A Salamander, but Mighty

POV: Rosalia

They had arrived in Stanbroodge a few days ago and she, Darren and the other knights had decided to stay overnight in the best inn in the city; their plan was to verify the rumors they had heard about a bizarre anomalous monster that was wandering in one of the city's two dungeons as quickly as possible, but their arrival was – as was easy to predict – noticed by the mayor of Stanbroodg , who quickly sent someone to call them back to his mansion.

For the occasion, Rosalia had decided to wear a red dress full of black frills, with a skirt that fell almost to her ankles. The hair had been combed into delicate curls that fell mostly along the back and in a few tufts over the bare shoulders, left uncovered by the dress. Darren had worn the good suit himself, showing himself in tight trousers, a jacket that puffed out his chest with a white handkerchief that fell down from the neck to his chest.

“It was destined that someone would stop us after we crossed the borders of Heliolite,” commented Darren, sighing boredly, “if nothing else, I have to say that this dress looks very flattering on you.”

Rosalia blushed suddenly and lowered her head, “th-thank you, my lord. You look great, too.”

Darren smiled and offered her his arm so they could walk together. Rosalia did not look at his face but accepted the offer: the two nobles set off for the city accompanied by a small escort, Rosalia decided to make some small detours to visit Stanbroodge, a city which was much smaller than Khalrinda but not for this reason it had nothing to offer for a girl like Rosalia, who found pleasure in every little thing.

Stanbroodge was a border town and an important trading hub, on every corner you could find members of every race, from the inscrutable and perpetually serious croconoids to the gruff dwarves with their beards and always lit forges, from the stealthy beastkins to the high elves with their light brown skins and long, straight silver hair. Rosalia was attracted by some stalls where some merchants had displayed some jewels.

“Don't you think we're making the mayor wait long enough?” Darren asked with a hint of an amused smile.

“So-sorry,” Rosalia blushed again, “I was just curious to see this lovely city better. It's chaotic, but not as chaotic as Khalrinda,” she said, alternating her gaze between him and a jewel she saw, a ruby necklace.

“Will you allow me?” Darren asked, nodding to the merchant before taking the jewel and placing it around the girl's neck. The man tilted his head from side to side before smiling to himself, “it seems made for you, although perhaps a more valuable gem would have been needed.” Darren turned his head towards the merchant, “I'll take it, good man.”

"Oh!" She widened her eyes and covered her mouth with both hands, “y-you shouldn't have, my lord!”

He didn't answer her, just paid the merchant generously and then walked around Rosalia. She raised her hair, gathering it and leaving her neck free to make it easier for Darren. Once the cold gold metal touched the skin and was closed around the girl's neck, the two nobles and their escort resumed their journey, this time without any detours.

“Now that we're on the right track, I'd like to ask you for your opinion…” Darren started to say.

“Of course, my lord! Speak freely!” Rosalia replied, parting her full lips in a sweet smile.

“I would like to talk to you about what happened to your brother, and the monster who killed him.”

To Rosalia, Darren appeared incredibly serious, it was clear that he was putting his heart and soul into his goal of avenging the fall of the heir to the throne before his passing. The girl nodded affirmatively a few times, inviting him to continue the conversation with a light gesture of her right hand.

“Forgive my impudence, but I would like to ask you what you think of your sister… do you think she is an ambitious girl?” Darren dared to ask.

Rosalia tightened her arm imperceptibly, her voice sounded cold, “what are you trying to say, my lord?”

“I hope you will concede to me that it is a little strange that a creature of such great power managed to kill Wilfrod in a single blow while not only did Dyenna emerge completely unscathed, but she also managed to recover the body of your good brother.”

Rosalia felt anger warm her stomach; how dare him not only doubt her sister's good faith but even assert that she could have killed Wilfrod?? “the monster wasn't willing to kill her immediately for some reason, that's all.”

“And the body?”

“She went back to get it after the danger had passed.”

“So the monster didn't devour the body but also left it there for her to bring back to you and your honorable parents?” Darren asked, lowering his voice.

Rosalia hesitated; she started looking around as she tried to come up with a plausible explanation to clear away any possible doubts the duke might have. “Nightmare Tyrant is a very intelligent monster, perhaps it wanted to send us a message, perhaps it wanted to tell us that it's able to hit us whenever it wants…”

“He already had Dyenna as a witness of that.”

"Enough!" The girl exclaimed, removing her hand from the duke's arm to move half a step away from him and look at him with a furious expression on her face, "your words border on betrayal of the crown of Heliolite!"

Darren shrugged, “betrayal? I am only asking questions with the mind our gods have given me, I cannot be blamed for being an avid seeker of truth.”

“My sister is good,” Rosalia declared, “I know what she may seem to those who don't know her as I do, but she would never have killed our brother to take his place on the throne.”

He sighed and closed his eyes for a few moments, "Okay, forgive me for making you think I was speaking ill of your beloved sister," he opened his eyes again, "I only ask you not to let your heart deafen your mind."

“And I ask you not to see conspiracies around every corner,” Rosalia replied in a piqued tone, “please.”

“Of course, my lady. Excuse me again,” he conceded, bowing his head slightly, “look, the mayor's mansion.”

