Chapter 71: Rose path

Chapter 71: Rose path Meanwhile, in the Moonlight Kingdom, darkness had settled over the palace like a heavy blanket. The typical bustle of evening activities had been replaced by an eerie quiet, as if the very walls were holding their breath in anticipation of what was to come. Rose moved through the shadows with practiced ease, her steps silent against the stone floor. The stable was largely deserted at this hour, with only a single drowsy guard posted at the entrance. She waited patiently until his head nodded forward in sleep before slipping past him. ’Forty-seven seconds,’ she counted in her head. ’That’s how long it took him to drift off. The palace security has grown complacent in peacetime.’ The horses shifted restlessly as she entered, sensing her presence. Rose approached a sleek chestnut mare in the corner stall—not the fastest in the royal stables, but steady and with good endurance. The kind of horse no one would immediately miss. "Easy," she whispered, running a hand along the mare’s neck. "We have a long journey ahead." As she prepared the saddle, Rose’s movements were efficient, betraying years of experience that seemed at odds with her kitchen servant disguise. Within minutes, the horse was ready, and Rose led it quietly toward the rear exit. The night air was cool against her skin as she mounted the mare, careful to keep to the grass alongside the cobblestone path to muffle the sound of hooves. The moon was nearly full, casting a silver glow that made her feel exposed, but there was no helping it. Time was not on her side. Once past the outer wall, Rose urged the horse into a gallop, the wind whipping her dark hair behind her. The forest road stretched before her, a ribbon of moonlight guiding her path. ’Twenty kilometers should be enough,’ she thought, mentally calculating the distance. ’Far enough that random patrols won’t find me, but not so far that I can’t return quickly if needed.’ For nearly two hours, she rode steadily, the landscape changing from manicured palace grounds to wild forest. The trees grew denser, their shadows deeper, but Rose never hesitated at a fork in the road or slowed to check her bearings. She knew exactly where she was going. When she finally reined in the horse, they were in a small clearing. Rose dismounted gracefully, tying the mare to a low-hanging branch before retrieving a small pouch from inside her cloak. The contents glittered in the moonlight—crushed crystals and dried herbs, materials that would be inconspicuous in a kitchen but took on a different meaning here in the darkness. She had just begun to arrange them in a pattern on the forest floor when a sensation prickled at the back of her neck. Rose froze, her hand instinctively moving to the dagger concealed at her waist. Without turning, she spoke into the stillness. "Princess Lyra, show yourself." There was a moment of silence before the undergrowth rustled and Lyra emerged from the shadows. She wore a dark riding cloak over her simple tunic and leggings, her silver hair gleaming in the moonlight. "I knew you were more than a kitchen servant, Rose," Lyra said, her voice soft but firm. "No servant moves the way you do or watches rooms the way you do." Rose straightened, composing her features into a neutral expression. "What do you mean by that, Princess?" "You catalog exits. You assess threats. You position yourself to see everyone in a room," Lyra replied, taking a step closer. "I’ve been watching you since the day you arrived." Rose’s expression remained carefully blank, but her mind raced. ’She’s more observant than I gave her credit for. A mistake I won’t make again.’ "Tell me where you’re headed at this time of night," Lyra continued, "and how you left the palace without the guards noticing you." "I’m just heading somewhere," Rose replied vaguely. Lyra’s eyes narrowed. "Somewhere? This ’somewhere’ has a name, right?" "I’m sorry, Princess. I can’t tell you," Rose said, her tone respectful but unyielding. "And you intend to leave without me stopping you?" Lyra’s question hung in the air between them. Rose took a slow, measured breath. "Yes, I will." The air around them seemed to thicken with tension. Lyra lifted her hand, and water began to materialize, swirling around her palm in a graceful but unmistakably threatening display. "I don’t know if you were a friend or an enemy all this time," Lyra said, her voice tight with emotion. "But right now, I suspect everyone. How do I know you weren’t part of this from the beginning? Finding Eren, the attack by the forbidden elves... you were the only one who emerged without a scratch. Without blood." Pain and betrayal were etched across Lyra’s face, making her look younger and more vulnerable than her station would suggest. "If I were a traitor," Rose replied evenly, "I should have killed you all long ago." She held Lyra’s gaze steadily. "Who do you think healed Elira after she was stabbed by the forbidden elves? Who tended to Eren after his fight with Commander Maria?" Shock registered on Lyra’s face. "How did you—those healings were attributed to the palace physician." "A convenient assumption," Rose said. "One I didn’t correct." Rose turned back to her horse, seemingly satisfied that she’d made her point. The conversation was over as far as she was concerned. Behind her, Lyra’s frustration peaked. Without warning, she directed a sharp stream of water toward Rose’s back—not enough to seriously harm, but certainly enough to knock her down. Rose didn’t even turn around. With a subtle gesture of her hand, the water simply ceased to exist mid-air, as if it had never been conjured in the first place. Lyra gasped, momentarily stunned by the impossibility of what she’d just witnessed. Her shock quickly transformed into determination as she lunged forward to physically confront Rose. Before she could take three steps, Rose raised her hand to the right. Lyra’s body moved in the same direction against her will, sending her crashing into the trunk of a nearby tree. She slumped to the ground, her vision blurring as the world seemed to tilt around her. Rose approached calmly, kneeling beside the disoriented princess. "I’m only trying to help," she said softly. "Please do not follow me." "What... are you?" Lyra managed to ask, her words slurring slightly. Rose’s expression softened momentarily. "Someone who’s been fighting this war far longer than you know." She pressed two fingers gently against Lyra’s forehead. "Rest now. When you wake, return to the palace. Your mother will need your strength in the days to come." As darkness claimed her consciousness, Lyra thought she heard Rose whisper something else—words that sounded ancient and heavy with power. But by the time morning light filtered through the trees, she would remember only fragments of their encounter, with Rose’s true nature remaining just beyond the reach of her memory. In the clearing, Rose remounted her horse, her face once again a mask of determination. The night was growing old, and she had promises to keep—promises made long before any of the royal children were born. ’The shadow paths are opening again,’ she thought grimly as she urged her mount forward. ’And this time, I will not fail to close them.’