Ella and Erik first met when they were both in their teens.
By the time Erik was just fourteen, his swordsmanship was already renowned across the empire.
The Imperial Sword Sect—what the layfolk called the Royal Knights—caught wind of his growing fame and extended him an early invitation to take the official entrance trial.
Normally, a house of ducal standing would have employed all sorts of tricks to prevent their sole heir from walking the path of the blade.
The Sword Sect was not a place for high-born heirs. Its trials were grueling, its oaths binding, and its life devoid of worldly glory.
Yet Erik did not sabotage the trial. He didn’t feign weakness or withdraw.
He took the exam earnestly—sword in hand and heart unwavering—and passed, becoming an official swordsman of the Imperial Sect.
That decision led him to be assigned as Ella’s escort on her journey to the Northern Grand Duchy.
And midway through that journey—disaster struck. Ella’s carriage was overturned.
Assassination attempts were nothing new for her. As the first heir to the throne, Ella had survived countless such schemes since childhood.
She had long since trained her spirit and mind to remain calm under pressure.
Even then, hanging off a cliffside, her grip failing—she stayed composed.
“If you’re going to kill me, make it quick and clean. If my brother or the King bought you out, just admit it and be done with it.”
“…What nonsense is that.”
Erik’s voice—cool, detached—rang out as he reached down to pull her up.
She would never forget the emptiness in his tone.
What nonsense is that.
No emotion. No anger. No reassurance.
Only later did Ella learn the truth: the accident had been orchestrated by the Northern Grand Duke.
Even Erik, her sworn guard, had been approached with bribes and promises.
But he’d refused them all, and dispatched the Grand Duke’s agents without so much as a scratch.
Why? If you had sided with him, the House of Orléans could’ve gained much.
“I swore an oath to protect the Princess. That comes first.”
And if the Grand Duke’s offer came before that oath?
“Then I would honor my bond with him instead.”
“…Is that something you say to my face?”
“Tch… Boring man.”
Ella clicked her tongue at Erik, seated across from her.
Of course, it was precisely because of that unshakable dullness that she kept him near.
“You know,” she began, voice low, “you should’ve awakened to love between man and woman by now.
Fine, back when you served the Sword Sect, that oath of purity made sense for religious reasons. But you’ve already left, haven’t you?”
As she spoke, she gently slid aside the door of the shadowy inner room.
The moment it opened, the air was filled with sultry opera chants and the indistinct movements of nobles half-dancing, half-entangled in indulgence.
Erik grimaced and averted his gaze.
Ella noticed him discreetly draw a warding sigil across his chest and shook her head.
“Ugh… You dusty old relic.”
Even her jabs didn’t faze him. Instead, he drew a scroll from his robes.
A contract.
Ella’s eyes narrowed.
“…You really brought it.”
She glanced between Erik and Lily, who stood at his side, intrigued.
Taking the document, she asked,
“So, the heir of Orléans steals documents from his own house? What should I make of that?”
Erik responded plainly.
“I swore fealty to Your Highness. I am simply carrying out your command.”
For months now, Princess Ella had tasked Erik with gathering records of the noble clans’ spiritual assets.
Rumors had circulated that her younger brother Robert was colluding with noble houses to orchestrate massive commercial ventures—funded, of course, by siphoning the imperial treasury.
Among the suspicious houses was none other than the House of Orléans.
Yet Ella hadn’t removed Erik from the investigation.
Instead, she gave him a secret order: leave the Sword Sect, pretend to reclaim your title as heir, and infiltrate your own clan.
By all logic, it was the perfect chance for betrayal.
But Ella entrusted the mission to Erik regardless. The reason was simple.
“So? Did you open it?”
Her question froze Erik’s hand just as he reached for his tea.
“Must we truly meet in such a place?”
Eric d’Orléans stood alone amidst the shadows of the midnight ballroom, sipping spirit-infused red tea beneath dim candlelight.
Across from him, the princess quietly studied his expression, her eyes sharp beneath her fan.
“You didn’t open it?” she asked.
Eric hesitated, his mind momentarily clouded by Emelline’s earlier words.
Ignorance is a sin…
Could there truly be something he didn’t know? But as grave a transgression as ignorance might be, distrust was no lesser sin. And as far as he knew, the Duke of Orléans—his father—was never one to keep secrets from him.
With calm conviction, Eric replied, “His Grace, too, has pledged fealty to Your Highness.”
The Duke had been one of the rare few among the central noble clans to openly support the princess’s claim to the throne during the Great Assembly.
