Behind the Virelion Palace Doors

The sound of horse hooves slowly faded behind them. The night air outside the Virelion palace gate was cold, chilling them to the bone. Under the pale moonlight, Lyselle watched Caelan's back as he walked a few paces ahead.

They had just returned from the tax district—a place where blood, screams, and fire had merged into one. The memory of the pungent metallic scent of the air still clung to her nostrils. Even though her body was drenched in sweat and dry blood, Lyselle's face remained calm... as calm as the sea before a storm.

Caelan hadn't said much on the way home. He only gave her quick glances, as if weighing something in his mind. Lyselle knew it wasn't just fatigue. It was the look of someone who was starting to have doubts.

"Enter," a palace guard commanded when they arrived. His voice was flat, but Lyselle could sense the tension behind it. News of the slaughter of the corrupt tax officials must have already reached the ears of the nobles.

The palace's main hall welcomed them with a thick red carpet, tall marble pillars, and royal family portraits adorning the walls. The scent of luxurious candles and delicate spices filled the air—a stark contrast to the smell of death they had just left behind.

At the end of the hall, a large gold-plated door slowly opened. A servant bowed deeply.

"His Majesty Lord Albrecht is waiting in the council chamber," he said.

Caelan gave a small nod, then quickened his pace. Lyselle followed him silently.

The Virelion council chamber was oval-shaped, with a long table of black wood carved with dragons in the center. Three figures were already seated in the seats of honor.

The first—a man with silver hair and a stern face with a sharp jawline, wearing a black robe embroidered with gold. Lord Albrecht Virelion, King of Virelion and Caelan's father. His gaze was piercing, as if he was sizing up a person's worth with a single glance.

To his left sat Duchess Iscera, a woman in her early thirties with fiery red hair and an emerald-green dress. Her lips held a faint smile, but her eyes glinted like a sword hidden beneath a silk cloth.

And on the right side, Viscount Reman, a middle-aged man with a thin mustache, wearing an oversized navy blue suit. His gaze was cunning, full of calculations, and his fingers wouldn't stop tapping the table as if he was counting his chances.

As soon as Lyselle and Caelan entered the room, Lord Albrecht looked at them for a long time.

"Caelan," his voice was deep and full of authority. "You come home with a big story tonight."

Caelan bowed. "Just doing my duty, Father."

"Doing your duty?" Duchess Iscera's voice slipped in with a small laugh. "I hear your 'duty' tonight resulted in the deaths of several royal officials."

Lyselle didn't answer, just stood a little behind Caelan. She felt Iscera's gaze on her—sharp, scanning her from head to toe.

(Ten years ago)

A young noble girl ran down the palace hallway, her white dress torn at the hem. She looked back, seeing her father dragging a young servant out of the room with a whip in his hand. The servant cried, begging for mercy, but the whip did not stop lashing her back.

Iscera just stood there, her face expressionless. Not because she didn't care... but because she had learned since childhood that sympathy was a weakness. Her father, Duke Rovel, had always said: "In the palace, a smile is a dagger, and tears are poison."

Since then, Iscera had grown into a woman who mastered the game of words and deceit. Behind her intoxicating smile, a terrifying ambition to control Virelion from behind the scenes was hidden.

Returning to the present, Iscera tilted her head, looking at Lyselle with a thin smile. "And who is this? The girl who supposedly helped Caelan in the tax district?"

Caelan was about to answer, but Lord Albrecht raised a hand. "Let her introduce herself."

Lyselle raised her chin slightly. "My name is Lyselle," she answered curtly, her voice flat but clear.

"Lyselle what?" asked Viscount Reman, his eyes narrowed.

"No family name needs to be mentioned," Lyselle replied, her gaze cold.

Viscount Reman smirked slightly, as if making a mental note.

(Fifteen years ago)

Reman was young, just a mid-level noble, but he was already known for one thing: his ability to extort and arrange taxes for personal gain. At that time, he found a legal loophole that allowed him to collect double the tax from poor villages, under the pretext of "security fees."

When the people complained, he bribed the royal court and manipulated the reports. Wealth flowed into his pockets. And since then, he became the right-hand man of corrupt officials, ensuring the flow of gold never stopped to the inner circle of nobles.

"Interesting," Reman said now, his fingers again tapping the table. "A girl with no family name, yet she dares to meddle in royal affairs."

