Adelissa knocked softly on the office door. Hearing no response, she carefully turned the handle and cracked the door open, but her father was nowhere to be found inside.

Surprised to find him absent from his workspace in the middle of the workday, the girl turned around to go look for him, only to let out a muffled gasp as she nearly lost her balance.

“Oh dear! Forgive me, I didn't mean to startle you at all,” a soft, velvety voice sounded.

Felix von Allen instantly caught the girl by the elbow, keeping her from falling. Adelissa hadn't even noticed him approach. She hadn't heard a single footstep across the wooden floor nor felt another's presence until she came face-to-face with him.

With undisguised, almost boyish interest and a broad, charming smile on his lips, Felix surveyed the girl from head to toe. His sharp gaze lingered on her snow-white hair and clear blue eyes.

“Are you... a Rienen?” he asked directly, a subtle delight in his voice.

Adelissa stepped back sheepishly, carefully freeing her elbow while trying to soothe her racing heart.

“My paternal grandmother was a Rienen...”

Felix clapped his hands in delight, a lively spark flashing in his eyes.

“I knew it!” he drawled, not taking his eyes off her. “To be frank, this is the first time in my life I've seen someone with a Rienen appearance in person. One only comes across descriptions in old tomes. That is why I couldn't help myself - I wanted to get a closer look, but I ended up startling you instead. I offer my sincere apologies.”

He gave an elegant, flawless bow, resting a hand over his chest.

“I am the new commander of this outpost, Felix von Allen.”

Recalling her lessons in etiquette, Adelissa hastily gathered the sides of her full skirt and answered him with a light, graceful curtsy.

“Adelissa Fornweir. I work as an assistant in the local chancery.”

“So you are Adrian Fornweir’s daughter?! Splendid!” Felix smiled warmly once more. “Your father is in my office right now, helping me sort through mountains of paperwork. Well, I suppose I shall let him off early today.”

Passing the Fornweirs as they walked down the corridor, Walter entered the commander's office and closed the heavy oak door behind him with his usual meticulous care.

“We have finished setting up your new residence, Lord Felix,” he reported dryly, drawing himself up. “All of your personal belongings have been put in their proper places.”

“Exceedingly well!” Felix exclaimed with satisfaction, diving enthusiastically into a fresh stack of inventory ledgers. “You are flawless as always, Walter.”

He set his quill aside for a moment and looked up at his steward with an ironical squint.

“And what of the knight in the dungeon?”

Walter maintained an impeccably straight, rigid posture, though a faint shadow of skepticism flickered in his eyes.

“He is still being held under guard,” the steward answered. “Shall I order him brought here?”

“Yes, please,” Felix smiled softly.

Isaac Grant followed his escort down the administration corridors in silence. His hands were not bound in chains this time, which struck him as rather odd and suspicious.

The guard knocked politely on the oak door, announced the prisoner’s arrival, and stepped aside. The moment he crossed the threshold, Isaac felt his whole body tighten internally, his battle instincts sharpening to an edge.

“Sir Grant, please take a seat,” the young outpost commander said with a welcoming smile, pointing toward a deep armchair.

“Just Grant,” he corrected the youth dryly, settling down unhurriedly across from the desk.

“His Majesty the King preserved your knightly title in his time, so it is only fitting on my part to address you by your full title,” Felix smiled even wider.

Isaac’s body tensed involuntarily, his gaze turning heavy and cold.

“What do you want from me, kid?”

“My, straight to business?” Felix sank into his chair with effortless grace. “Allow me to introduce myself: I am Felix von Allen. Appointed by His Grace Marquis de Beaufort as the head of this outpost just this morning.”

He politely extended a hand across the desk, but Isaac merely met him with a cold stare and did not move an inch. Felix was not in the least phased and calmly withdrew his hand.

“I am truly honored to meet you, Sir Grant. It is a great privilege to share a room with the second knight of the realm.”

Isaac merely snorted in disdain.

“That was a hundred years ago. Besides, kid, you're a knight yourself - you ought to know better.”

Allen laughed softly and genuinely, leaning forward.

“And how exactly did you deduce that? Given my slight build, people usually mistake me for a mere ink-stained scribe or a green noble born into wealth.”

Isaac scratched the back of his neck, his shoulders shifting slightly against the chill.

“You're too slippery. I thoroughly dislike it. Types like you make my fists itch - I'm tempted to crack you across the jaw and get the hell out of here.”

Felix burst out laughing heartily, wiping away a tear that gathered in the corner of his eye.

“Well now!” He leaned back into his chair with relish. “I suppose that comes down to my specialization... I prefer to use poisons in combat. No doubt that has left its mark on my fluid style and demeanor. But I am genuinely impressed that you picked me out as a 'slippery type' right off the bat.”

“So what specifically do you want from me?” Grant repeated grimly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Ah, yes, of course... I completely forgot why I summoned you,” the young commander’s face instantly lost all playfulness, turning deadly serious. “Regarding your punishment for last night’s incident... I have decided to execute you.”

He stated it with terrifying ease and nonchalance.

Isaac froze for a moment, staring at the young man in disbelief, unable to trust his own ears.

“Are you joking? The merchant Oswald paid the compensation! The guard has no further grievances against me!”

Felix rested his elbows on the chair, steeled his fingers together, and fixed Grant with a piercing, transparent stare.

“Attacking an outpost guard, drunken brawling, destruction of town property, and systematic disorderly conduct. Over the past six months, approximately forty-seven official charges have been filed under your name... And all of them were ultimately settled peacefully solely through payouts. You are an exceptionally dangerous repeat offender, Sir Grant. And believe me, it is far simpler and wiser for me to execute you right now than to wait for the day you murder a townsfolk in a fit of delirium tremens.”

Isaac stood frozen like a statue.

In the past, he wouldn't have given such a threat a second thought. On the contrary - in years gone by, he would have welcomed being strung up on a gallows or beheaded on the square, bringing an end to this endless nightmare soaked in cheap booze. He hadn't cared in the slightest.

But now...

For some reason, right now, the image of Adelissa rose vividly before his eyes once more. He had long given up hope of ever recalling her facial features - over fifteen years, they had faded completely from his memory, replaced only by a clammy sense of guilt. But today, the moment he closed his eyes after meeting Fornweir's daughter, the image of the late queen seemed to come alive. Resurrected from the ashes, it refused to leave the knight’s hardened soul.

For the first time in long years, Isaac felt a strange, long-forgotten desire... simply to live.

“What do I need to do?” he asked in a quiet, subdued tone, lowering his heavy gaze and admitting defeat in this bloodless duel.

He understood full well: this boy wouldn't have spun such talk unless he intended to wring some clear advantage out of the former knight.

Felix von Allen broke into his most satisfied, triumphant smile.

“Work for me.”