CHAPTER 121

  THE PARVIAN PRICE

  It was just meant to be a quick stroll, but they kept walking and walking! There was this open space with a table and two chairs. She asked him to sit across from her. And the tea set was already set up for them.

  Damn it, should I say something?

  “So,” he scratched his cheek a little, his eyes rolling somewhere else. “You are really serious about giving up the throne?”

  “What choice do I have?” She asked, disheartened.

  “A choice to fight it out. It’s inevitable for dynasties to fall, but does it have to be when you are in the high seat?”

  “If it were a matter of fight, I would have done it.” She trailed off. “But it’s not. He knows something of my past—my throne is not worth wagering against it. My mistakes…my deeds, I should be punished for it—not my family.”

  “If it were that well-guarded secret— how does your stupid brother—no offence—get to know about it?”

  “Well, he is stupid, but he is still my brother—so don’t do that again.” She warned, and Hans noted.

  After a brief pause, she told him. “My mother—after the Elven war with Parv. She was the first one to find me. I thought she’d keep that a secret.”

  “Was your secret—you being plotting the downfall of the Old Council together with King Samson Parv?”

  “That’s quite the speculation.” Reina raised her brow.

  “So is it just a speculation?”

  “Trying to get something out of me—you are a hundred years younger. But I’ll answer, Yes and No.” She looked above. “We planned it, the execution was going well, but that bastard had quite the surprise plan for me— he betrayed, killed my spirit, and destroyed the link. You can’t imagine what kind of betrayal that was. The friend whom I trusted my back, stabbed me, and twisted the knife.”

  “Do you know why?” Hans asked.

  “That’s the only thing I’d tell you.”

  “It was just getting serious—”

  “That’s odd. I don’t even feel comfortable talking about that bastard with Eleanor. But you—”

  “Maybe because I don’t know a jack. But teacher, plotting to kill the founding people of your kingdom is not that much of a big deal to give up the crown.”

  “Because that’s what they are not coercing me with. If it came out—everything I worked to build would come crumbling down—” she hesitated, wanting to stop but her words kept coming out. “I won’t be able to face my husband— and my son, his whole world would shatter. I can’t let him go through that.”

  “Riftal?”

  She smiled. “No. Not Riftal, its someone whom I feel really sorry for, my eldest— Hansellidore, The Parvian Prince.”

  Hans blinked couldn’t believing what his ears had picked. A rage surfaced from his beneath and he turned cold.

  “I really hope what you said is a joke because if it was, now would be a damn great time to laugh and put an end to this entire fucking situation.”

  “That’s odd reaction you have.” She relieved looking at Theodred “Somehow telling you make me feel lighter.”

  And I feel the entire fucking world over my head. Hans didn’t move, his lips frozen, his eyes shaky.

  She, on the other hand, kept speaking. Her voice —clear, clipped—is the same one that had coached him through skills. But it was warped now. He couldn’t hear anything. All the world became silent.

  “…it was a mistake,” she says. “I should’ve drowned him when I had the chance. All of this is happening because I couldn’t. I buried the name. Burned the tower. And still—” Her hand pauses mid-air, fingers curled in memory. “The first time I met him, I was relieved that he had lived. Pathetic. Aren’t I?”

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  Hans stared at her, her moving lips that became silent once again. He couldn’t continue to look at her face, his head tilted down instantly.

  Her mouth, which had cursed him though gritted teeth in every other life but this one. Her hands, which had drawn blood from him just a few months back—now were caressing his back, pouring him tea.

  He swallowed but nothing goes down. His tongue is salt and iron and bile.

  She poured herself one. Her fingers didn’t shake. Not anymore.

  Hans stood. Or tried to. The chair scraped back and the world tilted sideways, drunk on its own meaning. He clamped a hand over his mouth and stumbled to the far corner, shoulder slamming into the pillar, sliding down into a crouch.

  His stomach emptied itself onto the stone.

  The sour sting filled his nose. His chest jerked again, dry.

  He stared at the floor, dizzy, cold, a heartbeat crashing like thunder in the hollow between his ears.

  Her son.

  He had dreamed of his mother once—maybe twice. A face swallowed by fog, something unfinished. And every version of her was not even the slightest Reina.