"Enough." Lord Albrecht stopped the conversation with a firm voice. "I want to know, Caelan... why did you massacre the royal tax officials?"

Caelan looked straight at his father. "Because they treated the people like animals. They kidnapped children as tax collateral, burned homes, and—"

"—And you think that's a reason to break royal law?" Iscera cut in, her tone like sweet poison.

"A law without justice is not a law," Caelan replied coldly.

A moment of silence. Only the sound of the fire from the fireplace could be heard, crackling in the air.

Lyselle watched the debate calmly, but in her mind, she was weighing things. This conversation revealed a rift among them. Albrecht might be king, but there was clearly a split in his inner circle.

Lord Albrecht stood, his steps steady towards the large window facing the palace garden. "Caelan," he said without turning, "you're starting to sound like your mother."

Caelan clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. Lyselle caught a glimpse of the emotion that flashed in his eyes—a mix of hurt and determination.

"If that's an insult, Father," Caelan said softly, "then I will accept it with pride."

The gesture did not escape the attention of either Iscera or Reman. They exchanged brief glances. Lyselle could see it—this kingdom was full of snakes, and each snake was measuring the other's venom.

Lord Albrecht finally turned, his gaze returning to Lyselle. "And you, foreign girl... what is your purpose in Virelion?"

Lyselle smiled faintly. "I am simply where I'm supposed to be."

That answer made the three of them look at each other again.

In the corner of the room, Caelan gave Lyselle a glance, his eyes full of questions. He hadn't demanded an answer yet... but Lyselle knew her time would come.

Silence hung in the council chamber like a thick fog. Lyselle stood with a straight back, her eyes looking at each occupant of the seats of honor, one by one.

Lord Albrecht still stood by the window, his back to them, both hands behind his back. Duchess Iscera leaned back casually, her slender fingers playing with a small dragon-shaped locket on her neck. Meanwhile, Viscount Reman swirled his wine cup, as if more interested in the red glow within it than the tension creeping in the air.

“Where you're supposed to be, you say?” Lord Albrecht's voice finally broke the silence. He turned, his gaze sharp. “That place is the royal council chamber. Not everyone can step in here without paying a price.”

Lyselle lifted her chin slightly. “Everyone pays a price, Your Majesty. The only difference is how they pay it.”

Reman chuckled, his laugh hoarse. “You speak like someone who understands the palace game… but without a family name, who will protect you from the first blade?”

“Who says I need to be protected?” Lyselle retorted, her lips curling into a thin smile.

Their gazes met, and for a moment the room was filled only with an invisible duel of eyes. Caelan looked at Lyselle, then at Reman, his breaths slow but deep. He knew that every word here was a move on a chessboard, and one wrong move could cost a head.

Iscera leaned forward, her voice soft but laced with poison. “Lord Albrecht, with all due respect… this girl appeared from nowhere, helped your son kill royal officials, and now stands in the council chamber without the permission of the High Council. At the very least, we need to investigate who she is.”

Lord Albrecht looked at her for a long time. “I agree, Iscera. But not tonight.”

“What do you mean?” Reman asked quickly.

“The kingdom has just experienced tax riots,” the king answered calmly. “Our priority is to calm the people. This matter can wait.”

Caelan caught the tone—it wasn't just a delay. His father was trying to buy time.

Lyselle, on the other hand, caught something different: Albrecht was assessing her, not just deciding her punishment.

(Twenty-five years ago)

Albrecht was still a young prince when a small coup almost destroyed Virelion. Three high nobles conspired to remove the king at the time—Albrecht's own father—by exploiting the people's hunger. But one thing made him never forget: behind all the intrigue, there was a foreign woman with no family name, who was the secret liaison between the rebels and the people.

The woman almost killed him, but also saved his life the next night, when the rebellion turned against itself. Since then, Albrecht understood one lesson: people without a name can be more dangerous than high-ranking nobles.

Returning to the present, Albrecht returned to his seat. “Caelan, get some rest tonight. Tomorrow morning we will officially discuss the events in the tax district.”

Caelan bowed briefly. “Yes, Father.”

“Lyselle,” Albrecht continued, his voice softer, “you are free to be in the palace for now. But remember… every one of your steps is being watched.”

Lyselle only replied with a small nod, her expression unchanged.

As soon as they left the council chamber, the long palace hallway felt lonely. The torches crackled on the walls, casting long shadows on the marble floor.

