Chapter 20 — The Arrest of Princess Rynvaris.
Clomp, clomp… clomp, clomp…
Clomp, clomp… clomp, clomp…
Clomp, clomp… clomp, clomp…
The rhythm was slow. Measured. Heavy.
Not the hurried march of common guards—but the deliberate advance of disciplined steel.
Lantern light trembled along the marble path as armored boots crossed into the First Princess’s villa grounds. Conversations faltered. Laughter from moments ago died in throats. Servants instinctively lowered their eyes and stepped aside, hearts sinking as a familiar pressure settled over the air.
Layra moved first.
She stepped forward, spine straight, hands folded calmly before her apron—but her eyes were sharp, calculating.
“This is the First Princess’s villa,” Layra said, her voice cool and unwavering.
“State whose orders you follow to enter unannounced.”
The soldiers halted in perfect unison.
Then—
One man stepped forward.
His armor bore no unnecessary ornamentation—blackened steel edged with silver runes, polished not for vanity but for war. A long cloak rested over his shoulders, unmoving despite the breeze, as if the night itself knew better than to touch it.
When he removed his helmet, the temperature of the space seemed to drop.
Cold gray eyes. Scar traced cleanly across his jaw. Expression unreadable.
The soldiers behind him straightened instinctively.
“I am the Fifth Royal Knight,” he said.
His voice was not loud. It did not need to be.
“Orion Blackveil.”
The name landed like a hammer.
Even the garden lanterns seemed to flicker.
“By direct order of Her Majesty, Queen Elowen Calista,” Orion continued, gaze steady, respectful—but absolute,
“I have come to escort Princess Rynvaris into royal custody.”
A ripple of shock spread through the villa.
Princess Sylvaris stepped forward, disbelief flashing across her face.
“Layra—what is happening?” she demanded. “Who are these soldiers?”
Layra did not look away from Orion.
“Your Highness,” she said carefully,
“Sir Orion Blackveil… Fifth Royal Knight of the Queen… has arrived with orders to arrest Princess Rynvaris.”
Silence.
Then—
“What?!” Princess Sylvaris exclaimed, her composure cracking.
“Sir Orion Blackveil, surely there is some mistake. Are you certain you have the right person?”
Orion inclined his head—precise, respectful.
“I would not step into the First Princess’s domain without certainty,” he replied.
“My orders are explicit. Princess Rynvaris of the royal bloodline.”
There was no hostility in his tone.
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Only inevitability.
Behind him, one of the soldiers dropped to a knee.
“Sir,” the soldier reported, voice taut with discipline,
“Princess Rynvaris has been located within the villa.”
Orion closed his eyes briefly—as if acknowledging a weight rather than a victory.
“Understood.”
He looked back to Sylvaris and Layra.
“By royal decree,” he said,
“I will proceed with respect befitting her status. No chains. No force—unless resistance is offered.”
His gaze sharpened—not threatening, but warning.
“I trust that will not be necessary.”
No one doubted him.
When Orion Blackveil moved, even nobles stepped aside.
Not out of fear alone—
—but out of recognition.
-----
Inside Princess Rynvaris’s chamber, the world was blissfully unaware of impending doom.
Soft curtains swayed gently with the night breeze. Moonlight spilled across scattered books, half-empty tea cups, and a suspicious pile of snacks hidden beneath the desk. The bed at the center of it all was occupied by a small, completely unbothered disaster.
“Suu… suu…”
Princess Rynvaris slept on her side, hair splayed in every possible direction, one arm dangling off the bed like a fallen banner of surrender.
The door closed quietly behind them.
Layra entered first, her expression already resigned.
Princess Sylvaris followed, tension written across her face.
Last came Sir Orion Blackveil.
The Fifth Royal Knight stopped just inside the room.
He did not sit.
He did not relax.
He simply stood there—like a judgment that had learned patience.
“Suu… suu…”
Layra approached the bed and lowered her voice.
“Princess Rynvaris…” she called gently.
No response.
“Suu… suu…”
Layra tried again, slightly louder.
“Your Highness…”
Rynvaris turned over, pulling the blanket tighter around herself.
“Suu… suu…”
A vein twitched faintly at Layra’s temple.
She straightened, inhaled once—
“YOUR HIGHNESS!”
