Kalen was walking through the castle interior. He had exchanged a few words with Sir Mikrilev—the brawny paladin serving as Queen Audarin’s personal guard—who was currently off duty. Begryn and Galfrido had headed to an internal tavern, while Anthos, it seemed, had decided to go to the mage's tower alone, as Kalen hadn't seen him again. He didn't think that was a good idea, especially knowing how the internal dealings of nobles tended to work.

  A castle could be a truly dangerous place if one crossed the wrong person and, after the Queen, Count Dromak Valderan was the most powerful man in the kingdom. The clear definition of the "wrong person."

  His musings were interrupted when, passing through a cloister hallway, he saw Begryn sitting on a stone bench beside an apple tree in the garden. She was gazing at the stars, as she often did. The paladin approached within a few meters and began to watch her in silence. Her hair was bathed in moonlight, as was her tawny skin. Her black clothes stood in contrast, making her seem, at times, part of the darkness itself. And of course, there was her beautiful face, now relaxed before the blue firmament.

  "Are you going to just stand there without saying anything?" the elf asked after a few minutes. The knight smiled.

  "I knew you’d noticed my presence. You always do." He approached and sat beside her. "Meditating under the stars?"

  "And by the light of the moon... And you? What were you doing, besides contemplating my meditation?"

  "I was looking for Anthos, but apparently he decided to go to the mage's tower on his own."

  "Not on his own. Kisenthea went with him. Those two have something... you can see it in their faces."

  "Yes, they were more than obvious the whole time..." He paused for a moment to clear his throat. "Just as obvious as when I look at you, dear friend." Begryn turned her head and looked at Kalen directly in the eye. She could see the fire behind those deep gray eyes, which possessed a nobility often uncommon among the members of his race.

  "I suppose I'm just as obvious, then." The elf smiled after moistening her lips with her tongue, and Kalen couldn't help but feel driven wild by the movement of those pink lips that fit so perfectly with Begryn’s harmonious face. "Why did we let so many years pass before having a moment like this?"

  "I don't know..." He caressed her violet hair, tucking it behind her pointed ears. The elf closed her eyes for a second at the knight's touch. "But I don't want to let another moment pass. Your presence in my life is as fleeting as it is striking. Like a shooting star that strikes the sky, illuminating it and bathing the earth in light, but lasting only seconds."

  A breeze picked up, as if the wind itself wanted to emphasize the knight's words. The apple tree swayed, producing a soft sound as its branches brushed against one another. The night chill was settling in, but at this moment, the two souls were pure fire, and there was no winter harsh enough to extinguish them. Their gazes met again for a few moments until, finally, the knight placed his right hand on the elf’s left cheek and, leaning in slowly, kissed her on the lips.

  The kiss was short and soft. Their faces pulled apart for a second, but moments later they rejoined in a much more passionate kiss.

  Under the light of the moon and stars, on a winter night and at the foot of an apple tree, Kalen ‘Fal and Begryn kissed.

  At that moment, Galfrido walked past the hallway in a clear state of drunkenness, clutching a bottle in his left hand. When he turned his head and saw the scene, it was as if all the alcohol in his blood had vanished. He smiled and gave a single nod, sighing heavily but never losing his grin.

  "Finally..." he said to himself. "It was about time, Sir Knight. I can die in peace."

  He stood there for a few seconds, watching them from the corridor that opened into the cloister, but quickly resumed his walk toward his quarters, humming a catchy folk song by Amadis the bard.

  The following morning, everyone was gathered once again in the main hall, where the trial was taking place. In truth, only those directly involved were present, as the queen had decided to make it a confidential matter.

  Seated upon the throne was Audarin the Immortal, with Sir Mikrilev of the Order of Damaroth at her side; Lord Volrath stood before her, slightly off to one side, several meters away. On the opposite side stood Count Dromak Valderan and Lord Devan de-Oppengraf. Beyond the row of chairs, standing, were Galfrido, Begryn, Kalen, and several members of the Orders of Damaroth, Bidernia, and the Executioners. Anthos had not yet arrived, and those present were beginning to grow impatient.

