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Dark Moon Third Arc (Fallen Heart) - 388. Ruthless and Iron-willed?
🕑 Added 2025-04-11 18:46:44 +0000 UTCThird Arc (Fallen Heart) - 388. Ruthless and Iron-willed?
The morning came with the usual castle rhythm—steady and quietly loud in its own way. The sun had barely broken through the high windows when the staff began their routines. Footsteps echoed faintly in the corridors, metal clinks of armor brushing against weapons, the rustle of fabric, muffled greetings. The scent of freshly baked bread and something meaty being prepared in the kitchens drifted faintly up to the upper floors. It was normal, routine, predictable.
Angel liked that. The predictability. It gave him space to focus on the things that weren’t.
He rolled his shoulders, letting out a breath as he finished buttoning his shirt. The familiar black fabric slid over his skin with practiced ease, the collar stiff and neat. He moved like someone who had done this a thousand times, precise, quiet, methodical. No assistance. He never needed it.
He shrugged into his long coat, clipped his badge onto his chest just below the shoulder, then checked the belt at his waist. Sword—secured. He didn’t bother with anything ceremonial. Today wasn’t about appearances. It was about clarity.
And that coded message.
He left his chamber without fanfare. The castle halls were already alive, servants moving briskly, guards patrolling, the occasional noble or official hurrying past with scrolls and tight expressions. No one stopped him. They bowed, stepped aside, and let him pass. Angel didn’t need to announce his presence.
He moved through it all like a shadow that everyone noticed but none dared interrupt.
His study wasn’t far—just beyond the main staircase and two turns past the hall of records. As he approached, he already spotted Cley waiting outside the door, posture straight, eyes sharp, holding a thin folder against his side. The moment Angel reached him, Cley bowed slightly and fell into step behind him.
“The chief is already inside,” Cley said quietly. “The message’s been fully decoded as of an hour ago. I made sure everything is locked and secured. No copies were made without authorization.”
Angel gave a brief nod, not slowing his pace. “Good.”
He pushed open the heavy door to his study, and the scent of old parchment, ink, and faint candle smoke wrapped around him like an old coat. The large window on the far wall let in enough morning light that the lanterns hadn’t been lit yet. His desk sat in the center of the room, perfectly organized. A few chairs were arranged around it, one already occupied by the chief of internal security—a broad, silver-haired man named Rell.
Rell stood immediately when Angel entered. “Your Majesty.”
Angel nodded once. “Let’s begin.”
The door shut behind them with a soft click. Angel moved around his desk and sat in his usual chair, resting one hand on the armrest, the other gesturing for Rell to sit and begin.
Cley placed the thin folder on the table and took the seat to Angel’s left.
Rell flipped open a second copy of the decoded message and slid it across to Angel. “This is the original message we recovered from the spy. It was written in cipher, a rather outdated one, though layered with a secondary substitution pattern. Took some effort.”
Angel didn’t respond immediately. His eyes scanned the page.
The script wasn’t elegant, but it was sharp and efficient. Lines broken into sections: observations, movements, military detail, personal habits, even political climate. Whoever wrote this didn’t waste space.
The spy had written about the castle’s layout. Patrol rotations. Soldier demeanor. But he’d also written about the people—servants who smiled, nobles who seemed genuinely loyal, the Queen and her interactions with the King. There were details about Rose’s coronation, about how the event had been managed without tension. Notes on Angel’s approach to diplomacy, to silence, to the way he held a room without needing to speak much at all.
Angel frowned as he reached the final paragraph. The tone shifted there. The spy had written.
“While the rumors describe King Angelus as ruthless and iron-willed, I observed a ruler who is cold, yes—but not heartless. Everyone around him trusts him, not because they’re forced to, but because they believe in his control. The Queen, despite reports of her being imprisoned or manipulated, appears at ease in his presence. There is no visible sign of resistance or fear. If anything, she seems to understand him. They act like a unit. That, more than anything, should be noted.”
