Lyno finally got his cup.
Seraphina, moving with the preternatural grace of a ghost, retrieved it from the shelf. She presented it to him with the solemnity of a knight offering up a holy grail, holding it with two hands, her gaze lowered.
Lyno just stared at her. [Why is the pretty murderer acting like my maid?]
He shakily took the mug. It was empty. The exquisite tea Valerius had procured was sitting on the table, still unbrewed. A deep, primal part of him, the part that craved routine and comfort above all else, was deeply saddened by this.
"Th-thank you," he mumbled, his voice hoarse. It was the polite thing to say, even to your own kidnapper-slash-butler-slash-assassin-maid. His parents had raised him with manners.
The effect his words had on Seraphina was electric. It was the first time he'd spoken to her directly since she'd pledged herself to him.
"The Master has... thanked me," she whispered, an unreadable emotion flickering in her amethyst eyes. She turned to Valerius. "What is the meaning? Does he test my humility? Does he imply a task well done?"
Valerius stroked his beard, his eyes half-closed in deep thought. "Neither, child. It is simpler and more profound. He is acknowledging your existence within his reality. For a being like him, a casual 'thank you' is the conceptual equivalent of a god carving your name onto the pillars of creation. He has accepted you. Truly."
A faint blush appeared on Seraphina's normally pale cheeks. Being acknowledged by the Master was a far greater reward than any king's ransom.
Lyno, meanwhile, was plotting his escape.
[Okay, they haven't killed me yet. The assassin gave me my cup. The wizard is just... watching. They seem to want something from me. Maybe if I just stay quiet and pretend to be asleep they'll get bored and leave?]
It was a pathetic plan, but it was the only one he had.
Just as he was about to try it, a commotion erupted from the street below. The sound of heavy wagons, the clatter of armored horses, and a rising murmur from the townsfolk.
CLANG. CLATTER. WHOOSH.
"What is that?" Seraphina asked, her body instantly tensing. She flowed to the window, peering down into the street below the "Tome and Trinket."
Her eyes widened slightly. "An Imperial procession. Crimson Vanguard escort. At the head..." She paused. "Grand Marshal Kaelen Dros himself."
Valerius joined her at the window, his old eyes narrowing. "Dros? That rigid block of steel and regulations? What is he doing here? Did the Emperor send him to foolishly challenge the Master?" A dangerous, protective glint appeared in his eye.
Down in the street, Grand Marshal Kaelen Dros, a man whose presence could silence a battlefield, barked an order. "HALT!"
The entire procession ground to a stop directly in front of the bookstore. Townsfolk peeked out from alleys and windows, their jaws agape. The Empire's most famous general was in their humble little town, stopping at the dusty old bookshop.
Dros dismounted, his rune-etched armor groaning like a waking titan. He was a mountain of disciplined fury. He turned and approached the centerpiece of the procession: a gilded carriage so ornate it seemed to bend the very light around it.
He knelt.
The entire town went silent. Grand Marshal Dros did not kneel for anyone but the Emperor.
The carriage door opened. A figure emerged, and a collective gasp swept through the onlookers. She was a vision of celestial beauty, with hair the color of spun gold and eyes the vibrant emerald of a spring forest. She wore a gown of imperial silk that shimmered with enchantments.
It was Princess Aurelia Elara Theron, the Jewel of the Empire, the Emperor's only daughter.
Upstairs, Seraphina's hand instinctively went to the daggers she no longer carried. "The Princess? Why is she here?" Her protective instincts flared. "Is this an assassination attempt disguised as a state visit?"
"Unlikely," Valerius mused, his mind racing through a hundred different political gambits. "Dros is honor-bound. He wouldn't participate in such a feint. No... this is something else. Something far more... desperate."
Down below, Princess Aurelia did not look at the crowd. Her entire attention, guided by her father's terrified command, was on the humble door of the "Tome and Trinket." She began to walk towards it, her every step graceful and deliberate.
In Lyno's room, the horror was escalating.
[The army is outside. A Grand Marshal is outside. And... is that the PRINCESS? From the coin portraits? Oh gods, oh gods, it's about the crater. They decided the Empire being in my debt wasn't enough. They're here to give me a bill so large it has an escort!]
He was going to be executed. Publicly. And then his ghost was going to have to pay off the debt for the next thousand years.
He did the only thing he could. He pulled his thin blanket up to his chin, trying to disappear.
Princess Aurelia reached the door, Grand Marshal Dros two paces behind her. An attendant rushed forward to knock, but the Princess raised a slender hand to stop him.
She knocked on the door herself. A soft, respectful triple rap.
knock... knock... knock...
The sound seemed unnaturally loud in the silent street.
Inside, old Master Elias, the bookstore's owner who had been cowering in the back, nearly jumped out of his skin. The Princess was knocking on his door. He stumbled forward, fumbling with the latch, and creaked the door open.
He saw the Princess of the entire Empire standing on his doorstep. His brain promptly ceased all higher functions.
"Y-Y-Your Highness...?" he stammered.
Princess Aurelia gave him a small, perfectly diplomatic smile, but her eyes were looking past him, up the creaking staircase. "I am here on behalf of my father, Emperor Theron IV. I am here to seek an audience... with Master Lyno."
The statement, delivered with regal clarity, hit the crowd like a physical blow. Whispers erupted like wildfire.
"The Princess is here to see... Lyno from the bookstore?"
"By the All-Knowing, what is happening?!"
Upstairs, Lyno heard his name. The blanket was not enough. He was doomed. He began to shake again, his teeth chattering uncontrollably.
Seraphina noticed his trembling immediately. The Master is... vibrating? He is reacting to the Princess's arrival. Is it annoyance? Anticipation? No... he knows the truth. He sees the strings of fate. She looked to Valerius for an interpretation.
Valerius's eyes were blazing with the light of a dawning, terrible, and brilliant revelation.
He hadn't considered it before. The signs were all there! The annihilation of the golem, the pacification of the assassin... they weren't random displays of power. They were declarations.
"Of course..." Valerius whispered, a manic smile spreading across his face. "This was never about a town or an assassin's contract. It was about the Empire. It was about the Throne!"
Seraphina looked confused. "The Throne?"
"Think, child!" Valerius hissed, his excitement palpable. "The Emperor hides in his palace, sending his minions to probe and test the Master. First the Crimson Vanguard, then his General, and now... now his own daughter! He does not send his armies. He sends his bloodline!"
His logic, flawless and warped, clicked into place.
"This is not a diplomatic visit. It is not an apology. It is an offering! A political maneuver as old as time! The Emperor, terrified of the Master's incomprehensible power, seeks to bind him to the Empire not with chains or laws, but with marriage!"
He looked at Seraphina, his eyes wide.
"The Emperor is offering the Master his daughter's hand!"
Seraphina's amethyst eyes flashed with a dangerous light. The air in the room grew cold enough to freeze breath. She stared at the shaking, pathetic form of Lyno huddled under his blanket, and her mind filled with a strange, unfamiliar, and intensely primal emotion.
The blush on her cheeks was gone, replaced by a deadly pale. She had pledged her life, her very being to the Master. She had been the first.
The romantic conflict had just been ignited. Not with sweet words or stolen glances, but with Imperial politics and misunderstood intentions.
Downstairs, the Princess took a deep breath, steeling herself for what her father had described as 'an audience with a living cataclysm,' and said, "May I come up?"