I Got Isekai’d, Well Shyt!

Vol.4 Ch.233 Don’t Cross the Duchess.

Duval rushed into the grand Parliamentary Chamber, a sense of urgency propelling his steps across the polished marble floor. The air was thick with tension as a small assembly of Major Nobles gathered, their expressions a tempest of disbelief and simmering anger.

"Prime Minister, what is the meaning of this!? Why did the Alliance suddenly show up and force their way into the Palace!?" Baron Thaddeus Windermere’s voice rang out, sharp and accusatory, as he fixed Duval with an intense gaze that demanded an explanation.

Raising a hand to quell the rising murmurs, Duval surveyed the room, his eyes darting over the five Lords present, their regal robes contrasting sharply with their furrowed brows. Duke Alaric, the last of their number, was slowly making his way to the West Wing, the sound of his heavy footsteps echoing in the background as he seemed lost in thought. The atmosphere was charged, each noble waiting with bated breath for a response that could shift the balance of power.

The Parliament of Major Lords, a grand assembly steeped in tradition and history, was steadfastly ruled by the powerful Major Houses of Fiafyr, comprising an intricate network of thirteen Houses. Marquess Duval Wrightwood emerged as a masterful strategist, adeptly rallying a coalition of six of these thirteen Lords to his cause over thirty years ago, with Marquess Duval being the seventh member of his coalition. This coalition, forged through cunning persuasion and political savvy, granted him a substantial majority that allowed him to champion legislation with remarkable ease and face only minimal opposition throughout the years.

Yet, amidst this political landscape, Duval found himself in a constant struggle against the more fragmented Minor Lords. These lords, primarily responsible for governing the vibrant cities and picturesque towns scattered throughout the Kingdom, held sway over public sentiment. Most of them chose to align with Duke Alaric Revelia, even during the Duke's grueling decade-long Financial punishment, showcasing a loyalty that perplexed and frustrated Duval. Meanwhile, the commoners—the heart and soul of the Kingdom—had been drawn to the Royal Family's earnest commitment to uplifting their lives. Crown Prince Quinus Meredydd took the lead on a series of ambitious projects, crafting a legacy that included engineering marvels, aqueducts that quenched the thirst of parched lands, schools that nurtured young minds, and infrastructure that connected communities.

Duval, initially dismissive of the King’s expenditures on what he considered his son's unorthodox initiatives, grew increasingly concerned as the tangible benefits of these projects began to reshape public opinion. The Kingdom’s economy flourished, jobs blossomed in both bustling urban centers and sprawling countryside, and a sense of optimism took root among the populace. It was only when Duval faced the stark realization that he was losing the affections of the common people that he endeavored to thwart the Crown Prince's momentum. However, this battle ended in defeat; instead of regaining influence, Duval only succeeded in creating a labyrinthine bureaucracy that rendered it nearly impossible for the King to access the Royal Treasury without the Parliament's consent.

As the gathered Lords convened, the atmosphere thickened with intrigue and ambition, each noble eager to stake their claim in the unfolding drama of power. Marquess Duval stood before a select assembly of Major Nobles who were fortunate enough to be present in the city when he dispatched the messenger ravens announcing the Emergence Session. Yet, the grand chamber felt only half alive, as many Lords were still tending to their far-flung territories. 

The Emergence Session demanded attendance from as many members as possible within the crucial span of four days to cast their votes on a matter of great significance. Thus, Duval had cast a wide net, summoning even those absent Lords residing far from the capital. Normally, the presence of King Cyndre would have expedited the voting process, but with the King away on affairs of state, the Parliament found itself in a precarious position. Time slipped through their fingers; if the King didn’t return within the allotted days, the weighty decision would rest solely on their shoulders, poised to shape the very future of the Kingdom.

Among the members of the Prime Minister's coalition was Baron Thaddeus Windermere, a man of once-uncertain allegiance who had been drawn into Duval's orbit by the tantalizing promise of a prestigious seat on his council. Windermere's gold-trimmed tunic, adorned with family crests, hinted at both his wealth and the ambition that simmered within him. Beside him stood Baron Eamon Stirling, the epitome of pragmatism. With a shrewd gaze and a ledger filled with visions of prosperous trade routes, Stirling had allied himself with Duval primarily to secure his own position as Minister of Trade and Commerce, demonstrating how far a noble would go for the sake of title and influence.