  Suddenly, the doors of the main hall swung open, and everyone turned to see Anthos entering with Kisenthea.

  “We heard what happened… I should have gone with you,” Kalen said as Anthos passed by him.

  “Anthos…” said the queen. “What happened?”

  “I was attacked, Your Majesty.”

  “Attacked? By whom?”

  “An assassin… highly trained. He poisoned me. Only thanks to the healing arts of Volrath and his apprentice was I able to survive…” Audarin looked toward her mage.

  “You told me nothing about this attack.”

  “Of course not, Your Majesty. I knew Anthos would walk through that door at the most opportune moment. And this is the most opportune moment of all.” He fixed his inquisitive gaze upon Count Dromak, who began to sweat. He was no longer standing beside the throne, but below it. At his side, Lord Devan seemed somewhat more animated than the day before. “The signature is authentic.” Once again, murmurs filled the hall. “The signature is without a doubt that of Count Dromak Valderan. I also believe he sent an assassin after Anthos, knowing full well that he was the custodian of the letter.”

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  “My queen! What sort of witchcraft is this?” The count began, resorting to his last available weapon: Audarin’s personal favor toward him. “You know I would never do such a thing. Please, my queen, they are all conspiring—do not believe a cheap conjurer who surely plots vile dealings and schemes behind your back… behind our backs!”

  "Lord Devan," the Queen said, paying no heed to Dromak’s pleas, "I ask you one last time, and on this depends your life or your death." She placed heavy emphasis on the final word. "Did you conspire behind my back with Count Dromak? If you answer with the truth, your life will be spared. If it is finally proven otherwise, you will be beheaded."

  The lord looked at the Count, his face trembling under the immense pressure now weighing on his shoulders. His eyes were wide as saucers, and he was sweating as if he had just finished climbing the citadel stairs with a heavy rock tied to each leg.

  "Yes, Your Majesty." This time, the murmurs were silenced quickly. "Before heading to the Bridge of a Thousand Roses, I had a secret meeting with the Count..."

  "Liar!" Dromak spat, but Kalen immediately stepped forward and delivered a punch to his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. When it came to justice, the paladin was implacable.

  "In that meeting," Devan continued, "he told me a story... a prophetic one." The mage noticed that the lord was choosing his words carefully so as not to delve into those specific details, understanding there was a certain secrecy surrounding the subject. "But ultimately, he told me to wait for orders. And so I did. His orders reached me through that letter. The Count offered me the northern lands, recently pacified, in exchange for my help. He said that if I said or mentioned anything regarding our meeting, he already had men with orders to annihilate my entire lineage... Now, my Queen, I fear for my family."

  "Well?" the Queen said, looking at Dromak after a few moments of uncomfortable silence. The Count was still staring at the floor, and just when it seemed he wouldn't say a word, he lifted his head toward Audarin.

  "You..." he smiled bitterly. "You... I have taught you everything you know. I have bled for you. I have bled for you! Do you think your peace upon that throne is because everything always runs as it should? I take the difficult decisions that must be made! And I do it to protect you, so that you don't have to get your hands dirty!"

  "And do you think my hands aren't dirty because of your decisions?" The Queen tried to hold back a sea of tears. Anthos admired the stoicism and the strength with which the woman remained, staring at the man she had considered a true friend and whom she must now condemn.

  "Of course not!" Dromak began shaking his head frantically. "You hide behind your warrior image, just like your father did, and men like me sacrifice ourselves in the shadows so you can stay that way—looking into the eyes of invisible death and enemies blinded by hate. Who knows how many times I have looked in the mirror only for it to reflect back a shadow of the person I once was? Who knows how many times I’ve had to conjure the demons in my head just to manage even half a night’s sleep?"

