Fanaza was able to find her way back to the inn where they had stayed. She locked herself in the room, refusing to see or meet anyone.
What Percival did to her shattered her. She felt dirty and cried her lungs out until she finally fell asleep. What kept creeping into her thoughts was Rwaine—how he would feel if he ever found out. Would he still love her if he knew what had just happened?
Her body was a bit sore and painful. Percival had been rough, and she still couldn't believe she was to marry a monster like him. He had almost defiled her, and what made him change his mind still baffled her—because she had no idea why.
She shivered, covering herself with the sheets, and cried again.
Outside her room, Stefan and Percival spoke.
"It's been hours and she hasn't left the room. Is she alright?" Stefan asked with concern, folding his arms as he glanced at the shut door.
"She just needs some alone time. Let her be," Percival said casually, though his eyes avoided Stefan's.
Stefan narrowed his eyes in suspicion, leaning slightly closer.
"What did you do?"
"Nothing." Percival raised his shoulders in a careless shrug.
"I doubt it," Stefan replied, his voice firm as he studied Percival's face.
"Just let her be. We have a lot to do," Percival hissed under his breath, his jaw tightening. He remembered what happened last night. He knew she must have been scared, and him showing up in that room wouldn't help.
"I've prepared the horses," Oreyan said from afar, and Stefan nodded, though his gaze lingered on Percival.
Percival walked out with Stefan. As they reached their horses, Stefan kept giving Percival side glances, suspicion written plainly across his face. Percival clenched his fists in frustration.
"What?" he exclaimed sharply, tugging at the reins of his horse.
"My Prince, I feel you should check on her. She followed you for a reason. Maybe she just wanted to bond," Stefan suggested, his tone calmer, almost pleading.
"She is fine, Stefan. She locked herself in. What do you want me to do—break the door?" The prince raised his eyebrow, his voice edged with annoyance.
Stefan still gazed at him, unshaken, and Percival sighed loudly, rubbing his temples.
He went back to Fanaza's room and spoke with Oreyan. He had ordered him to get an extra key.
"These are the keys you asked for," Oreyan said, handing them over with a bow.
Percival snatched the keys and quickly shooed him away with a flick of his hand. He stood at the door, hesitating, the cold iron key heavy in his palm. Then, with a sharp breath, he slid it into the lock and entered the room.
He saw Fanaza in deep sleep, wrapped up in the sheets with only her head peeking out. Her tear-stained face was turned toward the window. Percival exhaled sharply and moved closer, sitting quietly beside the bed. He watched her small body resting there, so still, so fragile.
The memories of last night still lingered in him. He felt strange but refused to accept his mistake. Ever since he was born, he had done horrible things no human should ever do, but he had never apologized. Yet last night, he did—and it really baffled him.
What was she doing to me? he thought. He stared at her, his hand hovering in the air. Slowly, he brushed aside the strands of hair stuck to her cheek and touched her porcelain skin. It was smooth and glowing under the sunlight.
Fanaza scrunched her face at the sunlight, murmuring in her sleep, and Percival quickly stood up, startled. He yanked the curtains shut to stop the light from disturbing her.
He sat beside her again and stared at the sleeping beauty before him. Was he falling for her? No, that can't be,he thought, shaking his head.
But then his face twisted in anger when he heard her whisper in her sleep. A strange name escaped from her tiny lips.
"Rwaine… Rwaine…" she murmured softly.
Percival's eyes burned with rage. His lips curled into a sneer. What an insult. How dare she speak the name of another man when her husband-to-be was here?
Without thinking twice, he stormed out in anger, the door slamming behind him. He said nothing to Stefan.
He mounted his horse with heavy movements, gripping the reins too tightly.
"Is she good?" Stefan asked, searching Percival's expression.
"Why don't you ask her," Percival sighed, his voice bitter, and rode off slowly.
Stefan followed. "You're too mean my prince." he screamed.