- - -

POV: Darren

Darren was a good actor: although his attempt to turn Rosalia against her sister and support him in ousting her in the line of succession had failed, he did not lose heart and showed her and their escort a calm and relaxed soul. Maybe he hadn't managed to convince her, but he had the impression that a doubt had managed to creep in anyway.

After all, she is a very sweet and kind girl, she wouldn't be bad even as a queen on my side, the duke thought to himself with a hint of a smile.

The nobles and their small party approached the mansion's entrance, where a guard was waiting to escort them inside a home that might have been considered luxurious even by Khalrinda's standards: the smooth stone walls had been plastered of white, expensive paintings created by the most famous artists of the entire Eastern Continent could be found here and there, mixed with others of much lower quality and by lesser-known artists, perhaps in an attempt to make people believe that the wealth of the mansion was superior to the real one in the eyes of inexperienced visitors. The guard accompanied them to a massive dark mahogany door and opened it before ceremoniously moving aside to allow visitors to enter what was considered the mayor's office.

The room had an entire wall made of glass, with a large fireplace capable of heating the room like on a hot summer day even when it was the middle of winter outside. Behind a refined desk on which sheets of parchment had been neatly arranged stood a man who was visibly trying to compensate for his short stature - both physical and in rank - with refined and very expensive clothes.

“So you're the nobles from Heliolite, huh?” said the mayor, rising from his chair, “my name is Neithen, and I have summoned you because I would like to know the reasons for your visit to my prosperous city.”

The city of your lords, thought Darren, bowing his head, “your curiosity is legitimate, mister mayor. As you probably know, a monster of an anomalous nature has been identified in one of the dungeons around which your city was born and developed.”

“Do you mean Nightmare Tyrant?” Neithen rubbed his chin, smoothed by the meticulous work of a razor, his tone was skeptical.

“Don't you believe in the prophecy?” Rosalia intergected.

“I don't believe you are here because of the prophecy,” the mayor replied with a smirk, “one of the most powerful dukes of Heliolite along with a member of the royal family? You are hiding something."

“I assure you that our intention is only to investigate about Nightmare Tyrant, I assume you have heard of my brother's tragic death.”

Neithen nodded a few times and took from the desk an object that Darren had barely heard of, some kind of object composed of compressed and rolled herbs that were burned and the smoke inhaled… a thing from the mysterious 'lands beyond the ocean' which were mostly a mystery to him.

One thing he knew was that these were quite expensive goods to import.

“I heard about the misfortune that has befallen the Kingdom of Heliolite,” the mayor continued to say after having used a candle that he kept specially lit on his desk to light his cigar, “but I doubt that your brother was killed by a salmadrer trapped in a dungeon here in the north.”

Rosalia's eyes widened, "it... it couldn't have been anyone else!" the girl took half a step back, covering the heart area with one hand.

Darren stifled a smile, apparently he had really managed to insinuate the germ of a doubt, "maybe Nightmare Tyrant isn't this salmadrer, our duty is just to investigate the matter and then act accordingly."

“At the request of the king and queen of Heliolite, and especially, the new heir to the throne…” Neithen took a deep breath on his cigar and blew out a thick gray cloud a few seconds later, “I'll tell you why you're here: you are here because you Heliolitians have never resigned yourself to the idea of having lost your empire, and you're looking out for a reason to attack my city.”

"My Lord! Your words are inadequate for the office that..."

Rosalia was interrupted by a wave of Darren's hand, “you are paranoid, mister mayor. You see threats to your position where there are none, and then..." the duke hinted at a smile, "the Kingdom of Heliolite is the largest and most prosperous in the entire Eastern Continent, the lowest of our nobles has triple the power that you think you have over this city.”

Neithen's face turned red with anger, his fingers' grip on his cigar tightened, “how… how dare you come to MY city, enter MY mansion and talk to me like this?? I want you to get out of Stanbroodge! Now!"

Darren took a step closer to him, “we will leave when our task is completed, dear mister mayor. Not a day before.”

"I said…"

Darren interrupted him with a very quick movement: in a fraction of a second, the man closed the distance from the other and snatched the cigar from his hand, "not a day before, mister mayor," Darren reiterated, turning the cigar to bring it to his lips and take a small whiff before holding it close to the chest covered in Neithen's fine fabrics, "we will leave as soon as we have ascertained that the salmadrer who lives in your city's dungeon is not involved in the assassination of our beloved prince."

The cigar was pressed on Neithen's robe to the point that it began to burn the fabric, the mayor's face had gone from the redness of anger to the paleness of death while the smell of burning rose to his nostrils.

“Only then will we leave, and you will be grateful because we will not have stayed even a day longer than necessary,” Darren concluded, placing the cigar on the desk and turning towards Rosalia, deliberately keeping his back to Neithen, “my lady, I apologize for letting you witness this unpleasant exchange of opinions. Will you allow me to ask your forgiveness by accompanying you to go shopping in the city market again?”

“I… y-yes, of course, my lord,” Rosalia stammered, alternating her gaze between the duke and the mayor.

The duke offered his arm to Rosalia and together they walked towards the exit; behind them the mayor was petrified, but not willing to let that be the last word between them.