His arms encircled her waist in a firm grasp, halting her descent before the cruel ground could embrace her. One hand secured her against him, the other gripping the hilt of his sword, ready—waiting.

Sterlla’s hands had instinctively found purchase against his chest, her breath stolen by the closeness, the intensity in his dark eyes. Linone’s expression was stormy, yet controlled. His voice, however, trembled with an unspoken vow.

"I will not… let you fall again."

His grip on her tightened momentarily, a silent promise woven in the space between them.

From behind the mask of her perfect poise, Sigel merely smiled, her hands lifting to hide the wicked curve of her lips.

EPISODE 12
BLOODVEIL

Sigel gasped, placing a trembling hand over her chest, her face the picture of feigned panic. "S-Sister dear! Are you harmed? You did not twist your ankle, did you?" Her voice quivered as she stepped forward, her hands reaching out as though to steady Sterlla.

Sterlla, still held in Linone’s firm grasp, tilted her head slightly, her expression composed yet sharp. You truly believe I do not see through your petty schemes, Sigel? The thought curled like smoke in her mind. Yet, she smiled, the curve of her lips effortless, regal. "Commander Linone caught me at the right moment," she said, her voice steady. Then, slowly, she lifted her gaze to Linone’s. The intensity in his eyes was unmistakable—an unspoken oath flickering within them.

"I am fine now," she assured him softly.

Linone released her at once, stepping back with a sharp bow, his posture rigid. "Pardon me, Crown Princess—I—"

"Hush." Sterlla’s voice was gentle but firm, cutting through his words. "You appeared from the very shadows to save me. I find myself deeply indebted to you, Commander. More than words can express."

Linone held her gaze for a brief moment before bowing once more. Then, his eyes flickered to Sigel, the wariness in his stare unmasked. "Lady Sigel. Both you and the Crown Princess must remain cautious. I advise you to stand close to the carriage. The Crown Prince and Commander Adena are still seeking an alternate route. We will not be long. I ask for your patience."

Sigel smiled, but her teeth clenched within the curve of her lips. Lady? That mere word made her blood boil. He does not acknowledge me as a contender for the throne… She swallowed her fury and nodded, her voice honeyed. "But of course, Commander. We shall do as you say."

Linone inclined his head slightly before turning on his heel. A gust of wind stirred the folds of his cloak as he disappeared into the darkening forest, vanishing like a phantom.

The moment he was gone, Sigel exhaled slowly, calming the seething storm inside her. "What immense strength the Commander possesses…" she murmured, watching the place where he had stood.

Sterlla took a step forward, her gown whispering against the earth. Without warning, she reached for Sigel’s hand, her fingers firm as she pried it open.

Sigel flinched. It was so brief, so subtle, yet the smallest jolt of her body betrayed her. She masked it with a small smile. "Y-Yes, Sister?"

Sterlla placed the purple flower onto her palm, its petals soft against Sigel’s skin. "I nearly fell, yes, but I do not break my word," she said, her voice laced with quiet amusement. "You desired this flower. And so, it is yours."

Sigel’s fingers closed around the bloom, her nails biting into her palm. Her lips curved into a blush-stained smile, yet within her mind, venom coiled. How dare she? How dare she stand there, unshaken, unbroken, draped in her absurd poise and untouchable grace? Sigel swallowed the resentment thick on her tongue. One day, Sterlla, it will be me they call ‘Crown Princess.’ It will be me they bow before. Not you.

She inhaled deeply before stepping forward, pressing the flower into her hair, her fingers lingering for just a second too long. Then, pulling back, she enveloped Sterlla in a light embrace, a picture of sisterly devotion.

The two stood side by side near the carriage, exactly as Linone had instructed.

Then—

A rustle.

A shift in the air.

The bushes flanking the carriage trembled, the foliage parting as shadowy figures slithered forth. The evening, once still, now whispered of something far more sinister.

Adena exhaled, steadying herself as she pressed her gloved fingers against the rough bark of a tree. Her keen eyes traced the intricate markings of her mana—glowing faintly like silver veins against the darkened ground. The trail was clear now. The path was safe.

She had spent the past hour meticulously inscribing magical indicators, ensuring the safest route through this forest. Relief flickered across her face, but only for a moment. She could not afford distraction. With a swift motion, she straightened her back, gathered her mana, and disappeared in a blur, reappearing before Crown Prince Simore as though she had stepped through a rip in reality itself.

"Crown Prince," she announced, her voice firm yet urgent. "I have found a route."

Simore turned at once, his sharp blue eyes scanning her expression for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, he gave a single nod, his gaze shifting toward Linone, who stood further off, his silhouette barely visible against the dimming light of the evening.

"Commander Linone!" Simore's voice rang out, strong and unwavering. "We have found the route!"

