Chapter 312: The Mysterious Merchant
After a long day’s journey across dusty roads, Prince Alaric and his weary escorts finally sought refuge for the night in a modest roadside inn.
Though the prince now bore the shame of exile, his bloodline still commanded a certain reverence; he was, after all, the eldest son of King Heimdal.
The royal guards, bound by duty to follow the crown prince’s order to make Alaric’s journey as arduous as possible, found themselves caught between loyalty and conscience. In their hearts, they believed the king had erred—banishing a noble heir who many still whispered was blameless in the tragic death of the first queen. They were all aware that King Heimdal did not favor Prince Alaric. He hated him because, in his mind, he caused the first queen’s early demise.
Yet they reminded themselves that exile, bitter as it was, spared the prince a darker fate.
That night, the captain of the guards granted Alaric a private room—small and sparse, but far better than the cold earth beneath the stars. The inn’s quiet hum of voices and the creak of wooden beams offered brief respite from the weight of treachery and regret that haunted them all.
Before the first light of dawn kissed the horizon, two shadowy figures slipped out of the inn, cloaked against the chill of morning. They guided their horses north, toward the towering walls of the capital.
The merchant and his assistant had arrived at the inn hours before Alaric’s company the night before. Their origins traced to the distant town of Cavinta. Just as the horses of the two merchants disappeared from view, the captain woke up and readied the group to continue their journey.
By early afternoon, the southern gate of the capital loomed before the two merchants. A soldier, sharp-eyed and vigilant, stepped forward, his gaze narrowing as he scrutinized their travel documents.
"Where are you from?" he demanded, his tone crisp with suspicion.