They arrived at the carriage park, a wide square where dozens of wooden carriages stood lined in crooked rows. Horses neighed restlessly, stomping their hooves against the dusty ground. Merchants shouted over one another, bargaining with travelers. The smell of hay, sweat, and roasted food filled the air. Men in rough coats argued with the carriage riders, while women carried baskets and children darted between wheels. It was loud, crowded, and suffocating—the kind of place where secrets could easily hide.
Percival's sharp gaze swept the area like a hawk before he demanded from one of the attendants, his voice cold and commanding.
"Where is your leader?"
"You seek me," a young lady answered from afar. She stepped forward gracefully, moving closer with a slow sway of her hips, as though every step was deliberate. Her dark hair shone like silk under the fading sun, and her curvy figure was temptation itself.
Raya was her name. She fixed her gaze on Percival, lips curling into a sly smile. "I never expected the proud Crown Prince of Macabre to pay us a visit."
People began to murmur, some whispering behind hands, others craning their necks to see.
"Is that the crown prince?" one of the riders said.
"He's so handsome in person." a woman muttered.
"That's the crown prince—the brutal one." another woman said trembling.
"Follow me. I intend to treat the future king with hospitality," Raya said with a wink, her hand brushing along the wooden rail as she led the way. Percival's face remained unmoved, his jaw tightening.
"Be nice," Stefan whispered at his side, nudging him with an elbow.
Percival's face twisted in disgust. He had never been good at hiding his expressions, and the thought of being nice here made him want to spit.
They stepped into a secluded room behind the park, the noise of the crowd fading as the door shut behind them. The air inside smelled faintly of wine and flowers, a sharp contrast to the dust and noise outside.
"To what do we owe the visit? Did the royals suddenly remember us today?" she asked, leaning back lazily against her chair, crossing one leg over the other.
Stefan placed a painting of the haunted carriage on her table with a firm hand.
"Did you approve any license for this carriage?" His voice was polite, but his eyes were sharp.
"Seriously, must everything be about work? Why not join us for lunch?" she teased, running her fingers slowly along the edge of the painting as if it were unimportant.
"I'm sorry, my lady, but we have a long journey ahead," Stefan said politely, folding his hands behind his back.
"Just answer the question," Percival scoffed, arms crossed and his glare unrelenting.
"Why don't you answer mine? Why did you kill Alisa, your betrothed?" she said suddenly, her eyes narrowed.
The room went still for a second.
Percival leaned closer, his shadow stretching across the table. His voice was low and cold as ice.
"Why don't you ask her in hell."
She smiled slowly, as though she enjoyed his cruelty. "I can't stop liking you, Percival. We would make a great couple," she said seductively, rising from her chair and walking toward him. Her hands rested on his shoulders, then slid down his chest as her perfume filled the air.
Percival grabbed her hand tightly, his grip was too strong , it could leave a mark but Raya enjoyed every pain she was feeling, his touch almost made her go crazy unleashing things it shouldn't.
The feeling was short-lived when Percival flung her hand away with disgust.
"You never respect boundaries, and that makes me sick. Did you license this carriage?" He shoved the painting back in her face, the edge nearly grazing her nose.
She looked at it, and her expression twisted in horror. Her confident smirk vanished in a twinkle of an eye.
"What is this?" she asked, stunned, her voice trembling for the first time.
"No, I did not license such a carriage. Where did you get this hideous painting?" she whispered while recoiling slightly.
"Are you sure? There have been reports of missing people linked to this carriage. If you know anything, tell us," Stefan said, stepping closer, his eyes watching her every move.
"That's Lazarus Zominick's carriage," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
******
Fanaza woke up feeling lightheaded. Her stomach growled loudly, a painful reminder of her hunger. She clutched it and walked toward the door, but as she touched the knob, a flashback struck her—the moment Percival had locked the door, slammed it shut, and forced her onto the bed.
Her knees weakened. Chills ran down her spine and she pressed her hand against the wood, promising herself she would pretend it never happened, so she could survive—and one day run away from marriage to that monster.
