Dark Dragon: The Summoned Hero Is A Villain

Chapter 286: Down, Ramsay

Ines’s eyes narrowed, the light from the tall windows gleaming in her irises.

Her fingers tightened slightly on the armrest of her throne, though her voice, when she spoke, was calm and controlled.

"There is no need for me to get married, Lord Ramsay," she said. "The kingdom does not need more ceremonies."

"What it needs is stability, and the strength to hold back the demons raging at our borders."

High Magus Edric inclined his head slightly, the faintest trace of a smile at the corner of his lips.

Thomas, however, showed no sign of backing down. He folded his hands respectfully before him, continuing in that smooth tone of his.

"Your Majesty is correct that stability is paramount," he said. "But marriage itself would bring stability."

"It would calm the hearts of both the nobility and the common folk. They would see a future, an heir to ensure continuity. It would remind them that Camelot’s flame still burns bright."

Edric’s smile vanished. "Just like the princess said, the kingdom has no need of another celebration, Ramsay," he interjected. "Not when our people are still mourning their dead. This is a time for unity and discipline, not for songs and feasts."

Thomas’s expression didn’t change.

"Then perhaps," he said smoothly, "we could merge the two occasions. The coronation and the wedding could be held as one. The people would see both renewal and continuity in a single moment of triumph."

A heavy silence fell over the room.

Ines’s expression darkened, the warmth in her gaze turning to ice.

"Merge the coronation and a wedding?" she repeated slowly, her voice growing colder with every word. "Tell me, Lord Ramsay, are you so eager to replace me already?"

Thomas bowed his head slightly at the accusation, but his tone remained calm. "Your Highness, I assure you, I meant no such thing. I merely wish to secure your legacy."

"To ensure that, years from now, history will remember Queen Ines Pendragon as the monarch who guided Camelot through its darkest age, and who did so with strength unmatched in generations."

She leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing. "And you think I require a man beside me to do that?"

"I would never dare imply such a thing," Thomas said quickly, though the faint gleam in his eyes said otherwise.

"I only suggest that every great ruler benefits from a helper, a confidant, someone to share the burden of rule."

Silence.

Ines’s jaw tightened. Her next words came out low.

"A helper," she said softly. "Would you, perhaps, like to suggest someone specific? Your son, Frederick, perhaps?"

Thomas froze. For the first time since entering the hall, a flicker of discomfort crossed his composed face.

He bowed again, more deeply this time. "Your Highness, I would never presume to dictate the Queen’s choice in such matters," he said smoothly.

"The decision is yours alone. I only sought to convey the council’s concern for the stability of the realm."

"You’ve gotten ahead of yourself, Lord Ramsay," Ines said, her tone as cold as winter frost. "I still have an heir. My aunt, Lady Cecilia Pendragon. Should anything happen to me, the line continues."

Thomas’s expression soured for a moment before he recovered his poise.

He bowed again, the movement smooth. "Of course, Your Highness. Forgive my overreach. The council merely acts out of concern for both the princess and the kingdom."

"You may convey to the council," Ines said, her voice commanding, "that the crown of Camelot does not bow to fear. Nor will it rush into marriage to satisfy anxious men. This discussion is concluded."

Thomas straightened, his eyes unreadable. "As you wish, Your Majesty."

[][][][][]

Three days later.

The evening sun shone a dull orange over the academy, painting the dormitory corridors with light as students returned from classes or headed to dinner.

Inside his room, Noah sat at his desk while Arlo leaned against the wall, arms crossed, the two of them surrounded by scattered papers, half-finished notes, and a growing air of frustration.

"I’ve crossed off at least fifty names in the past three days," Arlo said, exhaling deeply.

"I’ve checked every student on the preliminary list. None of them match anything close to what the Lady in Dark could be."

Noah tapped a finger on the edge of the desk. He’d also been seeing little progress in his investigations.

"I’ve been going through the school buildings," he explained. "I found nothing. Not a single trace of the missing students or the puppeteer. Nothing feels out of place."

"And no one’s gone missing again," Arlo added. "I never knew I’d be so disappointed that there were no crimes in the academy."

Noah nodded, staring at the papers in front of him. "Then there’s nothing else to do but keep searching. Lady in Dark’s still out there, and if she’s hiding inside the academy, we’ll find her."

Arlo gave a short laugh. "You make it sound easy."

"It’s not," Noah said flatly.

The room fell silent for a while. Eventually, Arlo pushed himself off the wall, stretching.

"Well, I’ll keep at it tomorrow. Maybe something will turn up."

"Maybe," Noah said, though his tone was doubtful.

Arlo gave him a short nod and headed for the door. "Don’t stay up too late," he said over his shoulder. "You’ll start looking like me."

Noah gave a faint grin. "That’s a terrifying thought."

Arlo chuckled, then slipped out, the door closing softly behind him.

For a few minutes, Noah sat in silence, staring at the pile of papers.

His thoughts drifted, not to the list, but to the coronation.

Soon, he’d stand in the palace surrounded by nobles and. If Lady in Dark was anywhere in Camelot, she might show herself there.

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling. "Soon," he murmured to himself. "I’ll find you."

A knock broke the silence.

Noah turned, frowning slightly. Arlo wouldn’t knock.

He stood and opened the door, and blinked.

An impeccably dressed short man stood on the other side. A neat moustache framed his upper lip, and he was fingering it thoughtfully, eyes glinting with amusement.

"At long last," the man said in a dramatic voice, "the great Noah Webb graces me with his attention."

Noah groaned audibly. "Master Nigel," he muttered.