“Hey, sleepyhead! Want some breakfast? We’ve already eaten, and it’s about time to go!” Yolanda said as she gently but persistently shook my shoulder.

  I grunted, annoyed, and turned to the other side - but she just switched to shaking the other shoulder.

  “You don’t want a cold shower, do you?” she asked, mischief in her voice.

  “You wouldn’t dare,” I mumbled.

  “Oh, I’m prepared. Feel the drops?”

  “Yikes!” I yelped and sat up in a hurry - only to realize she’d tricked me, her fingers just damp from dipping them in water.

  Somehow, she had gone from timid ex-slave to full-blown bedroom dictator, bossing me around like royalty. True, she was playing the role of the princess, but even Ju - the actual princess - didn’t take it that far.

  I huffed, but Yolanda ignored it and turned to the maids. “She’s awake. Go ahead and dress her. We’re in a hurry!”

  The four maids, who had been standing in formation along the wall like palace guards, pounced like diligent ants.

  “Hey!” I tried to protest, but it was no use.

  The four maids swarmed me with practiced precision. Two began wiping down my face and arms with cool, damp kerchiefs, while another wrestled with my hair, trying to tame the post-sleep chaos. The fourth had already shoved a quarter of a sandwich into my mouth before I could protest. Then came the dressing - layers of silk and lace slipped over my shoulders before I even had a chance to blink. Meanwhile, more sandwich quarters kept arriving with relentless cheer.

  It was a whirlwind of damp cloths, nimble fingers, and unsolicited breakfast, and by the time I finally managed to chew and swallow, I was clean, dressed, and vaguely dignified - if still mildly traumatized.

  “We’re late!” Yolanda announced, tapping her foot impatiently as the maids tugged shoes onto my feet.

  The next minute, we were rushing down the corridor…

  Who the hell had decided I should wear high heels?

  Ahm, now when I think about it... I prepared my clothes for travel yesterday evening. I did buy this pair not long ago, because they highlighted my calves, but maybe it was not such a brilliant idea to put them on for travel. I protested inwardly while scurrying after Yolanda in the only gait high heels allowed: a kind of rapid, awkward tip-tapping trot.

  Mike, Elenia, and Miranda were chatting casually behind us, seemingly unaffected by our apparent time crisis… Sure, they didn’t have to wage war against high heels!

  I gave up, yanked mine off, and scurried ahead barefoot, shoes clutched in hand. Sweet relief!

  Still, credit where it’s due: I did try.

  Our meeting with Zachary was set for seven o’clock sharp in the palace park, near the grand statue of the nymph Nemenia riding what looked suspiciously like a dolphin. It was a common rendezvous point, mainly because it was polite to open portals from designated areas instead of just popping in and out of random palace corners.

  The luxurious park, with its perfectly trimmed hedges and labyrinthine alleys, was a bit too manicured for my taste - but I had to admit, it had its charm.

  Of course, the palace clock had struck seven while I was still chewing, so by the time we rounded the final hedge-lined bend and spotted our destination, we were at least a fashionable fifteen minutes late.

  “Good morning, Your Highness. Baroness,” Zachary greeted politely as we approached.

  “Good morning, Lord Zachary!” Yolanda said brightly, glancing with amusement at the shoes dangling from my hand. “Apologies for the delay, our baroness decided to fall back asleep while the rest of us were having breakfast.”

  I shot her a murderous look for selling me out, but she only smiled sweetly and blinked up at me with innocent eyes: the picture of virtue. Traitor!

  Zachary stood with three alert guards at his sides, each scanning the neatly trimmed hedges with grim focus. The rest of his group loitered a few paces back, visibly tense.

  “Hello, Zachary. Gentlemen,” I said, mustering my most diplomatic smile, though I was still a little groggy and not quite in the mood for formalities. “Is something wrong?”

  Zachary sighed. “Well, after last night’s events, everyone’s understandably on edge.”

  “Last night’s events?” I echoed, momentarily distracted by the awkward matter of my shoes. Putting them on in front of everyone felt too undignified, so I slipped them discreetly into my inventory.

  He chuckled.

  “So, this is news to you?” Zachary asked, raising an eyebrow. “Someone broke the palace’s main wards during the night. I heard Fiona spent the rest of it surrounded by her guards, fearing an attack.”

