CHAPTER 25: SCANDALS AND STONES

[ThorenVald Estate—Balcony, Afternoon]

The sun was blazing down on the estate, but not hot enough to roast a knight in his armor. It was a Perfect beer weather.

I poured a glass, leaned against the table like a man who’d worked far harder than I had, and squinted at Princess Sirella.

"Want some?" I held it out like an offering from the gods.

She wrinkled her nose, as if I’d just presented her with a dead rat. "No. I don’t drink beer."

"More for me, then." I shrugged, skipped the glass entirely, and downed a glorious gulp straight from the bottle.

THUD!

I slammed it down with dramatic flair. "HAAAH! That’s the taste of life."

Sirella looked at me the way one might look at a goat attempting ballet. "...If you were going to drink from the bottle, why pour it into a glass?"

"For you, of course," I said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Then I pointed at the untouched glass. "Since you don’t want it, I’ll just drink that too. Waste not, want not."

She blinked slowly, as if recalibrating her opinion of me. "...You really like beer, don’t you?"

"Like?" I leaned forward, sunlight glinting dramatically in my eyes. "No, Princess. I don’t like beer. I—LOVE—beer."

She gave me a flat stare. "You talk like a poet but drink like a barbarian."

"...That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me."

Her gaze drifted out over the balcony, down to the training grounds. Sir Haldor was shouting so loud, I was pretty sure half the birds in the kingdom filed a noise complaint. My knights scrambled in formation under Sir Roland’s watchful glare. My Crimson pack surrounded them.

"You finally got yourself a captain," she said softly. "That should ease your burdens."

"Yeah," I nodded, pretending I was a responsible leader. "For once, things are starting to look... manageable."

But her tone was too calm. Suspiciously calm. I squinted at her. "Alright, out with it. What’s this ’urgent matter’ you dragged yourself up here for? And don’t say it was just to watch me drink like a champion."

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she leaned back with that slow, deliberate villainess grace of hers, legs crossing in a move so regal it probably deserved a trumpet fanfare. Her crimson eyes locked on mine.

"Before that," she said evenly, "I have something to ask. And I want the truth."

"Go on."

Her words fell sharp as a guillotine: "Back then, why did you decide to swear an oath to a mere commoner girl... Elowen?"

My grin faltered faster than a drunk knight at midnight.

She didn’t let up. "You know what that meant, don’t you? A noble kneeling before a commoner? Forget scandal—that was political suicide. It was reckless. It was humiliating. And the entire nobility still talks about it." Her eyes glinted as she leaned in, voice dropping like a blade.

"Tell me, Leif... were you a fool that day, or just desperate for her?"

I stared into the half-empty glass, the golden liquid catching sunlight. Gods, if only I could tell her the truth—that it wasn’t me, but the original Leif, the poor idiot who followed the script too faithfully.

But I couldn’t.

So I plastered on the crooked grin of a man standing on a collapsing bridge and muttered, "It was a mistake."

Her eyes narrowed like twin blades. "A mistake?"

I swirled the beer, my voice dropping into something almost confessional. "I thought she was a kind girl. Someone worth the risk. But..." My throat tightened, and I forced the words out softer, as if the wind might carry them away before they hit her ears. "I guess I was wrong."

For a while, the only sounds were the clash of swords below and the squires’ laughter—bright, sharp, and oblivious. Their voices floated up, warm and human against the cold northern air.

As the so-called heroine of this story, I used to think Elowen was... sweet. The candle-lighting, kitten-feeding, bird-rescuing type. The girl who probably cries if someone overcooks rice.

But the more I piece things together—the more I actually look at her—what I see isn’t kindness. It’s hunger. The kind that wants crowns, devotion, and nobles kneeling at her feet.

"So you realized you were wrong about her?" Sirella’s voice cut through my thoughts, sharp but not cruel. "Is that why you came here?"

I snorted, swirling the last of my beer before knocking it back in one go. "Oh, no. Don’t flatter her. She’s not worth that."

Her brow arched, waiting.

I leaned back until the chair creaked, stretching like I’d just finished a very demanding nap.

"Honestly? It had nothing to do with her. I just..." I waved a hand at the snow, the estate, and the endless northern horizon. "...wanted to ditch that suffocating noble circus. To breathe. To drink beer. To nap in peace. You know—chill vibes only."

Sirella didn’t react. She didn’t sneer. Didn’t laugh. Didn’t even mutter a villainess one-liner. She just stared. A long, unblinking, dissect-your-soul stare that made me feel like a beetle pinned to a velvet display case.

Finally—finally—she sighed, slipped a hand into her cloak... and pulled out a book. Just like that. No explanation. As casually as a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat.

Thump. She set it on the table between us.

I blinked. "... What’s this?"

Her face was as flat as the frozen lake outside. "A book."

. . .

"...Oh." I leaned in, squinting at it like it might sprout legs. "I thought it was a sword."

She gave me the flattest look imaginable. "It’s a book about magic stones. Specifically the Trivium Core Stones—and how they can be used."

That got my attention. I plopped it open, pages fluttering as the snowy wind teased them. "Ohhh, let’s see then!"

Sirella shifted closer so she could read over my shoulder. Together, we hunched over the text like two students cramming for finals.

I cleared my throat, reading aloud.

"’The Trivium Core Stone contains the combined essences of three elements: heat, water, and air. They are considered the rarest of stones, able to generate life-sustaining environments... or alter landscapes entirely.’"

"Mm," Sirella hummed thoughtfully.

I flipped the page and continued.

"’For instance, this stone has the power to transform a stagnant pond into a naturally flowing hot spring.’"

"Useful," she murmured.

I kept going....

"Blah blah blah, mystical this, natural wonders that, blah blah—" I stopped dead. "It can also be... turned into jewelry?"

Both of us froze. Our heads turned slowly toward each other.

"Jewelry?!" I yelped. "Excuse me—this is basically three nuclear reactors having a threesome. Who in their right mind thinks: oh yes, perfect necklace material?"

Sirella didn’t even blink. "You’re right. But if it says that, there must be a method to stabilize it."

So we started flipping through the pages, scanning messy diagrams of glowing stones, ancient runes, and what looked like a drunk wizard’s doodles.

"Ah-ha!" I smacked the page so hard she jumped. "Here! Found it!"

We both leaned in closer, our heads nearly colliding. My finger traced the ink as I read aloud, slowly:

"’There exists only one race capable of subduing the violent energy of the Trivium Core Stone into wearable form...’"

We locked eyes and said in perfect unison, "Elves?"

I continued, quieter now.

"’Elves carry within them a resonance born of harmony with the natural world. Their hands channel mana in a way that quiets elemental storms. Where others would burn, they soothe. Where the stone rages, they calm it—crafting it into vessels of beauty and power.’"

My fingertips brushed the page, lingering. "...So they can tame the stone. Make it safe."

"Hmmm..." Sirella’s expression darkened as she leaned back. "But... elves." Her voice held a strange weight. "Didn’t they disappear ages ago?"

I blinked. "Disappear? As in... poof?"

She nodded slowly. "Yes. The last recorded sighting was over a hundred years ago. After that, nothing. They remain only in history books now."

The book felt suddenly heavier in my lap. A cold draft rattled the shutters, and for the first time that afternoon, I wasn’t just reading lore. I was staring at the next step of my journey—toward something that might not even exist anymore.