“What?!”
Rynvaris jolted upright, eyes wide, hair sticking up in defiance of all royal decorum.
“For the love of—Layra, do you know what time it is?!” she snapped, rubbing her eyes.
“I was in the middle of a very important dream!”
Princess Sylvaris folded her arms.
“Ray,” she said slowly, “what did you do?”
Rynvaris blinked.
“…Define ‘did.’”
Sylvaris stared.
“What are you talking about, sis?” Rynvaris asked, squinting.
“Did I snore too loudly again? Because I already apologized for that yesterday.”
“This is not about snoring,” Sylvaris said flatly.
“Sir Orion Blackveil is here.”
Rynvaris froze.
“…The chef?” she asked cautiously.
Layra closed her eyes.
“No, Your Highness,” Layra corrected, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“Sir Orion Blackveil. Royal Knight of the Queen.”
Rynvaris’s gaze drifted past them—
—and landed on the tall, black-armored figure standing silently near the door.
He looked down at her.
She looked up at him.
There was a very long pause.
“…Wow,” Rynvaris muttered. “Either I’m still dreaming, or my dream just got very expensive.”
Princess Sylvaris sighed.
“Ray,” she said, “Sir Orion Blackveil has come to arrest you.”
“What?!”
Rynvaris flopped back onto the bed, one hand covering her face.
“…Okay. Definitely dreaming.”
She peeked through her fingers.
“…Wait. Who is he again?”
Orion inclined his head slightly.
“Fifth Royal Knight,” he said evenly.
“Orion Blackveil.”
Rynvaris stared at him for another second.
“…Do Fifth Royal Knights usually arrest people before breakfast?”
The room went quiet.
Layra, somehow, managed not to laugh.
Orion did not smile.
-----
Sir Orion Blackveil straightened, one fist resting lightly against his chest in a formal knight’s salute.
“The Queen has commanded that you be escorted,” he said, voice steady and unyielding,
“with utmost respect, to the Court of the Great God Auriviel.”
His gaze did not waver.
Not from Rynvaris.
Not from Sylvaris.
Not even from Layra.
The Court of the Great God Auriviel—overseen by the priests of Auriviel—stood above ordinary law. It judged only those of royal blood. Once summoned, refusal itself was considered an admission of guilt.
Rynvaris swallowed.
Her earlier sleepiness evaporated like mist under sunlight.
“…Sir,” she said slowly, pushing herself upright on the bed,
“what exactly did I do?”
For the first time, Orion’s expression shifted—just barely.
“I do not know,” he replied honestly.
“My orders are limited to your escort. No charges were disclosed to me.”
Rynvaris stared.
“You don’t know… and you’re still arresting me?”
“Yes.”
The answer came without hesitation.
Rynvaris let out a small, strangled laugh.
“Wow,” she muttered. “That’s… efficient.”
Princess Sylvaris stepped closer, her tone gentler now.
“Ray,” she said, placing a hand on her sister’s shoulder,
“you don’t have to panic. If you truly didn’t do anything, I will stand with you.”
Rynvaris looked up at her.
“…‘Truly’?”
Sylvaris hesitated—just a fraction too long.
“What do you mean by ‘truly didn’t do anything’?” Rynvaris asked, brows knitting together.
Sylvaris sighed.
“I mean,” she said carefully,
“I will help you after I understand what actually happened. This smells like a setup. And if someone is framing you, we’ll uncover it.”
Rynvaris’s fingers curled into the blanket.
A setup.
Her mind raced.
I barely left the villa. I haven’t touched court politics. I don’t even know where half the treasury offices are.
Then—
The court.
Her chest tightened.
Once accused there, innocence mattered less than perception.
“…So I’m in trouble,” Rynvaris murmured.
Sir Orion spoke again, his voice firm but not cruel.
“Princess Rynvaris,” he said,
“I give you my word as a Royal Knight. You will be treated with dignity. But the summons cannot be delayed.”
Rynvaris exhaled slowly.
“…Guess I don’t get a choice.”
She looked up at him.
“Do I at least get time to wash my face?”
Orion paused.
“…Yes.”
Layra immediately moved.
“Then please, Your Highness,” she said briskly,
“try not to anger the gods before breakfast.”
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