Chương 96: 39-1.First Kiss

"I am here under orders to escort Your Highness back." The moment those words landed, I could almost hear the air in the hall crystallize. What had been stiff silence became something colder. Ice, not just tension. The teacup in my hand was still warm. My knuckles felt like something had tightened around them of its own accord. Gaelus's voice carried no variance—no aggression, no submission. You could even call it proper. But precisely because it was so proper, it left no room for misunderstanding.

Not please allow Your Highness to consider returning. Not at Your Highness's convenience. Not even I would strongly advise. Under orders. Two words, and the meaning was surgical. He hadn't come to read the room. He hadn't come to finish cleaning up yesterday's mess and leave. He had arrived with a directive. The apology had been incidental—a tourniquet applied in passing. What he'd come for, from the beginning, was Erina herself. I looked at her. Moments ago she'd used a single sentence to control the room.

Now even the color in her face seemed to thin—not fear, but the particular cold that settles when someone has heard something and fully grasped its weight. She didn't speak. My sister didn't either. That was worse than any overturned table or drawn sword. Because when Victoria Rosa von Blackwell went silent, it generally meant she was disassembling the other party's position line by line, while deciding where to make the first cut. Olivia sat with her fingertip resting on her cup handle, completely still.

I knew she'd understood every layer. That was the most unsettling thing about her—when others went pale, she simply saw more clearly. Even Jessi had gone quiet. When Jessi didn't reach for a quip, the situation had moved beyond casual interference. My throat was dry. I kept my eyes on Gaelus. This man was too steady. Steady in the way of someone who believed the order he carried was simply correct—something that ought to be executed, requiring no endorsement.

As if there were natural, unquestionable logic to returning the princess, like returning a borrowed object to its proper place. I hated that feeling. What I hated more was that he wasn't wrong. If this was legitimate royal command, then Erina's presence here had always been temporary. She wasn't a stray we'd picked up in Angel City. She wasn't a companion who'd shared terrible songs with us and could pretend to be one of ours. She was a princess.

The kind the Empire sent someone to collect when they decided to collect her. In that realization, I felt something close to bitter laughter. Yesterday I'd been concerned for the Eckhaus dynasty's future. By morning, the dynasty's representative was standing in our hall in uniform, carrying orders, preparing to take her from this table. My sister finally spoke. She didn't look at Erina. She didn't look at me. She looked at Gaelus, her voice flat as snow against glass.

"Whose orders?" Two words. The frozen air dropped another degree. That's her. When someone placed under orders on the table, her first question wasn't whether it could be negotiated, or when departure would occur. She asked: whose orders. Because orders in the capital had never been singular. Imperial decree was an order. Palace directive was an order. Ministry instructions were orders. Sometimes, things more troublesome than orders were dressed to look like them. Gaelus didn't answer immediately.

In that brief pause, something passed through his eyes—not hesitation, more like calibration. He was deciding which layer of answer this particular Lady Blackwell wanted to hear. Erina's fingers tightened almost imperceptibly. The tips went white. She couldn't speak first. If she moved to answer, she'd effectively ratify the order herself. But silence too long was its own form of consent. This was the most insidious kind of trap. Not a blade at your throat.

Every sentence was the flat of a blade, pressing gently, asking which angle you'd prefer to receive it from. Gaelus answered.

"Palace directive, formally recorded under the Ministry of Internal Affairs, and confirmed by review before the throne." Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. Complete enough. Troublesome enough. This wasn't some fool acting unilaterally. This was something that had traveled all the way to throne-level review. I cursed under my breath. No wonder he was this composed. He didn't need to argue. My sister's expression didn't shift.

But the corner of her eye moved, just slightly.

"The documentation?" Behind Gaelus, an attendant stepped forward immediately, presenting a sealed leather case. Vincent received it without sound, bringing it to my sister's side rather than opening it directly. I looked at that case and felt a strong urge to kick it across the room. Not because I intended to stop anything. But because the moment that case entered this hall, the situation stopped being someone has come to take our person and became the institution has come to take our person.

The first kind, you could argue with. The second was the worst variety—the kind that always had perfectly reasonable explanations for itself. Erina finally spoke.

"Commander Eberhart." Her voice was steady—so steady that no trace of last night remained, as though the person who had sung gutter ballads had never existed.

"If I were to ask: does this order summon me to return, or does it place me under escort as a ward—could you answer that?" Beautiful. The thought arrived instantly. Because taken back could mean two entirely different things. One was honored return. The other was custody in formal dress. One preserved dignity. The other left only mechanism. Gaelus raised his eyes and looked directly at Erina for the first time.

"Your Highness remains Your Highness," he said.

"I would not presume to add a single word." Flawless. He refused to acknowledge ward, but also refused to confirm honored return. He had placed the most critical distinction precisely in the gray space between definitions. I understood then why this man commanded the Tideguards. He wasn't just a soldier who drew blades for people. He was a shield. Not the kind that protected you comfortably—the kind that, whatever direction you threw yourself, simply returned you to where you started. Nobody spoke.

