System of the Beast Slayer [litrpg Adventure]
Copyright© 1999 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 172
To the long cry of a cock, the faintest fish-belly white appeared along the edge of the sky.
On some rooftop, Roy, sprawled across the tiles like a corpse, opened his eyes. In the dim early light, his pair of dark-gold pupils gave off a ghostly gleam as they turned toward the heavily guarded mansion not far away.
Almost at the same moment, urgent hoofbeats echoed through the long stone street. Dust billowed up as a splendid carriage bearing a black-and-yellow shield-shaped crest came racing in.
The carriage stopped before the closely watched mansion. A middle-aged man stepped down, wearing a peaked, round-brimmed hat adorned with swan feathers, a neat little moustache on his chin, and strode into the house at once.
“Fisnet of Verden has arrived. The time’s about right.” Standing atop the high roof ridge, the Witcher moved like lightning, rising and dropping in a few swift bounds before landing in an empty patch of ground.
...
“Beloved jewel of Queen Calanthe, Lion Cub of Cintra, the esteemed Your Highness Cirilla, I...”
In the great hall of the mansion, brilliantly lit by magic lamps, Ciri looked at the travel-worn man before her and gave a yawn, rubbing at the faint dark circles beneath her eyes. She had spent several years of her childhood in the wild lands of Skellige; last night, thinking about the betrothal, she had frightened herself more and more as the thoughts turned in her head, and for once she had barely slept.
“What did you say your name was?”
“Your Highness, I am Fisnet, Viceroy to His Majesty King Evel, and I have come by His Majesty’s order to escort you.” Fisnet removed his hat and bowed low to the princess, then dropped to one knee, taking her little white hand and pressing a kiss to it.
“From this point on, your journey shall be entirely under my charge. I swear on my life that I will deliver you safely to Nastrog.”
“That’ll do. Viceroy Fisnet, you came early enough, I’ll grant you that.” Ciri pouted, secretly rubbing the back of her hand against the elegant skirt of her gown. The round-faced maid beside her could not help smiling at the sight.
“Forgive me, Your Highness. I am in fact late. But from the moment I received the order, I did not dare delay. I rode without pause and have not closed my eyes for two days and two nights.”
When Fisnet raised his head, the bloodshot eyes in that carefully maintained, pampered face were a ghastly sight.
“Hmph. A pack of villains.” Ciri stamped her foot. “They’re desperate to get me there quickly so I can be betrothed to their dead fat prince. No, I won’t marry him.” She forced down the agitation in her chest and quietly clenched her fists, her green eyes growing firm. “Fine then. I’ll stick to the plan I made last night. I thought it through carefully. It’ll work.”
Fisnet, meanwhile, was entertaining thoughts of his own. The moment he heard Calanthe had decided to join her granddaughter to Verden by marriage, he knew this was a once-in-a-thousand-years opportunity for the Kingdom of Verden, and for himself.
A chance to change his fate.
“In the end, Calanthe has begun to fear the southern overlord, afraid that the Kingdom of Cintra she has spent her life shaping will be swallowed whole. A pity the woman is too fierce by nature, and her hunger for power outweighs all else.”
Had Calanthe been willing to lower herself and ally by marriage with one of the truly strong northern kingdoms, real great powers such as Aedirn, Temeria, Kaedwen, or Redania, the threat of Nilfgaardian invasion could surely have been weathered.
After all, the rulers of those four kingdoms had long lusted after the realm of Cintra, governed as it was by that woman.
But Calanthe would not have it. To seek help from Demavend, Foltest, Henselt, or Vizimir II would have been no better than opening the gate to wolves. Even if Cintra survived a Nilfgaardian invasion, it would only be parceled out sooner or later by those crowned heads looming above it.
And Calanthe was only forty-three this year, strong of body, never troubled by illness. With her puppet husband of Tuirseach in Skellige as a convenient name to rule through, she could likely hold power for another ten or twenty years.
So she had chosen Verden, a kingdom not so powerful, lying just across the Yaruga from Cintra, sacrificing her granddaughter to preserve her own hold on rule.
“If Prince Kristin and Princess Cirilla are successfully betrothed this time, then at least in name, Verden’s heir will gain a claim to rule Cintra as well. Princess Cirilla is young and easy to control. And the world is uncertain. Who can say Calanthe won’t meet with some accident?”
Fisnet’s heart burned hot in his chest, and the redness in his eyes deepened. “When that day comes, I shall be the great benefactor of both Verden and the Kingdom of Cintra.”
So Fisnet had begged his sister, the queen consort to King Evel, and she, pitying her younger brother who had once been cursed into the form of a cormorant, had secured him this glorious mission.
There was risk in it, of course, as there was in any great opportunity. Had the slightest mishap occurred during the escort, the gallows of his king would have awaited Fisnet.
But he thought to himself that Her Highness had already crossed safely into Verden. The most dangerous stretch of the road was over. Surely nothing could happen now.
In the hall, the two with schemes in their hearts exchanged a few hollow pleasantries before fixing the course of the journey.
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