The princess scoffed. “Not everyone is as loyal as you.”
She then opened the sealed envelope and began perusing the documents within.
As her gaze skimmed the contents and her expression subtly shifted, Eric, from across the hall, caught sight of a flash of yellow fabric—
Golden robes, crimson hair.
His brows drew together.
“Hm… Nothing much in here,” the princess murmured with disappointment. “For someone who lords over such a vast domain, the Duke’s affairs are surprisingly… bland.”
Eric snapped out of his distraction just in time to take the documents she offered him.
“Is that so?” he asked, scanning them.
There truly was nothing of interest.
Having once served as Commander of the Imperial Guard, Eric was more than adept at reading ledgers and accounting records. Even with careful scrutiny, he saw no irregularities in the Duke’s books.
He exhaled, more at ease now. “Indeed, there’s nothing here.”
The princess pouted. “Such a pity.”
“You were hoping to find something incriminating?” Eric asked, raising a brow.
“Of course,” she replied breezily. “The House of Orléans is a prized catch. A single scandal hidden in these pages, and I could’ve had the entire clan dancing on my palm. Or better yet… used it to snatch
you
, who still hasn’t a betrothed.”
Her bold words drew a polite cough from Lily. But Eric, well aware that the princess said such things without a shred of genuine affection, merely stepped back with a scowl—as if afraid her very presence might sully him.
“Marriage is sacred,” he said firmly. “It is a path meant for two cultivators who trust and truly care for one another.”
The princess chuckled.
“You really are such an
old soul
, Eric,” she said with a sigh. “What will you do if your family one day arranges a match for you? Who’s to say your future bride won’t be the kind of woman who frequents shadowy banquets like this? If anything, being mine would spare you that anxiety. I’ll admit I plan to keep many concubines, but
you
I’d cherish specially.”
Even as she teased, the princess knew full well—if it were Eric d'Orléans, he’d find a way to love and trust a political bride with all his heart. Just like his father had.
How dull,
she thought.
To her, Eric was the very image of a boring noble cultivator—but to the daughters of the high sects and noble clans, he was romantic.
A fine husband material. A dull marriage, perhaps, but stable.
As the princess mused, Eric quietly returned the documents to their envelope, unmoved by her words.
But just as he made to leave, he stopped in his tracks. Turning slowly, he asked:
“All the nobles who gather in this place… What is it that they truly seek here? What are they cultivating beneath this velvet darkness?”
Erik’s voice faltered now and then. He had already inferred much from the actions of certain nobles he encountered upon entry, but he’d still held onto a shred of hope—that surely there were
some
lines even they wouldn’t cross.
Emelline Wedgwood.
With only three days left until the wedding, what on earth was that eccentric woman plotting by coming here?
The princess couldn’t help but laugh, taken aback by how overly solemn—almost tragic—his question sounded.
“You truly have no idea what lies on the upper floors of this vast structure, Young Lord?”
Erik furrowed his brow as he looked toward the ceiling where the princess gestured.
“What… might be there…?”
His expression practically said,
what sort of arcane artifact could that be?
Their eyes met.
Ella suddenly felt like a wicked aunt bullying a naïve junior disciple. She cleared her throat and looked away, feigning nonchalance.
“Mm… a sealed chamber, walls on all sides… soft beds… that sort of place. A place you’ll likely never step foot in for the rest of your cultivation path.”
The moment her words sank in, Erik’s face twisted. But it was brief—he composed himself almost immediately and left the hidden chamber without another word.
Forgive me, little cultivator… for not preserving your innocence,
Ella thought wryly.
As soon as Erik exited, she turned to Lily and gestured.
“Can that document really be trusted?”
Lily nodded firmly.
“Yes. I personally witnessed the Young Lord retrieve it from the Duke’s secret vault within his study.”
Ella chuckled lightly at that and gave a slow nod.
“I see… Then is it possible the Duke is deceiving even his own son?”
Lily shook her head.
“Their relationship appears to be quite solid.”
“You can never tell from the surface. Keep eyes on them.”
Ella pouted slightly as she said it, but Lily simply bowed her head.
“By your command.”
What a dull pair of father and son…
she thought.
Like cultivator, like master? Or is there some unexpected twist yet to reveal itself?
After mulling it over for a moment, the princess waved a hand.
“You may go now. I plan to enjoy the night for a bit.”
Clearly, this mystery wouldn’t be unraveled with just one piece of evidence. As expected.
Chapter 12