Rwaine and Fanaza stood frozen, their eyes locked on the empty space where the carriage had just vanished.
"So it's true," Fanaza whispered.
"What's true?" Rwaine asked.
"My father used to tell me old stories about Macabre. There was a tale of a man who controlled the carriage trade... but he was killed. I don't remember the full details anymore."
"Don't you think it's too late to be outside?" Rwaine asked quietly.
"Close to twenty nobles are missing, Rwaine. If we don't do something, more will be lost," she argued.
"And what do you plan to do?" he asked while folding his arms.
"I really don't know," she admitted softly.
"Then go home. Sit, eat, rest. Let the men handle things like this. You deserve to be treated like a princess, not dragged into stress like this," Rwaine said firmly.
She touched his hand gently. "Will you help me?"
"Yes," he answered without hesitation. "But first, rest. Then we'll meet here again and figure something out."
"Promise?" she asked.
"Promise," he replied.
"I can also tell Stefan and Percival we could work together." She said it to Rwaine, but he didn't give a response.
Fanaza smiled, and his heart softened at the sight.
They walked through the market square together, and Fanaza suddenly slipped her hand into his. Rwaine's pulse quickened.
"Why did you do that?" he asked nervously.
"It's cold... and your body is warm," she whispered with a shy smile.
"Aren't you afraid of what people will say seeing you with someone like me?" he asked softly, his voice carrying a weight that hung between them. His hand brushed the edge of his cloak, as if reminding her of the shadow it cast around him.
"Rwaine, I don't care. Everyone's opinion I always keep under my feet. I don't care what anyone says," she said softly, lifting her chin with quiet defiance, her fingers curling at her sides as if grounding her words in strength.
"Does my cloak not bother you?" he asked, tugging the dark fabric slightly, his eyes narrowing as though bracing for her answer.
"Except for the fact that you look like a demon lord, everything is perfect," she said with a soft smile, tilting her head playfully while her eyes glimmered with mischief.
Rwaine stared into her eyes, not wanting to look away. His breath caught, and his hand twitched as though fighting the urge to reach for her.
"What!" she said jokingly, shifting her weight and brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.
"You just look beautiful, and I couldn't resist looking at your face," he confessed, his voice dropping lower, almost reverent.
Fanaza's cheeks burnt red as she looked away, her hands clasping together to steady her racing heart.
They walked, and she stopped to admire some clothing designs at a stall. Her eyes sparkled as she traced the embroidery.
"It's so beautiful."
"Are you into dressmaking?" Rwaine asked.
"Yes," she said softly. "But my father destroyed all my sketches. He said I'm only good for children and for serving a husband."
"That's harsh. Moaz would never do that," Rwaine replied, shaking his head.
"That's the curse of being raised with privilege. Life as a noble is hell. You're lucky you're not one of us," she sighed.
While she admired the dresses, Rwaine noticed a hairpin shop. He slipped away, towards the shopkeeper.
"Can I get this hairpin?" He pointed at it.
The woman gave him a head-to-toe assessment before speaking. "That would cost you 30 cubits." She said,
Rwaine opened a small purse he kept in his cloak; to his surprise, a fly flew out, and there were only 10 cubits in it.
He groaned in his thoughts. "Life of a broke man."
Then he spotted a glowing emerald pin. "How much for this one?" he asked.
"23 cubits," the shopkeeper replied.
Rwaine clenched his teeth; it was too expensive. Then another pin caught his eye—simpler, but it glowed faintly.
The shopkeeper noticed his gaze lingered on the pin. "I could sell that to you for 10 cubits."
Finally, something he could afford. He paid and hurried back to Fanaza.
"Do you see anything you like?" he asked.
"No. I can't get them; my father would kill me," she sighed.
"You shouldn't let anyone stop you from chasing your dreams," Rwaine told her. "If designing makes you happy, then keep trying."
"Thanks, Rwaine." She smiled warmly.
Her eyes darted to his hand, and she could see something glowing. She didn't know what it was, but curiosity got the better of her. "What's that you're hiding?"