  “Wait, what?” Yolanda blinked. “Something actually happened? I slept like a rock. But if Fiona thought we were in danger, shouldn’t she have warned us?”

  Zachary gave a short laugh. “I only heard it through the grapevine, Your Highness. No alarm was sounded, and there’s been no official statement from our gracious host. Officially, it was just a minor... glitch in the wards.”

  “If I may, Your Highness,” Zachary’s majordomo interjected smoothly, “the whispers say it was a show of force. A warning delivered to the Duchess of Cromwall.”

  “Oh.” The sound slipped out before I could stop it. I glanced down at my bare feet, more to avoid their eyes than out of modesty. Did the ward’s destruction have anything to do with me?

  I hesitated, then voiced the question gnawing at me. “Were those wards... really that fragile?”

  Zachary let out a short, almost amused breath. “They were supposed to be indestructible, actually.”

  “Indestructible?” I echoed. “What kind of wards were they? I think Mike called them ‘demon alarms.’ Do they work by detecting a demon’s aura?”

  “Oh no,” Zachary said, shaking his head. “I don’t think anyone can do that. Fiona’s wards were... special. It’s an open secret that they were built around a divine artifact. Rumor has it it was an angel’s feather.”

  My eyes widened. “And now it’s missing?”

  He nodded. “Gone. Some guards claim it simply vanished - burned out in a blink. But that doesn’t make sense. A divine artifact, just... gone? Fiona doesn’t believe it. She suspects sabotage, traitors who stole and disabled it in preparation for an attack.”

  I shook my head. No, that artifact’s destruction couldn’t possibly have anything to do with me. Just a hell of a coincidence. Right?

  “But why would she specifically guard against demons?” I asked, frowning.

  Zachary shrugged. “I imagine it was just one layer of protection. Demons are often used in high-stakes assassinations. They don’t care if they survive, they’re ruthless, and they’re terrifyingly effective. You saw what happened with the Church of Light, didn’t you? That attack a few days ago, it was a demon they used!”

  I couldn’t help the involuntary eye-roll. Not that story again!

  I wasn’t sure if Zachary caught the gesture or not, but thankfully Yolanda cut in before the conversation could get any more awkward.

  “Shouldn’t we continue this conversation somewhere a bit more comfortable?” she suggested, her voice smooth as always.

  “Certainly, Your Highness.” Zachary gave a nod and a small smile, then turned to one of his retainers.

  “Merca, would you be so kind as to prepare the portal?”

  As the mage began his preparations, Zachary turned to Yolanda with a bright smile.

  “Would you like to go first, Your Highness?”

  “Oh no, dear Zachary. And please, just call me Julietta,” she replied with a shrug and a gracious smile. “We’ll follow behind you and your group. I assume Mr. Merca will bring up the rear?”

  “Of course, Your Highness,” the mage confirmed with a polite bow.

  A portal mage always held some control over the spell - enough, at least, to keep it open a few extra seconds, depending on his mana reserves. Sometimes that brief extension could make the difference between a smooth transition and total chaos.

  Zachary’s party counted nine, and we were five. They’d seemed surprised we were traveling so 'light,' especially since his majordomo had initially questioned whether a single portal would be sufficient. I mean, really - how many people did he think we were bringing?

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Then again, for fifteen people and an average scroll-portal duration of sixty seconds, that gave us just four seconds per person. Not a lot of time if you’re unprepared or dithering about. But back in Cala’s raids, we’d funneled over a hundred people through one portal without a hitch. All it takes is organization - you just needed people to move like a fluid mass, not like tourists boarding a bus.

  Of course, there were scrolls that held portals open for longer, but as with everything else, it was a question of how many resources you poured into them. And in the end, that was always a question of money.

  As the preparations for the portal neared completion and Zachary chatted politely with Yolanda, my ears, ever nosy, tuned into the low murmurs of his guards.

  “These two give me the creeps,” one muttered, just loud enough to catch.

  I had to fight not to chuckle. Really now?

  “Why?” came the reply.

  “Something’s off about them. Did you try to identify them?”

  “Sure,” the first answered, voice dry. “Warrior, level nineteen, and a healer whose level is too high for me to see. Oh, terrifying.”

