CHAPTER 111

  AN UNINVITED CHALLENGE

  Allynna found him in the courtyard, sharpening his blade beneath the fading light. The scrape of steel against whetstone was steady, indifferent, until her shadow broke across him.

  She didn’t wait to be asked.

  “Do you ever get tired of it?” Her voice trembled, bitter and raw. “Being cared for more than her own blood?”

  Theodred set the blade down, blinking at her as if she’d spoken in a tongue he didn’t know. “Cared…?”

  “My mother,” she snapped, though her throat tightened on the word. “She barely looks at me, but you—she drags you from beds of stone, worries about your hunts, smiles when your name is spoken. I am her daughter. And yet…”

  Her voice cracked, the anger curdling into something smaller, more fragile. “…And yet I might as well be invisible.”

  Theodred’s hand flexed on the hilt of his sword. He wasn’t built for this kind of battle; words, especially tender ones.

  Man, I don’t know the protocol here. I only act accordingly. I know what grind her gears so its easy to make that woman happy.

  He whined inside and when he looked at her—really looked—and saw not the princess draped in silk, but a girl crumbling under the weight of being unseen.

  God damn it. What now? ‘There. There’ won’t work.

  He stood, awkward in the silence that followed, and after a moment he placed his hand lightly on her shoulder. Not claiming, not patronising—just a presence.

  “I don’t know how to answer that,” he admitted, voice low, rough around the edges. “But… you’re not invisible. Not to those who matter.”

  He gave a faint shrug, as if embarrassed by his own words, and added, almost muttering, “You’re stronger than you think. Your strength lies not in swords but in your heart. You’ve a sincere heart that makes people follow you. A born diplomat—and it’s time you start acting like one.Your mother’ll come around. I’m just a moment in her life; you’re her blood. That’s harder to deny.”

  Allynna wiped a trembling eye. “Are you trying to teach me?”

  “No. But if you learn something, that’s good then.”

  He left it there—no long comforts, no grand wisdom. Just presence. The steady weight of his hand, the unflinching eye contact, the small words that told her she’d been heard.

  And for Allynna, it was enough.

  Or it should have been.

  But his words carried something else—soft, careful, too careful.

  They sounded like a man already halfway gone, like an early goodbye wrapped in comfort. As if, from the beginning, he had never intended to stay.

  She didn’t want to admit it—not even to herself—but if she didn’t care, she wouldn’t have cracked like that. Wouldn’t have let the words spill, wouldn’t have let him see the parts of her she kept hidden behind the princess mask she wore.

  He was… something steady. Something she could lean into without needing to explain. A kind of brother, maybe—the kind she'd never had. Someone who didn’t flinch when she got sharp, someone who listened when she unraveled.

  With the dawn of next morning, the world should have righted itself.

  The princess ought to have tucked away yesterday’s bruised pride—forgotten the sharp edges of her confrontation with their mother.

  Theodred would have bent his will once more to steel and practice, perfecting Fester.

  Yet they all began to prepare to welcome Lord Highborn—who was visiting the royals not referring to them as kings and queens but family.

  “One after another,” Hans grumbled, the maid tugging at his collar like it was a noose. “Can’t a man just be left with his sword? Why dress up to welcome your lord, teacher?”

  He tugged at the tight fabric, loosening it with a grunt. “Easy there, miss.”

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  “This visit is the fallout from what you caused. Don’t you want to see the damage?” Reina threw a bone.

  Hans snorted, eyes dark. “Frankly, no. Highborns must have buried evidence and humans alike in six feet under. A prestigious house has no need of shame and dishonour. They would rather choose a hidden unorthodox way to protect their name.”

  “You sure are one of wonders, Theodred. Half naive idealist, half cynical realist.”

  Yeah, well,” Hans shrugged, “I’m just an idiot who falls in love with mastering things. No disguises, no politics—just the pure joy of steel meeting steel. That’s me.”

  A bit of chatter of wits and now they were in the grand hall. Reina seated high while the rest stood to welcome.

  The mood shifted as the heavy doors opened.

  Lord Highborn had arrived.

  Not as a father greeting his son and daughter-in-law as he said in the letter nor a noble visiting an ally, but as a predator circling the fragile peace between houses. His presence was a statement carved in ice — the embodiment of power wrapped in velvet menace.

  Man, Aredhel was right. I had big balls when I tried strong-arming this guy. This is the true definition of a snake—a very poisonous snake.

