Chương 116: Chapter 49: A Juicy Deal

The act of signing the royal decree was a silent, cold ritual. A scribe appeared from a side door, carrying a heavy volume of parchment and a silver quill with pitch-black ink. Selena took the quill, feeling the weight of the metal and the symbolism of the gesture. Her name, Isabella Elizabeth Selena de Solendra, flowed onto the parchment with a neat, confident penmanship that she had possessed from the very first moment she wrote in this language.

Each stroke was a renunciation, the shedding of a chain that, paradoxically, had also been a shield. Beside her, Valerius signed as a witness and interested party, his signature broad and energetic, a sharp contrast to the somber expression in his eyes. The King then stamped the great royal seal, pressing the onyx ring with the dune felis upon the hot, bright red wax. The sound of metal striking the wax was dry, finally.

Once the parchment was retrieved, the King raised a hand, a small gesture of absolute authority. —Valerius —he said, without looking at him directly. —What follows concerns only the Crown. I thank you for your presence and your loyalty. You may withdraw; we shall speak more later on that matter we have in common. It was a polite but unequivocal dismissal. Valerius stood up immediately, discipline overriding any potential desire to stay.

His gaze sought Selena one last time, a look laden with a complex mixture of relief, concern, and that loving severity so characteristic of him. He nodded briefly to the King, then to his niece, and turned around. His footsteps, firm and echoing upon the marble, receded toward the main door. As he passed beside Selena's sofa, the air seemed to vibrate with a contained tension, an emotional weight that the opulence of the room could not mask.

The sweet, cold perfume of winter flowers intensified for a moment, as if trying to wash away the bitter taste of the newly consummated transaction. As the door closed behind her uncle, the King made another gesture, this time toward Fjora and Samira. An almost imperceptible movement of his chin. The butler, who seemed to materialize from the shadows, stepped forward. —Escort the maidservants to the rooms assigned to the Countess —the King directed, his voice smooth but leaving no room for doubt.

He did not call them "slaves" this time; it was a small adjustment of protocol before the new countess. Fjora and Samira looked at Selena, seeking instruction. She gave them a slight nod. There was no choice. With one last look from both, the two women rose and walked out behind the butler, leaving Selena completely alone with the King, as well as the pale, silent man. The sound of the door closing was softer this time, but more definitive.

Selena found herself at the heart of power, without intermediaries, without protectors. She took her teacup, now lukewarm, and drank a sip. The liquid, sweet and floral, traveled down her throat. It was a minor certainty, a small earthly comfort against the greater certainty that what was coming would be bitter, complex, and perhaps dangerous. The sweetness of the tea, at least, would placate for a moment the taste of the inevitable.

The King observed the gesture, and a shadow of something resembling understanding crossed his austere face. Then, he turned toward the pale man. —Selena —he said, looking her in the eyes again. His tone was now more intimate, almost confidential, which proved more unsettling than his previous formality. —Allow me to introduce him. This is Cassian. The Third Resonant Counselor of the court, and the only permanent one. The man, Cassian, slightly bowed his head. He did not make a full bow.

His movement was that of an academic acknowledging a colleague, not that of a subject before nobility. —I know well that you are acquainted with Valerian and Isolde —the King continued. A flash of annoyance or perhaps weariness appeared in his gray eyes as he mentioned the names. —Brilliant resonants, temperamental, useful in their… eccentricities. But Cassian… This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

His voice dropped a tone, acquiring a shade of genuine respect. —"The Madness" always remains by my side. His skills with the spoken echo are… magnificent. And his loyalty, unshakeable. Cassian did not respond to the praise. His light eyes remained fixed on Selena, evaluating, measuring her reaction to the revelation. Selena kept her face expressionless, but inside, her mind was working at full speed. He is a permanent counselor of the court, a man whom the king trusts with cold detachment.

Then, the certainty struck her mind with absolute clarity. That makes him a piece of immense, unknown power. The King passed a hand over his chin, a reflective gesture that seemed to drag with it the weight of years of difficult decisions. Suddenly, his expression transformed. All traces of his slight amusement or previous solemnity vanished, replaced by seriousness carved in granite. —Well, first of all, I will tell you the obvious —he said, his voice recovering its grave authority.

