Their leader, one of Ieuan‘s own strategists, smirked. "Spare us the pretense, Princess Lorraine... You know exactly whose banner we serve."
A chill slid through her chest. "Ieuan sent you? What is he planning?"
The adviser faced Lorraine, his voice as placid as moonlit water. "Mr. Chapman's design will emerge in time. For now, you must bear a few days of hardship, Princess Lorraine. Once he secures the Ritual Manual, you will be free to return."
With that, he departed the cave, escort in tow, the echo of boot-heels fading into the tunnels until only two stern cultivators remained to guard the entrance.
Lorraine sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor. Frigid air seeped through her ceremonial gown, yet what truly chilled her was uncertainty, an icy, nameless dread that pooled behind her ribs and refused to let go.
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