"We demand an explanation for this action and require to know the present location of these children."

At this statement, Lugh was thrown into just as much confusion as the rest of the room.

Even the new additions—Siegfried and Seraphina—appeared bewildered, their brows furrowed and shoulders subtly tense.

Lugh racked his brain trying to come up with a reason, despite the fact that he wasn't the one the question had been posed to.

Not that it mattered. His mind was already racing. He had seen the people in question earlier that very morning—just hadn't known who they were. Or what they were.

Abductees? Slum children?

Just what in the hell was Selaphiel thinking?

The woman in question gave no answer.

Instead, she snapped her fingers sharply, the crack of it slicing through the room's silence like a gunshot.

Then she turned slightly, gesturing toward Isolde with a calm that seemed almost condescending.

"If you will."

Lugh's stepmother, an ever-polite and obedient daughter in-law these days, nodded once and rose.

She had grown so accustomed to tending to Selaphiel's whims over the past few weeks that she now moved like an extension of the much older elf.

A glorified assistant would be an apt term to describe her by.

Without a word, she left the room.

No explanation was given for the sudden exchange, and Selaphiel herself made no effort to fill the silence.

The absence of context hung heavily in the air, and the rest of them were left with no choice but to observe passively, tension simmering just beneath the surface as they waited for the squad leader's patience to finally begin cracking.

It didn't.

Cause they didn't have to wait long.

Less than five minutes later, Isolde returned—and she wasn't alone.

Trailing behind her were maidservants, their faces familiar, though dulled by expressionless masks.

Lugh didn't need to be told—they were her shadows, unmistakably so.

Each one flanked a line of adolescents, boys and girls dressed in fresh uniforms that fit a little too well.

The children marched with a practiced rhythm, coming to a tidy halt in front of the guests, forming a clean, evenly spaced row.

Their posture was flawless—backs straight, hands still, chins up—but their eyes betrayed them.

Wide and darting, uneasy, like prey in a den of lions. Their nervousness was palpable, barely hidden under the pressed collars and neat cuffs.

Selaphiel finally spoke, her tone coll and unbothered as if it was just a regular Tuesday.

"These are the children you're looking for."

She gave no room for interruption, continuing without pause.

"And by no means did I abduct them. They are volunteers—each and every one of them. They will undergo the necessary training to join the Von Heim family's guards unit. None are here without consent."

A few of the enforcers barely restrained themselves from scoffing. Internally, eyes were being rolled.

'Volunteers from the slums?'

They thought to themselves.

That was absurd, wasn't it? Especially when the third branch of the Von Heim family had entire bloodlines bred for that purpose—families who had served as guards for generations.

The notion that they had to recruit from common streets was laughable.

Coincidentally, this same third branch was also responsible for the "breaches" in security which ultimately resulted in Isolde nearly being successfully assassinated.

But such problems were the least of their concerns. It was an internal issue within the Von Heim family and they would do well tk stay our of it.

Naturally, no one bought the excuse. But—there was no evidence. And without proof, accusations were just that.

The squad leader was just about to take a more strategic approach when one of his own team members cut in, his voice loud, almost scornful.

The man was hard to miss, wreathed in a barely restrained bloodthirst. He had wild, fiery red hair and a throat marked by an angry scar that slashed across his neck.

Dark tattoos crawled over the wound, attempting to cover it, but in reality, the ink only served to highlight the damage, like paint over cracked glass.

He was no mercenary, despite appearances.

His garb was unmistakable: the white and crimson robes of the Embercreed clergy.

A priest, in every sense—though with a demeanor that leaned far closer to war than worship.

"And what, pray tell, gives you the right—the authority—to inform members of the regular population about our use of magic?"

His tone was sharp and accusatory. His words almost shattering the calm.

It wasn't an unfounded concern. To be part of the Von Heim family's guard meant exposure to secrets, to truths the common folk had no right to know.

The very existence of magic amongst humans, let alone its systematic practice, was something that had to be carefully hidden.

And now? These children, wide-eyed and unknowing, stood inches away from elves with brilliant hair and long ears. Elves accompanied by humans.

If they hadn't figured it out yet, then his words just now, made sure they did.

Lugh exhaled slowly, his mind racing. It was a solid accusation.

But it was also a trap that Selaphiel had clearly prepared for.

She didn't flinch, or turn. Didn't even glance in the priest's direction. Her voice, when it came, was cold and infuriatingly composed.

"I filed a formal request to the Jade Tower a week prior."

The enforcers' expressions darkened.

Something about that didn't sit right. But she wasn't finished.

"My request for the inclusion of individuals from the—'regular population,' as you so aptly termed it—was approved. It's an initiative to improve the future security of the estate."

Lugh lowered himself into the nearest chair, back pressing into the wood as he tuned them out.

His inspection was done. And whatever mental gymnastics these people were contorting themselves into was no longer his concern.

Even so, he found it difficult to tear away his ears.

The priest of Embercreed let out a bitter laugh.

"And who gave you that permission, Selaphiel?"

Her head tilted slightly, smile curling in amusement at the deliberate emphasis on her name.

"Why, of course—"

Isolde stepped forward again, this time carrying a document. Her timing was flawless.

"—it was the Queen."

And the room fell silent.

The sort of silence that stings the ears.

Lugh didn't move, but he could hear the breath of everyone around him. His expression turned grim. Sela looked confused. Lyra's eyes darted nervously.

He would've shared their confusion… if he hadn't recently been warned—strongly—not to delve into the mysteries surrounding the royal family.

And that warning had come from elves.

This wasn't about justice anymore. This was about power.

The enforcers were just now realizing it. They were nothing more than props on a stage.

The performance had played out without them. The script had already been written. If the Queen herself had signed off on this, then what was the point of their visit?

The squad leader read the document in silence. Official paperwork. The Royal Seal—clear as day. He folded the file carefully and handed it back to Isolde.

There was nothing left to say.

"My apologies for wasting your time,"

He said curtly.

"It appears this investigation has reached a conclusive end. We'll be taking our leave now."

Even the priest said nothing.

The fire in his gaze had dimmed—not extinguished, but tempered by something more dangerous: calculation.

Until Selaphiel spoke again.

Her words struck the air like a whipcrack.

"Leave? Who said you can leave?"

Everyone stopped.

Lugh stiffened and immediately moved, quietly retreating to the edge of the room near the furniture. It wasn't cowardice—it was precaution.

Sela and Lyra mirrored him, far less subtly.

No one said a word.

The squad leader's frown deepened. He had no interest in this. None. This was a trap right from the start.

His voice, when it came, was tight with forced civility.

"Forgive me, Lady Selaphiel, but I don't quite understand what you're implying. Could you—"

She cut him off mid-sentence.

"You barge into my home, accuse me of false crimes, subject my beloved grandson to an arbitrary inspection, and you just want to leave?"

The squad leader bit the inside of his cheek.

The amount if things wrong with that simple sentence could not be counted on one hand.

But arguing now would break everything. The Von Heims had just been publicly cleared.

Any escalation now would risk toppling the delicate balance of Ophris' hidden society.

So instead, he asked calmly.

"What is it that you want?"

Selaphiel smiled.

"I want the name—or names—of those who levelled such grievous accusations against us, enough to warrant such an immediate response."

'Of course'

The leader thought.

This was the endgame.

He answered coolly.

"I assume you are aware, that it is standard protocol for the identities of our informants to be kept secret"

Selaphiel's smile vanished.

Her voice turned cold.

"I am also aware that such accusations, made without conclusive evidence, constitute slander—against me, and against the entire Von Heim family."

The air turned stale