  She is an elf. He reasoned. How is this even possible

  He dragged in a breath through his teeth. It sliced on the way down. He looked past. She was kneeling beside him, stroking a hand on his back, gentle. Familiar.

  “Are you ill?” she kept asking.

  But he couldn't answer. He jolted her hand—almost with too much force. “Sorry—I—please leave me be.”

  He ran, he didn’t know where he was going but all he wanted was to be away from her.

  No rage. No revelation. Just a terrible clarity.

  She killed me—she almost did—and now what? She said she was glad that I lived. The hypocrisy of that woman. No—it has to be a lie. She is using me—somehow. You can’t just simply trust Reina Clandor. Yes. Yes. I’m right. It’s her words only. She can twist it how she wants.

  Hans didn’t know how far he had come. He was in his original appearance, his body had rejected the Elf form and he didn’t know when the human Codex kicked in. And how every guard in the vicinity was knocked out. But the corridors seemed familiar. It was the outer wing of the palace, none noticed him.

  “Man, what am I doing here?” He looked at the door in front of him, broke his way in.

  “Deli…” he breathed.

  The name slipped from his lips like a final tether, and at once, the strength drained from him. His body collapsed as though her presence gave him permission to break.

  The world spun out beneath him. Then—nothing.

  When he woke, hours later, the room was drenched in the kind of silence that only lives at the edge of night. His head throbbed. Sheets unfamiliar. Warmth not his own. His eyes fluttered open.

  She was there.

  Delimira.

  Sitting beside him like a statue carved for vigil. Pale in stillness.

  His breath caught. His elbow rose instinctively to shield his face, as if to hide from the truth, or her gaze—or both.

  He could feel her watching him.

  “Deli,” he rasped, voice hoarse, “I think... I think the land slid beneath my feet…”

  There was a moment of silence, and then her voice—soft and hushed, like frost forming on a window pane.

  “Tell me.” She asked calmly, giving him the ear to listen.

  “I came across something I wish isn’t true. Something I can't un-know.”

  “What does your heart says?” she asked, kind, emotions that she never showed.

  “It says I don’t want it to be real. Gods, Deli… if it is… I don't know who I am anymore.”

  Her eyes didn’t flicker.

  “What do you always say, Hans?” she murmured. “Information must be verified from multiple sources to be true.”

  “I don’t know who to ask.”

  A breath. A heartbeat. And then: “Of course you do. You just don’t want to face it.”

  He stared at the ceiling. It will just take him a visit to the one who orchestrated his whole knight training and gave him this body and even stopped them from killing each other in Deadlands.

  “But if it’s true… if she really is…”

  His voice cracked. He had to take this to his grave.

  Seeing him this much in trouble, Delimira crept closer, her hand gently resting on his.

  “Whatever you are troubling with—You will survive that. There are many fucked up things you have faced. Whatever this must be. Must be something else but,” she said, simply. “You’re too stubborn not to. And if you fall, I’ll drag you back. Even if you scream or bleed or whichever you preferred. Don’t worry, I will not let you break.”

  He turned to look at her, eyes rimmed with red seems to be asking why.

  Delimira blinked slowly. “Because I can’t help it. Only I get to annoy you, no one else.”

  “Hmf! That’s typical you.” He sat up slowly, it wasn’t something that cheered him up but she was a rest stop for him. “Can’t believe what I said in a jest back in concord will turn true.”

  “Yeah, you really showed up in my doors.” She smiled back.

  The blanket covering him fell from his shoulders like shed armour.

  “Thank you, Deli,” he whispered. “I’ll make sure you are always there for me.”

  He left her beet red, stunned, didn’t bother clearing up any words. And before she could trace him, he was gone.

  Next morning, a new story suddenly hit the world. The tenth-ranked Knight, Dietrich, the Sad Death, had sent an open challenge to an unranked Knight: Theodred of Clandor. The only way an unranked knight could face a ranked below ten was when the holder issued a challenge.

  It was the first time in a while, Parv was appearing for Knight convention, the thing that they ruled since ages.

  But this wasn’t the only thing shaking the Clandorian palace. The prized prodigy had disappeared, leaving only a letter that Reina was frowning over back and forth.

  —Thank you.