Dancing with the Devil

Prologue

When the news of her parents' demise reached Kalista, she was engaged in her nightly prayers.

The maid's voice, choked with tears, was halting and broken. Kalista, still recovering from a grave illness, felt a sudden lightheadedness and weakness. Her trembling hands could no longer hold together, causing the deer horn pendant she was clutching during her prayers to hit the ground. She stared blankly for a long time before finally picking it up.

"Father and Mother were only going to the temple outside the city to pray. How could they encounter bandits? If they really did, the Royal Knights are even more formidable than Lancelot. Dealing with a bunch of ordinary bandits would be no problem at all, right?"

The maid covered her face, unable to speak.

Kalista broke free from the maids' attempts to hold her back and rushed out the door. She was wearing only a thin dress, the icy wind howled, slicing through her thin dress, but Kalista's mind was a void, oblivious to the freezing temperatures. She ran wildly, splashing through the muddy ground into the hall, where she was met by a sight that chilled her soul—a double coffin adorned with thorny roses.

Within the coffin rested her father and mother, the esteemed king and queen of Serafinia.

"Kalista," a coat was gently draped over her shoulders. Andrew, the king's adopted son and the esteemed master of the Royal Order, approached her and tenderly shielded her eyes with his hand. "The tactics of those thieves are ruthless," he said softly. "You mustn't witness their cruelty."

Andrew always carried a distinctive fragrance, reminiscent of verbena and oak chestnuts. Kalista clutched the pearl buttons of her coat and took a few deep breaths in his arms, striving to gather her courage. "No, Andrew," she whispered, "I need to be certain they’er not them."

Kalista pushed Andrew away and staggered forward.

All or a sudden this afternoon, the bodies in the coffins remained in the same embrace as in life, their wounds adorned with flowers. Kalista found no plausible excuse to deceive herself; they were indeed her parents.

The father had been shielding the mother, his left hand missing, his back riddled with holes of varying sizes. The mother, her snow-white robe now stained crimson, lay curled up, her hands clasped around a silver antler pendant studded with rubies. She had been praying to the deity in the form of a moose until the very end.

What devoted followers they were, praying to the idol daily, visiting the temple weekly, and today, they even brought the ailing Kalista with them. How could a God, who is known for his compassion for all beings, turn a blind eye to such a heinous act?

Kalista trembled, her tiny frame quivering with confusion. She couldn't comprehend the situation.

The oak coffin rested on a flower-strewn metal shelf, its edge level with Kalista's chest. She sniffed softly, stepped onto the metal frame, and entered the half of the body. Amidst the murmurs of the crowd accusing her of "improper" advice, she reached through the layers of petals in the coffin, grasped her mother's cold hand, and pressed it against her forehead.

Hot tears cascaded through her fingers, creating the illusion that her mother's hand was still warm. This tender deception compelled Kalista to cling even more fiercely to the remnants of her parents.

Just then something came loose.

In the palm of her mother's hand, Kalista discovered something alongside the antler pendant symbolizing faith in God. She gently extracted the small object and slipped it into her cuff.

As Andrew gently steered Kalista away from her parents' remains, her eyes remained a vivid red. She hugged her arm to her chest and inquired softly, "Why didn't the thieves take Mother's pendant? Rubies are not a common sight. Do they also believe in God?"

"There was a fierce battle between the royal knights escorting His Majesty and the robbers, with no survivors. We still haven't discerned the motives of these bandits," Andrew explained, his demeanor as calm and reliable as ever. The gryphons adorning his shoulders and collar symbolized the gravity and composure of the Royal Order. "But be assured, Kalista. We will undoubtedly uncover the truth."

The truth holds great significance, but Kalista fervently hopes that this tragedy had never occurred.

She clutched the small piece of metal she had found in her mother's hand, stared into Andrew's eyes, and finally gave up trying to find out more. She asked only the whereabouts of her knight. "Where is Lancelot? I haven't seen him all day. I will stay here tonight for my father and mother's wake, and let him come and stay with me."

Andrew's eyes flickered with a hint of embarrassment, yet he retained his composed demeanor. "He has another duty to fulfill this morning. You're aware that he reports directly to His Majesty, without consulting me. Would you allow me to stay with you instead?"

Kalista waved her hand dismissively. "I understand you're occupied, Andrew. The Royal Order has its hands full, and now with the investigation into the bandits, there's little extra time for me. I'll be alright here alone. Within the palace walls, it's safer than outside the city."

Andrew had more to say, but he stopped himself upon comprehending her intent.