"It's nothing," he lied, quickly trying to hide it.
"Let me see," she insisted, stepping closer.
"No," he said, turning away.
"Please?" She begged.
"No," he replied.
She tugged at his arm, trying to force him to show her until she tripped over her dress. She almost fell, but Rwaine caught her in his arms. For a moment, they stared into each other's eyes, breathless.
"Get a room!" a man shouted nearby.
Her cheeks burnt red, and she pulled away quickly.
"It's just a hairpin," Rwaine muttered. "Not something worthy of you."
"Rwaine," she said softly, taking it from his hand. "It's the thought that matters. Thank you."
"Can I put it on you?" he asked, voice low.
She nodded, smiling brightly. Rwaine fixed the pin into her hair. She turned to the mirror of a nearby vendor, despite the woman's deadly glare.
"It's beautiful," Fanaza whispered, hugging him tightly.
Rwaine stiffened; he was caught off guard by her embrace.
Before either of them could say more, another carriage rolled into the square. The same haunted carriage. A nobleman approached it.
"What's your destination, stranger?" the eerie voice spoke.
"Home," the man replied and stepped in; the door closed behind him.
*****
Meanwhile, Percival and Stefan were still with Raya, trying to get more information about the carriage.
"Who the hell is Lazarus Zominick?" Percival sneered, his lip curling.
"Let's just say," she replied, her voice low and seductive. "He isn't one of the good guys out there."
"How can we even find him? The reports of missing nobles are exhausting. I should be on a honeymoon with my wife right now," Stefan muttered, rubbing his forehead.
"You got married without my consent?" Percival looked genuinely confused.
"No, I was just joking." Stefan blinked quickly, trying to play it off. "How do we find him?" he continued.
Lazarus died twenty years ago. It doesn't make sense that he's suddenly back from the dead. That's something I really don't understand. He once controlled this same carriage park… that's all I know. "I'm sorry, but I can't help with this." She turned, ready to walk away, but Percival grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer.
"How do we find him?" He leaned in closer.
"You want to find a dead man?" she said
"I don't care if he's dead or alive; I just need more information about what we are getting ourselves into." Percival played with her dark hair.
"What can I get in return?" she asked, her eyes narrowing.
"What do you want?" His breath brushed against her skin, and she giggled softly.
"I want you inside me," she whispered seductively.
Stefan froze, his mouth wide open; he couldn't even shut it.
"Every part of you," she added with a sly smile.
Stefan coughed loudly, and he caught their attention; they turned to look at him. A sharp glare, like he was interrupting something important.
"Sorry," he muttered, looking away in embarrassment.
"And I will give you every piece of information," she promised, rubbing her hand across Percival's chest. Her fingers inched up toward his face, but he caught her wrist before she could touch him.
"I like that," he said calmly.
Stefan shifted uncomfortably, moving toward the door.
"It's better I wait outside," he muttered and rushed out.
Minutes later, the door creaked open. Stefan hurried to Percival, who had just stepped out.
"So... did you do anything with her?" he asked, raising his brow.
Percival shot him a look. "Do you actually think I'll give up my body for a piece of information? I'm not that cheap. I respect myself."
Stefan blinked, stunned. He froze for a moment.
"Then what did you two do?"
"I made her talk. Then I put her to sleep," Percival said.
Stefan broke into a wide grin. "I'm so proud of the man you're becoming." He pinched Percival's cheeks like an older brother would. Only Stefan, his childhood friend, had the right to treat him that way.
"What information do we have about Lazarus?" Stefan asked quickly.
"Lazarus is a vengeful ghost, but no one knew why he would return after so many years to take away nobles and disrupt the peace of the kingdom. The only way to reach him is through the carriage he controls." Percival said.
"Then let's find ourselves one," Stefan replied firmly.
*****
Later that evening, Fanaza walked back toward the inn. Just as she reached her room, she spotted Percival standing at her door, hand raised to knock.
He had returned back to the inn with Stefan; he couldn't stop thinking about her and if she was okay.
Even though his schedule was a bit tight today, he felt it was better to just check on her again.
