The knight at Eric’s feet felt a cold, primal fear he hadn't experienced since his first battle.
The Duke of Brant he knew was a man of ice and iron—rational, distant, and impeccably controlled. But the man standing over him now was a beast in a human skin. Eric’s blue eyes were bloodshot, his Transcendent aura vibrating with a murderous resonance that made the very air feel heavy.
“I told you... answer me!” Eric’s voice was a low, guttural rasp.
The knight swallowed a lump of lead. “Your Highness... an accident occurred on the return trip. The Duchess, the Dowager, and Miss Arguin took the mountain shortcut. The Duchess’s carriage lost a wheel... it skidded toward the precipice. Sir Chester tried to hold it, but...”
Eric’s mind went white. The world around him slowed to a crawl. He didn't hear the rest of the report. He only heard the word *precipice*.
***
At the edge of the ravine, the sun was setting, casting long, jagged shadows across the rocks.
“She’s not here!” Chester shouted from the base of the slope. “The river is too high! The current must have taken her!”
He looked up at the cliff, his heart heavy with a despair that felt like a physical weight. He had two knights riding for help, leaving only three of them to search the riverbank. But as the light faded, the chances of finding anything—let alone a survivor—were vanishing.
On the road above, Dowager Duchess Bianca sat on a rock, her breath coming in short, ragged hitches. She wasn't crying for Cornelia. She was terrified for herself. She still had the silver flask of poison tucked into her bodice, and Gisèle Schulz was hovering over her with a look of frantic, wide-eyed concern, making it impossible to dispose of the evidence.
“Grand Madam, you’re trembling,” Gisèle whispered, clutching the Dowager’s hand. “We must pray. Cornelia is strong; she must be alive.”
Bianca suppressed a scream of frustration. *Go away, you meddling brat!* she thought.
Madeleine stood near the edge of the road, her handkerchief pressed to her eyes. To anyone watching, she was a grieving cousin. But beneath the silk, her lips were curved into a small, radiant smile. *Finally,* she thought. *The Crow is at the bottom of a river.*
“Where is she?”
The voice wasn't loud, but it carried a dark, tectonic weight that made the blood of everyone present turn to ice.
Bianca snapped her head toward the sound. Eric was there. He looked as if he’d ridden through hell itself—his armor was caked in dust, his face was gaunt, and his aura was a storm of black-and-blue energy.
The Dowager’s heart nearly stopped. *How is he here? He was supposed to be at the border!*
“Eric! My son!” Bianca cried, trying to find her voice. “It was a tragedy! The carriage—the wheel just snapped!”
Eric didn't even look at her. He strode to the edge of the cliff where Chester was kneeling.
“Where did my wife fall?” Eric asked, his voice dead.
Chester bowed his head until it touched the gravel. “Here, Your Highness. I failed. I held the rope, but the momentum was too great. The door gave way, and she... she fell. I deserve no mercy. Punish me as you see fit.”
Eric stared into the abyss. The drop was three hundred feet of jagged rock ending in a churning, white-water river. Even for a Transcendent, the fall would be dangerous. For a pregnant woman...
A sharp, agonizing memory flashed before his eyes—the dream of Cornelia holding the gun to her temple. *“I won’t let you have the child, Eric.”*
*No,* he thought, his jaw clenching until it ached. *She’s too stubborn to die like this. She’s too full of spite and secrets to just disappear in a river. She’s alive. She has to be.*
“Duke Brant.”
Marquis Philippe stepped forward from the wreckage of the carriage. The investigator’s face was grim.
“What is it, Philippe?” Eric asked, not turning around.
“I’ve examined the carriage,” the Marquis said, his voice carrying across the silent pass. “As the Commander of the Central Knights, I have seen many accidents. This was not one of them.”
The Dowager and Madeleine both froze.
“The wheel assembly,” Philippe continued, pointing to the shattered axle. “The coupling pins were sawed halfway through. They were designed to snap under the stress of a high-speed turn. And the suspension springs... they were cut with a jeweler’s saw. This carriage wasn't meant to survive a journey on cobblestones, let alone a mountain pass. This was an assassination attempt on a member of the Imperial Family.”
Eric’s aura exploded. A shockwave of pure power rippled outward, cracking the road and knocking several knights to their knees. He turned slowly, his gaze sweeping over the Dowager and Madeleine.
“Who?” Eric whispered. It was a sound more terrifying than any roar.
“Now, Marquis, that’s a very serious accusation!” Madeleine stammered, her voice trembling. “It was a tragic accident! Cornelia chose the shortcut herself!”
“Did she?” Philippe asked, his eyes cold. “Or was she steered toward it by a 'concerned' friend?”
At that moment, a gray owl swooped down from the darkening sky, landing on Philippe’s outstretched arm. It carried a small tube of parchment tied with a golden thread—the Imperial seal.
Philippe read the message, his expression hardening into a mask of iron. He looked up and stared directly at Madeleine.
“In that case,” Philippe said, “by order of the Emperor and the Ministry of Justice, I have sufficient cause. Madeleine Arguin, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of the Duchess of Brant.”
Before Madeleine could even scream, Eric turned and threw himself off the cliff.
“YOUR HIGHNESS!” Chester screamed.
But Eric didn't fall. He "ran" down the vertical face of the cliff, his Transcendent aura anchoring him to the stone as he descended with a speed that defied gravity. He didn't care about the investigation. He didn't care about the arrest. He only cared about the woman in the green dress at the bottom of the ravine.