  He glanced at Reina who turned stoic in a second.

  Suddenly something pricked his senses. He could feel the eyes upon him — some curious, others veiled hostility. The Lord didn’t arrive alone but a big escort followed him inside.

  Does he want to overthrow the queen too? Maybe he and Martys joined hands—or maybe it is me whom he is after.

  He had unearthed about House Highborn’s kidnapping of humans for labour and cruel experiments had shaken the court, and the Lord’s visit was the real reckoning.

  The old aristocrat was a man who played chess with lives and reputations; direct confrontation was beneath him. His target was Theodred, whom the queen had gone to lengths to acquire.

  The Lord Highborn’s fury simmered beneath a polished mask of civility, but Theodred knew well the danger was beneath the surface.

  Here we go again.

  Hans was no stranger to brutal fights, yet here, under the watchful eyes of the queen and the other lords who accompanied Highborn. The menacing man could not strike openly. Instead, he orchestrated a cruel ruse — a test of power and a warning disguised as sport.

  Hans knew it well.

  The hall fell silent as a figure stepped forward — a knight clad in polished armour that caught the light like a cold star. He moved with the grace of a predator, his blade known throughout the land as Grade Fifty— the elite club of knights— nearly ten ranks above Theodred’s own standing.

  A prodigy who was training under the mentor of Queen Reina herself, the sole knight family of Clandor or what remains of it.

  The knight’s expression was unreadable, but his presence told the story: he was the Lord Highborn’s weapon, a living execution of his will.

  Hans’s jaw tightened as he glanced at Reina, who wasn’t eager to step in. Her eyes wanted to see the result of her effort in raising Theodred, and this was a perfect chance when Highborn was aiming at him.

  “Remember,” she said, voice low and rough, “A good weapon needs thousand tempering. This isn’t a duel for glory. It’s a crucible. Fail, and they’ll bury you deeper than their secrets.”

  Allynna stood near the gallery, her eyes fixed on Theodred. The princess’s usual armour of composure was fractured, revealing the fragile girl beneath — the one who had once spoken her truths to him in the courtyard. There was hope in her gaze, mingled with fear.

  She knew her paternal grandfather well. He loved her to bits and pieces, but she also knew how far his cruelty could go for others, and Theodred was the ‘other’.

  The Grade Fifty knight approached, drawing his blade with a slow, deliberate flourish. Theodred mirrored the movement, his own sword feeling lighter, though no less deadly.

  The distance between them was charged — the unsaid threats, the political games, their bodies caught in the transportation circle manifested them into the familiar grounds of Clandor.

  The man didn’t introduce himself, and neither did Theodred.

  No crowd cheered. No herald announced the match. This was a silent message, delivered with cold precision.

  Theodred’s heart hammered in his chest as the first strike came — swift, brutal, a flash aimed to test his defences. He parried, muscles screaming in protest, the clash ringing sharp and unforgiving.

  That bastard is using artefact.

  The knight pressed, relentless as a storm. Each attack contained an overwhelming strength, making each block a desperate plea for survival.

  Theodred saw more than the man’s skill — he saw the highborn Lord’s intensions behind every blow, the intent to punish through proxy.

  Minutes stretched into eternity. Theodred was forced to fight not just for honour, but for the chaos he had revealed. But for Hans, this was someone looking down on him as ‘someone easy’ to deal with.

  Sweat slicked his brow, breath ragged, but he did not yield.

  Then he found a moment — a sudden shift in tempo, an obvious trap welcoming him to just lunge ahead.

  “You called and here I am.” Theodred hissed, and the knight smiled.

  Just as he planned, things were unfurling as he wished. It was time for him to prove that Highborn didn’t waste the opportunity to raise someone from a branch family.

  But Hans didn’t have any compassion for him, nor did he care. The moment the knight’s blade hovered above his neck, a deadly question hung in the air. Who won? Since Theodred’s blade was also aimed at his opponent’s heart.

  “I am not an example for you to set,” Hans whispered, a chill at the knight’s ears.

  And the knight found cut through thousand blades.

  He wailed, every attack was superficial. None aimed at vitals as if it was precisely there to punish that arrogant fool who dared challenging him.

  Theodred smiled, a smirk that suited Hans’s face. “You should’ve used your superior number of skills and aura grade. How dare a wet behind his ears challenge me a handicap?”