I heard Hawick's shout echoing from downstairs.
"Injured?"
If anyone had been hurt during that chaotic gap of time, it could only be Lamia.
I pushed past Callius toward the door, desperation rising in my throat.
"I need to see if my maid is safe!"
But Callius didn't budge. He was an immovable wall.
"There may still be remnants of the threat. It would be best for you to remain somewhere secure."
"She was hurt because of me!"
"Your Highness's safety takes precedence."
"Would the Marquis truly turn a blind eye to the injury of one of his own people?"
"That—"
I looked up at him with pleading eyes, letting every ounce of my worry show.
Callius sighed softly—a sound of reluctant surrender.
"Then come with me."
"Yes, I will!"
It wasn't a difficult condition at all.
Without thinking, I slipped my arm around his and grasped it with both hands.
His arm was tall, thick, impossibly solid. Strong in a way that made me feel anchored.
"Let's go!"
"Ah...? Oh. Yes."
He was simply staring down at me, unmoving, so I tugged on his arm insistently. Only then did he finally open the door and step into the hallway.
But my body couldn't keep up with my urgency.
"Ugh—wait, just a moment—"
I had to stop him after only a few steps.
His strides were so long that even if I'd run, I would have struggled to match his pace.
This situation was deeply embarrassing.
When I had walked arm-in-arm with Andrea or Viscount Pelsus, I had never needed to match their strides. It wasn't that they were particularly considerate—it was simply that the men of Arental were accustomed to slowing their pace when walking with women.
Apparently, Callius was not like that.
"I feel like I'm about to fall..."
"...My apologies."
After that, Callius began paying attention to my pace—but as we both tried to adjust to each other, we ended up moving in an awkward, jerky rhythm that made us look ridiculous.
Callius would slow down so much that it felt like I was pulling him forward, then speed up again so suddenly that I was practically dragged along.
We ascended to my room in this comically uneven fashion—pushing and pulling each other like mismatched dance partners.
"Huh? Why is Her Highness the Princess—?"
The maids gaped at me in bewilderment as I appeared with Callius at my side.
I walked straight past them into the room.
"Lamia!"
Lamia was lying on the floor, drenched in blood—but mercifully, she was still conscious and speaking to Hawick.
The gruesome sight struck me like a blow.
I left Callius behind and rushed toward her, tears already streaming down my face.
"What happened? Are you badly hurt? Where is the physician? Hey! Why hasn't anyone called for a physician?!"
"Oh, Your Highness!"
Lamia stopped my frantic shouting with a raised, bloodstained hand.
"I'm perfectly fine!"
"How can you possibly be fine when you're covered in so much blood?!"
Her hands were soaked in it—crimson and glistening.
But somehow, Lamia was grinning.
"Oh, it's not my blood."
"...What?"
Hawick nodded in confirmation.
"This woman isn't injured. We were simply verifying the situation."
Lamia leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially.
"I was lying on the bed just like you told me to—pretending to be asleep. Then some creep came sneaking up on me, thinking I was helpless. So I grabbed the knife from the fruit bowl and stabbed him!"
Lamia mimed a vicious stabbing motion with an imaginary blade.
"Swoosh! Swoosh! I put a few nice holes in him!"
"I would appreciate it if you handed over the actual knife now."
Hawick swiftly confiscated the blade Lamia had been brandishing.
I stared at her in astonishment.
"But you screamed?"
"Oh, I was screaming to call the knights! The guy got startled and bolted out the window."
I was genuinely impressed by her quick thinking and resourcefulness.
How had she managed to grab a weapon and defend herself so decisively in such a terrifying moment?
Regardless, I was profoundly relieved.
Lamia suddenly leaned forward, peering at my face with exaggerated curiosity.
"Your Highness... were you crying?"
"Well, I was worried something terrible had happened because of me."
"You cried because you were worried about me?"
Lamia's eyes went wide with delighted surprise.
I felt suddenly self-conscious under her gaze and turned my head away.
"If you're worried about someone, you might cry. It's normal."
"You must have been very worried~"
Lamia nudged me playfully in the ribs with her elbow.
I swatted her hand away.
Even if she wasn't a formally trained maid, this behavior toward a Princess was utterly absurd.
