CHAPTER 185: THE HUNGER OF THE FORGOTTEN

[Osirc’s Pov—Everheart Estate—Mid-evening]

GLARE!!!!

Not the glare of a soldier, nor the glare of a man about to draw his blade. No—this was the glare of a feathered menace currently perched on the mantelpiece, her golden eyes boring holes straight through my skull.

"My lord..." Aldric, vice-captain of the Everheart knights, cleared his throat, his voice cautious, almost trembling. "She’s... glaring at you again."

"I noticed," I muttered, tugging on my black cloak.

Aldric shifted uneasily, then forced the words out. "Wouldn’t it be... wiser if we brought her with us?"

I glanced at Solena. The hawk straightened as if she understood every word. Her feathers puffed up, and her talons scraped wood. If she had lips, she would have been smirking.

I sighed. "If we take her, someone will recognize us immediately. She’s enormous. She’s about as subtle as marching into the market with a war banner and a brass band."

The offense was immediate. Solena shrieked and launched herself directly at my head, wings flaring like stormclouds. Feathers slapped my face, and claws tangled in my hood. Aldric flinched and stepped back a little.

I, however, did not flinch. Why? Because this was routine.

"Again?" I muttered, prying her talons loose with all the patience of a long-suffering man. "Do you want my mission to fail, you overgrown eagle?"

Her golden eyes widened. She froze. Then, as if struck by divine tragedy, she slumped in my hands like a dying plant. A limp bundle of melodrama.

Aldric blinked. "...Is she pretending to faint?"

"Yes," I deadpanned, setting her gently on my arm. "She’s very good at it."

I handed her over to Hadrein, my butler, who looked far too amused for his own good. "Take care of her. Tell the chef to cook her favorites."

Instantly, Solena resurrected. Sparkles of delight shimmered in her eyes as she perked up, feathers glossy once more. She nudged Hadrein insistently, like a spoiled child demanding candy.

"Go. Faster. Now," her body language all but screamed.

Aldric just stared, dumbfounded. "She’s... remarkably easy to please."

I pulled my hood lower, my voice dry as sand. "You’d be surprised. She’s the most high-maintenance creature I’ve ever known. Including nobles."

Aldric choked on a laugh but quickly disguised it as a cough.

"Let’s go."

With that, I stepped out of my chambers, the night swallowing my figure. Aldric fell in beside me, and five knights in hooded cloaks slipped from the shadows, following like wolves on a silent hunt.

The mission had begun.

***

[Elorian Empire—commoner’s district—Later]

As we reached the commoner’s district, where the imperial carriage comes out to supply grains for the poor who cannot afford them, I smelled sweat and roasted meat. Not the elegant kind served on silver platters, but the kind that sizzled on skewers sold for two copper coins beside a muddy road.

I tugged my hood lower. "Keep your heads down. And for the gods’ sake, try not to look like soldiers pretending to be farmers. You’re all walking like you swallowed spears."

Aldric coughed and straightened his back. Which, of course, only made him look more like a knight.

"...Relax," I hissed.

One of the younger knights muttered, "How do we relax while holding swords under our cloaks?"

"Like common criminals," I said. "Practice."

We pushed deeper into the street. Merchants bellowed about fresh bread and salted fish, children darted between stalls with sticky fingers, and somewhere nearby, a lute wailed a tune so badly it could’ve been used as torture. For a moment, it looked like everything was normal.

"My lord," Aldric muttered beside me, scanning the stalls. "Everything seems good here."

"Hm." I narrowed my eyes. "Keep looking."

That was when a sharp voice cut through the noise—raw, furious.

"WHAT! AGAIN?!"

We all turned. An old woman stood by a meat stall, fists clenched, face flushed with rage. Her husband hovered beside her, wringing his hands. The smell hit us as we approached: not the savory perfume of grilled meat, but the sour, gagging stench of rot.

The old man muttered, defeated, "I can’t believe it... it happened again. I swear, I opened this only hours ago."

The woman’s voice cracked with rage. "Now, how are we supposed to feed ourselves if every bite turns to poison the moment it touches our hands?"

I stepped forward, schooling my face into something polite. "Did something happen?" I asked evenly.

The old woman’s eyes snapped to mine, sharp as a hawk’s. "Who are you?"