In this charged atmosphere, Count Sebastian Ingham emerged as Duval's most trusted ally. His gray hair, framed by the elaborate robes of a seasoned diplomat, spoke of years dedicated to navigating the treacherous waters of foreign relations. Ingham's keen insight and extensive experience lent a layer of stability to the Prime Minister’s political stratagems, making him an invaluable asset amidst the swirling tempests of rivalry.

Across the chamber, the Duke’s coalition struggled to assert its presence, represented only by Viscount William Lysander. Cloaked in a deep emerald mantle that mirrored the lush lands of the Eastern Coast he controlled, Lysander was a loyal supporter of the Duke, entangled in schemes to obscure Alaric’s finances from the ever-watchful gaze of Duval. His influence over the lucrative coastlines of Fiafyr was a powerful card in the ongoing game of political chess.

The third coalition, loyal to the Royal Family, was a much slimmer assembly, with only Earl Nathaniel Valerian present. Dressed in rich blue and gold, Valerian's proximity to the throne was solidified by his lifelong friendship with King Cyndre. His fertile and abundant lands produced more food than those of any other noble, placing him in a position of significant leverage. The bountiful output of his domain made him a key player in any discussion of the kingdom's stability and prosperity.

Together, these factions formed a complex tapestry of alliances and rivalries, each thread representing the shifting currents of ambition and treachery that defined the ever-evolving landscape of power in Fiafyr. As the Emergence Session unfolded, the air crackled with tension, a palpable anticipation of the political maneuvers yet to come.

Duval let out a weary sigh, casting a glance around the room filled with his fellow Major Nobles. “It’s all just a formality, my friends. Trust me, it’s under control,” the Prime Minister insisted, though his words were met with skeptical frowns and low murmurs of discontent from those gathered. The tension in the air was palpable, and doubt hung over the group like a dark cloud, threatening to unleash a storm of dissent.

"Enough of this nonsense, Prime Minister! If this is truly just a formality, then why on earth was the Royal Guard summoned to secure the Palace grounds? And what justification is there for allowing the Divine Three inside the Palace? Why are they being kept in the shadows?" Earl Nathaniel Valerian's voice thundered through the Chamber, his frustration palpable.

"That is quite enough! If any of you dare to mention the Dark Elf in front of—"

*SLAM!*

The heavy doors of the Chamber swung open with a force that silenced the room. In strode three formidable figures of the Holy Alliance: Prince Terenthiel, the young Prince Zane, and their Paladin, Sir Darius. Each step they took echoed with authority, drawing every eye as tension thickened in the air.

"Why are you speaking in hushed tones, Duval?" Terenthiel's voice cut through the air, sharp with annoyance. Duval's expression shifted to one of palpable anxiety.

“Y-your Highness, we were just discussing some recent events and whether they might reveal any state secrets in front of foreign guests… If so, there could be consequences,” Duval stammered, glancing around the room.

Terenthiel remained silent, his gaze sweeping over the other lords, who instinctively bowed their heads in deference to their foreign guests, sensing the tension.

“Where is the Crown Prince?” he asked, his tone shifting to one of impatience.

“I’m not certain… He should have arrived by now. But you know how princes can be,” Duval replied, managing a shaky chuckle that barely concealed his anxiety.

Terenthiel raised an eyebrow, "Is that so?... Well, I think it's time we all have a discussion," the Prince said.

"A-After we finish drafting up a decree for our emergency session... The details need to be finalized by present Nobles before the full session can happen in four days from now. Once this is done, then we can deal with the peace treaty, Your Highness," Duval said, which got the other lords interested.

"Emergency session? What do you mean?" Viscount William Lysander asked with a smirk. He hated the Prime Minister almost as much as his friend Alaric. And he wanted to see how Duval was going to worm his way out of this.

The Divine Three looked at William, who was sitting next to Duke Alaric's side. They exchanged a look. A silent understanding passed between them. The two of them would ensure the downfall of Marquess Duval Wrightwood.

The Prime Minister jumped in, "There is no need to be alarmed. As a matter of protocol, we have summoned you to convene an Emergence Session to vote on a new declaration, but due to the urgency of the situation, it will be held within a shorter period of time," Duval explained.

