The knight studied her uneasy movements.
- What are your thoughts on this strategy, Your Highness?
- The book says the most important thing is the safety of our people. But what about the soldiers? They are our people too. Should we just trade their lives for the hostages'?
Sir Raddick's eyes widened in surprise. At such a young age, the girl could ask questions so sharp, so perceptive.
- It isn't certain the soldiers will die in battle. Besides, those men would gladly give their lives if it meant saving one or five others. That is what it means to be a knight.
- It's impossible to have zero losses once a battle begins. I understand, at least a little, the duty and honor of a knight — but is it the same for all of them? Every man on that battlefield... do they truly have no doubt about giving their precious life for the sake of a commoner? Is it right to trade a man's life, uncertain in its sacrifice, for five others that may mean nothing to him?
Valerie looked once more at the book's cover before rising laughter echoed behind her. The captain's voice boomed through the room, sharp with amusement. The lady on the sofa smirked faintly, while he stood, his grin widening.
- Saving the people? What an old-fashioned tale. You know, Princess, we — the great minds of this kingdom, such as your father — would use that strategy for a different purpose.
The heavy steps of his boots rang against the marble floor as he approached. Leaning close enough for her to feel his breath, his tone grew darker.
- We'd kill the hostages first. Turn it into a reason to strike. Imagine it — a bloodbath in the name of mercy.
Watching her discomfort, Sir Raddick stepped forward.
- Sir... maybe we should stop here—
- What? She needs to know. We must live life to its fullest! A peaceful ending with no bloodshed? That's so boring. Imagine it, Princess — a bloodbath in the name of mercy. Doesn't that sound far more... fun?
Valerie's mind spun. How could someone be so heartless? His words clawed at her skin; his breath felt as foul as his ideas. Something broke inside her, and the words escaped before she could stop them.
- There is no kingdom without the people who live in it! You wouldn't be alive without those who work the fields to feed you. Where is your honor? You don't deserve to be a kni—
- Valerie!
The lady's sharp cry cut her like a blade. No title. No respect. Just her name — a warning. Her hands trembled, her throat went dry, and her chest tightened.
- These books... they're useless. I'll never go to battle... I don't want to. There's no need to learn this.
Her words came out in a whisper, broken between quiet sobs. She stood abruptly, her chair screeching across the floor. Miss Lasswyn opened her mouth to scold her again, but Valerie didn't wait. She bowed — stiffly, too fast — and hurried out, her shoes clicking sharply against the marble.
Outside, the corridor met her with silence. The cold air rushed in, wrapping around her like a ghost. She walked faster, clutching her arms tightly — not from anger, but from the hollow ache growing in her chest.
Because somewhere in those words he dared to repeat — somewhere between bloodbath and mercy — she had seen a reflection of something she didn't want to remember.
And she couldn't bear to face it again.
Present time...
While the dwarves discuss their strategy, the king's soldiers prepare for battle. Inside a dim tent that covers only a table cluttered with old maps of the region stand the most influential knights of an army 7,500 strong. Sir Camillo has been chosen by the king to lead the battalion — and he intends to do so.
A knight enters the tent. The meeting has already started without him — not surprising...
- Ah, Sir Raddick, my dear brother. Your squad will take the left flank among the trees. You will atta—
- Those weren't His Majesty's orders! We are expected to negotiate the release of the hostages, Captain.
- And that is exactly what we are doing...
- A threat is not the same as a negotiation, Sir. His Majesty does not want war with the dwarves.
- Not yet...
Sir Camillo's words slip out like a faint mockery — a whisper sharpened with irony. The only knight who can oppose Sir Camillo is Sir Raddick — the illegitimate son of the Camillo family, the second most influential noble house in the kingdom. Though bound to them by blood, he bears neither their name nor their privileges. A bastard by name, not by blood, his lineage was cast aside when his mother, widowed from her first marriage, aligned herself with a wealthier house.
Among nobles, his birth is whispered of behind closed doors. His parents married only seven months before his birth, and his father's death barely a year later stirred even greater suspicion. When the widow remarried after a mere two months, tongues wagged throughout the court. Some claim Novick Raddick is the true first heir of House Camillo, for his mother had been seen in the lord's company long before her marriage to Lord Raddick. Others murmur darker tales — that she hastened her husband's death to wed the man she truly loved.
Whether or not those rumors hold truth, one thing is certain: Sir Raddick's courage and loyalty to the crown are beyond question. It is this sense of honor — so unlike his half-brother's ambition — that often sets him against Sir Camillo, both in council and on the battlefield.
- The king is a merciful man. We'll try to negotiate, and if I see there's no other choice, I shall order the men to raise their swords into battle.
- Sir Camillo, His Majest—
- We are ready. We demmand you approach the walls.
Before Raddick can reply, a loud voice cuts through the air — rough, deep, echoing from atop the fortress walls. A stout dwarf with eyes and beard as dark as coal shouts toward the camp. It is Darian. His booming voice carries even into the tent. The knights rush outside.
Seeing the knights finally in his sight, Darian continues.
