TFR 08

chapter 08

Midnight Visit

On a night when everyone else was asleep, Dantes quietly slipped out of his room. The door opened just a crack, and he scanned the surroundings. No one was in sight. He had timed it perfectly—right in the fleeting moment when the guards were changing shifts.

But the instant he took his first step forward, a long leg slid out from behind a pillar. A sharp whistle cut through the air. Dantes sighed at the sight of the flashy leather pattern on the intruder’s shoe.

“Marco.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Marco Griffin at your service. I’ve been faithfully guarding your side, without so much as a wink of sleep!”

Marco looked at him with exaggerated gestures, as though performing a play.

“And where might Your Majesty be scurrying off to like a little rat in the dark of night?”

“Mind your own business.”

“How could I possibly not mind… oh, the heartbreak!”

Dantes ignored Marco’s mock-crying and kept walking.

“Dantes. Where are you going?”

“Just out for a walk. I was feeling stuffy.”

“At this hour? When dawn’s barely brushing the sky? And precisely during the tiny gap in the guard rotation, no less?”

Dantes hated the way Marco acted like he knew everything while still needling him. It made it impossible to admit he was sneaking out to see Roberto. Even if only to catch him sleeping—just to see him for a moment.

But their reunion had been painfully short. The instant Roberto had laid eyes on him, he’d tried to slit his throat. All the more reason Dantes wanted to take a closer look at him now. Thoroughly. To see exactly what had changed.

Boys changed drastically between their late teens and early twenties. Marco, Gunter, Cesario—they all had. Dantes most of all.

Cesario’s voice had deepened and roughened. Marco’s mischievous boyish face had sharpened into strikingly handsome features. Gunter and Dantes had grown larger, their knees and shoulders aching with the pains of growth.

But Roberto—he seemed unchanged. If anything, he looked more frail.

Was he too busy running, too hungry to grow properly? Why run away at all?

Dantes couldn’t stop the endless spiral of thought. If Roberto hadn’t left, everything would have been perfect. But he had left him.

Cutting off the train of thought, Dantes said curtly:

“There’s no better time to interrogate a prisoner. Baron Aventurine is nervous enough as it is. I’m sparing him the burden. Call it… consideration.”

“Ahhh, I see.”

Marco clung to his side as if struck by deep admiration.

“Then allow your loyal knight Marco to accompany you.”

“Marco.”

“Your Majesty, your body still hasn’t fully healed.” Marco’s grin vanished.

Dantes’ injuries were indeed an open invitation. Enemies who had bided their time would surely strike now. The road back to the palace would be fraught with ambushes—especially from the Terzes Kingdom, who had already dared attack openly.

Twice already Gunter’s scouts had discovered small bands lurking nearby. Each group had fewer than ten men—criminal scum whose deaths would mean nothing. Their sole purpose was to reveal Dantes’ location so that true elite forces could descend.

“I only want to see the prisoner’s face.”

“Which you could do later.”

This time, it was Cesario who emerged from behind Marco. Dantes sighed.

“You two planned this?”

“No. But it looks like Marco beat me to it.”

“Or maybe you were just too slow.”

“Or maybe you had nothing better to do.”

“You always act like you’re the busiest one.”

Marco snorted in irritation. Their banter grew loud enough that nearby guards rushed over, pale-faced at the sight. In the short moment of their shift change, all three had appeared in the corridor. They wanted to explain it was just a quick bathroom break—but Dantes turned away before they could speak.

“Hopeless fools.”

“Thoughtless fool.”

Dantes clicked his tongue, and Marco instantly shot back.

“What was that?”

“Not you. Cesario. He never thinks. Our poor Cesario. Right?”

“Marco, could you please learn to watch your tongue?”

“What? Between friends? It’s not like you’re the Emperor.”

Marco slung an arm over Cesario’s shoulder, grinning slyly at Dantes. The man had been getting under his skin all night.

With a scowl, Dantes turned back into his room. The door shut behind him. Cesario shrugged off Marco’s arm and gave him a hard look, but Marco seemed unfazed.

“Where’s Gunter?”

“Went out to sweep the perimeter once more.”

“Full of energy, that one.”

Marco whistled cheerfully as he clapped the stiff-backed guards on the shoulders.

“Relax. It’s fine. We were just chatting.”

“Yes, sir!”

Still whistling, Marco vanished down the corridor. Cesario sighed and glanced at Dantes’ closed door. Behind it was a wounded young Emperor—like a boy with a locked heart.

Only before Roberto did he reveal his true, fragile self.

“His Majesty is restless. The situation’s unstable. Keep the guard shifts as short as possible.”

“Yes, Sir Wood.”

Cesario gave the order firmly, then turned away.

Through the Window

Dantes waited until all outside noise subsided. Gunter hadn’t returned yet, and Marco and Cesario probably thought they’d done a fine job keeping him in check. But Dantes had no intention of staying put just because the halls were blocked.

He went to the third-floor window and looked down.

It was still before dawn. If he moved now and returned before the morning wash water arrived, no one would know. He studied the wall—jutting bricks offered enough of a foothold.

The real issue was noise. His body was agile, but large, prone to heavy thuds. And with his injured right arm, movement was clumsy.

No sound. No strain. The wound mustn’t worsen.

As Emperor, he knew his safety was paramount. The fate of others depended on it. He was already wounded; he couldn’t afford another mistake. Especially not for something as selfish as this.

He gauged the distance. His height and long legs would make the descent manageable. He stepped onto the sill, testing the small protrusions. In his left hand he gripped a dagger of special obsidian, driving it into cracks of the old wall. It held like a climber’s pick.

“Hh—”

Pain flared through his right arm as he shifted his weight.

Roberto, you stabbed so hard… What if you’d killed me outright? Fool.

The deeper his wound, the colder the realization: if Roberto’s blade had struck his throat instead, death would have been instant. Just imagining it made him shudder.

Reclaimed. The word flared in his mind. Yes. Roberto Brida was someone he had to reclaim. His possession. His fated companion. As if it had been decided since birth. Dantes truly believed it.

Roberto Brida belonged to Dantes Belkin. Even death would come only at his hand. He would allow nothing else.

“Ugh!”

Lost in thought, Dantes misstepped, dangling by one arm. He quickly steadied himself, sweat running down his back.

If Marco caught me like this, he’d mock me forever. I need to hurry.

He gritted his teeth and dropped onto the second-floor ledge, then vaulted down to the garden below. For a man nearly two meters tall, it was a simple leap.

Landing softly, he pressed against the wall and moved in the shadows. Guards patrolled heavily where Roberto was kept, but Dantes already knew of a secret passage. Baron Aventurine had revealed it.

“This passage is known only to the men of House Aventurine. It leads directly to the cellar. In times of family crisis, we used it. It is the most suitable place to confine a special prisoner like Roberto Brida.”

The baron had spoken proudly. Dantes, satisfied, had chosen the cellar as Roberto’s prison.

“Thank you for sharing such a grave secret. My advisors will see that House Aventurine’s trust is honored.”

“Your Majesty’s favor is an honor beyond words.”

The baron had been deeply moved, as though his family had been granted special recognition. But for Dantes, Aventurine’s house meant nothing. What mattered was being alone with Roberto.

Now he found the passage he’d been told of. But scarcely a few steps inside, he felt another presence.

Dantes drew his blade in the dark. His war-honed eyes could pick out movement even in pitch black.

He swung toward the figure ahead.