(7) Like an Ominous Spell (7)
The blue knight was not an enemy. Eleanor had no intention of creating more enemies than necessary within the Imperial Palace. She spoke calmly.
“I am Eleanor Snow, currently staying in the Tulip Palace. I wish to request an audience with His Majesty the Emperor. Could you announce my request?”
“His Majesty is busy with affairs of state. Please return.”
She had expected to be turned away.
“Are you unaware that His Majesty sent Sir Teris, the Azure Knight, and the Black Order for the sake of the North’s Snow family? I think you do know.”
The knight’s eyes wavered.
“If you heard the report and followed through with thought, then you’d understand. I’m an honored guest of the Imperial Palace. I have enough standing to request an audience.”
Eleanor stood tall, looking up at the knight.
“I will wait. Please deliver my request.”
***
In the center of the underground torture chamber, Heraith sat cross-legged on a chair, silently watching the man collapsed before him.
The man who had snuck into Heraith’s bedroom the night before was now a tattered mess, barely breathing.
He was skilled, skilled enough to infiltrate the Emperor’s quarters and manage to wound Heraith’s arm.
And tight-lipped, resisting even the most brutal torture, refusing to say a word.
Though the man remained silent, Heraith wasn’t clueless about who might be behind him. Still, if the man did talk, crushing the one pulling the strings would be much easier.
“…It’s fascinating,” Heraith murmured, looking down at the wheezing man.
“Why does Mother keep attempting these pointless schemes?”
He reached out and gripped the man’s jaw.
“Does she think that if she tries enough times, one will work and she’ll finally succeed in killing me? Hmm? Can’t you at least answer that?”
There was no light in the man’s eyes as he looked at Heraith.
It was a sign of strong brainwashing magic. Assassins like him had shown the same symptoms before.
Heraith had thought that inflicting pain might snap them out of it, but so far, not a single attempt had worked.
Confirming that the man’s gaze didn’t change even when he shook him, Heraith let go.
Just then, Oscar spoke softly.
“Your Majesty. Miss Eleanor Snow is waiting in front of the palace and requests an audience. What shall I tell her?”
Eleanor Snow.
It was a name he hadn’t heard in a while, and it made Heraith let out a quiet chuckle.
Yes. It was about time things started to move.
When Heraith stayed in the palace, the air grew still, but that stillness was only on the surface. Beneath it, there was constant, fierce activity. Heraith knew that well.
A few days ago, concubine Calliope had visited the Tulip Palace. What words were exchanged there remained a mystery. But what was known was that Calliope had stormed out, visibly furious.
Sure, she was prone to overreaction, but what could that woman in the Tulip Palace have said to enrage her so thoroughly?
Heraith began to rise, then paused, glancing around the blood-soaked underground chamber.
Torture instruments, blood pooled on the floor, and that foul stench steeped deep into the walls.
Even the strongest person would gag in a place like this.
“Bring her here.”
‘Your Majesty, on the promised day, I shall be the most beautiful bride, smiling brighter than anyone. Please, do not worry.’
He was curious just how beautifully she would smile.
***
‘What kind of woman…’
Blue Knight Chesley called over a passing servant and told them to inform the Emperor in the underground chamber that Eleanor Snow was requesting an audience.
Then he looked down at the woman standing before him, Eleanor Snow.
Anyone in the Order knew the Snow family’s reputation.
But still…
‘How does she look like she has no weaknesses?’
He hadn’t expected even the women of Snow to be this strong.
Eleanor stood with the poise and elegance of a noblewoman. A subtle smile lingered on her soft, full lips.
To the untrained eye, she appeared completely defenseless.
But to a knight’s gaze, it was different.
She was small and slender, as if a light push might knock her over.
‘And yet, she’d counter right away.’
Chesley liked strong people.
“Do you know how to wield a sword? Ah, I’m Chesley Ricart.”
Eleanor tilted her head slightly, as if surprised by the question. The gesture was adorably reminiscent of a greenhouse-raised noble lady.