- The hostages will be released, under certain conditions!
- No. We will not negotiate this way. If you don't release them immediately, we will attack.
The dwarf's heavy brows draw together in fury at Sir Camillo's threatening words. He jerks his arm and drags someone forward — a girl shrouded in coarse sackcloth. He makes her kneel before him, gripping her tightly by the neck, a small, worn axe pressed to her throat.
- Stand back! It seems you don't care much about your precious nobles. The heir to the crown will be executed if you raise even a single weapon against us!
- Princess Claudette Anes?! Release the Princess at once!
The first daughter of King Jullius Hernefesto Kryon Bonesses and Queen Raphysis Irenne DehLorange, Claudette is the rightful heir to the throne of Bonesses. Beautiful, wise, and proud, she embodies the royal ideals her mother instilled in her — discipline, strength, and unwavering authority. Her long, golden hair and light green eyes grant her an almost ethereal beauty, as if sculpted to be the living image of nobility itself.
For a brief instant, Camillo's jaw tenses. He hadn't expected them to have the Princess. His plan — silent and unseen — now risks turning against him.
- Captain, please speak with your head and not your heart. We are not sure she is th-
- Shut it, brother!
Sir Camillo snaps. A sharp glare and a rough push silence Sir Raddick, who had stepped forward in disbelief at the hostage's identity. The girl is covered her from head to waist; only her dress shows through the cold, tense air — half torn, stained with blood. There is no way to be sure she is the princess, but her dress — the finest silk, shimmering faintly beneath the dirt — leaves no doubt she is from the palace.
Sir Camillo unsheathes his sword and calls for his horse. The dwarf tenses.
- Don't you dare invade these walls — or the Princess's head will be the first thing we release.
- Don't you dare! Don't even think of laying a hand on a single hair of the Princess, you insolent barbarians!!
- I shall open the gates for only three knights. We expect to discuss calmly the terms of the hostages' release...
The gate begins to open as three horses are brought to the knights.
- Sir Raddick, prepare your men for a surprise attac—
- ...Any suspicious movement, and you'll see your precious Princess's head roll.
- Tsk... Brother, come with me and bring another one.
- You shall leave your arms at the gate. You will be searched so you better not resist or try to trick us.
The dwarf retreats, furious, his axe resting heavily on his shoulder, and the girl at his side, held firmly by her arm. Sir Camillo halts his order — he can't risk losing the princess. For now, he agrees to negotiate.
Within minutes, the three knights lay down their weapons before the great gate of the fortress: Sir Camillo, the Captain; Sir Raddick, commander of the battalion; and Sir Neitles, vice-commander.
They are searched one by one before passing through the gate.
Once inside, they are escorted up to the castle doors and dragged into the Grand Hall. The three men study the room with silent caution. They can't help but notice the handcrafted ensign — a brick tower crowned by a cone-shaped roof, guarded by two crossed hammers. Beneath it, Master Igion stands tall and unyielding, with Darian and Cornelious slightly behind him.
Camillo's composure falters; his fingers grip the hilt of his sword as if holding himself together. His eyes dart across the hall — no trace of the princess. If she has been taken back to where the hostages are, her life may already be at risk.
- What did you do with the princess?! Bring her here immeadiatly!
- How dare you not greet the Master?! Insolent beasts.
Darian's voice strikes like a hammer. Master Igion's gaze burns into the kneeling men.
- How do such inferior beings expect our kindness when they show such disrespect? The Dwarven Masters have existed long before humankind itself. Ancient races deserve reverence — and their leaders must be honored. Do not dare diminish the stature of the elder before you.
The knights bow to the dwarf. Sir Raddick, calm and deliberate, appeases the grey Lord.
- Greetings to the Dwarven Masters. With due reverence, I beg for your forgiveness. Please, do not harm the star of our empire nor the rest of our people. We hope to proceed as planned — without bloodshed.
After a brief hesitation, Sir Camillo follows their lead, lowering his head reluctantly.
- Greetings. I ask that we begin the negotiation. What are your demands?
- We do not intend to keep the hostages, nor exchange them for anything. We only ask that you leave our sight — and our forest — in peace.
The golden knight stands. Sir Raddick and Sir Neitles raise only their heads, listening as the main voices speak.
- We shall leave when the princess is safe.
Sir Raddick clears his throat loudly. Sir Camillo's mind is fixed only on the princess — and the sword that would make his head fly if his men harmed her along with the other hostages. But Raddick's sense of justice sparks an idea. Camillo needs to reach the hostages before his men do — to "save" her himself.
- ...And the hostages, of course. I need to see them — now.
- The hostages are unarmed. We will release them once you withdraw your army.
- How will we know you are not tricking us? The hostages may already be dead!
Sir Camillo's voice echoes through the Grand Hall — too sharp for a man merely negotiating. His anger and urgency ripple through the fortress. Darian and Cornelious exchange glances before Darian resumes his furious act.
- You will do as we say, if you don't want harm to come to your precious princess!
