The rest of the night passed in relative peace. No more assassins dared to strike after the brutal massacre in the courtyard, though the memory of the Black Covenant’s ambush still lingered heavily in everyone’s mind.
The air remained tense, ready for whatever is coming soon. Maxim didn’t allow himself to relax. Even as the others rested.d, he worked quietly with the Borgia knights, preparing contingencies in case the assassins attacked again during their journey to the capital.
By dawn, the Wyndham estate had been secured. Patrols circled the grounds while the Borgia Knights scouts swept the surrounding forests for signs of enemies. The cold morning air carried the faint metallic tang of blood, though most of the carnage had been cleared away before the sun rose.
When Roxanne and Vivianne finally left their chambers and made their way to the dining hall, they were met with an unusual sight. Seated at the long dining table was the Viscountess of Wyndham, Sarah von Wyndham.
She looked deathly pale, her trembling hands tightly gripping a porcelain cup as if it’s the only thing keeping her steady. Beside her sat her two teenage children, Ian and Rose von Wyndham.
"Good morning, Viscountess," Vivianne greeted softly, her voice gentle and warm.
Sarah’s head snapped up, and she immediately scrambled to her feet, nearly knocking over her chair in the process. Anton, who had been seated at the head of the table, rose as well, bowing deeply. Ian and Rose followed suit.
"Good morning, Your Graces," Sarah replied, her voice shaky but polite.
"Please, there’s no need to stand on ceremony," Vivianne said with a small, reassuring smile.
Roxanne moved to pull out a chair for Vivianne, her crimson eyes briefly sweeping the room as if to ensure there are no threats. Once her wife was seated safely, Roxanne turned to the pale Viscountess with a raised brow.
"Are you alright, Viscountess?" she asked, her tone calm but firm.
Sarah sank back into her chair after Roxanne finally sat, her hands folding tightly in her lap. She took a deep, steadying breath before answering, her gaze briefly dropping to the tablecloth. "I... just saw things I should never have seen," she admitted softly, her voice tinged with lingering horror. "Things no one should ever witness."
She woke up and accidentally saw the splattered blood, the severed limbs, and the severed head, which were scattered in her rose garden. Anton reached out and placed a comforting hand over his wife’s.
Roxanne nodded slowly, understanding all too well what Sarah meant. "It was a brutal night," she said, her voice quiet but steady. "I’m sorry that you and your family were caught in the middle of it."
"It’s our duty as your vassals to provide the best security and comfort while you stay in our estate, Your Grace," Sarah said, her voice trembling despite her effort to keep it steady.
She clasped her hands tightly in her lap, as if holding herself together by sheer will alone. Her pale face betrayed the depth of her guilt, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "And yet... we clearly failed last night."
Anton’s hand immediately came to rest on hers, a silent gesture of comfort. His expression is calm, but the tension in his jaw reveals his own frustration. Ian lowered his gaze, shoulders stiff, while Rose stared down at her plate, unusually quiet for once.
Vivianne’s expression softened at Sarah’s words. A gentle smile curved her lips as she said, "You did not fail," Vivianne said softly, her voice carrying both kindness and strength.
"What happened last night was beyond anyone’s expectations. No one could have foreseen an attack of that scale, especially from assassins of such caliber." She gave Sarah’s hands a reassuring squeeze, her amethyst eyes glowing faintly with compassion.
"Everything turned out fine," she continued, glancing at Anton, Ian, and Rose with a warm smile before returning her gaze to Sarah. "You and your children are safe now. That is what matters most."
Sarah’s lips trembled as her breath caught in her throat. Relief and gratitude welled in her chest, though the pallor of her face remained. Slowly, she nodded, blinking back tears. "Thank you, Your Grace," she whispered, her voice breaking slightly.
The rest of the breakfast passed in relative calm. The clinking of silverware and the soft crackle of the fireplace filled the silence, though every so often, Sarah would let out a soft gag, her mind clearly haunted by the grotesque memories of the night before.
By the afternoon, the Wyndham estate is busy with everyone prepared to continue the Grand Duke’s envoy and their lord’s journey to the capital. The tension from the previous night lingered in the air, but everyone tried to work quickly and efficiently.
Servants hurried about, loading supplies and luggage into the wagons, while knights tightened their armor and checked their weapons, fully aware that danger might strike again at any moment.
Marvessa moved carefully, cradling the unconscious Mara in her arms. Mara’s breathing is steady but shallow, her face pale from exhaustion and the strain of battle. Gently, Marvessa lifted her into one of the wagons, arranging her so she lay nestled between several sturdy wooden crates containing the viscount’s luggage. A few of the household maids sat nearby, their faces anxious and weary. The rightful source is novel{f}ire.net
Marvessa brushed a stray lock of silver hair from Mara’s face, her own eyes narrowing with concern. She then turned to one of the maids. "Take care of her," she instructed. "If she wakes up, tell her only this: that the Grand Duchess is safe and seated in the front carriage. Then, tell about her waking up to any Borgia Knight you see walking near this wagon. Nothing more. Do you understand? "
The maid swallowed hard and nodded quickly. "Y-Yes, Sir Knight. I understand."
