The room hangs heavy with Leonard's words, the air thick as if even the walls hold their breath.
Sir Rowan breaks the silence first, his voice flat, edged with the grim certainty of a man who has seen too many battles lost before they begin.
You need to address this sleeping kingdom, Princess Elsbeth. Rally them in the Great Market and wake them with your own voice. That is the only way we walk out of this alive, and it is the most powerful way we can possibly turn the tide.
But I must speak plainly: the people see you as cursed, and now a witch too. To ask you to stand before them like this... it seems impossible, yet it is the only chance we have.
Silence settles again, shrouding the room. Outside, the city murmurs like a distant storm.
Elsbeth rises slowly, her silhouette caught in the fading afternoon light that cuts the floor in stripes of gold and shadow.
Her hands tremble at her sides, fingers curling as if trying to grasp slipping courage but when she speaks, her voice is steady, a quiet thunder.
"If that is the only path my father leaves me… then so be it."
A shuddering breath escapes her, eyes gleaming with unshed tears fear, fury, and a lifetime of silence finally cracking.
"I will stand against him. For all of us."
Rowan says nothing. He simply bows his head a knight's silent oath renewed in the face of impossible odds.
Luan's gaze remains fixed on the scarred floorboards, his painted face a mask hiding the storm within. When he speaks, his voice is low, raw, laced with the weight of centuries of guilt that no resurrection can erase.
"I'm sorry."
The words tear from him like a confession, his grey eyes lifting to meet Elsbeth's, haunted and hollow.
"I'm sorry for putting you all in this danger. For being the curse that clings to you. If I had never come if I had stayed in the void—"
Leonard cuts him off, his voice fierce and immediate, stepping forward until he is inches from Luan, his own eyes blazing with a protective fire that surprises even him.
"What are you even talking about?"
He grips Luan's shoulder not roughly, but with the steadying force of a brother in arms.
"Our princess is building up courage she never knew she had. She's fighting—for you, for the kingdom, for everything that's been broken too long. And that's because of you."
"I have never seen Lady Elsbeth stand for herself like this. She's finally doing it, finally moving forward… thanks to you."
Elsbeth turns to Luan. Her heart aches at the self-loathing etched into his features. She steps closer, her hand hovering near his cheek not touching. But her eyes hold him soft and fierce willing him to see himself as she does.
"You don't have to blame yourself, Luan,"she whispers, her voice trembling, thick with emotion.
"This had to happen sooner or later the rot, the lies, the cruelty. But I don't know if I would have found the strength to face it if I had never met you."
A tear spills down her cheek, and she lets it fall.
"I saw your courage your kindness how you try to protect me even when it costs you everything."
Her hand inches closer, the air between them charged.
"I will fight for us. For the people of this kingdom even if they curse me. You think I'm saving you… but you're saving me too. So don't look down on yourself, Luan."
Her fingers brush the air near his skin like a promise.
"You deserve everything. And I'll gladly fight with you at my side, no matter who stands against us."
Luan's breath catches; the painted smile on his face fractures as a real one small, tentative, aching finally breaks through. His eyes shimmer.
"I promise you," he murmurs, voice breaking, "I'll always be with you. I'll be your shield… until the end."
The moment hangs fragile, sacred.
The room seems to hold its breath.
Rowan clears his throat, rising with a scrape that shatters the intimacy.
"Shall we go, then?"
Leonard snorts, amusement creeping back into his tone. He smacks his father's armored shoulder.
"Gods, Father — can't you read the room? You ruined their wholesome moment."
Rowan stiffens, panic flickering over his stoic features as he bows deeply.
"My apologies, Your Highness."
Elsbeth laughs soft, genuine, but edged with her lingering tears.
"Don't worry. Leonard is just messing with you."
As her laughter fades, Luan's gaze lingers on her face, admiring the light in her eyes strength blooming like a flower defying winter.
Leonard tugs him back to reality, hand firm on his shoulder.
"Hey don't drift off. We've got a kingdom to shake."
Rowan shoots Leonard a deadly stare.
"Let's move."
They step out of the house. Leonard locks the door behind them with a final click.