- You intend to behead the princess right in front of us? Is that why you brought us here?
Cornelious steps forward, hiding a light smile under his neat brown beard.
- Lord Igion, perhaps we should let them check where the hostages are kept.
- You're right, this is going nowhere. We'll do as you say, Master Cornelious.
The dwarves head to the north side of the fortress, followed by the three men whispering behind them.
- Captain, something doesn't feel right...
- Brother, don't start with your feelings and your so-called commander's great instinct.
- Commander... what?
Sir Neitles lets out a contained laugh. Sir Raddick is unaware of his fame and honorable gossip among the knights, which only fuels Sir Camillo's jealousy.
- You three, keep quiet! And don't even think of trying anything.
At Darian's growled warning, the men straighten and continue walking in silence. Each turn looks the same; even the castle's most seasoned knights begin to lose their sense of direction. The same old, dark grey bricks stretch across every corridor. Every door they pass reveals the same walls, the same smell, the same faint glow from the glassed candles. Blackened iron fixtures appear often too, along with old wooden furniture scattered here and there.
They reach a long corridor that feels different. The air grows colder — and oddly fresh — with each step. Even the candle flames, trapped behind their glass cages, flicker uneasily. A faint scent of earth and iron fills the passage — the unmistakable breath of a fortress built deep beneath the mountain.
They stop before a pair of thick wooden doors reinforced with familiar blackened iron. Darian pushes one open, revealing a low-ceilinged chamber below.
The place is simple, but not cruel. A single narrow window — barred with thick iron — lets in a thread of pale light from above, slicing through the gloom. Along each wall lie a dozen small beds, almost touching one another. Each is covered with humble but clean blankets and modest pillows, all neatly arranged. A thin veil of dust gathers in one corner, and a faint trace of mold creeps along the lower stones — old, but not neglected.
From the corridor, the knights can only glimpse the distant shapes of the humans held within. Chained to the floor, the hostages remain perfectly still.
Sir Camillo narrows his eyes, squinting into the half-darkness. Raddick's brow furrows. Something feels off — too still, too quiet — but before he can speak, Darian gestures toward another passage branching off to the right.
- The princess is kept apart, for her safety.
At his words, their focus shifts instantly. They follow him to a smaller cell just beyond. The air there feels less cold, touched by the faint scent of polished metal and old wood. Though still carved from stone, the room bears more care — a carpet of dwarven weave beneath her feet, a sturdy oak bed draped in finer linen, and a candleholder carved with runes glowing faintly red.
Behind the bars, the princess sits upright. Her dress is torn, but her poise remains unbroken. Her hands and feet are tied, and her head still covered by the coarse sackcloth.
The knights kneel before her as soon as they see her.
- We bow before the royal star of the Empire, Princess Claudette Anes Bonesses.
Sir Camillo's eyes dart across the room as a plan forms in his mind. He can still take the princess and proceed with his plan — he only needs to take her with him, claiming it as a guarantee for the hostages' safety. Then, his men sneaking inside will kill the hostages as they return to the battalion outside the walls.
- We want the princess released. She leaves with us. Now.
Darian's rage bursts again at the knight's demand.
- You don't get to make demands! You saw they're alive. Now get your filthy troops off our grounds!
- Yes, we saw them — and how our princess is being held! This is no place for Her Highness!
Cornelious raises a hand to stop Darian's furious act once more. He nods at the Lord with that same faint, knowing smile. Then the Lord speaks up.
- If you take the princess with you, will you retreat your men?
- I shall do as agreed if you let the princess leave this dirtiness! Do it as a guarantee that you will release the rest of the hostages.
Lord Igion lets out a small sigh before agreeing to the terms.
- You may take the princess and your troops out of our sight. Half of the hostages will be brought to you once your retreat begins, and the other half will be escorted to the far side of the river, where they too shall be released.
The knights nod. Cornelious opens the cell and unties the knot at the princess's feet, dragging her gently out. Sir Camillo steps closer, and the girl flinches at the echo of his armor. Before the golden knight can notice, Darian stops him.
- We will take her to the walls.
As Camillo opens his mouth to object, Lord Igion steps in front of him. Even from below, the dwarf's presence is intimidating. Camillo steps back slightly and silently agrees, as long as the princess follows right behind.
They walk back through the same endless corridors, this time in heavier silence — thicker, more oppressive. Sir Camillo's thoughts race; he prays his men are smart enough to stay hidden.
Finally, they reach the walls. The great gate creaks open, and suspense spreads through the army outside. Every soldier tenses while the knights are handed their weapons back. The clang of metal echoes faintly in the wind.
Sir Camillo kneels before the girl, still covered. His hand rises toward her as his head bows low.
- Princess, please take my hand.
- You fool, she can't even see.
Darian's mockery cuts through the heavy mood, and the soldiers burst into laughter along him — until their captain's pride snaps. Camillo's face reddens as he grabs the princess by the arm, shoving her forward and shouting:
- Soldiers! Raise your swords! They killed all the hostages — only the princess is safe! We must bring them justice!