Kalista dismissed the crowd and remained alone in the temple. She sat down, her knees drawn up, leaning against the flowers surrounding the coffin stand, and extended her palms to examine the small objects she had found in her mother's hands.

It was a metal button with a thread on the back, which her mother had apparently pulled from someone. The relief on the front of the button featured a griffon representing the Royal Order, with a single ruby dotting the eyes of the griffon. The pointed beak, stained with dried blood, now appeared a shocking dark red.

It was very strange.

Why would her mother have grasped a particular royal knight by the buttons? A sudden chill crept down Kalista's neck. She dared not entertain the thought, but the question lingered: Did Andrew, as Master of the Royal Order, possess knowledge of this?

Outside the hall, the wind howled as if a thousand departed souls were crying out their grievances. Amidst Kalista's inner turmoil, the window in front of the temple abruptly swung open, and a dark figure burst into the room, swiftly covering her mouth to prevent her from screaming.

The rain mingled with blood, and Kalista caught sight of the person's face, her body relaxing slightly from the tension. The dark-haired, dark-eyed teenager released his hand, and a stream of blood trickled down his forehead. He knelt before her, his voice low and urgent, "Princess, it's no longer safe here."

Kalista furrowed her brow, wiping the blood from his cuff. "Lancelot, how did you sustain this injury?"

"The Royal Knights revolted, attempting to surround me, but failed," he explained. "Now, I must take you to safety."

As he spoke, Lancelot suddenly grasped Kalista and pulled her aside. A shower of rain followed, and a sharp arrow sliced a strand of blonde hair from her ear, embedding itself into the marble floor. She caught the scent of verbena and oak as the arrow slid across the surface.

Andrew, not only an exceptional royal knight but also a skilled archer, had aimed for Kalista's skull. Without Lancelot's intervention, the arrow would have been fatal.

Lancelot gritted his teeth, facing the direction of the arrows, and firmly lifted Kalista, slipping through the window into the curtain of rain.

The silent knight, Lancelot, raced through the downpour with the princess cradled in his arms, darting through one alleyway after another. Yet, they could not shake off the relentless pursuers or the relentless rain of arrows. The deluge was intense, and the wind lashed Kalista's face with stinging droplets. Lancelot's breaths quickened, and his stride lost the steady rhythm it had at the outset.

"I can get down and walk on my own. Lancelot, your wound..." Kalista urged.

The knight remained silent, but his embrace around her was as unyielding as a boulder. With Kalista nestled in his arms, Lancelot sought shelter within the intricate labyrinth of a forest that lay beyond the city's borders. The relentless downpour behind them grew so intense that it began to overpower the sounds of the clashing swords and the footsteps of their pursuers, creating an almost surreal silence.

Kalista understood that they were safe for the moment, as the rain washed away the wet mud that had covered their tracks.

At last, Lancelot discovered a relatively dry cave nestled among the rocks. He stooped down and gently placed Kalista on the ground. As he stumbled forward, he struggled to maintain his balance on the uneven surface. Despite his efforts, he tried several times but was unable to stand again.

The knight gazed at Kalista for a moment before slowly lifting his gaze, a faint smile gracing his mud-streaked face, followed by a sigh of relief. "If you are safe, Princess, then..." Lancelot's words trailed off as he collapsed into Kalista's lap, his voice fading away. Kalista realized that he had been struck by more than one arrow. His sword had been shattered, with most of the blade missing, leaving only the hilt and a small scabbard attached to his belt.

Kalista felt as if an invisible hand were squeezing her heart, causing her to clutch Lancelot and gasp for air. Tears flowed silently down her cheeks as she tried frantically to wipe the dried blood from the young man's face with the cuff of her sleeve. Her warm tears cascaded down the bridge of his nose, slipping into the gap of his lips, but they could not stem the loss of warmth from his body. She rested her head against his forehead, pleading with the gods for a miracle, but there was no response, no sign of help.

The silver antler motif adorning the hilt of the sword gleamed as if it were brand new, a testament to the owner's meticulous care. Each day, the sword's bearer would take great pains to polish it, ensuring that not a single speck of dust or smudge detracted from its pristine condition.

The rain intensified, cascading from the heavens like a relentless waterfall. The air grew thick and suffocating, permeated with the overpowering scent of blood.

Kalista sobbed over Lancelot's lifeless form, but she dared not utter a single sound. What should she do? Where could she turn? Andrew, once a trusted confidant, had conspired to murder her parents, and the sole person she had counted on now lay lifeless before her.