It was already late evening when Prince Alaric rode up to the Baron’s mansion, flanked by his three most trusted guards—Angus, Aramis, and Redon. The sky had darkened into a velvety indigo, the moon and stars veiled behind a slow-moving mist.
"Ari, you’ve finally returned!" Agilus exclaimed, his voice filled with relief and agitation as he stood by the grand entrance of the Baron’s mansion.
"What’s the matter?" Alaric asked stoically when he noticed the agitation in Agilus’s voice. Why did he look like he was bullied?
Agilus took a breath, visibly trying to calm himself.
"The mayor tried to escape from his mansion." Agilus sighed deeply to relax. "We apprehended him at his every attempt, and he would curse at us every time. He was like a madman. It was quite annoying, you know. Why can’t we just put him in prison?"
"He’s still an elected official," Alaric replied coolly. "We need to bring him to the capital to stand trial. If we act rashly, it gives his allies a reason to claim political persecution."
Agilus threw his arms up in disbelief.
"Did you know that he threatened the soldiers? He said that he had backing from the capital, and if the soldiers did not let him through, then they and their families would suffer. He kept on bragging that his backer was a very influential person, and not even you could defeat him—that’s what the mayor said." Agilus finished passing the information quickly.
The words rushed out of Agilus like a flood, all in one breath. Alaric couldn’t help the faint chuckle that escaped him. He really could not comprehend how Agilus could speak so much in a short time.
Some things never changed—Agilus still talked like he was racing a clock.
Agilus was his wet nurse’s son, so he had been a constant presence throughout his life — even when his own family turned distant. His father was the guard who continued to stay with Alaric’s side even when he lost the king’s favor. Even when Alaric had been pushed to the cold edges in the palace, Agilus had stayed close, loyal without question. In many ways, he had been the only friend Alaric had in his loneliest years.
He remembered Lara once calling Agilus a "chatterbox," then laughing and upgrading the title to "blabbermouth."
A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips, curling upward as a spark of mischief danced in his eyes, illuminating his expression with a warmth that suggested untold secrets.
"Holy moly! Did you just smile, Ari?" Agilus froze mid-sentence, eyes widening as if he’d just seen a ghost.
The prince’s smile vanished instantly, replaced by his usual steely expression. He fixed Agilus with a flat, warning glare.
"How about the captain of the town guards? Was he caught?" Alaric did not bother to answer his question but asked instead.
"He’s already behind bars," Agilus answered, though he was still gawking slightly. "By the way... do you have someone in mind to act as temporary head of the town guards?"
Alaric walked past him, not replying right away. He entered the lavishly decorated sitting room, the scent of polished wood and leather filling the space. A massive, high-backed leather chair sat at the corner, and Alaric sank into it with a quiet sigh, only then realizing just how exhausted he was. A dull ache throbbed in his knuckles—a painful reminder of what had happened at Mendel House the day before.
’Damn, I forgot to have them treated when I visited the Mendel House earlier.’ But then another small but unmistakable smile bloomed on his lips at the thought. He has now a reason to pass by the Narra Alley the following morning.
He didn’t even try to hide it this time.
Agilus stood there, dumbfounded. Twice?He smiled twice in one night? What on earth had gotten into him?
"Yes, I have. I will let Angus lead the town guards until the people from the capital arrive," Alaric replied.
"But Angus is your personal guard," Agilus finally managed. "Are you sure you want to assign him to lead the town guards?"
Under normal circumstances, Alaric would have snapped at him for questioning his decisions. But tonight, his mood was curiously lenient. He was in a good mood.
"Would you rather that it be you?" he looked at Agilus from the corner of his eye and asked, his face still the usual mask of coldness.
Agilus recoiled as if stung. "Of course not," he answered instinctively. "Who wants to lead that ragtag mess of a unit? I value my sanity."
"Then Angus it is," Alaric said without hesitation. "He’ll take command starting tomorrow. We can’t afford to entrust the town’s security to someone we don’t know. That role’s too important."
Agilus folded his arms and muttered under his breath, "Lucky bastard..."
"By the way, one of the guards secretly followed the three Norse siblings. They were trailing an ordinary-looking carriage. They came from the restaurant and headed to the direction of the river Praya."
Alaric looked interested. He reached for a delicate porcelain cup, steam curling upwards in lazy tendrils around his fingers, and brought it to his lips. The aromatic beverage calmed his chaotic thoughts.
"There were two people inside the carriage. The Norse siblings fought with them. The two people were, of course, no match with the Norse brothers. One of them died when the other person pushed him, and then the other darted off and jumped into the river."
"Do you know who those people are? Why would the Norse brothers take interest in them?" Alaric was curious. He had some ideas but pushed them out of his mind."
"Our men found out that the duo was called Hook and Ruffus. The one who died was Ruffus, and the one who escaped was Hook."
"Hook?" Prince Alaric was so surprised that he stood up hurriedly, the chair almost falling.
"Yes, Hook. We gathered that he was the chieftain of Village 13, but before that, he was a notorious human trafficker."
Alaric remembered that Lara had revealed to her family the name of the human traffickers who had abducted her two years ago. It was Hook.
"According to our men, he lost his right hand and was bleeding profusely. He might not have survived the river."
"Hmm." Alaric hummed as he settled back on the chair.
"He had also defiled a lot of women. They got a taste of them first before the women were sent to the brothel. What a bastard. It was a pity that only his hand was cut off. It could be better if it was his little brother..."
But the prince was no longer listening. He leaned back in the chair, eyes half-lidded, mind already drifting ahead to tomorrow—back to Narra Alley, and to a particular house that had started to occupy his thoughts far more often than he’d admit.