"Good." Marvessa’s voice softened for a brief moment, her fingers lingering briefly on Mara’s hand. "Keep her calm, no matter what." With that, she rose to her feet and turned sharply, her cloak fluttering behind her as she left the wagon. In motion, she mounted her horse and took her place among the Borgia knights, ready to ride at the head of the procession.
Meanwhile, Vivianne sat comfortably inside the lead carriage, bundled in soft furs despite the warm afternoon air. Across from her sat Sarah, the Viscountess, still pale but doing her best to keep her composure. Roxanne rode close to the carriage on her massive warhorse, her crimson eyes scanning the surroundings with focus. Every sound, every movement is carefully noted.
On either side of the carriage, Anton and his two teenage children, Ian and Rose, rode their own horses. Ian carried himself with the solemn determination of an heir who understood the weight of responsibility, while Rose’s sharp gaze darted about, restless and alert.
The Wyndham knights formed the rear guard, riding close behind in a tight formation, their weapons gleaming under the afternoon sun. At the very front of the convoy, the Borgia knights marched in rows, their powerful warhorses thundering against the dirt road. Their presence is both intimidating and reassuring, a moving wall of steel and strength prepared to meet any threat.
"Move!" Roxanne roared, with Maxim leading upfront and starting to move.
The caravan began to move steadily down the winding road toward the capital. The clatter of hooves and wheels filled the air, mingling with the occasional snort of the horses. Though outwardly calm, every knight rode with anticipation, their hands never far from their weapons.
The message is clear: if the Black Covenant dared to strike again, this time, they would be ready. Because they know the job isn’t done, and they’ll keep on striking until the job is done.
-
Erengrad Palace, Capital of the Empire of Erengrad
"They failed, Your Highness," the chancellor reported, his voice trembling as he knelt on the cold marble floor.
The words hung heavy in the grand hall, echoing through the cavernous chamber like a death knell. For a moment, there’s silence. Then, with a roar of pure rage, Dietrich hurled his crystal wine glass across the room. It struck the chancellor squarely on the forehead with a loud crack, shattering into glittering shards. Blood trickled down the man’s face, mingling with the spilled wine as he gasped in pain.
"We spent two thousand gold on the Black Covenant!" Dietrich bellowed, rising to his feet so abruptly that his throne nearly toppled behind him. His golden robe swirled around him like a storm cloud, his face contorted with fury. "Two thousand gold for failure! They are supposed to be the best assassin guild in the entire continent! And they couldn’t kill a single woman!"
The chancellor trembled, lowering his head as he dabbed desperately at the wound on his forehead with his sleeve. His voice shook as he stammered, "Y-Your Majesty... the leader of the Black Covenant, Lord Umbra, has sent a message." He... he demands ten times the original amount for him to finish the job himself. Once he knows the target is the Grand Duke of Borgia."
Dietrich’s eyes widened, then narrowed into a venomous glare. His fists clenched at his sides, veins bulging against his skin. "So, he dares to make excuses?!" he hissed, his voice low and deadly. "If he is the master of the Black Covenant, then he should prove it."
The chancellor fell forward onto his hands, his voice urgent, almost pleading. "Your Highness, please reconsider! Twenty thousand gold—" His breath hitched. "Twenty thousand gold is enough to sustain the palace for an entire year! The treasury cannot withstand such a loss without crippling the kingdom’s finances."
Dietrich stepped forward, looming over the trembling man, exerting his alpha dominance over him. His voice, when it came, was calm—terrifyingly calm. "I don’t care about the cost. I will not be humiliated again."
He leaned down, his face inches from the chancellor’s, his eyes blazing like twin embers. "We have the money, do we not? "
The chancellor swallowed hard, barely able to nod. "Y-Yes, Your Highness... but—"
"Then give it to him!" Dietrich roared, the sound so powerful it rattled the windows. "No, better yet—give him thirty thousand gold. Tell Lord Umbra that failure is not an option. He’s to unleash the full might of his guild, burn the world if he must, and bring me the head of Roxanne de Borgia."
Dietrich’s chest heaved as he straightened, his fury radiating like heat from a raging fire. "I don’t care how many lives are lost or how much blood is spilled. I want her dead. Do you understand me, Chancellor? Dead! "
The chancellor pressed his forehead to the floor, shaking violently, knowing there was no room for argument. "Y-Yes, Your Highness. I will... deliver your command to Lord Umbra at once."
"And bring Vivianne de Rothschild to me, alive!" He roars once again.
As the chancellor scrambled to his feet and fled the throne room, Dietrich sank back into his throne, his face twisted into a cruel, victorious smile. "Roxanne de Borgia," he muttered to himself, his voice thick with hatred. "You dare to take what’s mine; you’ll learn how to learn the consequences..."