Even I had no interest in breaking the silence. This was no longer something I could destabilize with well-placed words. This was the capital. What made this city genuinely terrible was never open blades. It was a man standing before you with perfect courtesy, explaining that he had come to take someone from your table, and that every step was entirely within the rules. I glanced at my sister. She hadn't opened the case yet.

She simply rested her hand on it, as though what she was holding down wasn't paper, but the direction the entire room was about to tilt. Then she smiled. Very faintly. Thin enough to send a chill down my spine. Because I knew what it meant. She wasn't pleased. And when she wasn't pleased, she was invariably more dangerous than when she was angry.

"I see," she said. My sister opened the case. As she turned through the documents one by one, the hall was quiet enough that each page turning felt sharp as a blade drawn. I didn't lean in to look. Not because I didn't want to. Because looking wouldn't change anything. Once something like this had been properly sealed and processed, the options for people like us narrowed to two: you accepted it, or you were made to accept it. Vincent stood half a step behind my sister, gaze lowered.

Gaelus Eberhart stood straight in the center of the hall, planted like a pike. Julian stood behind him, still pale, not daring to draw full breath. I watched my sister's profile. She turned each page slowly. Slowly enough that it resembled an examination of something already dead. Every page she turned, something in my chest sank another degree. Princess Erina sat there with her spine still perfectly straight, but her hand never released the tablecloth. She didn't ask. She didn't press.

She understood, I think, that some things aren't surrendered willingly until the very last moment. Finally, my sister closed the last page. She didn't speak immediately. She simply restacked the documents, returned them to the case, and pressed her fingertips lightly against the cover. Just from that gesture, I knew. And I still hated that she was always right.

"It's legitimate," my sister said quietly. Three words, and the tension I'd been holding in my chest simply dissolved. Not released—emptied. There's a difference. Release means relief. Empty means there's nothing left to push against. Nothing more to argue. The throne review was real. The seals were real. The Ministry directive was real. If this genuinely reflected the King's will, then the question was no longer whether we were willing to hand her over. It was whether we had any standing to refuse. We didn't.

Even with my sister as Lady Blackwell. Even with Olivia's Eisenberg influence behind her. Even if my father were still alive—once something had traveled all the way to the King's personal endorsement, everyone bowed first and thought about it afterward. That was what made the capital intolerable. You could resent it. You couldn't refuse to comply. My sister closed the case and pushed it back to the center of the table, her voice so level it was almost featureless.

"Since it bears His Majesty's command, House Blackwell will not obstruct." Textbook perfect. So perfect my back teeth ached. Gaelus pressed his fist to his chest and bowed again.

"Madam is most understanding." I nearly laughed out loud. Understanding, my ass. This wasn't understanding. This was having a blade at your throat and being expected to polish the scabbard on your way down. Erina didn't move immediately. She sat in silence, gaze resting on the table—on the closed case, or perhaps on something considerably farther away. The cold that had threatened to freeze the entire hall settled into something quieter. Denser. Less like temperature and more like resolve.

After two breaths, she rose. The scrape of the chair against the floor was almost inaudible. Yet somehow that small sound made the entire room feel like it had shifted. The moment the princess stood, Julian moved half a step forward on instinct—then was pinned back by a single glance from Gaelus. His expression was painful to watch. He clearly wanted to do something, and was equally terrified that anything he said would make things worse.

Looking at him, I could only think: the sole reason someone like that survives to adulthood is a spectacularly lucky reincarnation. Erina inclined her head slightly toward my sister.

"For these past days, I am grateful for your care, madam." My sister held her gaze steadily.

"Your Highness is too kind."

"No," Erina said.

"This is something I intend to remember." Her voice wasn't loud, but it was clear. That wasn't pleasantry. Or at least, not entirely. She looked next toward Olivia von Eisenberg. Olivia didn't rise—she simply inclined her head in precise acknowledgment. No words passed between them. Somehow that said more than any formal exchange would have. Jessi looked visibly uncomfortable. She was never good at proper farewells. Her lips moved twice before what finally came out was dry as dust:"... Watch yourself out there."

Coming from Jessi, it was as bizarre as a cat suddenly learning to recite scripture. Erina actually looked at her. Then gave a quiet sound of acknowledgment. Alvira hadn't moved from her chair, still carrying the pallor of the morning after, but she raised her eyes and said flatly:"Don't let anyone sell you again." Not exactly warm. But somehow the most honest send-off anyone at this table could have offered. Erina's mouth moved, just slightly, at the corner.

"See to yourself first." Good. That was her. I stood where I was and said nothing. Not because I couldn't think of anything. Because there was too much, and all of it felt wrong. Safe travels? She was a princess, not a merchant caravan. Take care? She was returning to the palace, not a front line. Don't forget us?... That was the most useless of all. Because which of us forgot which, I had no standing to say. Erina finally turned her gaze to me. It lingered longer than it had on anyone else.

Something in my chest dropped without explanation. I kept my expression together and pulled the corner of my mouth up.

"What are you looking at?" I said.

"Worried I'll say something unnecessary?" She looked at me, and her eyes were deeper than I expected—deep enough that I couldn't read them cleanly.

"I was simply thinking," she said slowly, "that when you're quiet, you're somehow more insufferable than usual." I almost laughed. Fine.