Caelan walked beside Lyselle, silent for a long time before he said, “Do you know what just happened in that room?”

“Snakes measuring the length of their fangs,” Lyselle answered flatly.

Caelan smiled faintly, though his eyes remained serious. “And you? Are you a snake, too?”

Lyselle turned to him. “If so, would you still walk beside me?”

The question silenced Caelan. Then he turned his gaze forward. “I only know one thing—I have never seen someone talk to my father like that... and still walk out of the room with their head intact.”

Meanwhile, Iscera sat in her private room, accompanied by the dim candlelight. Before her stood a guard in black.

“Find out everything you can about that girl,” Iscera commanded, her eyes glinting. “Where she came from, who trained her, even what she ate in the last three days.”

The guard bowed. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

After the guard left, Iscera stood in front of a large mirror, stroking her dragon locket. “People like her should not be left free… unless I am the one holding her leash.”

On the other side, Viscount Reman sat in his office full of tax documents. He took out a parchment scroll, noting the names of villages that were in arrears.

“Perfect…” he muttered. “If that girl interferes again, I'll make it seem as if she triggered a tax rebellion. And when that happens, nothing will be able to save her.”

He dipped a pen in red ink, writing the word “traitor” on one of the reports—preparation for the next dirty game.

Lyselle stood alone on the balcony of the room prepared for her. The night wind carried the scent of roses from the palace garden. But her mind was not there.

She knew tomorrow would be the start of the real game. Tonight, she had seen the three faces of power in Virelion—and each of them was a threat.

Suddenly, the balcony door opened. Caelan stepped out, carrying two cups of hot tea.

“I thought you might need something lighter than blood and politics,” he said, handing one of them over.

Lyselle took it. “You think this will be enough?”

“No,” Caelan smiled slightly. “But at least, it’s warm.”

They stood in silence, looking at the moon. There was something in the air—an unspoken promise that a storm was coming, and they would both be at the center of it.

The air in the Virelion palace's strategy room felt heavy, and even though candles lined the corners of the room, their light couldn't warm the existing tension. Lyselle sat beside Caelan, a large map of the kingdom spread out on the table, full of red and black ink scribbles. Names of territories, arrow signs for trade routes, and small symbols that only insiders understood marked tax routes, military garrisons, and logistics warehouses.

Caelan stared at the map with a hardened jaw. “If the reports from our spies are correct,” he said, pointing to a red circle in the southern district, “this isn't just tax leakage. This is structured plunder by the nobles.”

Lyselle leaned back in her chair. “And the three names that keep coming up are the same—Lord Albrecht, Duchess Iscera, Viscount Reman.”

Caelan sighed. “My father… always good at choosing friends who can enrich him.”

The remark was a subtle jab, and Lyselle noticed the bitter tone behind Caelan's words. “Do you want to talk about them?” she asked softly.

Caelan nodded. “You have to know who we're up against.”

Shadows of the past crept into Caelan's words. Lord Albrecht, Caelan's father, was once known as The Silver Hawk, a war hero who led Virelion against an invasion from the north. But behind that reputation, a young Caelan often saw his father sitting for hours in the council chamber, receiving thick folders from wealthy merchants. His thin smile when he received bags of gold made the innocent Caelan wonder: Was that a reward for winning the war? But over time, Caelan learned that it wasn't a reward. It was the price paid for a king's silence on the crimes of the nobles.

“Lord Albrecht always hides his personal interests behind royal rhetoric,” Caelan said, returning to the present. “He can make tax evasion sound like a development strategy.”

Lyselle looked at him, then pointed to a region on the map. “And Duchess Iscera?”

Caelan sighed, then leaned back. “She's… much more slippery.”

In the past, Iscera was a low-ranking noble from the east, with almost no influence. But she was known as a woman with a golden tongue, able to make her opponents sign deals that were detrimental to themselves with just a glass of wine. Caelan once saw her at a winter party, charming ministers with her lighthearted laughter. But behind that, rumors said she had a network of informants who could even sniff out the royal family's bedroom secrets. In the past, Iscera saved Albrecht's life from a major scandal by forging royal documents. In return, she gained the right to collect taxes from three wealthy districts… and since then, her wealth had piled up.

“You know the rumors about Iscera are true, Lyselle,” Caelan said. “She has eyes and ears everywhere. If we move carelessly, she'll know before we even take a step.”

Lyselle smirked faintly. “Then we'll make her see what we want her to see.”