She stepped outside. The place was too quiet, the silence pressing on her ears. Her stomach growled again, and she looked around desperately for food, even just a fruit, but found nothing.
Fanaza forced a smile, reminding herself that being a noble always meant carrying money—she would find something in the city square she was sure of that.
She walked into the city square, scanning the stalls for anything worth her coins. The sun was setting, painting the sky with streaks of orange and purple. Then something else caught her attention, the sound of a flute.
The tune was so melodious, soft at first, then rising like a whisper that touched everyone's ear. People stood frozen, as if hypnotized. The air itself seemed to hum with its notes, and even the children stopped their games to listen.
The music was not just beautiful—it carried sorrow, joy, and an untold story. Each note sank into the heart like a secret that was remembered. Fanaza felt her chest tighten; her tears came without warning. Around her, the crowd stood entranced, caught in a spell they did not wish to break.
Her breath caught and she felt it pressing against her chest, a pull so strong she had to move. She pushed through the crowd, her steps quickening, she wanted to see who could play something so powerful, then she saw him.
The cloaked one,Rwaine,her man. Even hidden in his hood, he was unmistakable. The way the flute curved in his hand, the way his fingers danced across it—he didn't simply play, he commanded the music, as if it belonged to him alone. Shadows seemed to bend toward him, and the dying sun gave his figure an otherworldly glow.
Her heart stopped. Why was he here? Was fate always bringing them together? She watched as people threw money and gifts at his feet, celebrating him. Her lips curved into a smile as she stared at him. She dropped her coin, and finally—his golden eyes landed on hers.
Rwaine paused, his fingers faltering over the flute. Was she always following me? Was she obsessed? Or was this fate? His thoughts were tangled into a knot.
"Rwaine…" Fanaza whispered softly.
He lowered the flute and stepped toward her, his cloak brushing against the dirt.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, his tone softer than usual.
"Trying to get food," she replied with a little blush and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"In this part of the city square? You won't find anything good. You'll probably be cheated," he said, glancing at the shabby stalls.
"I don't think this is a coincidence. This is fate," she said firmly, her eyes shining and staring right into his soul.
"I don't believe in such," he replied flatly.
He walked on, but Fanaza followed at his side. Darkness finally took over the place and they found a spot to eat, a little place for commeners with lanterns glowing faintly against the darkness. But then, just nearby, Fanaza noticed a strange carriage.
It was unlike the others. The wood was painted a dark, rotting black, its wheels creaking with an eerie groan as if they carried more weight than they should and faded strange symbols were scratched along its side. It was the same carriage rumored to take people away forever.
"That carriage looks creepy," Fanaza said, pointing nervously.
"I can't tell. I don't really stay here," he replied, though his eyes narrowed, noticing how she couldn't take her eyes off it.
A nobleman walked toward the carriage, he entered immediately without showing a pass.
A small bronze token stamped with the crest of the carriage guild. It was always handed to the rider before one could enter the carriage.
"Something is wrong," she whispered, clutching Rwaine's sleeve.
"Can you just eat in peace?" Rwaine asked lazily, though his tone betrayed his unease.
"Whenever a noble takes a carriage, they always show a pass. But this man didn't—and with the reports of missing people, Rwaine, this may be it," she said quickly.
"Be what?" he asked.
"The carriage that takes nobles away," she murmured.
Her voice trembled, but her resolve didn't. "We have to go after it."
Rwaine stared at her . "Fanaza, I can't… I can't go past here."
"Then I'll go alone." She turned leaving her food and hurried ahead, her dress brushing against the dirt.
"Fanaza!" Rwaine called after her but she didn't give a reply. Fanaza was a stubborn noble.
She ran, weaving through the crowd, and he cursed under his breath before following quickly. They managed to grab a horse and tailed the carriage quietly, the hooves pounding against the earth in rhythm with their racing hearts.
The strange carriage rode quietly on the way but when it reached the three-way junction, something unbelievable happened. The three scary figures emerged from the shadows and surrounded the carriage they were tailing, right before their eyes—the carriage disappeared.