CHAPTER 409: TROUBLES IN THE NORTH

Meanwhile, in the rolling emerald hills north of Savadra, the Silverstone Castle blazed beneath the late-afternoon sun, its pale stone ramparts gleaming like molten silver, like a beacon against a sea of silver pines and dark cypress.

The air was scented with pine and the faint resinous tang of cypress, and from a distance the fortress looked unassailable—its proud towers etched against the sky like a promise of safety.

But inside its keep—the fortress within the fortress—the air was different. It was thick, stale and too still. The grand chamber, meant to be a refuge in times of siege, had become a prison.

The scrape of boots on stone and the faint jingle of armor filled the silence between muted sobs. Women sat on the floor, clutching children to their chests, whispering comfort in voices too calm to be believed. The elderly hunched against the cold wall, their eyes cloudy, as though seeing something far away.

At the great double doors, a line of Zuran soldiers stood shoulder to shoulder, hands resting on spear shafts, their expressions carved from stone. The Duke of Silverstone, his eldest son, Sigfred and two other sons waited in the corridor beyond.

"Your general swore that we could visit our families whenever we wished," the Duke declared, his voice a low growl, sharp with barely restrained authority. His piercing gaze bore down on the guard, a storm brewing behind his calculated demeanor. "What reason can you possibly provide for blocking our passage?"

A flicker of hesitation crossed the soldiers’ faces. Their eyes slid toward their captain. One slow, deliberate nod.

The doors opened with a reluctant groan, the smell of sweat and damp stone spilling out.

"Don’t even think about pulling any clever maneuvers or attempting something foolish, or I swear one of your daughters will pay the price," one guard hissed, his voice laced with a chilling severity that sent a shiver through the air.

The Duke’s jaw clenched. He stepped inside, each stride measured, though his pulse thundered. His gaze swept the room—his aging parents, seated together like weathered statues; his wife, outwardly calm but with eyes rimmed red from tears; his three daughters and daughters-in-law, each holding their children close.

His knees trembled like fragile reeds in a storm, but he summoned every ounce of strength to stand tall, determined to hide the turmoil roiling within. A fierce blaze of rage flickered deep in his core, yet he choked it back, knowing that in this charged atmosphere, even the slightest hint of defiance could spell disaster. The weight of his resolve pressed down upon him as he bore the unsettling gaze of Turik’s men, the air thick with tension and unspoken threats.

Peace had made him soft and complacent. He had allowed the duchy’s guard to grow lax. The breach had come not through walls, but through trust—the betrayal of his most loyal butler.

Turik’s men had unearthed the man’s most guarded secret: a second wife in a hidden village, and a precious son born in his old age.

They had used them as a leash.

The man had succumbed to despair. Under the shroud of darkness, as the moon cast ghostly shadows across the landscape, the butler, trembling with fear, reluctantly unlatched the heavy castle gates. His heart raced like a caged bird, knowing that behind him, his loved ones were held captive, their safety hanging by a thread. The chilling wind whispered through the trees, bearing witness to the treachery that unfolded in the stillness of the night.

Worse, he had the audacity to kneel before fleeing, to beg the Duke’s forgiveness before vanishing with his second family. His first wife had refused to go, choosing instead to die beside her masters.

And just like that, the Duke’s people had been rounded up and herded into the very keep that his great-great-great-grandfather had built to protect them during sieges. Now, its walls served the enemy. It was the most secure structure within the castle walls that now trapped his family.

The Duke’s gaze drifted—only for a heartbeat—to four seemingly ordinary maids: Veronica , Aryana, MarJan and Lazira. A silent message passed between them in those few moments. The four were trained dames -- female knights who posed as servants and were assigned to protect his wife and three unmarried daughters. They were not just knights, but they were also martial artists whose parents were the Zen Warriors -- who had once studied under the legendary Samuel himself.

No one knew their identities except for the Duke himself and his three sons. When the time comes, the duke and those dames will make a move. For now, they waited, coiled and ready.

The Duke watched as his sons hugged and comforted their wives and children. He was happy that Arabella was not with them and that she was safe with Asael in Calma.

Earlier, Sigfred had whispered a news: "Alaric and General Odin are riding to the capital. They will arrive in five days, Asael said."

"Is your brother-in-law, Asael, with them?" the Duke asked, his brow furrowing. He remembered Arabella had only recently given birth.

"Father, Asael is my best friend before he’s my brother-in-law," Sigfred protested with a faint smirk. "And yes, he’s coming."

"Enough jesting," the Duke said sharply. "We are already neck-deep in peril, and you still find time for such trifles."

He lowered his voice to a thread. "The Earl of Donalton and the Marquis of Magayon have also been caught in Turik’s net. I do not trust them with all that you’ve told me—not yet." His eyes darkened. "Turik’s strike on the palace will come during the Queen’s birthday. Four days from now. My knights are tasked with guarding that event. Before then..." His gaze flicked briefly to the four disguised dames. "...we secure our own."

...

Elsewhere, at Orion’s secluded home, behind a bamboo forest, the door creaked open. The servant who stood waiting exhaled in relief as though he had been holding his breath for hours.

"Master, thank the heavens you’ve returned," he said in a rush, already bolting the door behind Orion. "Roldan has been here more than once, and messengers from Lord Kasmeri, too. They said it is an urgent business."

"Then waste no time," Orion replied, his voice like a blade drawn from a sheath. "Send word for Roldan to ride to Greenshire. I will meet him and Duke Kasmeri there."