Chapter 182: Do. not call me that!
At the same time, on the other side of the palace grounds, the night had grown still again, but only on the surface. Deep within the winding corridors behind the northern wing—forgotten by many, familiar only to a few—shadows blurred against shadows as a figure moved with astounding speed. Cloaked fully in black, his form was barely visible to the eye, his footsteps as silent as a whisper carried by the wind.
In his arms was the Prime Minister, his expression as calm as though he were being carried through a ballroom rather than smuggled away from a scene of betrayal and bloodshed.
The wind rustled faintly as they turned sharply, passing through crumbling archways and slipping between overgrown hedges and hidden doors. The man in dark clothes was fast—inhumanly fast—and with every few steps, the Prime Minister’s long robes fluttered like a flag behind him, his silver hair catching fragments of moonlight.
After several long moments, a bored sigh escaped the older man’s lips. He yawned, covering his mouth with gloved fingers as if he had just woken from a lazy nap.
"Can you stop now?" he said nonchalantly. "They’re not following."
Without a word, the black-clad man halted, his boots hitting the cobbled floor with practiced control. He released his grip on the Prime Minister, who landed lightly on his feet as if this whole escapade had been little more than a casual walk.
The older man straightened his robes, dusting off invisible particles from his dark lapels with exaggerated care. A small chuckle bubbled from his throat—amused, unhurried.
"Good for you to come!" he said, glancing sideways at the other man.
"If you had come a little late, I would have been turned into mash!"