Tears and Ashes
Barely a few hours had passed since Cronen's private conversation with Sir Gregory.
It hadn't been that long since he received word that Lisianthus was safely out of the temple, either. And now this? A fire? The holy blade stolen?
Hadn't he been assured the Princess was resting quietly inside? How many guards were supposed to be watching over her, and what on earth had they been doing all this time?
"I thought I wouldn't burn to death as long as there was water! But the water dried up, I couldn't breathe, and right when I thought I was going to die, I lost consciousness! And when I finally woke up, the sword was gone! The very sword His Imperial Majesty praised so dearlyyyy...!"
The Princess wailed piteously, carrying on as though she had pawned off her royal dignity long ago.
Under normal circumstances, practically no one entered or left the temple aside from a handful of day laborers. Whether the Princess wept or screamed, there was little chance a single whisper would escape beyond the temple gates. Yet a massive fire had broken out.
The grounds were packed with a sea of people—onlookers drawn by the commotion and townsfolk who had rushed from afar to help extinguish the blaze. Watching the lovely, graceful Princess abandon all decorum to howl and shriek, the crowd began to murmur among themselves.
"Wait, isn't that... the sword?"
"The one that supposedly saved the Imperial Palace?"
"You mean the one where a single slash sent demonic beasts scattering into thin air?"
"Seeing a noble member of the imperial family crying her eyes out like that, it really must be gone..."
"Goodness, she's still so young. How heartbreaking."
In truth, Cronen had largely brought this upon himself. The citizens were not fools. Because Cronen maintained close ties with Empress Cleo, he had treated Titania with thinly veiled neglect. He hadn't announced her arrival date in advance so that the citizens could gather to welcome her, nor had he assembled the faithful at the temple to grant them an audience with the Princess.
The contrast was glaring, especially when everyone vividly remembered how Prince Brian had strutted into the city just last year as if he were the Emperor himself, touring the streets before hosting an extravagant banquet at the temple with local dignitaries and nobles.
From the moment Titania's carriage rolled into the city, rumors had spread like wildfire.
"Did you hear? The Princess is here."
"Really?"
"Thomas said he saw her down on the main street! Barely a carriage in sight, so quiet you'd hardly notice."
"Quite different from last year, isn't it?"
"An imperial royal arrives, yet the temple hasn't uttered a single word..."
Of course, the old rumors surrounding Titania hadn't been entirely dispelled. Even with recent tales that she had suddenly turned gracious, wielded a divine sword to vanquish demonic beasts, and rescued the Emperor, she had spent far too many years branded as an arrogant, empty-headed troublemaker. And yet...
Titania squeezed out a fresh flood of tears, crying out dramatically:
"What will happen to me when His Majesty finds out?! Waaaah! I can never dare show my face before him again! I may as well end my life right here—"
"Your Highness!"
"Please, calm yourself!"
She was actually crying! That notoriously proud and brazen imperial princess was rolling on the ground in tears over losing her sword!
Titania was not yet of age, and she was breathtakingly lovely. Seeing such a delicate, beautiful young girl with her cheeks puffed red from crying, thrashing about as if her entire world had ended, everyone couldn't help but wonder just how devastated she must be. The crowd clicked their tongues in sympathy.
"Good heavens. Looking at her, that sword must have been immensely precious."
"More importantly, with the temple in ruins like this, what will happen to the Offering Festival?"
"Seriously, how incompetent must they be to let a renowned imperial treasure get stolen right out of the temple?"
"And the Princess nearly died, too. Oh, poor thing, she's weeping out of sheer terror..."
"Tsk, what a pity."
Hearing the citizens' whispers, a sharp pang of dread seized Cronen.
To cast aside imperial dignity and behave so... so disgracefully!
It would have been vastly better if the Princess had simply berated him. If she had flown into a rage, demanding how he managed the temple so poorly that a priceless artifact was stolen and she was nearly burned alive, Cronen would have had plenty of excuses ready. He could have argued that he, too, had nearly perished, that the sacred temple had caught fire, and that despite so many priests being injured, they had done everything humanly possible to save Her Highness...
He could have even pointed out that the temple had operated without incident for decades, insinuating that the fire was linked to some sinister trouble brought along by that very sword. After all, Cronen's standing in this city was far more entrenched than that of an imperial royal who visited once a year at best—especially the youngest princess on her very first trip.