  The second scoffed. “Don’t joke. I felt that power. Those IDs don’t match what’s standing there.”

  His companion shrugged. “She’s an elven princess, for god’s sake. She’s probably older than the both of us put together. Maybe older than the whole damn squad. You think someone like that’s just walking around with our levels? Everyone knows she’s a high-level healer. She should have power.”

  I quietly exhaled in relief. Julietta’s rings were doing their job perfectly. And better yet, they were attributing any strange power readings to Yolanda. Perfect.

  A moment later, the portal shimmered open, and we stepped through.

  *

  As we popped into the main square, I nearly landed on Yolanda’s toes. I instinctively grabbed her hand and pulled her forward, away from the portal’s landing zone. First-timers often froze the moment they arrived, wide-eyed and dazzled by the new scenery. Unfortunately, that usually meant getting stepped on, or worse, knocked flat by the people still coming through behind them.

  Devinshire turned out to be far more charming than I had expected. The town nestled gracefully between rolling hills, their slopes still dotted with blossoming trees. Not far beyond, towering mountains loomed, their snow-capped peaks gleaming in the sunlight and reflecting perfectly in the mirror-like surface of a vast lake.

  The town itself was composed mostly of elegant mansions scattered across the surrounding hillsides, with a compact core clustered around the central square where we landed. One side of the square opened directly onto the lake, while the other bordered the town proper, together forming a breathtaking tableau as we emerged from the portal.

  To my surprise, a carriage was already waiting for us, courtesy of the viscount’s majordomo. Mike, knowing our plans, had contacted him in advance to confirm the booking. All I had to do now was pay. Or I would have, as it was already paid by Zachary, who insisted that it was nothing.

  In this quiet provincial town, there was no formal portal guard - just Zachary’s attendants waiting nearby with four carriages parked a short distance from the landing site.

  Attempts had been made in the past to better regulate portal travel, to block exits or force them to open only at fixed points, but portals, it seemed, had a mind of their own. They never opened in the exact same spot twice. Like erratic bolts of lightning striking a hilltop, portals were drawn to flat, open surfaces.

  Some scholars believed portals were influenced by the world’s ambient mana, gravitating toward places where the energy flowed most freely. The prevailing theory spoke of vast, invisible mana veins beneath the surface, natural channels of power that shaped and attracted the portals in unpredictable ways.

  Zachary offered to share his carriage with Yolanda and me, along with his mage, Merca. Mike, Elenia, and Miranda would travel together in ours. The other two carriages were reserved for Zachary’s retainers and some bulky luggage they were bringing along. Maybe their inventory items didn't allow for such luggage?

  We chatted for a while, Zachary was in high spirits, and Merca turned out to be surprisingly sociable, but exhaustion soon caught up with me. I hadn’t slept properly last night, and the gentle rocking of the carriage wasn't helping. I excused myself, thanked them for the company, and climbed into our carriage.

  Mike and the girls made space on one of the benches. I curled up, someone tucked a couple of blankets over me, and the world slipped away almost instantly.

  But sleep didn’t bring peace.

  Maybe it was the jostling of the ride. Maybe something else. All I knew was that I fell into a deep, cold, terrifying nightmare.

  A hand shook my shoulder, waking me up.

  “Lores. Lores!”

  I woke with a start, drenched in sweat and gasping for air. The coach was lurching violently to one side, wood groaning under stress, the whole frame shrieking in protest.

  My senses snapped into sharp focus.

  The hand on my shoulder was Mike’s, but something was off with him. He couldn’t speak anymore, and his eyes lost focus, rolling back as if trying to peer inward.

  The carriage veered sharply left, and I caught Mike in my arms just as everything lurched. Then came a brutal jolt - a hard stop - and Miranda and Elenia tumbled like ragdolls. I threw out my arms to catch them, too.

  But the torsion and impact were too much. With a cacophony of splintering wood and tearing fabric, the carriage rolled onto its left side. Boulders slammed through the side door, and suddenly I was an unwilling airbag, crushed beneath all three of them.

  Well, better me than them. Not that it actually hurt.

  The moment we stopped moving, I shadowmelded and slipped into domain view. My senses extended outward, sweeping fifty meters around. I saw it all: the other carriages overturning one after another, horses collapsing mid-gallop, legs tangled.