  "Why don't you tell her what happened with the Blood Claws?" Anthos suddenly spoke aloud, remembering the massacre of the refugees. "Why don't you tell your Queen the order you gave behind her back?" Audarin frowned and looked at him, surprised.

  "What order?" The Count seemed perplexed at first, but then he understood and nodded slowly. Almost instantly, he began to laugh out loud; the Queen didn't seem to fully grasp what was happening.

  "The order you gave the Blood Claws to expel the Rimdail refugees from northern Trabarioth, you son of a bitch!" Anthos shouted in a rage. "The order to massacre them all!"

  The Queen sank heavily into her throne and shook her head while Dromak continued to laugh.

  "I take it back, my Queen," Dromak finally said. "Your hands are stained with blood, and not because of my decisions. Stupid Anthos—who do you think ordered me to hire the Blood Claws and give those directives to expel and exterminate those filthy Rimdailian refugees?"

  Anthos’s eyes went wide. He couldn’t believe it. Beyond Dromak’s obvious guilt in the attempted assassination of Drako and the conspiracy, it felt like a bucket of ice water to realize that the order for the Blood Claws had come from the Queen’s own lips. He felt his heart squeeze and once again questioned the nature of the world. "It was her. It was always her," he thought.

  Queen Audarin the Immortal wasn't so good after all. "That's what happens when the king is a warrior king," a voice whispered in his head. "Loved by his soldiers... hated by everyone else."

  “I… I think I should take my leave,” the guide said, turning halfway around, clearly distressed. The queen did not look at him. As he was walking out, he heard the verdict she pronounced upon Lord Devan. His life was spared, but he was banished from the kingdom forever. He did not stay to hear Dromak’s sentence—it wasn’t necessary. He had already heard enough.

  He began walking with some difficulty over the cobbled floor, still somewhat weakened by the poison that had surely worked mercilessly through his body, halted only by the healing arts of Kisenthea and Volrath.

  “Wait!” he heard a voice behind him. It was Volrath’s apprentice. “Aren’t you going to watch Count Dromak’s execution? They’re preparing the square. He’ll be executed immediately.”

  “I’ve had enough of all this shit… There’ll be more than enough death soon enough,” he said, his tone a mixture of sadness and disappointment, made heavier by his lingering weakness.

  “Are you all right?” She stepped a little closer. They were standing beside a window, through which sunlight filtered through the clouds, bathing them both in a golden glow.

  “I… I don’t know. I suppose I idealized the queen too much, I don’t know. The way she addressed all of us caught my attention. I’ve seen nobles before, but never someone like her… And yet, deep down, she’s just like the rest.”

  “Every ruler ends up with blood on their hands. It’s part of their condition… and it’s inevitable. The decision that benefits some ends up killing others. It has always been that way, and it always will be, as long as there are kings and subjects.”

  “I suppose so, but this isn’t for me. The life of an adventurer is much simpler and… the scheming of the nobility just confuses me.”

  They stood in silence for a few moments, until the young woman stepped forward and gently caressed his cheek with her right hand. He lifted his gaze and saw those emerald eyes shining like lanterns. Kisenthea bit her lip and, unable to resist, kissed him. A soft, brief, and intense kiss. Very intense. For a second, all the evils of the world disappeared, and there were only the two of them, illuminated by sunlight streaming through the tall, narrow window.

  "Kisenthea..." they heard a voice behind them. It was Volrath. "To the tower. We must continue with the defense." The girl stepped back a little.

  "Like the sun and the moon," she whispered, blushing from the encounter with her master and the excitement of the kiss she had been longing for for days.

  Before disappearing around the corner of the hallway, the mage shot him a withering look with those wise, light-blue eyes. But what could he do to him? Stab him? Poison him?

  No. Of course not. He’d have to get in line for that.

  Anthos was grateful to have met that girl with the golden hair and jade eyes, who had driven him wild from the very first moment. With a simple gesture, she had erased the bitterness he had felt only minutes before. At least for a moment.