Earl Nathaniel Valerian rolled his eyes at the Duval's bullshit non-answer. "That's funny. Your message said that an extreme threat was on its way to the Palace. Don't tell us that this was all a lie to get us here?" the Earl retorted, his frustration mounting. He also despised Duval after losing the election for the Prime Minister by turning four of his allies against him. He knew about the Dark Elf that was with the Crown Prince from his Friend King Cyndre.

Count Sebastian Ingham, along with the rest of Duval's coalition, remained tight-lipped, fearful of revealing their deliberations to the Divine Three. They were set to vote on a decree that would bar a dark elf from entering the Fiafyr Kingdom, a foreign entity wandering perilously close to the capital alongside the absent Crown Prince. The consequences of their decision weighed heavily on them.

Duval could feel the sweat trickling down his brow as he hastily dabbed it away with a handkerchief, anxiety thrumming in his veins. The pressure was mounting, and with it, the stakes had never been higher. He needed to fabricate a different reason for ordering the Emergency Meeting.

"Yes... as we speak, a shadow looms over the Kingdom—a mysterious magical anomaly and time is of the essence. Our fears suggest it may be some sort of magical beast, and we must act swiftly before it escalates into a catastrophe. If only the King were present, we could convene with the available council and devise a plan, but for now, all we have is the Crown Prince," Duval declared, concealing the true motive behind this urgent meeting.

Prince Zane and his Paladin exchanged skeptical glances, their sharp gazes fixed on the Prime Minister, while Terenthiel maintained an inscrutable expression.

"The inner workings of your kingdom are of no concern to me. As long as you deliver what we desire, your worries are misplaced," Terenthiel announced with a cold confidence. The other nobles glanced uneasily at one another, then redirected their attention to Duval.

"Hah! Of course… If you prefer, you and your entourage can take a seat in the lobby—"

"Absolutely not! We will remain here in this chamber," Prince Terenthiel asserted resolutely. Duval and his allies exchanged looks of astonishment, grappling with the prince's unexpected defiance.

Duke Alaric, Viscount William, and Earl Nathanial exchanged uneasy glances, their enjoyment of the gathering dimmed by the looming threat of Prince Terenthiel and Sir Darius. Yet, a flicker of satisfaction sparked within them as the Divine Three finally seemed poised to put the arrogant Prime Minister in his place.

“Your Highness, this isn’t appropriate,” Count Sebastian Ingham interjected, his voice steady but edged with tension. He fixed a stern gaze on Terenthiel, whose defiance radiated from across the room.

"I will not be sidelined for another moment... And I thought your kingdom was in peril? That's why you called for an emergency session. To deal with state affairs, yes? If it is too much for you people to handle, then maybe we could step in to deal with your threat," Terenthiel countered, and Duval and his allies all stiffened up.

'Dammit, Terenthiel! You’re making my life more difficult than it needs to be!' Duval seethed inwardly as he faced the royal figure before him.

"We will allow you to join us after we've spoken to the Crown Prince. It’s crucial that he isn’t caught off guard by the presence of our esteemed guests—and his future bride," Duval stated firmly, hoping to maintain some semblance of order.

Terenthiel crossed his arms defiantly, a storm brewing in his eyes. "I refuse to linger in the hallway like some commoner until you grant us your permission. I have as much stake in this as anyone!"

Duval sighed, recognizing that there was no point in arguing further. Terenthiel was not the type to back down easily. “As you wish, Your Highness... But know that this goes against all protocol.” He turned to Sebastian, his voice steadying as he added, “Please, gather everyone and prepare the main chamber for an emergency session. There is no time to waste."

"Right away," Count Sebastian Ingham said and turned to the rest of the nobles and started instructing them as they opened the double doors to the Parliamentary Chamber and entered the chamber.

"Well, well, well... This should be interesting," Viscount William Lysander sneered at the Prime Minister and followed the others into the room.

"Enough of your games! If you complicate this process for me, you'll regret it!" Duval spat, his frustration bubbling to the surface.

William merely grinned wider, stealing a look back at the Duke, who was barely suppressing his amusement at William's bravado. Just then, young Lord Johan Dule stepped into the west wing, catching sight of the commotion.

