Chapter 210
Though the spring blossoms perfumed the night air, the palace grounds between buildings lay in utter silence.
Cledwyn was unsurprised to find no one waiting at the spot Camille had specified in her letter. For matters like this, the fewer eyes, the better.
“Only rats around, no master in sight.”
From the quiet courtyard shrouded in darkness, shadowy figures emerged like phantoms.
Snap. A sharp sound rang out from all directions. Poisoned silver needles.
Cledwyn swung his sword. Though the crescent moon offered only a dim glow, the arc of his blade shone momentarily like a mirror.
But he was still human—he couldn’t block the attack coming from behind. The assassins of Silver Moon smiled with confidence.
At least, until a man appeared from somewhere and deflected the needle aimed at the Grand Duke’s back.
Clink! Clatter! Dozens of silver needles fell uselessly onto the grass.
“You said you’d come alone.”
Standing back-to-back with Cledwyn, Aidan clicked his tongue. Aidan replied gruffly,
“You knew nothing would come of this, so why bother honoring her demand to come alone?”
“Nothing to gain? Catch enough rats, and the master is bound to show.”
“She’s likely hiding deep.”
“Then I’ll tear the palace apart to find her.”
Aidan fell silent. He never had many words to begin with.
So his esteemed lord hadn’t come here to obey Camille’s summons. He had planned to raise hell from the start—and Camille had only extended the invitation.
At the very least, she would’ve used her authority to allow Cledwyn passage through the palace gates under cover of night.
‘Faster than breaking down the gates myself, I suppose.’
It was foolish, sure. But who in the Grand Ducal household could blame Cledwyn Maindulante? When frustration boiled so violently it felt like smashing everything in sight was the only relief.
Cledwyn, eyes like glass marbles, watched the enemy coldly. The assassins felt their spines chill.
Shing. The blade flashed. The breath of life fled with the sound, soft and cold as a breeze. One, then two, then three.
Cledwyn soon forgot the courtyard, where only he and Aidan still breathed. Even if they weren’t at the designated meeting place, someone had to be hiding somewhere in the palace.
‘The caster of the curse.’
Cledwyn was certain.
Even if all that remained of magic was cheap parlor tricks, it had survived within noble houses precisely because the state didn’t look kindly upon it. Most noble family poisons were laced with these kinds of dark techniques.
High priests weren’t usually familiar with such curses. Since each spell had a different method of release depending on the caster, unbinding them wasn’t their domain. A few curse specialists existed, but apparently none in the capital at present—so capturing the caster was the quickest way to save his wife.
Could it be Camille? Any noble learned at least some magic, so it was possible. But Cledwyn doubted someone so busy scheming every day had time to be a skilled mage too.
More likely, she had someone useful by her side.
Someone capable of making even his logical, rational wife see hallucinations.
‘There must be a dedicated Silver Moon mage who specializes in foul enchantments. Must be that bastard.’
Even in the brief moments when Nerys appeared calm, she never looked at anyone around her. Instead, she pleaded with unseen figures not to hurt her.
And the names she begged for mercy from—he recognized most of them.
‘Megara Lykeandros, Alecto Isalani, Valentin Elandria… Joseph Caron and Abelus Bistor.’
Megara, Alecto, and Valentin had all tormented Nerys before; it made sense they’d appear in her nightmares. But Abelus? What reason would he have to torture her?
Joseph Caron—Cledwyn vaguely recalled—had been Nellusion’s loyal knight. A nobody. And now dead.
Whatever trick Camille had played, it was clearly insane.
‘Once I catch them, I’ll kill them.’
The grass rippled under the moonlight. A subtle disturbance, but Cledwyn instantly sensed another unit of Silver Moon closing in on them.
“What do you think?”
“About what?”
“Is it better to kill them all here, or break through?”
The former would take time, the latter risked being surrounded. Despite the gravity of the choice, Cledwyn’s voice carried no tension.
Yes—this was who he was. Aidan’s eyes burned with resolve.
“Break through.”
“Knew you’d say that.”
First and foremost, they had to lift the curse on Nerys. Cledwyn nodded, as if the answer had been obvious all along.
With a shared glance, the two men shot forward like arrows.
❖ ❖ ❖
The corridor ran red with blood.
Cledwyn wiped his blade against the fallen Silver Moon assassin and scowled.
“A trap.”
They’d been led to a remote hallway in a far corner of the palace.