Linone turned sharply, his posture rigid as he caught Simore’s words. Without delay, he surged forward, his speed a blur as he covered the distance in an instant, meeting Adena’s determined gaze. They exchanged a silent understanding—there was no time to waste. As one, they sprinted back toward the carriage, their figures slicing through the twilight like wraiths. But then—

Adena faltered. Her movements halted so suddenly that the very air around her felt disturbed. Her mana, once a pulsing beacon of strength, flickered and dulled.

Linone stopped beside her immediately, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his sword. "What is wrong?" he asked, his voice dangerously low, his instincts sharpening like a honed blade.

Adena swallowed, an ominous shiver running down her spine. "The assassin group that lurks in this forest... They dwell here."

Simore, now only a step behind, froze at her words. "Assassin group?" he echoed, his usually composed voice tinged with alarm.

Adena nodded, her expression grim. "Yes, Your Highness. The unnamed assassins... A group shrouded in secrecy, striking down any who dare cross these woods."

Linone’s mind raced. "They did not attack us the last time we crossed this forest..." His voice was a whisper, more to himself than to them. Then, as realization dawned, his expression hardened into a cold mask. His breath left him in a slow, controlled exhale.

"Crown Princess Sterlla is alone."

Simore stiffened, his body seizing with an unspoken horror. His fingers trembled against his side, and the blood in his veins felt ice-cold. The kind of cold he had felt when he had held Sterlla's lifeless body in his arms that had come after a delightful picnic. His mouth opened, but words failed him.

And then he ran.

He did not think. He did not hesitate. His body moved on sheer instinct, pushing forward with a frantic desperation unlike anything he had ever known. Linone and Adena followed, their speed turning them into fleeting shadows against the dying light.

When they reached the clearing, the sight before them turned Simore’s stomach to stone.

Blood. It painted the dirt road in thick, glistening streaks. Dark crimson splattered across the wooden wheels of the carriage, dripping in slow, cruel rivulets. A piece of fabric—soft, torn silk—fluttered in the wind, clinging to a splintered branch as though pleading for salvation.

And Neither Sigel nor Sterlla—

Were to be seen.

Simore’s breathing turned ragged. His vision blurred. He took a step forward, but his knees nearly gave way beneath him.

"Sister..." he rasped, his voice barely more than a breath, but trembling with the weight of unspeakable fear. The world around him felt unreal, as if some cruel nightmare had swallowed him whole.

Adena, pale as a ghost, gritted her teeth. Linone, ever the commander, straightened his stance, forcing himself to push past the suffocating panic tightening in his chest.

"Trust in the Crown Princess," Linone said, his voice slicing through the fog of fear like steel through flesh. "We must find them. Now."

Adena exhaled sharply, nodding. "Yes. We act now. Helplessness can wait."

Simore, still visibly shaken, swallowed his terror, his fingers clenching into fists. He turned, stepping toward the carriage. His heart pounded as he knocked on the wooden door, his mind clinging to desperate hope.

Silence.

And then—

A voice. Shaky, fragile, almost unrecognizable. "Wh-who...?"

Not Sterlla.

"Lady Sigel?" Simore called out, pressing his palm against the door. "It is I, Simore. Your brother is here. Fear not."

A pause. Then, in the same trembling voice—

"S-Sterlla... told me not to open the door for anyone."

Simore closed his eyes briefly, exhaling. The knot in his chest tightened.

Linone stepped closer, his sharp gaze fixed on the carriage’s side. "Lady Sigel," he called, "do you know where the Crown Princess is?"

Inside the carriage, Sigel pressed herself against the cold wooden panels, biting her lip to suppress the violent tremors in her hands. "She... she fought them. She told me to hide here. She took them ahead—the path forward."

Linone did not hesitate. He was already moving.

"Adena," he ordered, "we go after her."

Adena met Simore’s gaze briefly before nodding. "Crown Prince, remain with Lady Sigel. Ensure her safety."

Simore gave a rigid nod, though the tremor in his fingers had yet to still. "Find my sister," he whispered, more prayer than command.

Linone and Adena vanished into the darkness, chasing the faint echoes of battle. When they arrived at the scene, they stopped cold.

There, amidst the carnage of broken bodies, bloodied steel, and the stench of death, stood Sterlla.

Her gown, once flowing and pristine, was torn and tattered, its fabric jaggedly ripped to her knees. The exposed skin of her legs bore the faintest traces of battle, yet she stood unyielding, her breath slow and measured.

In her right hand, she held a sword—its blade slick with fresh crimson.

And above her, coiling in the air like a spectral wraith, her dragon slithered—its massive form bathed in hues of ethereal violet and glacial blue, its slitted eyes gleaming with something ancient, something wrathful.

Sterlla's gaze was unwavering as she surveyed the broken men at her feet, bodies heaving, twitching, blood pooling beneath them in gruesome artistry. Her blue eyes, usually a beacon of regal serenity, glowed with something far more terrifying.

Linone and Adena stood frozen.

For in that moment, Sterlla did not look like a princess.

She looked like a conqueror.