Chapter 13: Run Away

When Isolde stepped into the carriage, her eyes swept over the interior. The cushions and curtains were spotless, carrying a faint, elegant fragrance. It was clear the High Magistracy of Argentum had shown her due respect. If it’s just a formality, it shouldn’t take long, she told herself, though a faint unease lingered.

She lifted the curtain and saw the carriage trundling steadily toward the High Magistracy. Soldiers and officials moved along the streets, and she caught the constable exchanging greetings with them, his manner forthright and transparent.

After a while, the carriage halted. An official hurried forward and spoke to the constable. “My lord, there’s been a sighting of a suspicious figure on West Street. Lordship wants us to investigate.”

Lord Harmon turned his horse sharply. “Understood. I’ll see to it.”

He addressed the driver without pause. “Take her to the High Court of Parliament first, then meet me at West Street.”

“Yes, sir,” the driver replied, snapping the reins.

Without so much as a glance at Isolde, Lord Harmon rode off. She paid it no mind, her thoughts elsewhere. Likely, Mary’s family had been stirred by Matilda or Milton to file their complaint at the magistracy.

Surely they knew her father could resolve the matter with a single word. At most, it was a petty ploy to vex her. So what good would it do them? Would they truly go to such lengths just to unsettle her?

No. Milton wouldn’t stoop to this. The scheming likely came from Matilda.

The steady clatter of the carriage wheels on cobblestones echoed through the quiet streets. Each strike of the wheels seemed to drum against her chest, amplifying her unease. Her eyelids grew heavy, and a faint alarm rang in her thoughts. Something felt off.

“Leonis!” she called out as her body went limp, the darkness closing in.

Before the carriage reached Argentum, a man climbed aboard. The recent disappearance of Prince Theodric had tightened security, with guards stopping every traveler. At the checkpoint, one of the guards approached the carriage. “Who’s inside? State your purpose.”

“The Daughter of Duke Blackmoor, traveling to visit family,” the driver replied.

The guard’s brows flickered upward in surprise, but he said nothing more, lowering the curtain. “Move along.”

As the carriage passed, he turned to his companion. “Isn’t she betrothed to the young lord of Eldermere!”

“She is,” the other guard confirmed. “Sitting shoulder to shoulder. Said she’s visiting family, but it looked more like a tryst. Poor Lord Valen—he’s barely betrothed, and his bride’s already betrayed him. The Marquis of Eldermere will be the laughingstock.”

“Are you certain?” Another guard leaned in, intrigued, while nearby citizens paused to catch the gossip, their ears keen for scandal.

Atop the city gate stood a man clad in green, his brown hair flowing and eyes sharp. Resting his hands on the weathered yellow bricks, he watched the carriage speeding away below. Laughter from the soldiers rose to his ears, and for a fleeting moment, a glint of anger broke through his icy demeanor.

“Marshall,” they greeted, voices hushed. Whispers followed in his wake. “Since when was the Marshal at the gate? You think he overheard us? He’s the foster son of the Marquis of Eldermere… I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Oliver approached his black stallion with a face like stone. Mounting in one fluid motion, he rode hard, galloping through the city gates and vanishing into the distance.

By midday, Argentum was alive with scandal. Rumors claimed Lady Isolde of Blackmoor had slipped out of the city to rendezvous with a man. Some even whispered she’d eloped.

When Isolde awoke, her hands were bound, her mouth gagged. She was no longer in the carriage but confined in a small palanquin. Leonis was nowhere to be seen. The tilt of the palanquin told her they were ascending a mountain.

She kicked the curtain aside, glimpsing two men carrying her up the rugged path. Recognition struck. This was the road to Wolf Mountain. In the past, she had walked this trail countless times, memorizing every rock and bend.

Wolf Mountain? They’re taking me there? Could it be mountain bandits, rather than Milton, behind this? But she’d never crossed paths with the bandits of Wolf Mountain. The only enemies she had were the Blackwells. Who else could it be?

Lowering the curtain, she forced her mind to steady, piecing together fragments of memory. In her previous life, this time had been marked by more than just the fall of Lord Theodric. Another storm was brewing: the emperor had ordered an investigation into corrupt officials colluding between Fuzhou and the capital.

Milton, however, emerged unscathed, hailed as a hero. With just three hundred men, he was said to have wiped out the Wolf Mountain bandits and avenged the prince. His report claimed the bandits, drunk from revelry, were caught unprepared and swiftly dispatched. Interrogations revealed their leader’s confession: bribed to murder Lord Theodric by a high-ranking official.

It all seemed too well-orchestrated. On reflection, Isolde could only draw one conclusion: Milton must have known the lay of Wolf Mountain intimately, and its bandits trusted him. Their drunken revelry? Almost certainly his doing.

If that were Milton’s plot against him? Isolde stilled her breath as fragments of memory surfaced. In her past life, this time had marked not only Lord Theodric’s abduction but also another critical event. The King had ordered an inquiry into the collusion between corrupt officials in Shadowmere and Argentum. Numerous figures were implicated, including a handful of generals. Later, Milton was lauded for avenging the prince and quelling the bandits, earning the deep gratitude of Lord Garraway of the High Court. Their bond became one of unwavering loyalty. The pieces began to form a seamless chain.

Gathering her strength, Isolde realized the drugged incense was weak—or perhaps her earlier use of the Consumption Pill had dulled its effects. Either way, if she were taken to Wolf Mountain, it would provide the perfect chance to infiltrate the bandits and free Lord Theodric.

Meanwhile, Geoffrey was deeply engrossed in the Shadowmere case at the High Court. His trusted steward, Harlan, rushed in.

“My lord, trouble at the estate.”

Geoffrey, weary and tense, rubbed his temple. “Unless someone’s dead, spare me the details.”

Harlan hesitated but pressed on. “Rumors are spreading in the capital—Lady Isolde was seen eloping with a scholar. The city gate guards claim to have witnessed it. Madam has detained her maid, Helena, who confessed under questioning.”

Geoffrey’s expression hardened. “Nonsense!” A marriage into the Marquis’s house was an honor beyond measure. To forsake it for some scholar? Such folly defied belief.

“That’s the Duchess’s account. Lady Isolde’s maid remains in custody, awaiting your judgment,” Harlan replied. With witnesses and a confession, the rumors seemed regrettably plausible.

Geoffrey closed his eyes, his jaw tightening. After a moment, he struck the table sharply. “Why now? If it’s true, let her go. If it’s false, she’ll return, and I’ll question her myself. I cannot leave—not with Lord Theodric abducted and both the princess and Lord Garraway on edge. My duty holds me here.”

Harlan ventured cautiously, “My lord, gossip matters little—but the Marquis’s family will not see it that way. With the marquis at the border, his honor must be preserved. Quelling these rumors swiftly would be prudent.” Years of service allowed Harlan to speak with rare frankness, and his counsel was seldom ignored.

Geoffrey nodded grimly after a pause. “Fetch the gate guard who witnessed this. Quietly. No fuss, no attention.”

“At once, my lord,” Harlan replied and departed swiftly.