I smiled faintly. "Just a passerby, grandma. I heard you shouting. Thought maybe I could help."

"Help?" She barked out a bitter laugh. "Unless you’ve got a cow hidden in that cloak, boy, get out of my sight. We don’t need more pity."

Aldric stepped up, lowering his voice. "We insist, grandmother. Perhaps we can help."

She barked a bitter laugh. "What help can strangers give when that damned princess is feeding us filth!"

That word—princess—fell like a stone in water. Every knight around me stiffened.

Before I could speak, another vendor leaned over from the next stall, a man with flour-dusted arms. "Did your food spoil again?"

The grandmother slammed her palm against the wooden counter. "Yes, again! Two days now—we keep getting supplies that are already ruined!"

A chorus of voices rose around us.

"It happened to me too—I opened a sack of potatoes, all rotted through!"

"Grains spoiled as well. My children went hungry yesterday. And today looks no better."

"I’ve never seen food rot so fast—it’s like it’s cursed."

More voices rose.

"She’s mocking us!" one man spat. "Sending her leftovers like we’re dogs under her table."

"Dogs are treated better," another sneered. "At least nobles feed their hounds fresh meat. Us? We’re given garbage."

The old woman slammed the rotten meat box shut, the crack of wood sharp as a curse. "She wants us dead. That’s what it is. Starve the commoners, fatten her people. She’s no different than the rest of them. Seems like the throne has corrupted her."

Damien, one of our knights, pushed forward, trying to soothe them. "Are you certain the food truly comes from the princess? Perhaps there’s been a mistake, a misunderstanding—"

The grandmother cut him off with a glare that could’ve flayed skin. "You think we’re blind, boy? The imperial carriage itself brings it. We see it with our own eyes. Every sack, every crate, stamped with the crest of the Imperial Princess. And since that new driver arrived, it’s only gotten worse. He throws it at us like we’re beggars and laughs when we complain."

My eyes narrowed at once. "A new driver?"

The baker from the bread stall nodded grimly. "Yes. A bastard with a snake’s tongue. Calls us filthy when he’s the one handing out filth. Who in the palace thought hiring him was wise?"

The air around us grew thick, restless with suspicion and anger.

Aldric leaned in close, whispering, "My lord... something stinks worse than that meat."

I nodded, voice low and sharp. "Spread out. Ask, listen, and watch. Anything suspicious—report to me at once."

They bowed their heads quickly and melted into the crowd.

Behind me, the old woman muttered loud enough for all to hear, "If the princess thinks she can choke us with rot, may she one day choke on it herself."

Her words cut deeper than any dagger. I stayed where I was, watching the spoiled meat, the angry faces, and the distrust boiling toward Lavinia’s name.

And beneath it all, a single thought burned in my mind: someone is feeding the people rot... and framing her for it.

We scoured every district—every filthy corner, every shadowed alley. And just when the stench of hopelessness began to cling to our cloaks, Damien came stumbling toward me, breathless.

"My lord—" he panted, clutching his chest. "We found... an imperial carriage... in an abandoned alley."

My eyes narrowed. "Take us there."

The knights and I followed him through the twisting veins of the district until the streets gave way to a forsaken passage. No lamps lit its darkness. No footsteps lingered there. Only rats—half-starved, half-dead—scattered across the filth. The air reeked so foully that we covered our noses.

And there, draped in black cloth like a corpse awaiting burial, sat an imperial carriage.

Aldric stepped forward cautiously. With one sharp tug, he ripped away the covering. Beneath lay sacks of grain, potatoes, rice, and meat.

He drew his dagger, slit one open, and frowned. "They’re not completely spoiled, my lord. Still edible... but only for a day or two."

I clenched my fist, rage biting into my palm. "So. That’s their game. They rot it just enough to turn stomachs—and send it out under our seal."

Aldric glanced at me, waiting. "What are your orders, my lord?"

I let the silence hang, heavy and cruel. My gaze fixed on the carriage, then on the filth-strewn ground.

Finally, I spoke, my voice low, sharp as a blade.

"Seize everything. Every sack, every grain. And find the driver." I turned, eyes cold enough to freeze the alley itself.

"Drag him out by his throat if you must. He will talk."