"I know."
Hearing those words, Jack felt a surge of confusion as his eyes settled on Seraphine. This delicate-looking girl was far more courageous—and cunning—than he had expected.She knew she was going to be attacked, yet she chose to stay right where she was. She never tried to run or escape.
Garren had told him how she was calmly seated on the balcony when the attack began—composed, unshaken—even scolding him for arriving late, as if she'd known he was coming.And there was something even more disturbing: everyone in Greenriver Manor had been found unconscious, except for her and Tracy.
The only surviving attacker, now a prisoner, had confessed that they were shocked to find the two women standing there, completely unharmed.That hadn't been part of the plan. According to him, Seraphine and Tracy were supposed to be unconscious like the rest.But he revealed nothing more, no matter how much he was tortured.
Jack wasn't sure whether the man had said anything further after being transferred to Pyraethis.
Their meeting came to a swift and silent end.
As Jack walked down the dimly lit corridor, his boots echoed softly against the stone floor. The flickering torchlight cast long shadows on the walls. He was deep in thought, his brows furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line.
Behind him, Garren's steps quickened slightly. He closed the distance, then leaned in with a glance over his shoulder, his voice a low whisper near Jack's ear.
"The Royal Guards who came with the princess are growing increasingly hostile toward our men—especially since more of the Red Blades have arrived at the castle."
Jack's pace didn't falter, but his eyes narrowed. He gave a slight nod to show he was listening.
"They're even urging the princess to return, saying this place isn't safe."
Jack's jaw tightened at that. His hand curled into a subtle fist at his side, then loosened again. Garren paused, casting a careful glance down the hall, checking for eavesdroppers. Then he leaned closer, his voice dropping further.
"But the strange part is... they're not trying to hide it. If they truly believed she was in danger, wouldn't it be more practical to quietly escort her away? Instead, they're making a show of it. Almost like they want us to notice."
Jack came to a slow stop. He turned to face Garren, his expression unreadable but his gaze sharp, intense.
Garren continued, his tone heavier now. He folded his arms, a muscle in his jaw twitching.
"And more than that—Princess Seraphine doesn't seem to trust her own men. She's gone as far as asking for Red Blades to accompany her instead. That alone should raise flags."
Jack exhaled through his nose, his stare drifting to the wall, thinking.
"The number of missing Royal Guards," Garren went on, "matches the number of attackers we killed or captured. Exactly.
And those attackers were disguised as Red Blades. That's not a coincidence."
A silence hung between them.
Jack's fingers lightly tapped the hilt of his sword—once, twice—before resting there. His expression darkened.
"So you think it was them?" he finally asked, voice low, calm, dangerous.
Garren gave a single, grim nod.
"I don't think, my lord. I'm nearly certain. The pieces fit too well."
Jack straightened, eyes cold as steel. The quiet fury within him simmered just below the surface.
"Then it's time we stop playing nice."
Jack halted in his tracks and sharply turned around, his boots striking the floor with loud, determined steps. Without a word, he strode back down the corridor and returned to the room where he and Seraphine had spoken moments earlier.
It was empty.
She had already left.
Jack's eyes narrowed. He turned again, this time heading for the upper floor of the manor—toward her chambers.
The corridor leading to Seraphine's room was lined with Royal Guards. Their polished armor gleamed faintly under the flickering lanterns, their expressions unreadable.
Jack didn't slow.
His stride was firm, aggressive, radiating authority with every step. As he reached the door, he raised a hand and gave a silent gesture for the guards to move aside.
But they didn't.
Instead, one of them calmly tapped a small silver bell hanging from his belt. The chime that rang out was crisp and clear, echoing down the corridor.
Jack's eyes narrowed.
More footsteps approached.
A moment later, a man appeared—mid-thirties, sharp-eyed, and dressed not in armor, but in a formal black coat. The royal insignia of the guards was finely embroidered across his chest, subtle but unmistakable.
He walked with smooth confidence and gave a respectful bow.
"Your Grace," he said politely, "may I ask the reason for your visit?"
Jack halted in his tracks and sharply turned around, his boots striking the floor with loud, determined steps. Without a word, he strode back down the corridor and returned to the room where he and Seraphine had spoken moments earlier.
It was empty.
She had already left.
Jack's eyes narrowed. He turned again, this time heading for the upper floor of the manor—toward her chambers.
The corridor leading to Seraphine's room was lined with Royal Guards. Their polished armor gleamed faintly under the flickering lanterns, their expressions unreadable.
Jack didn't slow.
His stride was firm, aggressive, radiating authority with every step. As he reached the door, he raised a hand and gave a silent gesture for the guards to move aside.
But they didn't.
Instead, one of them calmly tapped a small silver bell hanging from his belt. The chime that rang out was crisp and clear, echoing down the corridor.
Jack's eyes narrowed.
More footsteps approached.
A moment later, a man appeared—mid-thirties, sharp-eyed, and dressed not in armor, but in a formal black coat. The royal insignia of the guards was finely embroidered across his chest, subtle but unmistakable.
He walked with smooth confidence and gave a respectful bow.
"Your Grace," he said politely, "may I ask the reason for your visit?"
Jack's eyes locked onto the man, cold and unblinking.
"I need to speak with the princess," he said flatly, his voice calm but edged with steel.
The man didn't flinch. He straightened from his bow, his hands clasped neatly behind his back.
"I'm afraid that won't be possible at the moment, Your Grace," he replied, his tone respectful, but firm. "The princess is currently resting, and under the protection of her designated escort. I would advise waiting until morning."
Jack took a step forward, the air between them tightening.
"It wasn't a request."
The man's jaw tensed for the briefest moment, but his expression remained composed.
"With all due respect, Count ," he said carefully, "I am bound by protocol to ensure the princess's safety. We cannot allow unscheduled visits without her consent—especially after what happened week ago ."
There was a pause. The guards along the hall subtly shifted, hands moving closer to their weapons—not drawing, but ready.
Jack tilted his head slightly, his eyes scanning the man in front of him.
"You seem quite comfortable giving orders on my land," he said, voice low, deadly quiet. "Unless I'm mistaken, this is still Greenriver Manor, under my authority. Or has that changed too?"
The man held his ground, but the air around him thinned.
He exhaled slowly, bowing his head once more—this time slightly deeper.
"I meant no disrespect, Your Grace." His tone softened, the edge melting from his formality. "Of course, if the Count insists…"
He stepped to the side and motioned to the guards. "Stand down."
The two men at the door hesitated, then reluctantly stepped aside. One of them opened the door with a stiff movement.
Jack stepped forward, expecting to enter Seraphine's chamber—but the man raised a hand slightly.
"Forgive me, Your Grace," he said quickly, "but it would be improper to enter the princess's private quarters directly. This way, please."
Without waiting for agreement, he gestured toward a finely carved door just beside the main chamber—an adjacent reception room, likely used for formal meetings or diplomatic visits.
Jack clenched his jaw but didn't argue. With a curt nod, he followed.
The room was richly furnished. A soft red carpet stretched across the polished wooden floor, and tall windows overlooked the moonlit manor gardens. There was a round table at the center, a tea set already placed upon it, untouched. The silence in the room was deafening.
Jack stood with his hands behind his back, his cloak barely swaying as he turned toward the door. The man bowed once more and stepped outside, leaving Jack alone.
The minutes dragged.
He didn't sit. He paced.
Footsteps finally echoed beyond the door. A soft knock came before it creaked open again.
Seraphine entered, flanked by Tracy, who looked just as alert and stern as earlier. Seraphine's expression was unreadable, though her hair was slightly tousled, and her amber red eyes locked onto Jack's with cautious curiosity.