Ink: Living Life as Serena Gleis

LI: Aurora's Veil

"Are they awake?" I murmured, descending the spiral staircase from the solitude of my chamber. Maurice, emerging from the room where the injured knights lay, glanced up wearily and shook his head. "The other two are sound asleep, but the third remains unconscious," he replied, his voice heavy with fatigue. With a nod of understanding, I continued on my way, confident that Maurice would tend to their needs.

Entering my office, the familiar scent of aged parchment and the faint crackle of the dwindling fire welcomed me. The room was cast in a soft, flickering glow, illuminated only by the remnants of a fire left behind by the former duchess. Above my desk, the portrait of Lena, Serena's mother, stood as a silent sentinel, a constant reminder of the legacy I had inherited.

Sinking into my chair, I allowed my thoughts to drift, pondering the recent events that had unfolded. It seemed there was a war brewing between Bluistain and Yeoris, a notion that sent a chill down my spine. How could such a conflict arise? Bluistain had long reigned as the strongest empire in the land, yet the death of the Emperor had left a power vacuum, ripe for exploitation by their enemies.

"The Emperor is dead, huh," I whispered to myself, the weight of the revelation settling heavily upon me. Quickly, I retrieved parchment and quill, meticulously transcribing the information I had gathered. According to the original story, Cynfael ascended the throne at the age of 21, in the final chapter of the book. But with the Emperor's untimely demise, it seemed he would inherit the throne a year earlier than anticipated. It was a deviation from the narrative, a troubling sign of the upheaval to come.

As I pondered the implications, a sense of unease settled over me. It felt as though the narrative of my life had slipped from my grasp, the plot twisting in unexpected directions. The future, once clear, now lay obscured by uncertainty.

A sharp rap at the door shattered my reverie, and Azrael entered, settling into the chair across from my desk. His expression was grave, his gaze probing. "Do you know him?" he asked, his voice laden with significance, likely referring to Arthur.

"Yes, he was a colleague of mine back in Gleis," I replied simply. Azrael sat in silence, prompting me to continue.

"He taught me how to wield a sword, how to fight," I added, a wave of nostalgia washing over me. Azrael nodded, understanding dawning in his eyes. "We can't allow them to leave Clye," he stated firmly, his tone brooking no argument.

I paused, my pen hovering over the parchment. Meeting Azrael's gaze, I knew he was serious. "I know," I conceded, torn between duty as Duchess and loyalty to an old friend. "We must remain hidden, away from the conflict," I continued, resolving to protect Clye at all costs.

Azrael's next words surprised me. "Once they have recovered, make them knights of Clye. I will train them personally," he declared. The idea seemed audacious, asking former knights to forsake their allegiance to serve a new cause. Yet, it was the only way to ensure their stay.

Reluctantly, I nodded, accepting the weight of my decision. "They will stay," I affirmed, steeling myself for the challenges that lay ahead.

Three days passed before the injured knights showed signs of recovery. Maurice's report confirmed Arthur's awakening, prompting Azrael and me to visit their chamber. As we entered, the three knights sat upon their beds, engaged in earnest conversation, no doubt recounting their recent ordeal.

Arthur's gaze met mine as I stepped into the room, his expression a tumultuous blend of shock, sadness, and regret. Despite his evident pain, he attempted to rise, only to be halted by the lingering ache of his half-healed wounds. His outstretched arms trembled, reaching for me as tears welled in his eyes, rendering him momentarily speechless.