  But no gunfire. No arrows. No spells. No magic.

  I materialized between two coaches, magic already crackling at my fingertips, ready to unleash death on anything that dared to move.

  But there was nothing.

  The area was clear, just open countryside dotted with a few trees. A picturesque, almost bucolic landscape. Rolling green pastures stretched in every direction. In the distance, sheep milled about in lazy flocks, their shepherd dogs barking dutifully. On the far side of the road, cows mooed with indifferent calm. Further down, maybe two kilometers ahead, I spotted a cluster of rooftops. Probably the next village.

  I stayed tense a moment longer, scanning for danger… but there was nothing. No movement. No threat. Slowly, my pulse began to steady.

  “What was this?” Zachary groaned, climbing out of his carriage and clutching his nose, which was bleeding profusely.

  Somehow, his coach was still upright, though both horses had collapsed sideways. The third carriage had rolled and lost a wheel, lying at an awkward tilt. Only the last had come to a controlled stop, spared whatever invisible force had struck the rest.

  Noticing the glances from a few of Zachary’s retainers, I rolled my eyes and wrapped myself in illusionary clothing. Right. Note to self: auto-dress after shadowmeld. One more thing to practice... not that fashion is a priority when dodging death.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I thought it was an ambush. But I can’t see any attackers.”

  “It did feel like an ambush,” Merca the mage muttered, scanning the surroundings warily. “It was like a mental attack. Someone struck our horses and coachmen directly. Knocked them out cold.”

  “They’re not dead?” I asked, concerned.

  “No, just unconscious,” Yolanda answered, emerging from Zachary’s carriage while rubbing her temple.

  Judging by the look she exchanged with Zachary, it wasn’t hard to guess her head had been the one to break his nose. I stifled a grin and hurried back to my own coach.

  Mike was sitting up, dazed, but conscious. Relief washed over me. Elenia and Miranda were stirring too, groaning softly as they blinked against the daylight. They were recovering.

  From outside, I heard the horses whinnying in distress.

  “Damn, I’ve got a splitting headache,” one of the coachmen groaned, slowly pushing himself upright.

  “But if this was an ambush,” someone muttered, “where are the attackers?”

  “Maybe they got cold feet when they saw the naked baroness,” someone else whispered just low enough to think I wouldn’t hear.

  A few of the others chuckled.

  “You mean, they got more than they bargained for, eh?”

  My ears twitched. Too good, apparently. I groaned inwardly and did my best not to react.

  “Gentlemen,” Zachary said with a whisper, clearly trying to restore order, though his grin and the guilty glance he shot me did little to help.

  “Baron Whittaker wishing us a pleasant ride?” another guard joked with a chuckle.

  Zachary sighed and pointed toward the distant houses.

  “We’re near the edge of Whittaker’s barony. That’s the first village from our domain. If we need help, we could probably find some there…”

  “No, but seriously,” someone whispered so low that Zachary couldn’t hear him, “did you see how those shadows clung to her body? And those dark streaks on her hands and legs? Is her blood black? Creepy!”

  “Shhh! Master could hear you, idiot,” his companion hissed. “She was out there first, ready to fight whoever hit us. So shut up.”

  I tried to shift my hearing elsewhere, to focus my ears outward, but whoever had attacked us was long gone.

  In the end, we found no clear explanation for what had happened. Fortunately, the outcome wasn’t as disastrous as it could’ve been. Just a few minor injuries and a whole lot of headaches.

  To everyone’s surprise, I managed to repair the broken wheel. Remembering past trouble with spell item's durability, I poured in extra mana to reinforce it, hopefully this time it would hold for longer.

  One of the horses had a fractured leg and was about to be put down, but Yolanda stepped in and healed it. I’d given her a set of healing scrolls just in case she needed to play the role of a proper noble healer.

  Still, I caught some grumbling:

  “She heals the boss and the horse, but we’re not good enough? Elves, huh, now you see what we’re worth in her eyes.”

  “Eh, it’s just scratches. You’ll live.”

  “Yeah, but…”

  Yolanda, I knew, was rationing the scrolls, they weren’t cheap. But a few poisonous glances were thrown her way nonetheless.

  Less than half an hour later, the wheels turned once again, and we were back on the road.