Yet she had responded like this, instantly winning the crowd's pity!
Steeling his resolve, Cronen dropped to his knees before Titania.
"This is all my fault!"
"..."
Burying her face in her hands as she sobbed, Titania flinched slightly, though no one caught the fleeting motion.
"Having welcomed such an exalted guest into this holy sanctuary, no harm should ever have befallen you! I know not what... godless scoundrel orchestrated this villainy, but to dare set fire to the sacred temple and steal such an auspicious blade is unforgivable!"
Titania only offered a string of plaintive whimpers in reply.
"Hic... sob..."
"I will do whatever it takes to apprehend the culprit and ensure Your Highness remains safe from harm—"
"What nonsense is this when Her Highness doesn't even have a bed to sleep in tonight?"
Clack, clack.
A pair of distinct, steady footsteps echoed over the cobblestones. Cronen gritted his teeth.
What is that bastard doing here?!
Approaching them was an impeccably dressed young nobleman bearing a triumphant smirk. The crowd stirred at the sight of him.
"Isn't that Young Count Phlux?"
"He hasn't shown his face in public for quite some time..."
"The r-rumors claimed he was gravely ill."
"Hush! Look at him—he looks completely fine!"
Paying no heed to the surrounding chatter, Phlux spoke with absolute confidence.
"The Princess's quarters have been reduced to ashes, and I hear the ceremonial chamber reserved for the Offering Festival burned down completely as well... Who knows if the Holy Relic is even intact? Can we in good conscience allow Her Highness to remain in such a place?"
Insolent brat! Cronen ground his molars together. Where on earth was Gregory in the middle of all this? Without him present, any claim Cronen made regarding her escort and security fell flat!
"...This matter is strictly between the temple and Her Highness, Young Count Cortez—"
"It is also a matter of this city, which gives me every right to intervene," Phlux interrupted with a sneer. "Especially when you appear completely clueless as to who dared set fire to the temple, who targeted Her Highness, or what plot they might be hatching. This hardly seems like the time to refuse my assistance."
Just then, as if answering Cronen's desperate internal plea, a man in utter disarray came sprinting toward them.
"Sir Gregory!"
Cronen was the first to recognize him, his face brightening with relief.
"Where have you been, and what were you doing, Sir Gregory?!"
"Cough, hack! Forgive my tardiness, my lord!"
Coughing violently, Gregory stepped between Cronen and Phlux. He was caked in soot from head to toe, looking as though he had spent the morning rolling in a pit of ashes. It was a state of complete dishevelment, unrecognizable from the man who had always prided himself on neat, dignified, and expensive attire.
Even with Gregory's sudden arrival, Phlux didn't show the slightest flicker of fluster; instead, his gaze grew all the more contemptuous. Nevertheless, Cronen resolved to use Gregory's presence to keep the Princess bound to the temple.
"Young Count Cortez. I understand your concern, but the chief commander of Her Highness's escort is none other than Sir Gregory here. You, on the other hand, have no official connection to Her Highness—"
"Cough, hack! That is correct! I am the officer in charge of Her Highness's guard! No matter your title, Young Count—"
As Gregory scrambled to speak through his coughing fits, a sudden chill of foreboding crept up Cronen's spine.
To separate Lisianthus from the Princess and meet secretly with Gregory, Cronen had concocted a flimsy excuse to send the few escort knights attached to the Princess out of the temple along with Lisianthus. If something went wrong at the temple, he would naturally face interrogation for that decision. Still, as the Chief Priest of the Southern Temple, he could have swept most irregularities under the rug—provided, of course, that the ugly truth wasn't laid bare before a crowd of witnesses like this.
Phlux let slip a biting scoff.
"Ah, is that so? The very Sir Gregory whose soldiers were merrily enjoying a leisurely hunt in the distance while Her Highness nearly perished?"
"Do not besmirch my honor!" Gregory shouted in indignant protest. "I dispatched my men to secure the perimeter around the temple, while I remained behind to guard the grounds myself!"
"And if you were guarding the temple, why weren't you by Her Highness's side at the moment of her greatest peril?"
At Phlux's razor-sharp rebuttal, Gregory's shoulders visibly shrank.
In truth, the moment the fire had erupted and chaotic shouts filled the temple, Gregory had hesitated in confusion:
Did Cronen make his move already? Could he really have struck this early?