"What are you doing, you rude creature?"
In truth, most of the rudeness I had endured from the maids in the palace had been far more cutting and malicious.
But I found it harder to accept Lamia's casual, teasing familiarity—not because it was worse, but because I was so unaccustomed to playful, friendly treatment.
Lamia, of course, just laughed.
The stables in the North were designed with a peculiar architectural feature: they were connected directly to the kitchen to protect the horses from the brutal cold.
Callius was led through the kitchen by the innkeeper, who had cleared out all the staff.
There was an exterior passage for the horses to come and go, but the route through the kitchen was significantly shorter and more convenient.
Callius headed toward the corner of the stable with Hawick at his side.
Two of his men were already there, interrogating the intruder who had hidden in Chloe's room.
Just as Chloe had described, the man with the distinctively shaped eyebrows lay collapsed in the hay, bleeding and groaning in pain.
"What has he said?"
The men shook their heads.
"He refuses to speak, my lord."
"That's enough. I'll handle this."
The subordinates set down their clubs and stepped back.
Callius approached the intruder with an expression of utter indifference.
"Ugh..."
The intruder glared up at Callius through pain-glazed eyes, groaning.
Callius tossed something onto the ground in front of the man's face.
"Look."
The intruder glanced down helplessly at what Callius had thrown.
His eyes went wide with horror.
"...!"
It was a severed finger.
Recently removed, judging by the fresh blood still clinging to the stump.
A thick, ornate ring gleamed on the dismembered digit.
The finger had come into Callius's possession only moments ago—delivered by certain... subordinates.
"Do you recognize this?"
"Huh... huh..."
The intruder's eyes trembled violently.
He shook his head in frantic denial—but Callius had already read the flash of recognition and terror on the man's face.
Callius concluded with simple certainty:
"It seems your mastermind is the same as the others."
He didn't bother asking who was behind the attack.
He only wanted confirmation that this intruder shared the same employer as the assassins who had come for him earlier.
Having achieved his objective, Callius turned and walked out of the stable with leisurely, unhurried steps.
Behind him, Hawick swung his sword in one clean, efficient arc.
The intruder's lifeline was severed.
Callius returned upstairs with the same unhurried gait and found Chloe waiting anxiously in the hallway.
She was safely surrounded by his men.
"Your Highness."
"Marquis!"
"Why are you out here?"
"There's something you need to know. It's about the intruder who escaped earlier. I meant to tell you before, but you disappeared while I was speaking with Lamia."
Chloe shifted her weight from foot to foot anxiously.
"He's a subordinate of Viscount Pelsus! Surely you must have realized that by now—"
She trailed off, her eyes widening as she searched for the right words.
Callius eased her worry.
"I know."
"What? You already know?"
"Yes. It appears Viscount Pelsus was waiting nearby for his men to complete their task."
"Did you... did you meet him?"
Callius noticed the way Chloe trembled at the mention of the Viscount's name.
He reassured her gently.
"I didn't meet him personally, but..."
Callius paused, considering his words carefully.
"...My subordinates met him in my stead."
He recalled how, before arriving at the inn, he had sent the snow cats to track down the assassin he had deliberately left alive.
Chloe asked urgently:
"What did Viscount Pelsus say? Did he try to shift the blame? Make excuses?"
Callius's smile broadened—slow and satisfied.
"He admitted his mistake. Paid the appropriate price. And then he returned home very quickly."
"Really...? He just... went back?"
Callius's smile deepened.
"Yes. I'm quite certain he regrets his actions deeply. He won't be coming back again."
He remembered placing dried fish on his bedroom windowsill not long ago.
The fish had vanished in the blink of an eye, replaced by a severed finger adorned with the crest of House Pelsus.
The snow cats had followed the assassin, eliminated their employer—Viscount Pelsus—and claimed their reward as spoils of the hunt.
"He went back to where he came from."
A place that existed before the beginning of time.
"On some kind of... moving magic circle?"
Callius nodded calmly.
"Well... it happened rather magically, yes."
It wasn't a lie.
Some debts are settled with words.Others require claws, fangs, and the cold efficiency of those who hunt in silence.
Viscount Pelsus had paid his debt in full.
The snow cats purred contentedly, their work complete.
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