Originally, they’d planned to head straight from the courtyard to the princess’s wing. Now, they’d clearly taken a wrong turn. The palace layout was absurdly complex, and neither of them was familiar with it.
But they’d had no choice. To fight overwhelming numbers, they had to use the terrain, taking cover and moving as best they could.
Aidan’s expression tightened.
“Where are they trying to lead us?”
“Her wing, most likely. Just not the front door—somewhere remote, where a few dead bodies won’t matter.”
Tonight, Camille held the advantage—without question. It was insane for two noblemen to infiltrate the palace alone.
If Camille captured or killed Cledwyn, she’d win. Nerys would never wake, and the North would fall into the Empire’s hands.
Yet even faced with that outcome, Cledwyn’s eyes showed no trace of regret.
The kind of man who wouldn’t hesitate between his own life and a chance to save his wife’s peace.
She’d declared it was a trap from the start. Cledwyn didn’t even mind. All that mattered was reaching Camille’s wing. Then, he could find her—and the one who cast the curse.
Suddenly, he tilted his head and smiled faintly.
“Ah, now I see why they’re being so bold. We’re near the Imperial Inquisitor’s wing.”
Aidan knew Camille had the Inquisition under her thumb. He glanced around warily.
A tense silence. Then—
Boom! A small explosion echoed. The floor erupted beneath them. The two men barely dodged.
And from both sides of the corridor, a horde of Silver Moon agents surged forward.
Cledwyn bared his teeth in a grim smile.
“If she can keep sending this many, it means Camille could take the palace if she wanted.”
“Most likely. Though the Emperor must have some way to protect himself.”
“Then why’d he name her brother Crown Prince instead of her? She’s stockpiled enough blades to get stabbed herself.”
Acting like a dutiful heir in public while secretly harboring an army. Anyone would see that as treason. How dense was the Emperor?
“No idea.”
“Ah—she probably kept them outside the palace until now. Called them in just for this. She must’ve been desperate.”
Slam! Cledwyn’s blade sang again. Though his handsome brow was now streaked with blood—some of it his own.
Camille’s wolves were strong. No matter how skilled, dodging every blade and poisoned dart was impossible.
Aidan, voice resolute, said,
“If we keep fighting here, it’ll be morning before we’re done. I’ll open a path. You go.”
“Don’t talk nonsense. What would be the point of getting this far, then?”
Cledwyn spat out the blood in his mouth and scanned their surroundings.
He knew this area. Because this was near the place where Nerys had been ambushed before.
In that case—
“This way.”
In a corridor blocked on both ends by enemies, Cledwyn picked a direction without hesitation.
His twin blades carved a path like natural disasters. Screams rang out. Lives ended.
Moments later, the two men sprinted forward with purpose, a clear target in mind. The assassins chasing them hesitated, thrown off by their sudden conviction.
To them, it was an unremarkable hallway. The Grand Duke’s knight stopped, turned, and faced them.
This corridor was rarely used—even the assassins seldom came here. They assumed the knight was preparing a final stand, and some wrapped their faces in cloth in case he had a trick up his sleeve.
Then, he slashed the ceiling.
Crash. A deafening roar. Dust and debris fell from above. The assassins were stunned. Even after all that fighting, he still had this kind of power?
While they stared at the ceiling, the knight slipped away to follow the Grand Duke.
Cledwyn stood at the spot where Nerys had once stood and opened the secret passage. The two men dove inside.
By the time the assassins reached them, they were gone from sight.
“Whew.”
Cledwyn sealed the passage just as Nerys had. He smiled.
“My wife saves my life even when she’s not at my side.”
“Did Her Grace tell you about this place?”
“She did. Judging by their reaction, I don’t think they knew it existed. Amazing, isn’t it?”
Anyone else might suspect Nerys of being a royal spy, but Cledwyn looked nothing but proud.
And Aidan wasn’t the kind of man to misinterpret. He gave a faint, crooked smile.
“…Yes.”
“But still, something’s different from last time.”
Cledwyn’s expression turned serious as he looked down the corridor.
It was the same old stone passage as before—dim, ancient, hidden from sight. Back then, it had seemed secretive, but not unusual.
Now, the corridor glowed with a pale light. Not from any ordinary torch.
Rather, it resembled moonlight trapped in stone—a light that felt beyond human comprehension.
His skin tingled. The entire passage felt saturated with killing intent.
“Well then.”
Cledwyn bared his teeth.
“Whatever they’re hiding… let’s take a look.”
And then—
…So that’s it. You are ‘her’…