They exchanged glances, clearly confused by the order.
"But, my lord…" one of them began, apprehension evident in his voice.
"You will stay here on guard. If there is any sign of Fenric, notify me immediately."
The guards nodded, still tense, but the authority in Leone’s voice left no room for debate. They dispersed, forming a perimeter around the barrier.
Drak gave me an appraising look before turning toward the shimmering wall.
"How do we get in?" he asked.
"The barrier recognizes Leone and me," I explained, stepping closer to the wall of sparkling magic. "And it will recognize you as my guest, since I am the krash’uk of the Ruk’hai."
I touched the barrier, and the magic responded instantly. The shimmering surface rippled, opening an invisible but safe path. I drew in a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scent of wildflowers that permeated Ceilte.
The contrast between Oksha and Ceilte was staggering. The grass appeared greener, the gardens more flamboyant, and the buildings crafted from white marble. There was no chatter of children, no scent of campfires, and none of the sounds of the orcs' daily lives. Only the polished grandeur of a kingdom that hid its ugliness beneath layers of marble and magic.
We walked toward the castle, Leone in the lead, me in the middle, and Drak guarding our rear.
Some of the servants, the moment they saw Leone, offered hurried bows. I greeted those I recognized by name, and their eyes widened as they took in my appearance. It reminded me that not everyone had been present in the hall when I was cursed and transformed into an orc.
Leone went straight to the castle’s housekeeper. Alyssandre had worked in Ceilte since before we were born, and my father had always considered her reliable.
Upon seeing us, her grey eyes filled with tears, and she gasped.
"Oh, thanks to the goddess Danu!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands in prayer. "My lord, my lady, you are alive!"
"Lys, where are my parents? What happened here?" Leone inquired.
Alyssandre tried to steady her breathing, her hands trembling. "I don't know, my lord! Lord Alasdair left three days ago for the Autumn Court. Lord Fenric said it was an urgent trip, but…"
"But what, Lys?" Leone pressed, impatience creeping into his voice.
"But he told the guards they should be prepared for 'any eventuality,' and he seemed strangely satisfied."
"He kidnapped my father," Leone murmured, rage sharpening his voice. "We need to act."
"There’s something wrong happening!" Alyssandre grabbed Leone's arm, fear plain in her eyes. "As soon as Lord Alasdair left, Fenric took charge. He imposed a curfew and began acting as though he were the lord of Ceilte."
"He did what?" I asked, incredulity threading through my voice.
"Yes, Lady Fionnuala. He behaves as though the throne were already his. He dismissed several servants and increased his personal guard. I fear he’s plotting something."
"And my mother? Where is she?" I asked.
Alyssandre lowered her gaze to the floor, her shoulders slumping.
"Lady Laurelin is missing, my lady. No one knows where she went or what happened."
Leone and I exchanged worried glances. Drak, sensing our unease, stepped closer. Alyssandre immediately retreated a step, her eyes widening with unmistakable fear.
Her reaction stirred my protective instincts. I reached for Drak, keeping my hand on his massive arm in quiet support.
"This is Drak," I said. "He’s our ally, Lys—just as the people of Oksha are."
Questions and fear still lingered in her grey eyes. However, once she noticed that both Leone and I stood firmly beside him, she gave Drak a small, respectful bow.
"It’s a pleasure, my lord."
