Rhaegar cast a glance around him. He could not force his way through in full view of so many. To do so would be nothing less than open defiance of the Empress—and should word reach the Emperor, the matter would take on far graver weight.

Tilting his head slightly, he spoke in a voice scarcely above a whisper.

"Sylric."

"At your command, my lord."

"Take a handful of men. Circle by the lesser paths. Go now."

Sylric hesitated. "My lord..."

"They have stationed men here to delay me. There will be others at Drias Family Hollow—but not many," Rhaegar said calmly. "Save as many as you can."

Sylric looked at him, conflicted. "But you—"

"I shall not die," Rhaegar cut him off, his tone quiet yet absolute. "Go."

Sylric clenched his jaw, then gave a firm nod.

With careful subtlety, he withdrew step by step, gathering a few men before slipping into the crowd and vanishing from sight.

Rhaegar turned back.

The man before him still wore that same cold, impassive expression, as though nothing had been amiss.

"Lord Thorne—have you reached your decision?"

Rhaegar met his gaze with cold resolve. "Since Her Majesty the Empress has summoned me, I would not dare refuse."

The man smiled, yet it was not a smile that brought ease—it chilled rather than warmed.

"Lord Thorne is indeed a man of discernment. This way, if you please."

Rhaegar pressed his heels lightly to his horse and rode forward.

Behind him, the imperial guards followed in silence.

At his side, the Empress’s retinue moved in tandem—whether as escort or escort under watch, none could say.

***

Within the Empress’s palace, fine aloeswood burned in the censers, its fragrant smoke curling upward in delicate spirals.

Rhaegar stood below, his gaze lowered.

Above, the Empress sat in composed elegance, a teacup held lightly in her hand as she sipped at leisure.

The chamber was hushed. Only the faint sound of porcelain meeting porcelain broke the stillness.

After a long while, the Empress spoke at last.

"Rhaegar."

"Your servant is present."

"About the case you have been investigating... How does it progress?"

Rhaegar raised his head and looked toward her.

Upon the Empress’s face rested a gentle smile—kind, composed, as though she were wholly unaware of any hidden currents.

Yet her eyes were cold as ice.

"Your servant reports to Your Majesty: it is still under investigation."

"Still under investigation?" The Empress gave a soft laugh. "I have heard that you have pursued it... rather deeply."

Rhaegar did not answer, gritting his teeth in irritation.

The Empress set aside her teacup and rose, her silk dress sweeping softly across the floor as she approached him. The faint rustle of silk filled the otherwise silent chamber.

"Lord Thorne," she said, looking directly at him, "you are a man of intelligence. You ought to understand that some matters, if pursued too deeply, bring no good to anyone."

Rhaegar met her gaze without flinching. "Your Majesty speaks wisely."

For the briefest moment, the Empress faltered. She had not expected him to yield so readily.

Rhaegar continued, his voice calm and even, "Your servant merely carries out his duty. His Majesty commands that the case be investigated, and so I investigate. Whatever is uncovered, I report as it is."

The Empress’s smile faded, if only for an instant.

"Are you invoking His Majesty... to press against me?"

"I would not dare."

The Empress regarded him in silence. For a long while, she said nothing.

Then, slowly, she smiled once more—yet this time, the warmth was gone, leaving only a chill beneath its surface.

"Lord Thorne, I know well your pride," she said. "And I know that, for that woman, you would cast aside even your own life."

She paused, her tone lowering. "But remember this—this world does not hold you alone within it."

Rhaegar’s eyes narrowed.

The Empress stepped closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper.

"The Thorne family numbers dozens of lives... have you given them thought?"

For a fleeting instant, Rhaegar’s chest tightened.

The Empress observed him, and a trace of satisfaction flickered across her features.

Then she stepped back, resuming her earlier expression of gentle composure, as though nothing had passed between them.

"Very well. I merely wished to inquire. You may take your leave."

"Your servant withdraws."

He turned and departed without hesitation.

Behind him, the Empress remained where she stood—her face darkening, the calm mask slipping just enough to reveal a steely displeasure beneath.

***

By the time Rhaegar emerged from the palace gates, dusk had already begun to fall.

Without delay, he mounted his horse and rode straight toward the eastern outskirts of the city.

Hooves thundered upon the road, striking sparks from stone as the horse raced like the wind.

By the time he reached Drias Family Hollow, he saw it from afar—a raging fire.

Not the gentle glow of lantern light, but the mad blaze of destruction. Flames leapt skyward, casting a lurid glow against the darkening heavens.

His heart sank.

Without hesitation, he urged his horse forward.

At the gates of the estate, Sylric was leading men out through the smoke-choked entrance. Behind them, thick black plumes billowed into the sky, and tongues of flame burst violently from shattered windows.

"My lord!" Sylric called upon seeing him, hurrying forward.

Rhaegar swung down from his horse. "What has happened?"

Sylric, breath unsteady and face ashen, replied, "When we arrived, the fire had already taken hold. Of the girls who were confined within... we managed to save only five. The others..." He faltered. "We were too late."

Rhaegar’s hands clenched into fists.

He stared into the inferno, the light reflected in his eyes—yet what burned within them was colder than the flames themselves.

"Who set it?"

"We do not know. They fled as soon as they saw us," Sylric said, then paused. "But... it is likely they were men of the Palace."

Rhaegar did not respond. He turned at once.

"My lord! Where are you going?"

"To the Palace."