Chapter 15
Roetingen was the heart of the Northern Imperial Army. That was only natural, since the area often faced invasions from foreign tribes and was situated right on the empire’s border. Because of this, the Northern Command was also stationed in Roetingen—and it, too, came under the authority of the new Lord of the Northern Border, Akelans.
The soldiers were not thrilled to see Tyrell Mc-Queen, a foreign prince, walking freely inside Roetingen Castle.
“Your Highness.”
The only one who dared raise the issue was Lieutenant Colonel Hunts, a seasoned veteran of the Northern Army and now one of the new commander’s closest aides. He cautiously addressed the dragon who had recently arrived.
“The Soruk tribe raids our fields and harbors five or six times a year. This prince must be here to spy on us. Bringing him this far inside the castle is a dangerous move.”
The black dragon’s eyes, still cold from a walk outside with a woman, were impossible to read.
“I’m sure Your Highness already knows this, but…”
“The Emperor ordered us to treat the Prince of Soruk with hospitality and send him off well.”
Akelans murmured as he looked at Lieutenant Colonel Hunts.
“It’s a royal decree. I can’t disobey.”
In truth, in Roetingen, imperial decrees from the capital, Impel, were often only followed if they made sense—otherwise, officials just pretended to obey. Hunts knew this but couldn’t say it aloud. Roetingen had too many things in disrepair, and many areas were practically abandoned. Even the emergency supplies sent by the late Emperor Lowell hadn’t been properly distributed. Valuable goods were left exposed and unsecured.
“Thanks to the fine gifts you provided, I’ll be returning with some fine souvenirs myself,”
Tyrell Mc-Queen said cheerfully to Hasollan, though his expression seemed like the last kind you’d expect warmth from. He seemed to relish the glares directed at him rather than care.
“I didn’t know you two were acquainted,”
Akelans didn’t miss the interaction. He had always stayed closer to Hasollan than Tyrell ever had—a strange sight to the people of Roetingen.
“We met once, before the coronation, at the Temisi Department Store.”
Hasollan spoke first, trying to avoid further misunderstandings. Silence would only make things worse.
“Ah. So that’s the ‘fine souvenir,’ is it?”
Of course Akelans noticed. Hasollan watched him nod slightly and found herself unsure of what else to say. In the past, she would’ve rushed to explain, afraid of being misunderstood. But it had always been unnecessary. Now she was just tired of everyone’s watchful eyes. She decided not to speak further. She didn’t know what to say—and didn’t want to say anything more anyway.
“So, did you enjoy your time in Impel?”
Akelans asked with a light smile as he sat down. Hasollan wished she could leave. She didn’t care about people’s stares anymore. She just hated playing the role of “lady of the castle” when she wasn’t anything of the sort. But Akelans didn’t let go of her hand and made her sit beside him.
“If you’re going to make me sit like this, then at least give me an official title,”
she thought, chewing on the old thought she’d had for years before Akelans proposed.
Yes, he had proposed. A dragon proposing? She never believed he’d be serious—his offer had been full of madness, obsession, and talk of love. It was absurd. She couldn’t imagine where he’d even learned such things. She still didn’t think it was sincere.
“Impel is a great city, as everyone says,” she replied. “But the coronation was the most memorable part for me.”
Hasollan had a habit of zoning out during conversations but snapping back to attention when something important was said. She glanced toward Tyrell McQueen.
“To see not one, but two dragons in a single era—what an honor.”
Tyrell said it politely, but his words danced dangerously close to provocation. Even the soldiers nearby, standing outside the Northern Command, weren’t sure if they should step in.
“Especially seeing Your Highness with the new Emperor—what a spectacle.”
Compared to his hearty laughter, the knights who had come from Impel with Akelans looked far from amused. Hasollan could sense the tension.
“He really gave Usman a hard time at the coronation,”
she thought.
Her lord and the new Lord of Roetingen was a powerful and reckless man—reckless because he could afford to be. If he wanted, he could storm Impel, kill Usman, and take the throne. That was just how strong he was. Even after misbehaving at the coronation, he faced no consequences.
“I’ve heard many stories about Your Highness along the way.”
The implication was that there were more rumors about Akelans than the new Emperor.
Hasollan felt suffocated. She had seen what happened to those who laughed and provoked Akelans like this. Many times, she’d had to restrain him in the audience chamber while swallowing her fear—that if she went too far, he’d cast her aside.
“Is that so?”
Akelans smiled. A golden sheen—one that only dragons had—deepened in his eyes. His round pupils had long since narrowed to slits. He stared at Tyrell like a predator.
“I’m curious. What kind of stories?”
“They say that since Your Highness has a consort, the new Emperor may soon seek one of his own.”
Tyrell tossed the remark like he wasn’t afraid of dying. No one responded. He didn’t say outright that Hasollan was that consort, but the implication hung in the air. If he had said it, Hasollan might’ve fainted on the spot.
She tried to pull her hand away, but as always, Akelans’s grip was too strong.
“The world really is small,” Tyrell added. “I never thought I’d see Lady Odear here.”
“Small indeed. I didn’t expect to see the prince again, either.”
It could’ve sounded like, “I’m not happy to see you here under imperial protection,” but to Hasollan, it meant something more. Akelans was remembering the fourteen years they had shared. The years when Tyrell had become King of Soruk and tiptoed around the Lupel Empire.
“I hope we meet again. Peace between our nations is everyone’s wish, isn’t it?”
The tiger laughed boldly, and the dragon’s eyes flickered.
“That’s the Emperor’s wish.”
‘Not mine,’ the tone made it crystal clear—even those nearby could sense it. Hasollan stifle a sigh. She needed to stop thinking like a strategist. What did it matter if Akelans was openly opposing Emperor Usman? It wasn’t her concern anymore. She had to stop analyzing everything like a political aide.
“We’ll meet once more.”
Akelans dismissed Tyrell early despite the imperial decree—and made sure to say something loaded. ‘Once’ meant: The next time we meet, I’ll kill you.
“Yes, I look forward to it.”
Tyrell’s reply meant the opposite: It’s you who’ll die, not me. He left with the Soruk envoy, clearly taking note of the state Roetingen was in. As he departed, Hasollan locked eyes with one of the knights who had escorted Akelans from Impel.
“What exactly happened at the coronation?”
She was curious—but determined never to ask. No matter how much the knights seemed like they were holding in stories, she wouldn’t pry.
Tomorrow, she will report to her new job at the knitting shop. That’s all she needed to focus on.
