"My daughter has been missing since yesterday!" Mellina's voice broke the silence like shattered glass. Tears streamed from her brown eyes, tracing trembling paths down her almond-brown cheeks before falling onto her lap. Her breath quivered as she struck her forehead with the heel of her palm, the sound sharp against the quiet room. She sat on the wooden chair near the window, her shoulders shaking as if the weight of the world had settled on them. A cold draft slipped into the room, curling around her despite the sun blazing mercilessly outside — a cruel mockery of warmth when her heart felt so cold.
Calvin sat across from her, his elbows resting on his knees, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as if to keep himself from falling apart. His face was tight with helplessness, his silence heavier than any words. The air hung thick, filled with Mellina's choked sobs — raw, broken sounds that clawed through the stillness.
Oscar sat in the corner of the bed, his back pressed to the headboard, one leg folded on the bed, the other dangling motionless. His eyes were distant, his jaw clenched. Meanwhile, Stanley stood by the window, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his gaze lowered — not out of indifference, but because he couldn't bear to see her so undone.
A knock on the large brown door broke the moment. Calvin's voice came out hoarse: "Enter."
Axton stepped in, his silver armor gleaming under the sunlight that spilled through the window. He stood tall — a figure of authority, of order — yet the sorrow in the room seemed to dim even his polished steel.
"Ser Axton," Mellina gasped, rising from her chair so abruptly that it scraped against the wooden floor. She hurried toward him, her trembling hands clutching the folds of her gown. "Did you find my daughter?" she asked, her voice splintering on the edge of desperation. Her eyes, red and swollen, pleaded for mercy — for any sign of hope a mother could cling to.
"Not yet," he said quietly, shaking his head.
For a heartbeat, the world stood still. Then her body seemed to give way beneath the weight of his words. Her brows furrowed tightly, and fresh tears welled up until they blurred her sight. "This is all because of your sister!" she cried suddenly, turning sharply toward Calvin. Fury burned through her grief like lightning through a storm cloud. She pointed a trembling finger at him, her voice cracking with rage. "She's the one who wants my children dead — gone!"
Her words echoed off the stone walls. "She's jealous — jealous because your father named my children heirs to the crown!"
Her breath came raggedly as she stepped closer, her expression twisting between anguish and hatred. "First she got Aniya and Zuri — Sharmin's daughters — married off. Then she made sure my Amala was betrothed, knowing well that anyone married or betrothed can never claim the throne. And now my Amara?"
Her voice rose until it trembled with fury. "Now she wants my Amara gone — so that her vile daughter, Seraphina, can sit on that damned throne without an obstacle in her path!"
Her chest heaved. Each breath came like a struggle against invisible chains. Her heartbeat thundered like a galloping horse, faster and faster, until her body shook under the storm of her own grief. "She took everything from me," she whispered finally, her voice cracking, "and now she wants to take her too…"
Calvin sighed, the sound heavy enough to fill the quiet that followed Mellina's outburst. He stepped closer and gently took her by the shoulders, guiding her down into his chair. Her body resisted at first — rigid with grief — but eventually sank into it, as though her strength had finally run out.
He knelt before her and clasped her trembling hands between his own. "Mellina," he said softly, his voice thick with both guilt and resolve, "I will find our daughter. No matter what it takes."
Her sobs faltered, but she didn't look at him. Her gaze remained fixed on the floor, as if afraid that meeting his eyes would break what little strength she had left.
Calvin continued, his tone low and measured, almost pleading. "You know what happened was not Claudia's fault—"
Her head snapped up. Fury burned in her tear-filled eyes, turning her grief into something sharp and unyielding.
"Advait and Shramin are already searching for her," Calvin pressed, words tumbling out faster now. "They're using every resource, every man they have. She's their niece too, Mellina — they won't rest until she's safe. And as for Claudia…" He swallowed hard, rubbing his thumbs gently over her cold fingers. "She might not love our daughters as her own, but she would never go to such lengths just to see Seraphina on that throne—"
"Why wouldn't she?" Mellina's voice cracked like thunder, cutting him off. Her eyes blazed through her tears. "You speak as if you don't know her, Calvin! That woman sees no one beyond her daughter. No blood, no bond, no morality. Do you forget what she's done before? She would burn kingdoms to ash if it mean't Seraphina could rule over the ruins!"
Calvin stared at her, his lips parting but no words came. The room seemed to shrink, air thick with the weight of accusation and despair.
Mellina's breathing was ragged, her chest rising and falling as anger warred with anguish inside her. "You think she wouldn't dare?" she went on, voice trembling. "She would kill anyone — anyone — to secure her daughter's claim."
Her red, swollen eyes locked with his — unblinking, piercing, broken. For a fleeting moment, beneath her fury, there was something else: the silent terror of a mother who feared the worst.