"Well, look who's here—the Baron's son, stepping in for his esteemed father. Are you prepared for some spectacular drama? I have a feeling we’re in for quite the performance," Duke Alaric laughed heartily, his eyes glinting with mischief. Panic flickered across Duval's face as he realized that a split vote could shatter his carefully laid plans, the stakes rising with every moment.

"Lord Johan Dule!? You really didn’t need to be here for this," Duval exclaimed, his voice a mix of surprise and disdain. His eyes darted around the chamber, taking in the tense atmosphere. "These royal matters are best left to the Major Nobles, not a mere child." 

The implications sank in like a stone. If a Major Lord could not attend an Emergency Session, their heir could step in. But Johan's presence was particularly troubling. As a close friend of the Crown Prince, he was likely to throw his support behind Quinus, which could tip the scales disastrously. Duval’s heart raced; the stakes had just risen higher than he had anticipated.

Johan glared defiantly at the Prime Minister; his brow furrowed in determination. "I'm 27, and I will represent House Dule in this session. My father can’t make it, but I won’t be intimidated," he declared, the weight of the moment hanging heavy in the air. He had heard the whispers about the strange circumstances that had brought them to this point, and he was intent on keeping things from spiraling out of control.

"R-Right! You may be a man now, but trust me, this is a lot for someone your age to grasp," Duval retorted, a forced smile barely concealing his irritation as he tried to regain the upper hand.

Johan rolled his eyes, turning his attention to the Prince, who stood observing the chaos with an enigmatic expression. "I don't understand why this measure is so complicated. All you’re asking for is a vote on whether to prevent the Dark—"

"The emergency North?" Duval cut in sharply, his voice rising as he interrupted the young lord. The tension in the room crackled, hinting at the weight of the decisions hanging in the balance.

Johan blinked, taken aback by Duval's sudden outburst. As the murmurs of the other nobles washed over him, he sensed the sharp glances directed his way, urging him to silence. Even Nathanial, usually so composed, made a subtle gesture for him to hold his tongue.

"Er... Yes, the emergency in the North," Johan stammered, scrambling to understand the dynamics shifting all around him.

Across the room, Alaric couldn't help but notice the depths to which Duval had sunk. After all the years they'd known each other, witnessing Duval pivot so desperately was surprising. It was clear to Alaric that his old rival was willing to do anything to prevent his carefully laid plans from unraveling. The stakes were higher than ever, and the game had taken on a new intensity.

'Hmm? Duval's under so much stress that it might kill him... This day is turning out better than I thought it would be,' Alaric thought with a smirk. He was eager to watch Duval fall apart and relished the opportunity to savor every moment of it.

Duval took a deep breath, steeling himself as he addressed the young Lord, "You're a very intelligent person, John, and I can tell you want to do the right thing, but there is a lot at stake here. The fate of our kingdom rests on the choices we make, and you should listen to the guidance of your elders. We have a responsibility to make the right decision."

"And I believe in myself to make the right choice," John retorted, his expression growing resolute.

The tension in the room was palpable, and Duke Alaric could sense that a pivotal moment was approaching. The political landscape was shifting beneath their feet, and he was eager to use this as an opportunity to remove Duval from his position of power and find a way to take his place.

"It is not a matter of what you believe. This is a complicated issue that requires careful—"

"Are you going against Fiafyrian law, Prime Minister? Of all the years I've known you, you've never disregarded the laws of our land before. Is there a reason why you're choosing now to start?" Earl Nathanial Valerian cut in, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Of course not, Earl Nathanial. It's not against Fiafyrian law, not at all! I-I just want to make sure the Young Lord Johan is well informed about the situation, is all. There is no need to get so heated, my friend," Duval sputtered, his composure faltering. He was growing increasingly anxious, his mind racing as he struggled to formulate a plan to salvage the situation.

"I grow weary of your stuttering, Prime Minister. What exactly is this mysterious 'shadow' you mentioned earlier? How this Kingdom became as powerful as it has is beyond me. A nation is only as strong as its Gods! And you worship a false deity, a goddess of all things. It's about time that you rid yourselves of this false idol and find your salvation through the true gods of Tertius... The Divine Three," Terenthiel said, crossing his arms.