Selena suddenly let out a sigh, the tension finally bursting in her mind. —Tomorrow, present yourself first thing in the Throne Room. You know, noble trivialities, royal protocols… the official announcement of your new title, the presentation before the court, that necessary farce. He made a dismissive wave of his hand, as if brushing away an annoying fly. Then, he leaned forward in his armchair, and the ruby of his diadem cast a crimson glint over Selena's face.

—It was for that, but this is what I truly want to talk about. He paused, ensuring he had her full attention. —I have a deal for you. A juicy one. One that, I know, you will not be able to refuse to hear. He crossed his fingers, interlacing his hands with determination that made his knuckles turn pale. —I will give you, in advance, relevant information. Information about who kidnapped you that night in Kaelburg. And why. The words fell like stones into a frozen pond within Selena's chest. Kidnapping.

That night of cold, of bindings, of wrenching pain and the taste of dirt in her mouth. The memory, always latent beneath the surface of her consciousness, emerged with brutal clarity. But she maintained control. She did not blink. She had asked Valerian, she had questioned the guards, even the enigmatic Isolde had denied her answers, and now, the one who was permitted everything was offering them to her as a bargaining price. The King proceeded, his voice turned now into the grave whisper of a conspirator.

—However, the mission in exchange is dangerous. Very dangerous. —He took a deep breath. The air in the room seemed to grow thin despite the ever-present perfume. —Over the years, as you read from Eliud's own handwriting, imagined resonants leave a dungeon behind upon passing. A cursed and dangerous place, a wound in reality. There is one… near the border with Sandstrohm.

It was left by a resonant of such incredible power, so specialized in explosion and disintegration spells, that his mere legend was a terrifying whisper. It is so ancient… Then his voice became almost reverential, as if speaking of a legend carved into the very bedrock of the world. —That only our first king, Eliud, had the privilege of hearing bards sing about it. They sang that it happened when men barely understood the power of fire. Eliud himself wrote about it in his chronicles.

He described it as "incredibly dangerous." A place where death is not the end, but the beginning. He let the weight of the description settle. Selena recalled the pages of the book, Eliud's despair when describing the dungeons, loyal soldiers transformed into monsters. —You must know —the King continued. His gaze now was that of a weary man, burdened with the weight of centuries of royal secrets. —That if you choose to go on this mission, you will not go alone. Another conscious resonant will go with you.

Furthermore, one of my trusted royal resonants will go, and an artifact expert, the best we have. For this mission, I will grant you an artifact. Whichever artifact you decide from those we safeguard that is most useful to you. He made a final, decisive pause. —For a full month, the four of you will train under Cassian's tutelage, here, in the prepared basements of the palace. You will familiarize yourselves with the artifact, with dungeon theory, and with the specific dangers of this place.

His gaze, exhausted now but lucid, locked onto Selena's. —I will say nothing more if you do not accept. The information about your kidnappers will die with me, and you will remain a Countess, with your life, as well as your studies. But the door to that truth you seek… will close. Selena remained motionless. The minutes that followed were not of hesitation, but of a frantic, internal calculation.

Ever since she had arrived in this world, disoriented and terrified in the body of the Crimson Duchess, certain questions had burned in the deepest depths of her being: How? Why? Who brought me here, tearing me away from my previous life and casting me into this whirlpool of the void? She had followed vague clues, rumors on the margins of official history. Two names, two hidden factions, had reached her in whispers between the lines of forbidden texts: The Threads of Thar'ven.

Weavers of destiny, blending blood and silk in incomprehensible rituals to manipulate the tapestry of existence. On the counterpart, The Conclave of the Transformed Flesh. Alchemists obsessed with transcending the human, with transplanting, modifying, and altering the very essence of life, playing at being gods with scalpels and concoctions. The King was offering her the key to uncover that box of mysteries.

He was offering her answers she had ignored, lost track of, or postponed since she submerged herself into survival in Kaelburg. The price was colossal: stepping into an ancestral dungeon, a place of death transformed into eternal torture, a risk that made any confrontation at the university or any duel with Valerian pale in comparison.