บททั้งหมดของ THE ARCHIVISTS PAWN: REBIRTH OF THE BURIED QUEEN: บทที่ 11 - บทที่ 20

Elara VanceThe messenger’s words hung in the freezing air like a death sentence. Co-Regent. In my first life, the North had been left to rot until the famine became a plague. Caspian hadn’t bothered with the "frozen wasteland" until the Duke was already dead. But my presence here, the ripples I had caused by humiliating him at the banquet, had forced his hand. He wasn't just coming for power anymore; he was coming for me."A Co-Regent?" Kaelen’s voice was a low, dangerous rumble. He stepped over the collapsed messenger, his hand tightening on the hilt of his greatsword. "The King does not have the authority to appoint a shadow-ruler to a Sovereign Dukedom. Not without a trial.""He has the authority if the Duke is accused of hoarding grain while the South starves," a familiar, melodic voice drifted through the open doors of the Great Hall.My blood turned to ice.Caspian de Montfort stepped into the hall. He looked absurdly out of place in the grim, basalt fortress. He wore a cloak o

Elara VanceKaelen’s warning echoed in my mind: Stay here. Lock the door. In my first life, I would have obeyed. I would have huddled by the fire, trembling, waiting for a man to tell me I was safe. But that woman died with the taste of jasmine in her mouth. The woman who stood in the Duke’s chambers now knew that monsters don't wait for you to be ready; they wait for you to be still.If Caspian was in the library, he was sitting on a mountain of Northern history and likely, the secret to Kaelen's blood-curse. I couldn't let him have it.I grabbed the silver dagger Kaelen had given me, tucked it into the folds of my velvet skirt, and slipped out of the room.The fortress was a cacophony of violence. From the stairwell, I could hear the rhythmic clank of heavy plate armor and the screams of men in the lower halls. Kaelen was purging the keep. The "Golden Serpent" was being smoked out, but Caspian was never where the fire was brightest. He was always in the cool, quiet corners.The libr

Elara Vance The wind on the battlements didn't just bite; it screamed. Below the iron-plated walls of the fortress, the valley was a sea of torches. Caspian’s "liberation force" a mix of Royal Guards and mercenaries he had likely hired in secret, had set up a perimeter just out of bowshot. Kaelen stood at the center of the ramparts, a silhouette of jagged steel against the moon. Beside him, Lady Isolde held her crossbow with white-knuckled intensity. "He's calling for a parley," Isolde spat, nodding toward a lone rider approaching the gate with a white flag. "He says if we hand over the 'abducted' Lady Vance, he will withdraw and wait for the King's tribunal. He’s playing the hero for the history books." "He's playing for time," Kaelen growled. "He wants us to open the wicket gate so he can slip more Soul-Echoes inside." "Then let's give him a different story," I said, stepping onto the stone walkway. The soldiers near the stairs parted for me. I had discarded my torn Southern

Elara Vance The air in the secret tunnel was damp and smelled of ancient earth. I led the way, holding a single dim lantern, with Kaelen and twenty of his elite "Shadow-Guard" following in lethal silence. Kaelen’s presence behind me was a constant heat. He hadn't said a word since I’d dragged him away from the battlements and whispered the location of the Vance passageway. He didn't ask how I knew. He simply saw the bruises on my neck and the cold fire in my eyes and handed me a sword. "The exit is just behind the ridge," I whispered, pointing to a heavy iron grate choked with ivy. "It comes out directly behind Caspian’s command tent. He thinks the mountain at his back is a wall. He doesn't know it’s a door." We emerged into the freezing night, the roar of the trebuchets and the crackle of Sun-Fire echoing from the other side of the ridge. The Southern camp was a mess of confidence, they were so sure the "Monstrous Duke" was pinned behind his walls that they hadn't even posted

Elara Vance The command tent was a jagged silhouette against the orange glow of the dying fires. We moved with the synchronization of two predators, Kaelen’s heavy boots silent on the frost-dusted grass, my own steps light and urgent. Inside, the air smelled of scorched paper and expensive tobacco. Philip was exactly as I remembered him from my first life: a man of sharp angles and even sharper eyes, dressed in charcoal wool that looked far too clean for a battlefield. He was leaning over a brazier, a stack of vellum sheets in his hand. One was already curling into black ash. "Philip," I said, my voice cutting through the hiss of the flames. He didn't jump. He slowly turned, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his face before it was smoothed over by a mask of professional boredom. "Lady Elara. Or is it Duchess now? Word travels fast, even in a siege." "The ledger, Philip," Kaelen growled, stepping into the light. The shadow-mantle flared behind him, making the tent walls puls