A gasp rippled through the chamber, the nobles' eyes widening in shock and outrage at the foreign Prince's audacity, but Duval stopped them before they could speak up.

"The Kingdom of Fiafyr is blessed by the Goddess, and she shall remain so," Duval said, his voice strained. "This is not up for debate. But maybe I've lingered too long on Lord Johan... Let's get on with the session. Sebastian, lead the way!"

Duval spun around and rushed into the main chamber of Parlament, also known as the House of Lords. He quickly took his place at the podium.

"This should be a good show indeed," Alaric said with a smirk.

"What's so funny, Alaric?" Duval asked in a threatening manner.

"Everything..." Alaric said as he walked toward the doors and entered the room.

'Alaric is planning something... But what!? Grrr! And Johnathan's boy thinks he can come in here and mess with my plans!? I need to make it clear to this manaless boy that I'm in charge!' Duval thought angrily and glared at Johan as this Young Lord was the only one he could physically overpower due to him being the only manaless Lord in the building.

With a fierce glare directed at Johan, Duval felt a surge of frustration. Johan stood there, oblivious to the storm brewing around him. "Why are you glaring at me?" he asked, confusion etched on his face. In a swift, decisive move, Duval seized the Young Lord's arm, squeezing hard enough to make his point clear. He relished the feeling of control—because in this game of power, he was not about to let a boy challenge his reign.

Johan stood there, initially confused, but then it clicked: the secret of Rya's healing remained hidden from everyone. He was now far stronger than a Royal Knight, yet the sensation coursing through him was anything but painful, despite Duval's relentless grip.

'What on Tertius is going on?' Duval pondered, his face twisting in frustration as he squeezed Johan's arm with every ounce of his strength. To his surprise, Johan felt like solid steel beneath his grasp.

Realizing he needed to maintain the illusion of weakness, Johan forced a grimace and let out a soft, pained whimper. At that, Duval’s expression shifted, clearly satisfied with what he thought was a victory.

"Your father isn't here, so make sure you don't mess anything up for me. Otherwise, you can expect serious consequences. Understood?" Duval said with a firm tone, releasing Johan, who nodded while pretending to nurse his arm in pain.

"Your father isn't here, so make sure you don't mess anything up for me. Otherwise, you can expect serious consequences. Understood?" Duval whispered in a threatening tone, releasing Johan, who nodded while pretending to nurse his arm in pain.

'What the fuck is his problem? What's gotten into him? He's usually so calm and composed. Is this what Father meant about keeping my distance from Duval?' Johan pondered as he took his seat next to the Earl and Viscount.

'I'll be watching your every move, Duval. I won't let you hurt Rya or Quinus... I'll make sure that you never hold the Prime Minister title again,' Johan thought.

Meanwhile, as Terenthiel, Zane, Sir Darius, and three white knights strode into the chamber, an air of anticipation filled the room. Hilda trailed behind, her footsteps steady and purposeful. Just as she reached the doorway, Terenthiel abruptly halted, pivoting to block her path.

"My apologies, my lady. But where do you think you are going?" he asked, a hint of arrogance lacing his words.

"I thought I was welcome to join you in this meeting," Hilda replied with a fake smile.

Terenthiel almost had a disappointed look on his face. "This chamber is meant for men only. And a woman's place is not in politics. Especially one from a rival kingdom," the foreign prince explained.

Hilda's eyes flashed with disbelief as she fixed a steely gaze on the Prince.

"But I'm supposed to meet the Crown Prince," Hilda stated.

"That is true, and you'll get to see him in this chamber once he arrives. But until then, I'll be taking a seat, and you should find a comfortable spot in the lobby to wait," Terenthiel instructed, and Hilda looked annoyed.

Hilda's annoyance deepened, and she fought the urge to unleash her pent-up frustration at the Prince. With a deep breath, she steeled herself.

"Very well, holy one. I shall wait for the Crown Prince," Hilda said, curtsying with exaggerated grace before turning sharply to leave the chamber. Her heart raced with a mix of impatience and anticipation.

"See? Was that so hard?" Terenthiel smirked, which made Hilda pause for a second. 

Hilda's heart raced with the wild desire to escape, to leave everything behind and never return. The Crown Prince of this strange Kingdom was a mystery to her—she had no idea if he was a noble soul or a lurking monster. 