The afternoon sun blazes overhead harsh, unforgiving as they cross the cursed alley and emerge onto Lionheart Street, the polished domain of lower nobility, where manicured gardens hide whispered scandals.
Lionheart Street greets them with stares that grow into jeers. Servants pause mid-step. Children are yanked indoors.
A platoon of royal knights thunders toward them. The captain dismounts, hand on his sword.
"Sir. Orders are to escort the princess and the creature to the palace at once."
Rowan does not even blink.
"I am aware. Fall back. Inform all search parties the princess is in my custody. I will deliver her myself."
The captain hesitates, then salutes and wheels his horse away.
Steel disappears but eyes remain.
Elsbeth turns to Rowan, resolve hardening like tempered steel.
"Sir Rowan go to the palace. Prepare the gates. I will rally the people in the Great Market…
Rowan frowns.
"Princess like i said the people think you're a witch. They will not follow you. It may turn violent i can't leave you."
"Believe in me," she says steadiness in her voice despite the flicker of doubt in her eyes. "I have to try."
Leonard claps Rowan's shoulder.
"Father. Go. I'm with her nothing's getting past us."
Rowan stares at his son pride and resentment warring.
"Just because we stand on the same side does not mean you're forgiven. When this is over you answer to me."
He turns toward the long road, his figure fading in heat haze.
Leonard mutters,
"His stare still gives me chills…"
The three take the shorter, filthier path toward the market.
Insults trail after them like scavenger birds.
Witch.
Demon's whore.
Did she bewitch the knights too?
Their venom thickens.
"She's still with that creature."
"Who's the shady-looking man bewitched as well?"
"Why won't the church burn her?"
"One demon wasn't enough for that witch."
A pear flies from an alley.
Luan steps in front of it without thinking.
It bursts across his cheek seeds clinging to white paint like blood on snow.
He wipes it away, lifting the fruit with trembling fingers.
He steps toward the crowd, voice quiet but firm.
"Don't hurt her. She has done nothing wrong. Be angry at me instead but don't throw food."
He cleans the half pear and offers it to a wide-eyed child.
A burly man kicks Luan hard, sending him sprawling.
"Stay away from our children, demon!"
The crowd erupts.
"So this disgusting thing will tell us what to do now?"
Elsbeth's voice cracks the air.
"Stop!"
But Leonard is already in motion.
He slams the attacker into the dirt, then hauls Luan upright, blade flashing.
He licks the dagger dramatically, eyes cold.
"If you want their blood, you'll get mine first
and I promise, mine is harder to spill."
The crowd wavers; some melt back, most linger, muttering, hungry for someone else to strike first.
Leonard advances.
They scatter fear rippling like wind through leaves.
Leonard turns to Luan.
"You good?"
Luan nods, steadying himself.
"Thank you."
He glances at Elsbeth a soft, determined look.
"Don't worry. Let's go."
They reach the Great Market a storm of humanity. Vendors shout. Meat sizzles. Spices burn the air.
Luan snatches a pan from a stall and slams it with his dagger.
"Listen up, you sleeping pieces of shit!"
But the market swallows him whole no heads turn.
Frustration tightens his face.
Luan steps forward and he laughs.
The sound is wrong too sharp, too ancient ringing with every bell stitched into his soul.
People flinch as if struck.
He begins to dance.
Not the courtly fool's prance but something feral. Heartbreaking.
Bells scream. White paint splits.
He spins through filth and shadow and sings in the old cursed cadence that forces every ear to hear:
"O ye sleepers of Liveria, stuffed fat on lies,
Your princess comes with open hands and open eyes.
Will you stone her for waking — or wake with her and rise?"
He dances until silence falls until only the bells speak.
Leonard stacks three crates in the hush and offers Elsbeth his hand.
She steps up.
The market opens before her thousands turning, drawn by bells they cannot ignore.
The sun hangs low and red, bleeding across the sky like a wound.
Elsbeth stands atop the crates dressed in black, hair loose and wild, no crown only trembling hands and fire-lit eyes.
And for the first time in her life the kingdom looks at its princess and has no choice
but to listen.