Caelan was silent for a moment, then smiled faintly. “I'm starting to like the way you think.”

“What about Viscount Reman?” Lyselle asked again.

Caelan closed his eyes for a moment, as if trying to erase an unpleasant memory. “He's the most physically dangerous.”

Reman was born into a military family. His body was stout, and his face was decorated with a long scar on his left cheek. From a young age, he led elite troops on the border, and was known for not hesitating to execute prisoners without orders. However, he also had a talent for dark business—controlling the smuggled weapons market that supplied mercenaries for the small wars he deliberately incited for personal gain. Caelan, at the age of seventeen, once witnessed Reman ordering the burning of a village simply because its citizens refused to pay an extra tax. Since then, Caelan had held a personal grudge.

“Reman isn't just a noble,” Caelan said softly, “he's a soldier who knows how to play dirty. If we fight him, he'll retaliate with blood.”

Lyselle looked at Caelan for a long time, then said, “Then we have to be dirtier.”

Caelan raised an eyebrow. “Dirtier than Reman? That's… interesting and dangerous.”

Lyselle stood up, walked around the table, and pointed to the red circle on the map. “We start here. The western trade district. I know they're smuggling taxes to private warehouses. If we can uncover that evidence, Iscera will panic, Reman will come out of hiding, and your father… will be cornered.”

Caelan looked at Lyselle, as if trying to read the thoughts behind her sharp eyes. “You have a big goal, Lyselle. Bigger than just exposing corruption.”

Lyselle didn't answer directly. “My goal… is to ensure no child grows up hungry just because of the greed of a few people.”

Caelan was silent. There was something in her voice that made Caelan's heart tremble—a sincerity he rarely found in the world of the palace, which was full of falsehoods.

A knock on the door broke the mood. A guard entered, bowing. “Your Highness, a report from the spies at the port.”

Caelan gestured for him to speak.

“It was discovered—a cargo ship belonging to Viscount Reman carrying crates without official documents. It is suspected to contain gold from tax collections.”

Lyselle smiled faintly. “It seems we've just found the thread.”

Caelan turned the map, pointing to the shipping route. “If it's really tax gold, Reman will try to move it tonight before there's an inspection.”

Lyselle nodded. “And that means we have to be there before he gets the chance.”

But before they could move, Caelan looked at Lyselle again. “If we do this, there's no turning back. Iscera will hunt you. Reman will try to kill you. My father… might imprison you.”

Lyselle looked at him squarely. “I've died once, Caelan. Those threats no longer frighten me.”

There was a long silence, then Caelan nodded. “Alright. Tonight… we'll start opening the rotten doors of this palace.”

The night sky at the royal Virelion port always had a salty aroma mixed with the smell of ship oil. Tonight, the air felt thicker—not just because of the sea fog, but because of the shadow of something rotten moving beneath the surface.

Lyselle walked beside Caelan, both of them wearing black cloaks without any emblem. In the distance, a line of large ships creaked slowly, hit by small waves. Oil lamps hung from the pier poles, swinging gently in the sea breeze.

“Warehouse number seven,” Caelan whispered, pointing to a large wooden building at the end of the pier. “That's what the spies reported.”

Lyselle looked around. Several heavily armed guards stood in front of the warehouse door. Their bodies were erect, faces hard, not ordinary guards. “Reman's men,” she muttered.

Caelan nodded. “And if they're here, Reman must not be far away either.”

The two of them moved around the pier, following a slippery wooden path that led to the back of the warehouse. Lyselle reached into her pocket, pulling out small gemstone-shaped beads. “Listening stones,” she explained briefly. “If I place it here, we can hear the conversation inside without having to go in first.”

Caelan looked at her with a hint of awe. “I'll have to get used to your tricks.”

Lyselle attached the stone to a gap in the warehouse boards. A faint sound began to be heard in her head, as if she were right in the middle of the room. A heavy and rough voice was clearly audible—Viscount Reman.

“Make sure all the crates are moved before dawn!” his voice boomed. “I don't want any of this gold to be found by the palace inspection. Understood?”

Another voice, lower and more cunning, chimed in, “Sir, the next ship is ready to leave for the eastern district. From there, Iscera will take care of the rest.”

Lyselle looked at Caelan with a serious expression. “He mentioned Iscera's name.”

Caelan gripped the sword at his waist. “That means we're catching evidence of their collusion right now.”