What tormented her most was the suffocating realization that her life was no longer her own; fate had seized the reins, and she was powerless to resist. The thought of marrying a man she didn't know in a land that felt like a gilded cage filled her with dread. Above all, she yearned for the warmth of a family that she never had and the love of a partner—luxuries that now felt like distant dreams, slipping further away with each passing moment.

'I want to run away... But where would I go?' Hilda thought as she walked into the lobby.

Terenthiel looked at one of the three white knights, "I need you to watch her and make sure no one besides us can talk to her. Understood?"

"Yes, your Highness," The White Knight said, who stayed behind as the other two followed the Prince, and then the Paladin closed the doors.

"Well... We are finally getting closer to the finish line," Terenthiel said with a confident look.

"It won't be long now," Sir Darius added.

"Indeed," Terenthiel replied.

"It's annoying that we have to give these heretics my sister's hand in marriage," Zane stated, and the prince looked at the young man.

"Your half-sister was chosen by the Three... Don't defy them. It will be a grave mistake," Terenthiel warned, and Zane glared at the Prince.

"Half-sister or not. She's still a Stoneworthh, and I don't like the fact that a heretic is going to become a Stoneworthh," Zane hissed.

"You need to understand that the Holy Alliance is the most powerful political entity in the world. The Divine One's word is absolute, and if the Three decide that she is to be the wife of the Crown Prince, then that's final. You will do as you're told. Am I clear?" Terenthiel ordered, and Zane clenched his fists and bit his lip.

"Yes, Your Highness," Zane forced out, walked over to a chair, and sat down.

Terenthiel looked at Darius, "He is emotional... Make sure that Father Gil uses his divinity on him to cleanse his soul. The last thing we need is for sinful thoughts to corrupt him and infect the flock."

"As you command, Your Highness," Sir Darius bowed.

'This boy needs to be tamed. He's too hot-headed and impulsive... He'll ruin the Holy Alliance and the plan. All because he wants his half-sister for himself... How pathetic,' Terenthiel thought.

***

The White Knight escorted Hilda to the lobby and took a seat on the opposite side of the hallway while she sat in one of the chairs.

The anger inside her turned to fear after she had a few seconds to herself. She couldn't control her emotions, and tears started streaming down her cheeks.

'No... No... I'm scared. I don't want to be married to a stranger. Please... Somebody help me...'

As the grand chandelier cast a warm glow over the elegant lobby, an older noblewoman glided in, her fine dress whispering tales of opulence with each step. Her keen eyes scanned the room until they settled on the lone figure of Princess Hilda, who sat on a plush velvet seat, ensnared by her own swirling thoughts. 

Duchess Leandra's heart quickened—this was the moment she had been waiting for. A sly smile danced on her lips as she whispered to herself, 'I finally found her… Time to work my magic.' With an air of poise and purpose, she began to cross the room, intent on weaving a connection with the unsuspecting princess.

Unbeknownst to Hilda, who remained blissfully absorbed in her musings, the seasoned duchess was threading her plans for her family's ambitious future—a future that hinged on winning over the enigmatic young foreigner sitting just a short distance away.

'Good! She's in a depressed state... This will make things easier for me to gain her trust,' Duchess Leandra mused, observing Hilda from a distance of about ten feet. Just as she prepared to call out to the young woman, a figure clad in gleaming white armor suddenly stepped into her path, halting her approach.

"No one can approach the Princess," The White Knight said firmly.

Duchess Leandra was taken aback for a second but recovered quickly.

"Who do you think you are to tell me where I can or cannot go!? Don't you know who I am?" Duchess Leandra asked in an angry tone.

"You're a woman... I don't answer to anyone but Prince Terenthiel. Now back away, peasant," The White Knight commanded, and Leandra was shocked that this bastard didn't know who she was and dared to call her a peasant.

'This cretin thinks he's better than me! Who the hell does he think he is?' Duchess Leandra thought and had the urge to slap the white knight across the face. But she refrained from slapping him and smiled at him while pulling out a bottle of perfume from her purse. She spritzed in the air in front of her face and his face.

The white knight kept a stoic face as he stared her down. Leandra sighed and put away her perfume.

