Riley Khantell into the mess.
When he'd first glimpsed Awin's true nature, he turned a blind eye, rationalizing that it was "just politics" and none of his business. But the tears Mahalia shed that day haunted him. Her anguished expression seemed to accuse him, as if she were saying, "You are just as guilty."
And in his heart, Zachary knew she was right.
He was disgusted with himself and the choices he had made.
The image of Mahalia crying lingered in his mind as he mumbled, "I can't do this anymore."
His appetite vanished. He glanced at the two remaining pepper puffs in his hands, sighed, and tossed them into the arms of a blind beggar on the roadside.
"I really can't do this anymore," he whispered.
To be continued.
---