Fanaza froze and quickly tried to walk away from him, but when she stepped back, her foot hit a jug, and it clattered loudly.
Percival's head snapped toward her.
"I know you're there," he said, loud enough for her to hear, but she stayed silent.
"Don't come closer!" she blurted out, but Percival ignored her and approached anyway.
He stopped directly in front of her. "Fanaza, about last night…"
She quickly cut him off. "What about the carriage?"
He frowned, his eyes narrowing.
"I found out where it goes," she said quickly. "The three junctions in the centre of the kingdom. Rwaine and I saw it."
"You two were together? Why?" His face twisted in disgust.
He hated Rwaine. He knew Fanaza had a soft spot for him, and it felt as if he was a competitor—constantly fighting for her attention and her heart.
"I'm tired; I need to rest. Can we have this conversation later?" She muttered and turned away. Percival caught her wrist roughly, making her flinch.
He immediately released her, guilt flashing across his face. "I wasn't done talking," he said softly.
"You don't need to grab me to make a point," she said, rubbing her wrist.
"Can you take me there?" he asked.
"I can't do that alone. I'll need Rwaine," she said.
"Him again," he scoffed.
"He's helping. Nothing more. Now can I rest?"
She walked toward her door.
"Fanaza," Percival called after her. She turned and faced him.
"I don't want you to fear me," he said. "Everyone else does—and that's fine. But not you."
She only responded with a nod.
"It seems my presence makes you feel uneasy; I'll wait for you outside. Stefan will get the horses ready." He said and walked away.
Fanaza watched him leave; it was like a heavy load was lifted off her, and she could finally breathe well, but a part of her felt bad for treating him and avoiding him, but she wasn't to be blamed; he caused it all.
She entered the room to get ready and change into something lighter and easy to wear. When she walked outside, she saw him waiting by his horse. She took a deep breath and walked toward them.
"My lady, I had no idea you were coming with us; I would have prepared your horse." Stefan said while itching his forehead.
Fanaza froze a bit, feeling tense. She wasn't going to escape this—she would ride with Percival. But he saw the fear in her eyes.
"Let her ride with you," Percival said, gripping the reins tightly before mounting his horse. Without another glance, he rode away.
"Did you two fight? He's never acted this way before," Stefan said, frowning as he adjusted the saddle straps.
"My lady, is everything fine?" Stefan asked, leaning slightly closer as if trying to read her expression.
Fanaza forced a smile, though her lips trembled. She looked a bit pale, her hands clasping together at her waist.
"Are you scared of him?" Stefan asked, tilting his head. Fanaza stared into his eyes; her silence was too heavy to ignore.
"I've known Percival since he was little, and my lady, he also had a soft spot. He's been through a lot, and sometimes—not even sometimes, all the time—he messes up a lot and hurts people, even if he doesn't mean to. I hope this helps, and you two can settle things," Stefan said, his voice softer now as he adjusted the reins in his hand.
Stefan helped her mount the horse, steadying her with one hand on her arm before swinging himself up into the saddle.
"Can I tell you something?" Fanaza said, her voice barely a whisper.
Stefan nodded with a soft smile.
"I'm not scared of Percival," she whispered.
Her voice breaking instantly. Her hands trembled as the memory of that night clawed its way back—the stench of wine on his breath, the weight of his hands as he tried to force himself on her. She swallowed hard before the last words escaped her lips.
"I'm scared of our marriage…"
"He has feelings for you, Fanaza. I am sure of it,"Stefan scoffed, his tone sharp.
"What? You don't have to lie to me." Fanaza rolled her eyes, but her stomach tightened. She hated how easily his words unsettled her.
"You don't believe me?" He smiled faintly, though his gaze didn't leave her.
Fanaza nodded, even as her throat felt dry. The weight of his stare pressed against her, and she shifted her feet, wishing she could look away.
"I have a plan, but it's a bit dangerous." Stefan leaned closer, his voice low and steady, and Fanaza's pulse quickened. A shiver crept up her spine, torn between curiosity and dread at what he might say next.