Calvin reached out again, but she pulled her hands away. The gesture, small as it was, felt like a blade.
Without another word, Mellina stood. Her movements were slow, deliberate, as though each step required effort. "Find my daughter, Ser Axton," she said coldly as she passed the knight, her voice stripped of all warmth.
The door closed behind her with a heavy thud — final and echoing. The silence that followed was unbearable. Calvin remained still, staring at the floor where her tears had fallen, feeling the weight of a promise he wasn't sure he could keep.
"She does know that Aniya took a liking to the lord of House Marang," Oscar began, his voice breaking through the heavy silence that had settled over the room. "It was her own heart that led to that early marriage — not Claudia's schemes. And Zuri followed soon after, marrying the second son. As for Sharmin, her daughters always came before the crown. She freed them of its weight and married them off by her own will."
His words hung in the air, soft yet edged with quiet conviction.
"As for Amala," he continued, pushing himself up from the bed, "she was older than Zuri. She had to be betrothed to someone — it was bound to happen."
Oscar straightened his tunic, his movements slow, thoughtful. "Claudia has been shedding tears since the news reached her," he said, his tone lowering, almost weary. "Blaming herself — whether she deserves to or not."
He took a few steps toward the door, then stopped. Turning slightly, he looked back at Calvin, who sat motionless, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor as though answers might surface there. The light from the window caught the hard lines of his face, revealing exhaustion carved deep into it.
"I don't know who is to be blamed," Oscar said at last, his voice quieter now, stripped of all formality. "Claudia — if she truly had a hand in Amara's abduction — or Amara herself, for trusting the wrong person. But god," he exhaled, shaking his head, "I only wish that young girl finds her way back home. This house has seen enough sorrow."
He turned again and left, his boots echoing softly against the stone floor.
Stanley followed without a word, the faint clink of his sword against his belt the only sound in the fading silence. When the door closed behind them, it was as if the air itself had gone still.
Only two figures remained — Calvin and Axton. The sunlight from the window stretched their shadows across the floor, long and unmoving. Calvin's head was bowed, his hands clasped tightly as though in prayer. Axton stood near the door, silent and stoic, yet his eyes softened for a brief moment as he looked at his lord — a man torn between duty and despair.
Outside, a raven cried in the distance — sharp, lonely, and echoing through the stillness.
Calvin finally rose from the floor, the movement slow and deliberate, as though the air itself resisted him. He walked to the window, where the sun poured through the glass in fractured beams. The light caught the wrinkles carved across his face and the white streaks in his dark hair, making them glimmer like scars of time.
He was not a man built for war — thin, with narrow shoulders and hands too refined for a sword — yet there was something about him that demanded stillness from others. A quiet authority. Even Axton, clad in steel and strength, seemed lesser in presence beside him.
"I know you didn't come here just to tell me you failed to find my daughter," Calvin said at last, his tone calm and deliberate — a calm so heavy it felt unnatural. It was the kind that comes only from holding back the storm inside.
Axton straightened, the plates of his armor shifting with a soft metallic whisper. The sunlight brushed against the silver edges of his chestplate, making him look more statue than man. "Someone poisoned the knights' supper," he began, his voice measured and low. "All twenty men stationed within the castle walls were found dead by morning."
Calvin's head tilted slightly, but he said nothing.
"Only one survived," Axton continued. "He fell ill earlier that night and didn't eat. When he came to relieve his post, he found them — all of them — lifeless. He panicked and hid behind the curtains in the eastern hall, too frightened to face whoever was responsible."
A muscle twitched in Calvin's jaw, the only sign of reaction.
"The man claims to have seen the intruder," Axton went on. "A man with brown hair and blue eyes, wearing the armor of House Karl. He must have infiltrated the castle disguised as one of their knights. Upon learning this, we sent ravens to every border and every noble house. Word will spread before nightfall."
For a long moment, Calvin didn't move. The light through the window glowed brighter, outlining him in gold. Then he turned, slowly, until his cold purple eyes met Axton's.
Calvin's eyes softened — but only slightly. "A man can lose gold, Ser Axton. He can even lose land. But a father…" He turned around looking out of the window again, voice trailing into something hollow. "A father cannot lose a child."
Axton bowed his head. "We will bring her back, my lord," he said quietly, conviction woven into every syllable. "The princess will return safely — I swear it on my life."
Calvin let the silence linger before giving a small nod. "Then go," he said. "And let no man rest until she is found."
Axton bowed deeply and turned to leave, the rhythmic clang of his armor fading down the stone corridor. When the sound was gone, only the whisper of wind through the window remained.
Calvin stood motionless — a weary man caught between sunlight and shadow. Outside, the world stretched endlessly before him, golden and serene, while somewhere beyond that horizon, his daughter's fate lay hidden.
He closed his eyes, and for the first time since dawn, allowed himself to breathe.