CHAPTER 54: FAMILIAR MARK
The woman glided down the wyrm's bone ridge with flawless, practiced elegance before stepping onto the courtyard pavement.
Raising her head toward the imperial family, the hood of her dark cloak remained pulled low, hiding her face entirely from the gathered crowd.
John couldn't help but stare at the monstrous beast in awe.
Talk about a dramatic entrance.
Further back, the carriage door opened, and a stern, regal woman stepped out—the princess's aunt and the official leader of the Darkmire delegation for their stay in the Crimson Tempest Kingdom.
The princess reached up with a pale hand and slowly pulled back her dark hood.
The moment her face was revealed, John's mind stopped processing information.
Dark, cascading hair framed a countenance of lethal perfection. She had sharp, porcelain features paired with cold, crimson eyes that burned like embers in snow.
Her beauty wasn't soft or gentle; it was aristocratic and striking, radiating a ruthless elegance that reduced the entire courtyard to absolute silence.
Beautiful... John muttered in his own head.
[I didn't take you for a simp, minion.]
Echo's voice suddenly rang in his mind with a teasing tone.
John's left eye twitched at the remark.
What... What did you say? First of all, … How do you even know that word?
[I don't know.] Echo replied casually.
[It just popped into my head. Regardless, I didn't take you for the type to get so easily dazed by a pretty face.]
I'm a guy, John shot back, trying to regain his composure.
Of course, I appreciate a pretty girl when I see one.
[Then why weren't you doing the same with the girls back at the Covenant?]
Because they are literally kids, John snapped internally.
[So are you.]
[...Or do you prefer mature women? Look, I completely understand. I always preferred women with heavier assets myself. I'm glad we're on the same wavelength for once, minion.]
John could only groan in response, rubbing the bridge of his nose to hide his mounting irritation.
As Echo continued to chuckle in the back of his mind, a strange, uneasy thought suddenly crossed John's mind, and he couldn't help but wonder... should he finally tell the voice in his head that he was actually a reincarnator from another world?
"Ethan."
His mother's sharp, authoritative voice cut cleanly through the noise in his head, shattering his reverie. He turned his attention back to reality only to find the cold, crimson gaze of the Darkmire princess, fixed entirely upon him.
"You forget your manners," the Empress added, her icy gaze locked on him.
Without missing a beat, John walked across the polished courtyard stone.
The grand herald's voice echoed across the terrace, announcing his full titles to the foreign delegation.
John halted at an arm's length from the princess, executing a flawless, low imperial bow.
He extended his right hand, gently lifting her pale, slender fingers, and pressed a ceremonial kiss to the back of her hand—never letting his lips make direct contact, as dictated by royal etiquette.
As he straightened up, however, he caught the subtle twitch of her dark brow. Deep within those crimson eyes was an unmistakable, searing flash of utter disgust… as if a stray dog had brushed against her.
The moment he released her hand, she smoothly tucked her arm back beneath her dark mantle, discreetly wiping her knuckles against the heavy silk of her sleeve.
[She doesn't like you very much, it seems.]
Echo chimed in, sounding thoroughly amused.
Thank you for stating the obvious, john replied with a dry tone.
Unbothered by her silent contempt, John stepped back into his assigned rank beside his royal guards. The Emperor then stepped forward with a smile.
"Greetings to the esteemed House of Darkmire," the Emperor declared, his deep voice carrying through the courtyard as royal heralds sounded a brief golden-horn flourish.
"The Crimson Tempest Kingdom welcomes our honored allies."
The princess's aunt stepped past the royal guards, her heavy obsidian robes rustling against the flagstones.
She offered a deep, formal curtsy reserved for sovereign monarchs; her hands folded gracefully over a silver-embroidered sash.
"Your Imperial Majesties honor us with your reception," the aunt spoke, her soothing voice carrying through the courtyard.
"My sister, the Queen, sends her sincere regrets for her absence. The conflicts along our border require her personal command, but she has entrusted full authority to this delegation to finalize our treaty."