But even in that moment, Chesley couldn’t find an opening to attack.
“A little,” she said.
It didn’t seem like ‘a little.’
Chesley didn’t get a chance to ask more. The servant who had gone to see Heraith returned.
“His Majesty says to escort her to the underground chamber.”
Chesley was appalled by the servant’s words. To bring a lady into the underground torture chamber? Did they even realize what kind of place that was?
It was so revolting that even knights, who had seen more than enough blood, held their breath in disgust when entering.
The name alone, torture chamber, was enough to tell anyone it wasn’t a place of beauty.
But Eleanor responded calmly, without even a flicker of surprise.
“Please lead the way.”
Chesley wondered if she would still be able to maintain that composed smile once inside.
***
The closer they got to the destination, the thicker the scent of blood became. The servant walking with her couldn’t detect it, but Eleanor’s sharp sense of smell picked up the stench of dread clinging to the air.
It wasn’t hard to imagine what might be going on in the torture room right now.
“You’ll need to go down these stairs.”
The servant said once they reached the stairs, now also making a face as though holding back nausea from the smell.
Eleanor dipped her head politely and moved toward the steps, but the servant called out to her.
“Wait, Lady Snow.”
When she turned, the servant looked at her with a worried expression.
“That’s no place for a woman to set foot in. Please… be careful.”
Eleanor smiled gently.
“Thank you.”
Click-clack.
With each step she took down the staircase, the stench grew stronger—not just the smell of blood, but a deeper, older odor of despair soaked into the stone over the years.
Still, Eleanor’s expression didn’t waver as she stepped onto the final step.
“I am Eleanor Snow.”
“Enter.”
As the door opened, a wave of foul air, even stronger than before, swept over her. For a moment, it nearly made her stumble, but Eleanor walked inside without so much as a flicker of discomfort.
The room was fairly large, but lit by only a single lamp. Its flickering flame made the torture chamber appear all the more grotesque.
Eleanor slowly looked around. The walls were lined with torture instruments, and in the center stood Heraith.
He blended into the scene like something born of the abyss, so much so that he looked like one of the torture tools himself: dangerous, silent, and cruel.
In front of him knelt a man with his head bowed low, blood dripping from every inch of his body.
An ordinary man would’ve died long ago. Unfortunately, this one had an irritatingly persistent life.
“As you can see, I’m busy. It’d better be important.”
Heraith said, his voice low and echoing in the chamber.
“May I come closer?” Eleanor asked.
Heraith let out a short, disbelieving laugh, as though he hadn’t expected her to approach the heart of this hell.
“Sure. If you think you can.”
Click-clack. Click-clack.
With calm, measured steps, Eleanor walked to stand beside him.
Still looking down at the man, Heraith spoke.
“Quite a sight, isn’t it?”
“Am I supposed to like what I see?”
“Only if you want to.”
“In that case, no—I wouldn’t call it pleasant.”
Eleanor studied the man carefully. Though she didn’t know his name or origin, she could faintly sense the traces of dark magic lingering around him.
“No matter how much pain you inflict, it won’t break the brainwashing,” she said.
“You recognized it instantly. I don’t recall hearing that the Snow family produces mages.”
“The North is far away. Many things happen there that don’t reach Your Majesty’s ears.”
“So you didn’t hide it on purpose?”
“I have never hidden anything from Your Majesty.”
She had hidden plenty from others, but not from Heraith.
He was strong. Maybe she could deceive him briefly, but never for long. She didn’t expect his trust, but she didn’t want his suspicion either.
For the first time, Heraith lifted his gaze, staring quietly at the woman standing beside him.
Then he gestured with his chin toward a chair in the corner.
“If you don’t mind it being a torture chair, have a seat. I don’t like being looked up at.”
Eleanor obediently brought the chair over and sat beside him.
The two of them, seated side by side like spectators at a play, continued their conversation with the tortured man sprawled out before them.
