Chapter 16: The Knight
Nelly opened her mouth, but not even a scream came out.
They were falling, fast.
Strangely, after coming to her senses, she didn’t feel afraid.
The surrounding mountains stretched and distorted in her vision, a sight as absurd as a nightmare. The only tangible reality was the person holding her.
There was nothing wrong with that, either. Her world really did consist of only him.
The thought flashed through Nelly’s mind, casting a brief, unsettling shadow on the lake of her heart before vanishing without a trace. She pressed the side of her cheek against Kal’s chest and closed her eyes, feeling the fall.
But the momentum of their descent suddenly slowed. Nelly opened her eyes, and black wings filled her vision. She looked at the horns growing from Kal’s hair, her gaze finally settling on the dazzling gold ring in his red eyes. Even in his demonic form, the young man’s beauty was undiminished. In fact, these slightly dangerous features only added to his charm.
They stopped in mid-air. Kal’s expression as he looked at her was somewhat inscrutable.
“What’s wrong?” Nelly asked, confused, tugging at his collar.
This small, dependent gesture instantly softened Kal’s gaze. He smiled faintly. “Do you like it?”
Nelly was taken aback.
But Kal didn’t wait for her answer. He just kissed her forehead lightly and then spread his demonic wings. They soared on the wind, circling Sloth several times before passing through the fluttering curtains and back into the room with no doors.
Almost immediately, Kal was on top of her.
His ardor tonight was different. Every movement was like a test, an attempt to see into all of Nelly’s thoughts, to find peace of mind.
Nelly didn’t know why he had changed like this. She soon had no time to think, either. In the face of certain things, logic and reason were just sandcastles, washed away by the tide.
The dizzying waves receded, only to rush back in an instant, like the crest of a tide lured by the full moon, surging with restlessness, with scorching heat, with desire.
The young man’s slightly hoarse voice whispered her name in her ear.
Each syllable he spoke was tinged with a breathtaking warmth that spread with his breath, igniting into a sea of fire. It was a hellish heat, yet it didn’t seem terrifying at all. Nelly’s mind went blank for a moment, and a brief, clear thought flashed through, sending a shiver down her spine.
She then became a little uncertain. This chill had another source. She struggled to gather her scattered thoughts, focusing her attention on her wrists.
The smooth silver cuffs reflected a blurry image, dazzling and cold.
Kal was on top of her again. The ends of his messy bangs slid down to his brow bones with his movements, adding a hazy, gray shadow to his already deep-set eyes. His fingertip drew a circle on the back of her hand, then slowly moved down to pinch the edge of the shackle. He caressed the metal surface with infinite tenderness, his hand traveling up to her shoulder.
Nelly flinched.
“Forgive me.” Although it was an apology, his voice didn’t tremble in the slightest; it was terrifyingly calm. “There are too many people who want to take you away from me.”
He kissed her hair with a solemn reverence, his posture almost devout.
But Nelly was speechless. She watched as his gem-like red eyes drew closer and closer, her expression still unchanging. She was compliant, but unnaturally wooden.
Her expression, reflected in his eyes, became an endless bitterness.
The thin silver chain knocked against the wooden post of the bed, a crisp sound like the clash of swords.
※
The first group of knights who entered the Demon’s Lair never returned. No one knew what had happened behind the gate.
Their anxious companions returned to Mez to deliver the news. The young women’s tears dampened their sleeves, and the names of the missing knights were immortalized in the songs of the bards. By the time the panic subsided, spring was showing signs of fading, and the second group of heroes had already set out.
This group of knights was better prepared than their predecessors. Most of them were of noble birth, had been knighted, and had competed in tournaments, unhorsing countless opponents with their lances. They were the object of the lords’ eager invitations.
One young man with blond hair and green eyes was particularly eye-catching. His name was Theon. He came from Aquitaine, the most prosperous duchy on the continent. His father was the powerful Duke Lupus. From the age of seven, he had been educated at the side of His Majesty the King and was one of the most brilliant young men in Mez.
Theon was elegant and witty in conversation, and warm and generous in his dealings with others. Along the way, he had made many like-minded friends of his own age, and by the time they reached the Demon’s Lair, he was already the de facto leader of this group of knights.
But being in the spotlight attracts jealousy, and Theon was no exception.
The night before the attack, Theon’s stable boy came to report in a panic that a fire had broken out in the stables. By a stroke of bad luck, only Theon’s three mounts had been tied up and unable to escape, perishing in the flames. Theon frowned, his delicate brows knitting together, but he did not blame the stable boy. He just let out a soft sigh, a sigh that would have driven any lady in Mez to madness. His reaction was very calm. “I see. Please inform Sir Bernard that he is to lead the attack tomorrow.”
His personal squire stomped his foot in anger beside him. “It must have been Sir Bernard…”
Theon glanced at him, his expression still gentle, and the squire immediately fell silent.
The night passed quickly. Theon appeared before the crowd, riding a temporarily borrowed mare. A suppressed snicker rippled through the crowd. Theon acted as if he hadn’t heard. He just gave a nod to the arrogant son of Victor, Bernard, lightly kicked the mare’s belly, and moved to the back of the line.
Bernard, full of himself, raised his sword, let out a long cry, and charged toward the main gate of the Demon’s Lair.
The knights entered the hall. It was pitch black in front of them. The crowd immediately became clamorous.
Theon decisively took off his helmet. After a moment’s thought, he tore off his armor as well, leaving only the light chainmail on his body. He dismounted, and had only taken two steps, feeling his way along the cold wall, when a wail suddenly rose, and the smell of blood filled the air.
At first, Bernard was still shouting, “Light the torches! Light the torches!” but his voice gradually disappeared amidst the neighing of horses and the clanging of weapons.
But Theon had already ducked down and felt his way to the side of the circular hall, and without hesitation, he stepped into an opening in the wall. He had just positioned himself against the wall by the door when the hall suddenly lit up. Theon’s heart jumped, and he immediately sidestepped, his shadow instantly cast in an unseen part of the hall.
He used the light to look around and saw a spiral stone staircase extending upward, leading to an unknown destination.
At that moment, a strange, cool voice sounded clearly in the hall. “I don’t like uninvited guests.”
As the person spoke, there was another gust of wind and a flicker of shadows.
Theon made a split-second decision. He used the opportunity to lightly vault onto the stairs and silently made his way up.
He walked all the way to the end of the stairs. There was only one exit, a pitch-black doorway leading to an equally dark corridor.
An incredible force drove Theon forward without fear. He accurately felt his way along the right wall to the lock of a certain room.
He pressed his ear to the door to listen, then swung his sword to cut the bronze lock and burst in.
“Your Highness?”
It was a magnificent room filled with treasures, but no gem could outshine the young woman sitting by the window. She wore a dress the color of a white rose, with petals made of pearls and moonstones, and intricate stamens outlined in gold and silver thread. The hem of her dress fell from the high stone chair she sat on to the floor, scattering a fine, shimmering light.
It was the Rose Princess’s famous and magnificent robe, “Moonlight Rose.”
But Theon knew with one glance that he was mistaken. Having grown up in the court of Mez, he was familiar with Rosalia’s appearance. Although the young woman before him also had brown hair, she was not the princess.
The young woman, as if awakened from a dream by Theon, trembled and turned her head.
She had eyes the color of the sky, but her expression was as fragile as that of a grieving, caged bird.
Her pale pink lips moved, and the young woman’s voice was hoarse. “Save me.”