‡Chapter Fifteen‡
THIRD PERSON
The stone that made up the hall was laid with meticulous care, each piece carefully chosen to match in size and shape. The arrangement was flawless — fitting for a palace where only the finest things belonged, even if those things included the greatest thieves.
"We're putting the palace at risk if you keep insisting on that."
The three men wore tall mitre hats, a symbol of those who claimed to serve under God. They called themselves prophets, but to the other nobles, they were seen as fanatics — men who believed too much in miracles and prophecies, always finding deeper meaning in things meant to be taken literally. In truth, they were just a bunch of delusional men dressed in elegant, sophisticated robes.
They even looked alike — their faces stern and pale, their eyes full of self-importance. Behind them, soldiers stood rigid, their rifles aimed at three prisoners in chains. The prisoners knelt on the cold stone floor, heads bowed low, forbidden to raise their eyes and see the prophets' faces. In the city’s strict hierarchy, they were at the very bottom — so low that even looking a noble in the face was considered a crime.
"I am not insisting on my own plans, but rather carrying out the emperor's will," said one of the prophets — we’ll call him Friedrich.
"I never heard the emperor say that," the second prophet replied, his name was Eberhard.
The third prophet remained silent, his eyes fixed on the woman slumped on the ground. Her breathing was slow and labored, and each time she took a deep breath, a pained groan escaped her lips.
"Poor woman… she probably needs medical help," the third prophet, Falk, finally said. For once, Eberhard and Friedrich seemed to agree with him.
"We really should get her some help. Just look at her — her face is covered in blood. She looks like she could die at any moment."
"Agreed," Eberhard nodded.
"After all, she hasn’t been proven to be a monster."
"We weren’t able to prove her monstrosity because you stopped the trial," the Marshal’s voice rang out, echoing through the hall. The Marshal stood in the doorway, his massive frame nearly filling the entire space. A towering six-foot figure clad in heavy metallic armor, he radiated menace. Even with his helmet on, the fury in his eyes was unmistakable — bloodshot veins and a deathly glare that could make anyone’s knees buckle.
"Still angry that we interrupted your playtime, Marshal Diederich?" Prophet Eberhard asked, his voice laced with mockery.
"Enough with this childish nonsense," Prophet Friedrich cut in sharply.
"We need to decide where to take this woman. The Emperor has made it clear — if she’s proven not to be a monster, the palace must tend to her needs until she recovers."
"I never heard the Emperor say that," Prophet Eberhard said, his voice sharp and defiant, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.
"That’s because the Emperor shares his will only with those he trusts — those who are worthy of carrying out his orders," Prophet Friedrich replied with an air of confidence, his chin lifted as if daring anyone to challenge him.
A soft chuckle escaped Prophet Falk, his amusement clear as he watched the two bicker like children.
"If that’s what the Emperor wants, so be it," he said, his words slow and deliberate. The room fell silent as the Marshal’s voice cut through their argument.
"But that woman stays inside this castle, under the watch of my soldiers. We can’t just let her wander freely through the city — not when we know so little about her."
The sound of his heavy boots echoed through the hall as he walked toward them, his every step adding weight to his words. The tension in the room grew with each thud, until he finally stopped before the prophets, his towering presence casting a long shadow over them.
"We put our trust in you, Marshal," Prophet Falk said calmly as he adjusted the folds of his robe.
"But we can’t allow you near this woman all the time — not after seeing how you nearly killed her." His voice was steady, but there was a hint of caution behind his words.
Prophet Friedrich raised his right hand, a simple gesture of command. At once, the soldiers behind them snapped to attention, awaiting his orders. One of them stepped forward, marching swiftly until he stood before the prophet.
"Find a doctor for the woman," Friedrich ordered, his tone leaving no room for question.
"As for the prisoners — release two of them. The third stays with the girl."
The soldier hurried off, his footsteps fading down the corridor, leaving an uneasy silence in his wake. The air in the hall felt heavier, weighed down by tension and uncertainty. The woman still lay motionless on the cold stone floor, her shallow breaths the only sign of life.
The prophets stood in a loose circle, their expressions a mix of concern and calculation. Falk’s eyes lingered on the woman’s bloodied face, while Friedrich adjusted his gloves with slow, deliberate movements. Eberhard, arms still crossed, kept his gaze locked on the Marshal.
Marshal Diederich hadn’t moved. His massive frame remained rooted in place, his fists clenched at his sides. Though his face was hidden behind his helmet, the rage in his stance was unmistakable. He was a man forced to obey when every instinct screamed at him to fight.
"This is a mistake," he growled finally, his voice low but dangerous.
"You’re putting the entire palace at risk by keeping her here."
"If the Emperor believes she deserves protection, then it is not our place to question it," Friedrich replied coolly.
"Or have you forgotten your place, Marshal?"
The Marshal’s fists tightened, the sound of his gloves creaking filling the quiet. For a moment, it seemed like he might strike Friedrich, but then —
"Enough," Falk said softly, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife.
"The Emperor’s will has been spoken. Let’s not tear each other apart before we even know what we’re dealing with."
The sound of footsteps returned — hurried and urgent. The soldier had returned with a doctor trailing behind him, a nervous-looking man with a satchel slung over his shoulder. Without waiting for permission, the doctor rushed to the woman’s side, his hands already reaching to assess her injuries.
"She’s in bad shape," the doctor murmured after a moment.
"If we don’t move her soon, she might not make it."
"Then take her to the infirmary," Friedrich commanded.
"Make sure she receives the best care. And keep her under watch — at all times."
The soldiers moved quickly, lifting the woman with surprising gentleness and carrying her away. The hall slowly emptied, the echoes of their footsteps drifting off until only the prophets and the Marshal remained.
As the silence stretched, Eberhard finally spoke.
"This woman… if she truly is what they say…" He trailed off, his voice uncertain for the first time.
"Then we’ve only seen the beginning," Friedrich finished grimly.
The great bell of the palace tolled then, its deep, resonant sound filling the hall and sending a chill through everyone who heard it. Day had ended — and with it, so had the fragile peace.
_______