The Empress listened quietly, scrutinizing the foreign envoys before her gaze landed on the silent, stone-faced princess. A faint smile appeared on he face.
"A monarch's duty must always take precedence during war; we hold no offense," the Empress said calmly.
She gestured slightly toward the grand archways leading into the inner keep.
"Your journey across the sky corridors was undoubtedly taxing. We have prepared suitings for your retinue where you may refresh yourselves."
She stopped, turning her eyes toward John, then back to the princess.
"However, before we settle into formal negotiations and the evening banquet, perhaps we might grant our young royals a moment of ease," the Empress added, her voice dropping into a smooth, deliberate cadence.
"Ethan, why don't you escort the princess through the glass gardens toward the private wing? It would be wise for the two of you to speak, to familiarize yourself with each other."
A heavy silence fell over the court. The princess's jaw tightened, though it wasn't obvious; her red eyes narrowed as if she had just been condemned to march through the sewage.
John, however, merely offered a calm smile, bowing his head slightly.
"As you wish, Mother," John said smoothly, turning to face his new bride-to-be.
***
To say the walk down the grand marble colonnade toward the royal gardens was… awkward was an understatement.
High-ranking palace guards lined the walkways, exuding an intimidating aura, but the one john was most worried about walked right behind them.
The princess's tall protector shadowed their every step. He moved with phantom-like silence, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his weapon, fixing the back of John's neck with a stare.
That guy is definitely visualizing three different ways to snap my spine, John thought, a light bead of sweat forming at his temple despite his best efforts to stay composed.
Trying to break the tense atmosphere, John turned slightly toward the princess.
"So... I take it the journey from Darkmire wasn't entirely peaceful? Riding an undead wyrm through the—"
"Stop," the princess cut him off with a voice dripping with so much disdain that John almost flinched. She didn't even turn her head to look at him.
"Save your shallow attempts at pleasantries. I have no interest in hearing your voice, nor do I intend to be your bride."
John blinked, raising an amused eyebrow.
Well, so much for small talk.
Just as he was about to throw back a playful retort, the ambient energy in the air violently warped.
What now?
The surrounding space shuddered as a massive, obsidian-black domain slammed down around them, severing the space from the rest of the imperial palace grounds. The royal guards outside were cut off in an instant.
"An ambush?!" the princess's protector roared, instantly unsheathing a colossal black blade and stepping in front of the princess.
Shadows coiled around the garden pavilion like striking vipers. Out from the darkness stepped eight masked figures clad in high-grade enchanted armor.
Their movements were terrifyingly synchronized, radiating raw killing intent.
Without a single word, three of the attackers dropped heavy, anti-ether suppression stakes into the ground, completely nullifying the surrounding runes and sealing the area in a sensory blackout.
The princess's protector dashed forward intending to crush them. But before he could reach them, one of the attackers stepped forward and tackled him.
Before they could reach the ground, both the attacker and the protector vanished as if they weren't there to begin with.
Another one of the attackers threw a purple ball at john and the princess; a blinding flash of purple light consumed the courtyard, folding space inward and dragging them both in.
When the flash faded, they weren't in the royal garden anymore.
They slammed onto the stone floor of a damp, underground cavern miles away from the capital. Arrayed around them were dozens of masked people, standing ready with their weapons.
The princess immediately dropped into a low combat stance, her crimson eyes glowing brighter.
"Targets secured," rasped the masked man who was standing at the front of the others.
John slowly pushed himself up from the cold stone floor, dusting off his sleeves. His heart was pounding, but as his eyes landed on the leader's exposed forearm, his breath hitched.
Etched deep into the leader's flesh was a distinctive, jagged black mark—a branding of a coiled serpent wrapped around an inverted crown.
John's eyes widened in disbelief.
The Obsidian Covenant?
It shouldn't have been possible; this was another world entirely after all, but that mark was unmistakable. It was the permanent brand forced onto every single member of the Covenant—the very same mark that had been burned into John's skin when he was in the Covenant.
[Well, minion, it seems these guys have really taken a liking to you.]