"Listen here, knight... And listen well... I'm Duchess Leandra Revelia... And no one of lesser status can disrespect me and get away with it... You will be on your knees begging for my forgiveness... And I will revel in your demise," Duchess Leandra threatened and then turned to leave, but the white knight grabbed her arm, and she glared at him.

"If I were you, I would leave before I'm forced to break a noblewoman's arm," The White Knight stated coldly.

The Duchess smiled once more, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she gently wrenched her arm free from his grasp.

"Very well, young knight... I shall leave... for now," Duchess Leandra said and turned to walk towards the door.

The tension in the lobby was palpable as the Royal Guards exchanged bewildered glances. They felt the urgency to intervene when the Duchess was suddenly halted, her graceful stride disrupted by the firm grip of the White Knight. Conflicted, they debated stepping in to escort her to safety, but their resolve crumbled as they watched her regain her composure and stride out unhindered.

“Hey, Zealot! If you dare cross that line again, I’ll have no choice but to report you to the General!” one of the guards barked, his words laced with bravado.

Yet the White Knight remained unfazed, his steely gaze locked on the Princess, unwavering in his duty as a protector. The atmosphere thickened with a silent challenge, leaving the Royal Guards in a state of uncertainty.

"Humph! Did you hear me, bastard!?" The Royal Guard growled.

The White Knight shot a steely glare at the guard, his voice dripping with defiance. "Go on, report me if you dare. I've been given strict orders to allow no one—" He abruptly paused, a pained expression flashing across his face as he rubbed his aching stomach. For a brief moment, the veneer of stoicism cracked, revealing a hint of vulnerability beneath his hardened exterior. After a deep breath to steady himself, he continued, "Not to allow anyone to speak to the Princess." His tone was flat, but the pallor in his complexion betrayed an inner struggle brewing just out of sight. 

The Royal Guards raised their collective eyebrows, perplexed by the knight's unexpected shift in demeanor. One of the guards was tempted to question the White Knight about those mysterious orders, but the knight quickly masked his discomfort, returning to his fierce glare. 

'What's with him?' the guard thought, bewildered. 

A sudden, resounding groan erupted from the depths of the knight’s stomach, halting the conversation and catching everyone’s attention. The once-heroic figure, now drenched in sweat and clutching his abdomen, was a far cry from his earlier, confident demeanor.

“Are you alright?” one of the Royal Guards inquired, concern etched across his face.

*BELCH!*

“Uh, I’m perfectly fine,” the White Knight replied, though his strained voice suggested otherwise. “But if I were to... need a toilet, where would one be located?'

The four guards exchanged puzzled glances, shrugging their shoulders in unison.

“There’s one just two hallways down to your right,” one of them eventually replied, his tone hinting at amusement.

“Much appreciated,” the White Knight replied, his voice strained as he shuffled awkwardly down the corridor. The guards exchanged amused glances, stifling their laughter as they watched the spectacle unfold.

With each step, his movements seemed more labored, deep breaths escaping his lips in slow, heavy gasps. “Is he sick?” one guard whispered, leaning closer to get a better look.

“Probably not,” another guard chimed in, smirking. “But I’d bet my sword it was something he ate.”

Just then, the knight dropped to one knee, his face pale and contorted as if he might lose his lunch. “Goddess be damned!” one of the guards exclaimed, rushing over. “Come on! I don’t want to face Lady Rose just because this fool couldn’t manage to hold in his lunch!” With a swift motion, he helped the knight up, while another guard took his other arm, urgency in their movements. The other two hurriedly opened the door so they could guide the knight through.

In an instant, the princess found herself alone in the lobby, the echoes of chaos still hanging in the air like the last notes of a lingering melody. 

“Huh?” Hilda said, blinking in confusion as she realized no one was watching her anymore. Without a moment’s hesitation, she sprang to her feet and darted out of the lobby, heading for the door on the far side. 

‘I don’t know what I’m doing,’ she thought, her heart pounding, ‘but I have to get out of here... or I’ll surely lose my mind.’ 

As Hilda rushed through a series of twisting hallways, a stunning sight caught her eye: a sprawling garden, lush and alive. 

‘Wow, I had no idea this place had a garden this grand,’ she marveled, stepping closer to the entrance. Her breath caught in her throat as she took in the vibrant blooms and verdant foliage, an unexpected oasis that brought a moment of wonder amidst her turmoil.

