Chapter 64: A Cold Kiss of an Arrowhead...
Keiser felt it, a sudden tug at his cloak, sharp and unyielding.
Before he could react, he was yanked backward, his balance stolen, the fabric strangling against his throat.
Cold dread washed over him as something harder and sharper pressed to the side of his neck. The unmistakable cold kiss of an arrowhead.
"Who’s here?"
The voice was low, edged like a blade, cutting straight through the night’s silence.
Keiser’s breath hitched.
A shiver ran down his spine, cold and paralyzing, because he didn’t need to look. He already knew. That voice, that presence, the raw strength that radiated from the grip on his cloak, there was no mistaking it.
The last time he’d seen her, the sixth princess had been sobbing uncontrollably over her. That memory still clawed at him, sharper than the point at his throat.
Now she was here, behind him, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath against his ear. His body betrayed him, frozen rigid, his eyes widening but refusing to turn.
Across from him, Lenko looked stricken. Even in the gloom, Keiser could see the boy’s face drain of all color, leaving him pale as chalk. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came, only silence and fear.
Tyron reacted first, grabbing at Jim and Jill, yanking them back, away from Keiser, as though putting distance between them might keep them safe from the storm that had just descended upon the alley.
They stumbled, uncertain, casting nervous glances, but none dared to intervene.
"Hey,"
she hissed again, her tone sharper now, a predator’s growl. "I asked you a question. Why are you all snooping around near the temple?"Her pull on his cloak tightened, dragging him higher, almost forcing him onto the tips of his boots. The pressure of the arrowhead increased, biting into his skin until he felt the first hot trickle of blood beaded down his neck.
Even without seeing her face, Keiser could feel her strength radiating through every movement, every controlled ounce of pressure she applied.
It was suffocating, terrifying, and yet all too familiar.
"...Sister?"
Lenko let that word slipped out, low and unsteady, but it was enough to still her hand. The arrowhead pressed against Keiser’s neck eased, if only slightly, and for the first time a crack showed in her composure.
The alley fell into silence, thick and suffocating. The others froze, their breaths caught in their throats. Even the night seemed to hold itself still, waiting.
Then, from the shadows, Lenko moved. He stepped forward into a shaft of moonlight that filtered between the rooftops, the torchlight from the street unable to reach them here. The hood of his cloak fell back as he raised his head, revealing his face at last.
Keiser’s gaze flicked toward him, and his grimace deepened. The boy’s expression had changed, no longer pale with fear, but heavy with something worse. Guilt. A deep, unshakable guilt that twisted his features as though he carried a burden too great for someone so young.
It made sense. Years had passed since Muzio and Lenko fled the palace, vanishing into obscurity. Their disappearance had been followed by rumors, then by proclamations of their deaths. Forgotten by the world, their names became nothing more than whispers swallowed by time.
But not to her.
Keiser knew all too well how Olga had borne the grief of losing a sibling. For most families, the Reinhardt stretched far and wide, filled with countless vassals tied to the king’s kin. Death was not uncommon, and yet, for her, it had struck deeper.
How could her brother, sworn as a vassal to the tenth prince, die so suddenly?
How could a child of the king, protected, sheltered, wrapped in layers of knights and wards, simply vanish?
It had been unthinkable. Impossible. And yet the news came, cruel and final, leaving her with no answer but silence.
At the time, she had been unable to comprehend it. She had devoted herself to her duty, sworn to the sixth princess, the saint of the kingdom, untouchable, safeguarded by both temple and crown.
Olga’s world was built on protection, on loyalty, on ensuring no harm ever reached those she served. And yet, her own brother, bound to the so-called ’worthless bastard prince,’ had been left to die. A life considered too small, too insignificant to mourn.
It was something she could not accept. Could not forgive.
And so, when her eyes fell on Lenko now, no longer missing, no longer hiding, all the rage and confusion that had once consumed her wavered, unsteady.
Because instead of shoving the point of her arrow deeper into Keiser’s throat, she let go. Her hand fell away, her body shifting as if the strength had been torn out of her all at once.
Then she moved,
In one sudden, raw motion, she shoved the others aside and threw her arms around Lenko. The fierce, crushing kind of embrace that spoke of years of loss, of a heart that had finally found what it thought was gone forever.
Keiser stood frozen, hand pressed to his bleeding neck, watching.
"You son of a bitch, where the hell were you...!"
Her voice exploded in the alley, raw and furious, echoing against the stone walls. She clutched Lenko so tightly her knuckles whitened, shouting right into his ear until he winced and groaned in pain.
"You do know," he muttered, straining against her grip, "you’ve insulted our mother..."
But his words fell flat. Olga wasn’t listening, not really. Her eyes scanned his face with a restless, desperate, taking him in as though trying to make up for all the lost years in a single glance.
Her expression softened for a fleeting second, almost tender. "You’ve grown taller... your voice is deeper now. Eighteen now, right?" Her tone carried a strange pride, almost bragging as if she’d been keeping track despite everything. "How could you, how could you just leave like that!"
Her sweetness vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by a stormy glare.
She grabbed his arm, yanking it up before he could resist. Her eyes narrowed when she saw the white cloth wrapped tightly around his forearm.
Keiser’s stomach dropped.
’Oh.’
He knew exactly what she had seen. The bandage wasn’t just covering a wound. Beneath it lay the sigil, the one he had carved into Lenko back in the forest of Sheol.
Lenko’s eyes widened. Panic flickered across his face as he jerked, trying to pull his arm away. "It’s nothing," he grumbled, forcing his tone to sound dismissive.
But Olga’s suspicion only deepened. Her scowl hardened as her grip tightened, refusing to let go. "Nothing?"
Lenko’s voice caught in his throat. For just a heartbeat, his gaze flicked sideways, darting toward Keiser, pleading, desperate.
Keiser’s blood ran cold. His eye widened in warning, and he gave the faintest shake of his head, silently begging Lenko not to say anything.
But it was already too late.
Olga caught the glance. Her eyes sharpened instantly, following the unspoken trail of guilt straight to Keiser.
She turned her head, and the fury that flared in her eyes made Keiser’s entire body lock in place.
"...You."
The word came out as a growl, low and dangerous, heavy enough to make the air between them feel like a drawn bowstring.
Keiser froze where he stood, throat dry, knowing full well that in this moment, Olga’s wrath was about to turn on him.