Chapter 12
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She wondered whether relentless battlefield trauma had scarred him deeply, much like some lingering affliction.
Everett grazed his lower lip with his teeth, sensing his error in words.
“Do restless nights trouble you often?”
Her voice carried a playful lilt on purpose.
Shifting topics abruptly now would only thicken the tension between them.
Eyes carrying that weight rarely belonged to true antagonists.
Relief washed over her as Everett’s features eased noticeably.
The stifling air that had pressed upon them started to dissipate at last.
“So you’re claiming you broke free from chains as a hardened outlaw, then caught the king’s eye with your talents and earned a spot in his service?”
She delivered the wild conjecture with dramatic flair, aiming to shatter the gloom completely.
“Perhaps your secret pastime involves swiping sweets from young ones and tossing them into the dirt?”
Her absurd suggestions grew ever more outlandish with each breath.
“You possess a vivid mind,” Everett remarked.
Before long, he hung on her barrage of foolish tales, entranced as a monarch enthralled by a storyteller’s weave.
“At least I take comfort knowing I’m not quite so dreadful,” he admitted.
They had arrived at the narrow lane leading to her doorstep, and Everett’s face now bore a genuine, unburdened grin.
Pride flickered within her for lightening his load; she offered a parting wave.
“We’re right upon it,” he noted, his gaze sweeping the empty surroundings in mild puzzlement, as if expecting homes to materialize.
“Not precisely this spot, naturally. A woman must guard her private quarters from strangers, wouldn’t you agree?”
Personal details had slipped out once before, a fact she kept to herself.
“No souls lurk close by. I trust your residence lies nearby.”
Concern edged his brief words.
With a quiet smile, she pivoted and began to depart.
His stare brushed her back fleetingly before fading.
The echo of his steps pulling away soon filled the quiet.
An urge overtook her; she glanced over her shoulder.
Everett froze mid-stride.
“Whatever lingers from earlier stirs my questions still,” he confessed.
He wheeled around to meet her eyes.
Ten strides separated them, postures squared in opposition.
“Surely you’re trained as a knight?”
The query masked her firm conviction.
Such powerful build wasted behind a desk would squander imperial strength.
“And you stood beside His Majesty in combat?”
Moonlight cast shadows over Everett’s rigid form; a subtle twitch betrayed him.
She hastened to explain her reasoning.
Further confusion would serve no purpose.
“No desk clerk handles a wrist lock with that precision.”
Resentment bubbled up as she recalled the moment.
“Almost forgot—I skipped the temple entirely.”
The detail faded from relevance; she dismissed it casually.
“Regardless, those wakeful hours born of war’s fury…”
She drew in a steadying breath.
“…they’ve granted me my own tranquil rest. My gratitude.”
Her bow plunged low, every ounce of respect poured into the gesture.
The reigning emperor had swept away rivals upon claiming power, yet adoration from the masses endured.
Memories from her youth blurred the details.
A mere child then, she’d paid no mind to grown-up intrigues.
His predecessor’s rule must have ground the realm into despair.
The late sovereign rose after his elder sibling, the heir apparent, succumbed to sudden sickness and abdicated.
That ex-prince, brimming with potential, had chosen idle pleasures far from crown’s shadow.
Even enthroned, he shunned true governance.
Whispers painted him as woefully unfit.
Continental might defined the empire, yet one weak leader eroded its core swiftly.
National vigor ebbed, drawing hungry borders to test their claims through ceaseless raids.
Blind to peril, the old ruler chased sycophants’ flattery, abandoning duties.
Lands dwindled; suffering etched deeper into everyday existence.
Nobles near the shielded capital, like her kin, tasted the hardship.
Past glories alone propped the faltering state against collapse.
Neighboring realms forged an alliance and launched full assault.
Undeceived, the prior emperor strutted in overconfidence, drowning in excess amid the storm.
Thus the present sovereign executed the purge, ousted rotten advisors, and waged grueling campaigns fresh from coronation.
Hesitation would have shattered the empire into fragments long ago.
Should Everett Rojas rank among the emperor’s trusted circle, battlefields had claimed years of his life.
Those vigils he kept likely secured calmer days for imperial subjects.
“Such lavish praise from you catches me off guard.”
His murmur blended mock protest with subdued satisfaction.
Embarrassment tinged his cheeks alongside a spark of honor.
“No empty compliments here.”
She whispered to his vanishing silhouette.
A light shrug lifted her shoulders; she headed inward.
Morning brought her to the office, where a knight summoned her promptly.
“Miss Carolina Diaz, if you’d follow me.”
Drawing near, he bent close, voice a hush for her ears alone.
“An directive requires subtle confirmation of Constance’s well-being in the palace holding cells.”
Joy lit her features, though he motioned for restraint.
“Leadership demands utmost secrecy on this. They note your prior knowledge spares any briefing.”
His eyes probed hers, gauging her grasp.
“Clear enough,” she responded softly.
Authorities had withheld Constance’s freedom pending the Duke of Camelot’s manor probe—a lopsided deal, yet advancement at last.
Satisfied, the knight pressed on.
“Your input as observer will align accounts. Proceed as expected.”
“Absolutely,” she agreed, adopting a touch of unease.
“Ready to go, Miss Carolina Diaz?”
Voice rising for show, he adopted ceremony once she nodded.
Eyes downcast in feigned gravity, she trailed after.
Murmurs rose from behind.
The chattering cluster orbiting Andrew—scrounging clout—stirred again.
His arrest had them wailing like kin condemned; whispers of his freedom revived their buzz.
“Carolina Diaz up next?”
“Makes sense. Donovan and Andrew walk free, but Constance lingers. Why else summon her?”
“Constance pointed fingers at a partner, then.”
“Massive affair like this? Solo act implausible.”
Their volume ensured she caught every barb, mistaking her quiet for shame.
Perhaps they savored her plight too keenly to muffle it.
Academy seniors by five years, they’d stumbled through repeats, scraped degrees, bombed palace hires—landing roles alongside her despite her head start.
Resentment toward her simmered naturally.
She bore no blame for their shortcomings.
Camelot household scrutiny tied her tongue; otherwise, retorts would fly.
Patience for Kyle Russ and Everett would yield results.
Feigning deafness, she lengthened her stride.
Restoration for her and Connie’s stained names loomed essential.
Gossip webs spun wild, falsehoods clinging longest to the wronged.
Ignore it, and conviction would root that she and Connie masterminded the western outrage, slipping bonds via backroom deals.
Prioritize: secure Connie’s release above all.
In her mind, crimson tallies marked twin slanders and twin vendettas.
Undeterred by decorum, the trio escalated.
“Imagine ties higher than Carolina Diaz entangled here.”
“Renkel Count lineage clashes with Camelot Duke’s, or so they claim.”
Fanciful barbs now snagged her maternal house.
Renkel’s weighty name sent onlookers—till then watchful—fleeing into shadows.
