184: The warrior king's secrets (part 3)

The warrior king's secrets (part 3)

His momentary recoil was enough for her to turn around and deliver a knee strike straight to his groin. His olive-toned complexion flushed with pain as he pinned her against the metallic door, firmly grasping her shoulders as they faced each other.2

"That would only exacerbate your assailant!" He spoke through gritted teeth, his tone more irritated than angry.

"Release me! Your quarrel is with the Archduke! If you possess even a shred of honor as a nobleman you would let me go and confront him directly instead of venting your frustrations on his daughter!" She shrieked.

He released his grip, and she swiftly spun around, frantically attempting to open the door to no avail. She continued her futile efforts, driven by desperation, her ears ringing with heightened sensitivity to every sound he made. She could discern his footsteps over the broken glass, followed by the unmistakable sound of him pulling his seat back up and settling into it.

"You might want to sit down for this," he said calmly.

"Go to hell!" she shouted, struggling against the door and pounding on it. "Help! Somebody help me!" Her voice echoed through the confined space.

"Now that's not very smart of you," he commented, his voice laced with amusement. "What? Do you expect my men to come to your rescue and rebel against me?"

"Help! I'm trapped in here!" she called out, desperation evident in her voice.

"...Or is it perhaps Egon that you're calling out to?" he taunted.

At the mention of his name, her arms weakened and her lips stayed sealed, a glimmer of hope sparked within her as her skin tingled against the bracelet on her ankle, a constant reminder of his presence. Her heart whispered his name, a fervent plea.

Egon. Save me.

"You won't call out for him, will you? A proud lady like you? You wouldn't seek help from an old enemy of House de Lanark, would you?"

So he knew about it all.

She needed to calm down. He was speaking, and perhaps she could reason with him. No one was coming to rescue her, so she had to find a way to navigate this situation. Taking unsteady steps, she turned around and leaned against the door for support, her body trembling with anxiety.

"...It was a misunderstanding that he cleared with the Archduke. Perhaps you should try to do the same," 

He folded one leg over the other and rested his elbow atop his knee, supporting his chin with his fist. "You noticed that I dyed more of my hair black, right?"

She gulped, he was steering the conversation in a peculiar direction. However, stalling might be her best option at the moment.

"...I did,"

"Black hair," his gaze drifted up to the crown of her head, "Much like your silver-blond one that you inherited, is a sign of royal Valinthian blood. You see, Egon and I share more than meets the eye," he smirked, "We're very distant, extremely distant cousins. Our roots trace back to the first Empress, a woman who ruled this continent, including your precious Emoria."

"Perhaps you didn't inherit it for a reason," she mocked.

He chuckled bitterly. "I did inherit it. But witnessing the life being drained from my mother for days and being trapped with her decaying body changed me... My hair has been white ever since I can remember. You can ask Kaiser about it."

"Don't say his name," she spat, her voice filled with resentment. "He would never have anything to do with the story you're telling! I bet my life on it!"

He looked disappointed.

Good. 

"...Whatever horrors befell you and your mother, I offer my deepest condolences," she spoke from the depths of her heart. "But how would your mother feel about you terrorizing a defenseless woman?"

He let out a derisive laugh. "...She probably witnessed it," he murmured almost inaudibly, memories resurfacing within him. "She used to tell me bedtime stories about the twin of her soul and the woman's youngest daughter, someone the world eagerly anticipates, a Healer in her own right like her mother but destined for a role that surpasses even her esteemed lineage."

Her hands, which had been growing numb, instinctively moved to her heart. She didn't know Aldric's mother, but she felt a deep sorrow for how her life had ended. An image of a woman with long black hair tucking her black-haired son into bed with a bedtime story brought tears to her eyes.

"...You cry for me? After all that I have done to you?"

She took a shaky breath and held back the tears, they weren't meant for the man sitting in front of her, she only wanted to share a few words she imagined the Oracle would want her son to hear.

"You shouldn't have to change your appearance for anyone, just as you bend the elements to your will, you can also shape the opinions of the snobbish aristocrats. The commoners, on the other hand, love a ruler who treats them fairly. They won't be concerned about the color of your hair as long as they have food on their tables and a window of hope for a better life..." She lectured weakly. 

He blinked at her several times as she fought to maintain her balance, her mind consumed by an image of a queen who took the time to personally tuck her son into bed instead of delegating the task to a nanny.

"You don't have to strive for perfection in everything," she said softly.

"...Said someone with Kaiser as her father. In my case..." his voice trailed off, and he blinked again before locking eyes with her. "Healers should be protected, Adela, they should marry a monarch and rule alongside them..."

She struggled to keep pace with the abrupt change again when he paused.

"...I already have a queen," he continued, "She was chosen by my father after my mother's passing, just before he himself died. I was a mere twelve years old when I was wedded to her. At the time, she was in her late thirties, and she never bore me an heir."

Adela stared at him, utterly astonished by his revelations.

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