System of the Beast Slayer [litrpg Adventure]
Copyright© 1999 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 171
The moment they reached the city gate, the princess’s escort was respectfully received by the soldiers of Bodrog, who had clearly been waiting for some time, and ushered at once into a carriage. The Witcher, meanwhile, was left far behind, utterly out of sight.
That left Ciri thoroughly furious.
“Where exactly am I being taken?” Ciri flung up the carriage curtain and cast her green eyes over the neat but dreary road outside, then asked with open impatience.
The little maid immediately clasped her hands together and begged in a pitiful voice, “Your Highness, you have had a long journey by water and road, you must be tired. Why not rest for a day at the place already prepared? Tomorrow, once Verden’s envoy arrives, he will escort you to Nastrog to meet your betrothed.”
Nastrog lay in southwestern Verden, west of Bodrog. It was also one of Verden’s military fortresses along the border with Cintra, but it held another distinction as well, it was Verden’s capital.
King Evel of Verden and Prince Kristin resided there.
“This is outrageous.” Ciri’s little face scrunched into a knot. “More traveling? This princess is exhausted and has no wish to stir another step. Let that Kristin come and see me himself.”
As she spoke, Ciri suddenly reached out and pinched the tender flesh of the maid’s cheek.
“And let me correct one thing while I’m at it. That fat lump is not my betrothed.”
Ciri smacked her lips. “How could I possibly become engaged to him? No, this time I’m going to explain everything clearly to Uncle Evel. I am not marrying that dead fat lump.”
“Your Higness, thith ith thtrictly Her Majethy the Queen’th thcret order. You muthn’t cauth trouble.” Feeling the gentle, kneading pressure on her cheek, the round-faced maid spoke in a thick, mangled voice.
“Damn it. Grandmother dotes on me so much, how could she...” Ciri let go. Before the maid, who was finally breathing easier, she shook a little fist in outrage and gave a heavy snort. “Cheat me, would she? Fine. When I get back to Cintra, I’ll lop off ... lop off your head, and the heads of all those fools outside too.”
Outside the carriage, Krause sat beside the driver, listening to his young princess’s complaints. His expression shifted, and he lowered his head in shame.
A moment later, shame gave way to bitterness.
To escort one’s own young princess to a betrothal, what a humiliating duty that was. He could almost picture it already, when the news of the engagement was proclaimed to the world, that would be the day the Cintran royal house was shamed.
Verden was supposed to be Cintra’s vassal. Princess Cirilla’s station far surpassed that bloated Prince Kristin of Verden.
And yet now, somehow, the order of things had been reversed. They, warriors of Cintra, had to deliver up their princess to secure Verden’s military support.
“Hah...” Krause, an old soldier of Cintra, felt the same thought rising in him once again.
“Queen Calanthe has grown old. Faced with the southern power pressing ever closer, she no longer has the resolve and courage she once did.”
Yet all the queen truly wished was to spare Cintra from ending as the Kingdom of Nazair had.
...
In Bodrog’s town district, at a shabby little tavern.
“A cup of cherry wine...” The tall man in a gray cloak tapped the scarred tabletop.
“Begging your pardon, sir, but you’re not from around here, are you?”
“No.”
“We don’t serve cherry wine in this tavern. Might I suggest the local specialty, black beer...”
“Forget it...” Roy shook his head. He had never liked the bitter taste of beer, nor could he appreciate the much-praised aroma of malt. He preferred sweeter, lighter fruit wines. Letho and the other two had mocked him for it for ages, but he never changed his ways.
“Then bring me apple wine, and a serving of grilled fish.”
“Right away, sir. Just a moment.” The tavern boy caught sight of the man’s dark-gold eyes, cold and bestial, and felt a chill run through him. He did not dare look long, but when he turned away he still could not help muttering under his breath.
This cloaked stranger had the sort of coldness that kept ordinary folk at a distance, yet he drank the sort of wine fit for women.
“What a waste of a face.”
What the tavern boy did not know was that every word, however softly spoken, had been caught with perfect clarity by the unnaturally keen ears behind him.
“Heh...” Roy merely smiled and paid it no mind. By now, he treated other people’s idle remarks like wind past the ear.
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