Chapter 19

The restaurant Damian led them into rivaled any noble banquet hall with its magnificent chandeliers. A waiter approached with a polite greeting to guide them to their table. Following behind, Ayla suddenly stopped. Though faint, a scent tickled her nose – one burned into her memory. The same smell that had been on Gilrota.

Soledina.

The waiter carried its scent.

She looked up at Damian with a rigid expression. Meeting her gaze, he smiled slightly and pressed his index finger to his lips – signaling her to stay quiet and pretend not to notice.

Smoothly composing her features, she resumed walking. Their table was by a large window with terrace access. Beyond stretched the blue sea. In any other situation, it would have taken her breath away.

Though she couldn’t tear her eyes from the ocean, her attention remained fixed on the waiter. After he bowed and left, she finally turned to Damian, who smiled gently as he spoke:

“We can talk now. They won’t hear us.”

“That scent. You noticed it too?”

He nodded, tapping his fingers on the table. This was Count Letir’s territory, quite far from Kelton. The drug’s presence here meant it wasn’t limited to Kelton – it could have spread throughout the empire.

Deeper than expected. How far did this extend?

“Perhaps…” 

His quiet voice carried no emotion as he watched the waiter with an expressionless face.

“Count Letir might be providing protection.”

“…”

Ayla had no response.

Count Letir currently served as Vice Admiral, commander of Naval Operations. His family had produced military officers for generations. Protection from such a commander suggested more than just the Count’s involvement. Perhaps high-ranking naval officers or even the entire military establishment was connected. That would explain their boldness.

Of course, it was too early to draw conclusions. The Count’s alleged protection might be mere slander. She wished someone would definitively tell her it was just that – an overactive imagination.

She fell into deep thought. He didn’t press her. A sharp sound broke her reverie – a different waiter had arrived with their food.

The Soledina scent faded, replaced by appetizing aromas that stirred her hunger despite not feeling particularly hungry before. The roasted meat, seasoned with bay leaves, pepper, and garlic, dripped with juices. Fresh-baked bread steamed invitingly, and crisp vegetables topped with shredded cheese completed the salad.

Watching her fixated on the food, he suppressed a laugh and said: “Shall we eat first, then talk?”

Her cheeks flushed briefly at being caught, but she quickly recovered. Starting with soup to cleanse her palate, she mixed the salad. Placing perfectly cut meat on her plate with a touch of salad, she took a bite. After a few chews, the meat melted in her mouth – incredibly tender, with a smoky flavor that wasn’t greasy at all. Her eyes widened.

“Is it good?”

Despite his amused tone, she continued eating without responding. Though eating quickly, she maintained impeccable grace – not a sound from her utensils, not a drop spilled. He would have liked to wipe sauce from her lips, but her perfect noble manners left no opportunity. Resting his chin in his hand, he watched her with concealed disappointment. The trip had been worthwhile – showing her the ocean, treating her to delicious food. A textbook date course. However, there was one issue.

His gaze moved past her to the earlier waiter. Tall and thin with black hair, he looked young – barely of age.

He considered a hypothesis. If the Soledina drug targeted young people primarily, was there a reason it needed to be young users? And the biggest question: who was the person she had seen?

A magician skilled enough to enter the king’s tomb without leaving traces wouldn’t have someone entering the Academy use such a crude artifact instead of magic. Either it was a trap, or perhaps, that person was the magician themselves.

If the magician had placed a double layer of magic on themselves, one layer could easily peel away in a moment of carelessness. This meant even they might not know the magician’s true appearance.

Why would the magician take such a risk? Was there a reason they needed to create their own alibi? If the magician and Gilrota’s killer were the same person…

If all of this was the work of that single magician…

“Damian.”

Her voice broke through his thoughts. He turned to find her plate empty, her face set with determination.

“Let’s follow him.”

Though brief, he knew exactly who she meant. The waiter.

He knew she would never give up. To stay by her side in this, he needed a justification.

“It looks like that waiter is leaving now.”

She turned at his words. The man was saying goodbye to other staff members as he headed out.

“Shouldn’t we follow?”

In response to her urgent question, he smiled calmly and sent something flying toward the waiter – a yellow butterfly she’d seen before. It landed on the man’s shoulder, unnoticed by anyone.

“We can take our time. Shall we go if you’re finished?”

Thinking how convenient it was to have a magician at times like this, she stood. Following him, she glanced back at their table. His plate remained untouched.

What had he been doing instead of eating? The question occurred to her but quickly faded.

* * *


The tall man strode ahead on long legs. The butterfly rested quietly on his shoulder, gently fluttering its wings. It looked so real she had the fleeting thought of wanting to hold it herself. Then a whispered voice floated to her ear like a butterfly landing:

“From now on, don’t touch anyone except me.”

“Eh? Why?”

“You’re invisible, not incorporeal.”

As he spoke, Damian placed his hand on her shoulder and pulled her close. She found herself drawn to him before she could react. Her shoulder burned where he touched it. Her treacherous heart pounded.

Lady Ayla struggled to maintain her composure. They had caught up to their target, who turned from the main road into a narrow alley, dark despite the daylight. Eventually, he stopped before a building. The butterfly on his shoulder fluttered up, and Damian quickly recalled it. It had been warning of unknown danger.

The man knocked on a weathered wooden door. A large man appeared, said something, then let him in and closed the door.

Standing at a distance, Ayla and Damian surveyed the building. It appeared to be two stories high, with curtained windows preventing any view inside. Few street lamps dotted the area – it would be pitch black at night.

Ayla’s instincts told her what this place was.

A gambling den.

The perfect place for transactions.

“Can you see inside without entering?”

“We’ll need to find the right spot.”

Damian looked around, then led her to a small alley between buildings. Dark and secluded, it was perfect for avoiding notice.

He closed his eyes and placed his hand on the building wall, but quickly withdrew it. This was what the butterfly had warned about – the same sensation as when he’d touched Gilrota’s apparition.

Ayla asked with confusion: “What’s wrong?”

“There’s magic on it.”

“What?”

Her voice rose in surprise. Damian looked up at the building, seeing faint waves.

“On the entire building.”

It was that magician. That magician had placed the spells.

* * *


Camilla crushed her cigarette in the ashtray. The security force had refused her request for reinvestigation. They said Gilrota’s inability to drink alcohol wasn’t grounds for reopening the case. She’d hesitated about showing them Ant’s letter, but ultimately didn’t. If anything, the letter might make them change the cause of death from accidental to suicide. That would be even worse.

She felt helpless. As Ant’s guardian, she wanted to help clear up his friend’s suspicious death, but could do nothing. She put another unlit cigarette to her lips. Her body wasn’t what it used to be, so she’d cut back. Getting old, she supposed.

Looking around, she noticed the massive imperial palace near the security force headquarters.

“The palace… the palace…”

She muttered softly. Then something flashed through her mind. The palace held the Emperor. And the Empress, and the Crown Prince.

And the Crown Prince attended the Academy.

“No… would that be too much? No, shouldn’t a Crown Prince listen to his people’s voices?”

Camilla made her decision. She needed to meet the Crown Prince.

Without hesitation, she hailed a carriage and called to the driver:

“To the Academy, please!”