CHAPTER 39: A SHIMMER OF EMPTINESS...

Yona, Lenko, and even Diego turned as one... not because they heard him, but because they felt him.

A force pressed from beyond the gate, straining against the shimmering wall of nothing, rattling the air like a muffled thunderclap.

The ward still held, its surface shimmering faintly, rejecting the intrusion with stubborn light. Yet the man’s boot rested against it, sinking into the glow as though it were nothing more than a door that refused to yield---a wall of pulsing red, a shimmer of emptiness.

That shouldn’t be possible.

She had felt it herself... her blades sank into the barrier only to be hurled back with twice the force. Diego had thrown his whole weight behind his claymore, nearly losing it when the recoil wrenched through his arms. Lenko’s fists were still bruised, his knuckles torn from even a brush against the surface.

The ward did not yield. It pushed back harder than it was struck.

And yet here he stood, pressing into it as if it were nothing at all.

"Huh?"

the man muttered, voice carrying in the sudden stillness. "Whose bright idea was this? A ward like this, for a backwater hole like this? Don’t tell me your mage is lumping me in with the beasts now."

He kicked the ward again.

This time Yona braced for it, jaw tight, shoulders tense.

This man... this white haired figure in nothing more than light armor and arm guards, sword at his side... held steady. The golden eyes that flared beneath the torchlight gleamed with something far sharper than annoyance.

The ward hissed and warped, light bending around his strike as if struggling to comprehend what it was up against. The barrier flexed, convulsed... yet could not expel him. The recoil bled outward instead, blasting loose more shards of the gate, scattering wood and steel across the ground.

Her pulse quickened despite herself.

This was the man who had led the brigade into Hinnom... the one whose single cleave had scattered the Gula’s twisted bulk like kindling. The one whose words had been enough to snap the royal brigade into motion, their movements seamless, practiced, devastating.

And over his shoulder... slung without care, without reverence, like nothing more than a sack of freshly reaped grain... hung the tenth prince.

Muzio.

His limp form dangled in the man’s grip, head lolling, blood dripping a slow, steady trail from his body. From this distance, with that much blood staining him, she might have believed he was already a corpse.

Her breath hitched.

The only reason she knew the tenth prince is still breathing---despite the state he was in... was because the man had carried him here.

If Muzio were truly dead, his body would already be ash among the Gula’s remains.

That was protocol.

Always burn the beast, burn every corrupted limb, every foul trace. The same went for mercenaries. Whatever wasn’t scavenged was destroyed, or else the corruption festered and rose anew.

And yet this man hadn’t burned him. He had pulled him free. Carried him out. That meant something.

It had to.

Still, doubt gnawed at her. The tenth prince was a bastard child, the outcast son of the King’s harem, a boy whispered about more than spoken of.

Would this man even know him?

Would he care if the bloodied thing in his grasp was a royal or not?

Did he treat all royals this way... dangling like burdens, like problems to be hauled away?

But it wasn’t just that. It wasn’t just the title, or the bloodline.

It was him.

The boy who had carved himself raw for them.

The one who had sealed them out, not to spite them but to protect them.

The one who had faced the Gula head-on while they could only watch, powerless.

And now he was nothing more than dead weight, swaying boneless in another’s arms.

Her jaw clenched.

At the edge of her hearing, a low hum stirred, the faint resonance of the ward itself.

The same ward the tenth prince had rewritten to keep them away. It thrummed now like a taut string, reacting... not to her, not to Lenko, not to Diego’s futile blows... but to the white-haired man pressing harder against it.

As though even the magic itself bent to recognize the power standing before it.

"...!"

Suddenly Lenko shoved Yona’s hands away, desperate. He turned toward the ward, his palm lifting as if sheer will could force it to let him through.

Yona’s stomach dropped. She lunged, caught his arm, and hissed, "Shit---don’t be a fool! You’re not invincible! It’ll toss you again... Gods, you’re as reckless as your damned prince!"

Lenko scowled down at her grip, copper hair falling over his eyes, jaw tightening. His arm flexed as he tried to shake her off. Yona held fast, her knuckles whitening.

Their gazes locked, her scowl matching his.

Right, she thought bitterly. This one.

The boy who had first dismissed her with open rudeness, sharp-tongued and unflinching. The same boy who had turned into a nervous wreck the moment Muzio told him she was a princess of Hinode. Who had scolded not only her but his own lord when their bickering grew too sharp, treating them both like errant children.

And yet... this same man had also knelt by her side. His hands steady as he bound the cut on her chin, the split on her scalp, the wound along her arm. Not a word of complaint, not a moment of hesitation. Just silent, practiced care.

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she realized the truth of it. He wasn’t seeing her now. Not really. Not as Yona. Not even as a princess.

No... he only saw her as an obstacle between himself and his lord.

Yona sighed inwardly, a wry pang settling in her chest.

She remembered Alaric’s laugh when she had once asked why he hadn’t bound a vassal to himself. "And get myself tangled up with those crazy loyal copper-haired folk?" he had said with his usual careless grin. She hadn’t understood then. But now... now, staring at Lenko’s burning eyes and iron-willed stubbornness... she did.

Alaric had also mentioned something else, in passing, with far less laughter in his tone, "That tie between royal and vassal? It’s as old as the crown itself. A bond, yes... but one steeped in curse."

Looking at Lenko now, she believed it.