In the grand expanse of the courtroom, Ivan stood like an anchor amidst the shifting crowd, his striking silver hair catching the ambient light. Beside him stood Saleen and Marianne. Ivan wore a sharp black shirt that offered a stark contrast to his unusually pale skin, layered beneath a rich brown waistcoat and trousers—attire meticulously chosen for the Kingdom's characteristically mild climate.
Marianne kept to Ivan's left, poised and elegant in a warm emerald gown. Its sleeves were fashionably puffed at the shoulders, and her hair was neatly bound beneath a cream satin scarf that perfectly matched the fine fabric of her gloves. Unlike the previous day, Marianne was arrayed in the true likeness of a lady. Her presence drew lingering glances from the passing crowd, the soft dusting of freckles across her cheeks only adding to her newfound refinement.
"Mr. Ivan. I trust Zarafeth has not disappointed you," a voice cut through the murmur of the room.
The speaker was a man of impressive stature, matching Ivan's height perfectly. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt beneath a heavy black overcoat and trousers.
"My time in Zarafeth would have been entirely pleasant, if not for the poor hospitality of your officals," Ivan replied, his voice a calm, steady baritone that carried a lethal edge.
Beside them stood Mr. Bastion and Navial. Navial nervously adjusted his collar, a restless movement that failed to fully conceal the faint, fresh marks bruising the skin of his neck. Noticing the sharp look directed at him by Warren, Bastion cleared his throat uncomfortably. At that exact moment, every head in the immediate vicinity turned toward the Head Officer of the Land Department as he stepped forward to clear his throat and address the tension.
"I offer my formal apologies on behalf of the department for the ordeal you and your companions were subjected to," the Head Officer stated smoothly. "I assure you, we will see to it that such an incident never occurs again."
Warren glanced over at Ivan, who offered only a brief nod of agreement. Beside him, Marianne visibly stiffened, the harrowing memory of the slave cell clearly flashing through her mind. The subtle markings on the sub-collector's neck had not escaped Warren's keen observation either.
"If you have no further matters to discuss, we shall proceed to the registration, considering you will be operating out of the courthouse," Warren said.
With that, Warren turned and began leading the way toward the eastern wing, with Saleen and Marianne following closely in their wake. Navial, however, remained rooted to the stone floor, his eyes locked onto Marianne's retreating figure. There was something about the woman—and those delicate freckles—that made her seem utterly irresistible to his gaze.
"Navial Basin, I am warning you for the very last time," Mr. Bastion hissed in a clipped, low voice, his anger barely contained. Navial's recklessness had nearly dragged the entire department into ruin.
Navial offered a muttered, reluctant apology, remaining still until the Head Officer finally took his leave with a heavy sigh of relief, moving away to greet the other arriving court officials. Left to his thoughts, Navial stood frozen for a few moments longer before finally walking away into the crowd.
Meanwhile, the bustling east wing of the courthouse seemed as vast and chaotic as an entire village fair to Marianne, who stared openly, trying to take in the sheer scale of her surroundings.
"Do... do you think that officer will come after us?" Saleen finally asked. He had only just found his voice after recovering from the shock of the earlier events.
Marianne looked down at her fearful younger brother, a gentle smile gracing her lips. A cap securely hid his ears, only making him look all the more innocent and endearing to her.
"He won't," she comforted him softly. "Particularly because Ivan will soon hold a position far superior to those officers."
At the front of their small procession, Ivan continued his muted conversation with Warren. Though Warren held no official title or designated position within the court registry, he was the formidable left hand of the Second Prince, a phantom operative who worked indirectly for both the King and the Prince alike. The two men discussed the structural and administrative differences between their respective kingdoms, though both remained carefully guarded, mindful of what secrets they revealed. Ivan spoke with an absolute, unwavering calmness—a demeanor that secretly took Warren aback. Warren had supposed that a witcher would behave differently from regular humans, saving their distinct traits only for the magic they wielded.
As they walked, Warren pointed out the layout of the city and its surrounding towns, explaining where the various departments were situated and detailing how much influence and physical space each held within the courthouse. They also touched upon the logistics of their stay: an assistant was to be assigned to Ivan, and a maid to Marianne, as she would be residing here with Ivan. Her brother Saleen, however, was slated to return to the safety of Spellstun back in Mornareth.
Soon, they reached the main administrative hub. The sharp click of leather boots echoed rhythmically against the polished floor as a sea of officials moved in and out of the offices.
"Greetings, Mr. Davies," a female official murmured, bowing respectfully as Warren passed. Warren returned the gesture with a polite, practiced nod.
"We have new names for the royal registry," Warren informed her as two more officers stepped into view. "Mr. Westwood and Miss Marianne."
"Salis Reypl," introduced the leaner officer, his eyes like dark, fathomless black orbs.
"George Marton," the second one greeted, possessing warm brown eyes. He was followed closely by a blonde man who introduced himself as "Edwic Partson."
Each officer introduced himself with utmost courtesy, well aware that the silver-haired man before them would soon ascend to a powerful ministerial position close to the King. Warren watched the exchange closely as the men shook hands. He observed the strange, unshakeable calm that radiated from Ivan, and noted that the lady accompanying him seemed far less tense now than she had been on the outskirts of the courthouse.
Whispers had already reached Warren's ears regarding the chaos in the revenue department; rumors claimed the witcher had nearly unleashed his wrath at the sheer recklessness of the officials. Warren couldn't help but wonder about the nature of the lady's presence—perhaps if she were his fiance.
Before long, Marianne was permitted to step away from the officials, while Ivan remained encircled, swamped by individuals eager to introduce him to the people he would soon be working alongside. As if anticipating her boredom, Ivan had gently signaled for her to explore the courthouse, with Saleen remaining by her side.
Left to his duties, Ivan found himself surrounded by various vampires of the courtroom, all of whom seemed quietly stunned by the witcher's sheer composure. It was then that Minister Zafly approached. The minister was a human who barely reached Ivan's shoulder, forcing him to crane his neck awkwardly just to lock eyes with the tall, silver-haired man.
"Mr. Westwood, if I am not mistaken," the minister began, his tone carrying the sharp wit characteristic of a court-hardened human. "I must admit, I wondered at the joint decision of the Kingdoms. One always questions if a witcher will truly be welcomed, but seeing you now, it seems the reality is far better than what was imagined."
Ivan acknowledged the greeting with his signature neutrality, his expression remaining entirely unreadable.
Back in the grand corridor, Marianne and Saleen walked slowly, Saleen still staring at the opulent surroundings in wide-eyed wonder. Suddenly, a man they recognized from the registry office approached them, cutting through the crowd.
"Miss, pardon the interruption," the official said smoothly, "but we will require Mr. Saleen to be registered as well."
Marianne stopped, a flicker of confusion crossing her features. She offered a small, polite smile, doing her best to maintain her composure. "But Saleen isn't staying here. The one accompanying Mr. Westwood is myself."
It was a strange realization, but being surrounded by vampires left her far more terrified than being among witches ever did. The sudden, looming prospect that she and her brother might have to navigate the registration department alone made her deeply uneasy. After the volatile incident at the previous office, the absolute last thing she wanted was to stand unprotected among these creatures.