But before they could move, another voice joined the conversation inside the warehouse. The voice was calm, deep, full of authority—and it made Caelan's blood run cold.

“Make sure there are no traces leading back to me.”

Lyselle froze. “That's…”

Caelan nodded slowly. “My father.”

Suddenly, all the puzzle pieces they had collected in the strategy room that afternoon fell into place. Lord Albrecht not only knew, he was the center of the network.

“Do you still want to go on?” Lyselle asked, her voice low but steady.

Caelan looked at the warehouse, his jaw hardening. “Now more than ever.”

They decided to enter from the back. Lyselle muttered a short spell, and the air around her trembled. A small wooden door was tightly locked… until its hinges slowly creaked open without being touched.

Upon entering, the smell of old gold, sea salt, and dust greeted them. Before them, rows of large crates were stacked, some open, revealing the gleam of gold.

Reman stood in the middle of the room, hands on his waist, watching workers move crates onto a trolley. In the corner, a tall man in a black coat—Lord Albrecht—stood calmly, his eyes sharp as if weighing all possibilities.

“I hate to crash your private party,” Lyselle's voice echoed, breaking the busy atmosphere.

All heads turned. Reman immediately drew his sword, while several guards raised their spears.

“Who are you to dare to enter here?!” Reman barked.

Caelan stepped forward, pulling down his cloak's hood. “The crown prince of this kingdom. And I think I have the right to know where my people's gold is going.”

The silence tightened. Lord Albrecht looked at Caelan coldly, then smiled faintly. “My son… you shouldn't be here.”

The dialogue between them became a double-edged sword.

Caelan: “Shouldn't be? Or are you afraid I'll know the truth?” Albrecht: “The truth is what keeps this kingdom standing, Caelan. Sometimes, that means feeding the monsters within it.” Lyselle: “Monsters like Reman and Iscera? Or the monster who sits on the throne?”

Reman snorted. “Impudent woman.”

In a flash, he jumped forward. Lyselle moved quickly, a spell launching from her palm, forming a blue shield that deflected Reman's sword attack. Sparks flew as steel met magical energy.

A fight broke out inside the warehouse. Reman's guards attacked, Caelan parried with precise movements, cutting one spear after another. Lyselle threw small explosive spells towards the stacks of crates, forcing the enemies to scatter.

Reman was a tough opponent—his movements were fast for his size. He spun, hitting Lyselle with the flat side of his sword. Lyselle was thrown against a crate, but immediately got up, blood dripping from the corner of her lips.

“I guess I have to get serious,” she muttered.

Her hands glowed, and a complicated magic circle appeared on the floor. A strong wind swirled, making the gold in the crates fly like a metallic rain. Some guards covered their faces, losing their balance.

Lord Albrecht remained standing in the corner, not moving. His eyes looked at Lyselle as if he was assessing the true potential of the threat.

“Interesting…” he murmured. “Magic this powerful is rare in Virelion.”

Lyselle returned the gaze. “And it's rare for a king to stand in the middle of stealing from his people.”

When Reman began to be cornered, he shouted for reinforcements. From the front door, a group of men in iron chains entered—not ordinary guards, but forced labor slaves. They were forced to carry weapons, their eyes empty like puppets.

Lyselle looked in horror. “They are…”

Caelan nodded bitterly. “Tax slaves. One of my father's secret projects.”

That was the turning point—Caelan redirected his sword, not to kill them, but to cut the chains on their hands one by one. Lyselle covered his movements with a magical attack that forced Reman to retreat.

Finally, Reman's shouts of command turned into frustrated growls. “This isn't over, Caelan! This war has just begun!”

He jumped out through a side door, a few of his men following. Lord Albrecht, however, did not move. He only walked slowly towards Caelan and Lyselle.

“I will consider tonight… to have never happened,” he said calmly. “For the sake of the kingdom.”

Caelan looked at him sharply. “And I will consider this… the beginning of your downfall.”

Albrecht smiled faintly, then walked out without looking back. The warehouse became silent except for the sighs of the newly freed slaves.

Lyselle looked at them. “We can't leave them here.”

Caelan nodded. “We'll take them to a safe place. And starting tomorrow… we'll expose all this rottenness to the people.”

Lyselle looked at him, then said softly, “Then be ready, Caelan. Because after this… there will be no turning back.”

And outside, the sea fog grew thicker—as if hiding the coming storm.