Clara and the others had finally been released from the prison.
"What about Luren?" Clara asked anxiously as she saw him being pushed back into his cell.
The guard stopped and replied coldly, "He will remain captive here."
Clara's eyes widened in disbelief. "What do you mean? I can't leave without him!" she
shouted, stepping forward, her voice trembling with anger and fear.
"It's okay, Clara," Luren said with a forced smile, though his hands were clenched tightly and his heart pounded in his chest. "Just go… I'll be fine." But his voice cracked slightly, betraying the fear he was trying so hard to hide.
He didn't know why he had to stay behind, and that unknown reason made the air
around them feel even heavier.
Clara shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. "This isn't right…"
"I know," Luren whispered, his eyes meeting hers for a long moment before the guard
pulled the cell door shut between them.
A few hoursafter the others had left, the cell door creaked open again.
"Get up. The Duke wants to see you," the guard said.
Luren stood slowly, unsure of what was waiting for him. His heart pounded as he was led through the stone corridors of the mansion, every step echoing in the silence.
He was brought to a grand office, dimly lit, filled with dark wood furniture, towering shelves of books, and a fireplace that burned low with crimson embers. Behind the desk stood a tall, imposing man. Duke Craige Evron Seravelle. He was a striking figure, tall and broad-shouldered, with sharp features and neatly combed black hair. His eyes, a chilling shade of gray, watched Luren like a hawk sizing up prey. Despite his handsome appearance, there was something dangerous about him, a quiet, coiled power. The soldiers called him the Monster of the North, and Luren could now understand why.
"Sit," the Duke ordered, his voice deep and commanding.
Luren obeyed, trying not to show the nerves gnawing at him. He was only eighteen,
with tousled blonde hair that framed his face, and vivid green eyes, a rare color in the kingdom, and often tied to royal bloodlines. Despite his youth, Luren held his chin up, refusing to look weak.
"You're not like the others," the Duke said after a moment, his fingers steepled as he
examined him. "That's why you stayed behind."
"Then why not tell me?" Luren asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
Craige smirked. "Because I wanted to see your reaction. Fear. Confusion. You're brave, I'll give you that." He stood and walked slowly around the desk, stopping in
front of Luren. "But don't confuse bravery with recklessness."
Luren met his eyes. "What do you want from me?"
"I want to know who you really are," Craige said, voice low but firm. "And why someone
with those eyes was among mercenaries on the border. Green eyes like yours don't just appear by chance."
Luren flinched slightly. He had no answer, not one he could give freely.
The Duke studied him for a long moment before stepping back. "You'll stay here under
watch until I find out the truth. If you cooperate, you'll be treated well. If you lie…"
His eyes glinted like steel in the firelight.
"You'll learn why they call me a monster."
Luren hid his fear behind a calm expression.
What truth did he even want to chase? Even knowing he was a prince of a long-forgotten
kingdom changed nothing. That kingdom had been swallowed by history, now nothing more than a province under Velgarith's rule.
He was just a mercenary now. A name lost to time.
"I don't have any secrets," Luren said flatly, his voice devoid of emotion. "And even if
you find something, it won't mean anything."
"Hmm...l'll be the judge of that," the Duke replied, his tone sharp. "And don't try to
run. I know your family and where your people live. I can destroy your mercenary group with a single command."
Luren didn't flinch. He had expected as much.
The Duke was the second most powerful man in the Empire, only below the King himself. Threats like that were not empty they were promises.
"Can I send a letter to my family? So they won't worry," Luren asked quietly, his voice
calm but guarded.
"Of course. Just give the letter to Keith, he'll see that it's delivered," Duke Craige
replied with a nod, his gray eyes unreadable.
The Duke then turned slightly and called,
"Keith. Prepare a guest room for Luren
Hearthveth."
Luren Hearthveth. It wasn't his real one, but it was the name he had to use. His true identity had no place in this world anymore.
Keith led him silently through the grand hallways, past ornate portraits and towering
windows, until they reached the far end of the mansion.
The guest room was nothing short of lavish warm, inviting, and far too comfortable for a
prisoner.
Keith opened the door, gestured inside, and gave him a faint smirk.
"No locks. Consider yourself a guest… Mr. Prisoner," he said, the sarcasm sharp in his
tone as he walked away.