Hilda paused, a serene smile spreading across her face as she basked in the beauty around her. The garden was a riot of colors, each flower unfurling its petals like a delicate whisper. Inhaling the sweet fragrance, she was instantly transported back to her cherished garden at home—the one sanctuary where her stepmother and half-sister's nagging voices faded into the background. It was a place woven with memories, laughter, and the purest joy.

She could have lost herself in that moment, surrounded by nature's beauty, if not for the sudden sound of footsteps approaching behind her. Her heart raced as panic surged through her. “Gah! Run! You have to run!” 

Without a second thought, Hilda dashed into the winding pathways of the maze-like garden, her feet flying over the vibrant earth. The thrill of the chase pushed her forward, a mix of fear and exhilaration propelling her deeper into the enchanting shadows of blooming life.

'Damn! That was close... And I'm tired... I-I just need to find a place to rest,' Hilda thought as she caught her breath and continued walking through the maze.

After wandering through the winding paths of the maze for what felt like ages, she finally stumbled upon a sunlit clearing, where a sparkling water fountain danced merrily at its center. 

'Wow! It’s absolutely stunning...'

She couldn’t help but smile as she approached. Finding a sturdy wooden bench, she sank down and leaned back, soaking in the serene atmosphere.

'It’s such a perfect day…'

Hilda closed her eyes, letting the warm sun kiss her skin while a gentle breeze whispered through the trees, wrapping around her like a soft, comforting blanket. The world around her faded, leaving just the sounds of the fountain and the rustling leaves—a moment of pure bliss.

***

Back by the lobby in the West Wing of the palace. Duchess Leandra was waiting in the hallway outside of the lobby where Hilda was supposed to be.

'I wonder how long it will take before that insignificant little worm beings to puke his guts out?... Hehe! I made sure to spray an extra amount of my Vertigo Essence Perfume on him. I hope the poor fool has a bad reaction... Heh!' Duchess Leandra thought with an evil smirk on her face.

As she was lost in her thoughts, the door to the lobby opened abruptly, and four guards carried the white knight down the hallway towards the nearest restroom.

"Oooh-BLECH-UGH!" The white knight moaned.

"Don't you dare puke on this floor, you arrogant ass!" One of the Royal Guards growled.

"Yeah! Or we'll feed you your own vomit!" Another guard warned.

*URP!*

"Damn it! He's not going to make it! Hurry!"

"Ugh!"

The duchess looked at her own handy work with a pleased smile on her face.

'Good! He's going to regret the day he ever crossed paths with me... Serves you right, insolent fool!' Duchess Leandra thought and chuckled as the royal guards yelled and shouted at each other until they were out of sight.

"Well, that's enough fun for one day... Now it's time to work my magic on that girl... hehe," Duchess Leandra murmured with a playful smirk as she rounded the corner, striding confidently toward the lobby entrance.

As she stepped into the room, however, a wave of surprise washed over her— it was utterly deserted, not a soul in sight. 'Huh? Where did that little brat go!?... Did she run? No! This is unacceptable! I need to find her!'

"Goddess be damned!" Duchess Leandra fumed quietly as she paced the empty lobby, her eyes darting around in search of Hilda. Frustration swirled within her—no sign of the elusive brat. With a resigned sigh, she decided it was time to pivot.

"Haah... all right, Plan B it is," she murmured to herself, a sly smile creeping across her lips. "And if I happen to cross paths with that troublesome girl, well, I can always revert to my original scheme." Determination fueled her steps as she made her way toward her sister-in-law's room, a glint of mischief in her eyes. She envisioned the glittering jewels and exquisite silverware waiting to be liberated—just a few petty crimes to satisfy her craving for a little chaos.

The Duchess gracefully left the lavish lobby, her footsteps echoing softly against the polished marble floor. She began her journey down the long, ornate corridor adorned with intricate tapestries and glimmering sconces that cast a warm, inviting glow. Each step took her deeper into the heart of the palace, heading towards Rianna's room, which rested at the far end of the eastern wing, a realm that felt almost like a hidden sanctuary within the grand estate. The air was thick with the scent of delicate blossoms from nearby gardens, blending with the history that surrounded her as she ventured forth.