Under the Oak Tree Novel - Chapter 240

240 Chapter 1: Prologue
The banquet hall rang with the parrot-like chatter of Wedon’s nobility. As soon as Riftan Calypse entered, silence descended on the crowd. The Lord of Anatol strode through the tension in the room, exuding authoritative power.

Avid curiosity, fear, and admiration mingled on the faces of the noblewomen as they darted glances at his cold exterior. Hiding their blushes behind fans, they whispered in each other’s ears while the men held their breaths in equal parts terror and awe.

When he had first stepped foot in Drachium, these were the same aristocrats who had staunchly opposed the uncouth beast encroaching on their territory. Now, the tables had turned, and those who had once openly mocked him were forced to hold their tongues.

In only a few years, Riftan Calypse forged strong alliances with the southern nobles, emerging as a formidable force within Wedon. He was now expanding his influence to the north and west. The zeal with which he pursued the endeavor had startled even the eastern nobles — his greatest adversaries — into throwing their hands up in defeat. The younger lords would hover around him whenever he made an appearance, hoping for the chance to talk to the legendary knight. The more conservative noblemen would discreetly slip away to the outskirts.

Riftan himself was indifferent to their reactions. He marched to the arched doorway at the end of the hall, not sparing a glance at the gossiping crowd nor to those lingering for a chance to sweet-talk him.

He reached the door and addressed the attendant stationed outside. “Inform His Majesty I wish to seek an audience with him.”

The attendant scurried into the room. He was granted permission to enter not long after, and he strode in with his auburn cape fluttering behind. Inside, King Reuben III was lounging on a velvet chair.

“You are late,” said the king with a crooked smile. “Is this your way of showing you are above currying favor with the crown?”

Riftan swept his eyes over the congratulatory gifts piled next to the king’s seat and smiled sardonically. “I believe your other vassals have paid homage to the crown’s honor well enough without me, Your Majesty.”

…..
“That does not mean you can neglect your duties,” King Reuben grumbled with a sour expression.

He tilted his chin toward the chair in front of him, motioning for Riftan to be seated. As soon as Riftan obliged, an attendant offered him a full goblet.

King Reuben promptly emptied his drink first and continued like a disgruntled child, “Today is the last day of the celebrations. I was beginning to think you would not make an appearance.”

“I thought it would be best if I did not, Your Majesty.”

King Reuben cocked an eyebrow at his apathetic response.

Gazing down at his goblet, Riftan added in a deadpan manner, “I wished to avoid certain company as much as possible. We could not have the celebration of your first grandchild be marred by bloodshed.”

The king shook his head at the threat in Riftan’s words. “Good heavens, are you still not content after plucking the duke’s fangs?”

Leaning back, the king heaved a long sigh.

“I believe you have sufficiently crushed the man’s spirit. Your influence is now enough to pose a threat. The duke’s, on the other hand, is not what it used to be. He is older, more domineering and ill-tempered. His health is failing as well. Makes the man look almost pitiful. He would no doubt refuse to admit it even at knifepoint, but he is terrified of you. Though, I suppose that is not entirely surprising considering how you have been twisting his arm. I was told you recently gifted him a chest of severed heads.”

“They all belonged to the assassins he sent to kill me,” Riftan replied dryly. “I merely returned his sentiments.”

“What you are doing is slowly terrorizing the man out of his wits.” The king smiled crookedly again as he poured himself more wine. “It might have been more merciful had I allowed you to execute him two years ago.”

Sparks seemed to flare in Riftan’s dull eyes at the king’s sarcastic remark. For Riftan, who held a grudge against the royal family for preventing him from waging war against the duke, it was not a jest that landed lightly.

Gripping his goblet to suppress his rage, Riftan said menacingly, “I did not know you held him so close to your heart, Your Majesty. Have you not spent the last decade resorting to all sorts of schemes to put the duke in his place? Or use my wife, despite her grave injuries, as a weapon to wound his pride? Why should Your Majesty show any sympathy for him now?”

King Reuben slammed his goblet on the table, the smile vanishing from his face. “You intend to hold that against me for a long time, don’t you? Would you have me kneel before you and beg for forgiveness?”

“Your Majesty, I only ask for one thing,” Riftan said through gritted teeth. “That you do not intervene in my conflict with the duke. I do not think I will be able to stand by while the crown acted mediator again.”

“Is that a threat?”

“I am imploring you.”

King Reuben’s eyes blazed with fury for a moment before he abruptly heaved a sigh. “You need not growl so menacingly. I have no intention of getting between you and the duke ever again. I should also like to spare myself the bother. As long as you do not force my hand by bandying about threats of war or a trial, I shall turn a blind eye to your feud.”

With that, he downed his wine and studied Riftan’s stony face.

“However, it would be a different matter entirely if your animosity toward the duke were to make you shirk your duties to the crown. You are now the preeminent lord of the south. Any lack of loyalty to the royal family on your part will affect the other nobles, not to mention the knights who worship Wigrew’s reincarnation.”

Riftan remained silent.

“From now on,” King Reuben continued, “many will endow all kinds of meaning to your words and actions. Your reluctant, delayed arrival to the celebration of my grandchild’s birth is cause for concern.”

“Your Majesty… I have never kept you waiting before,” Riftan replied with a sardonic smile. “Dare I say, you are being overly harsh. I do not wish to ever go against the crown. If that is what worries you, I will let it be known now. No matter my influence, I am forever your vassal, knighted by your own hand. Nothing will change that.”

The king’s golden eyes bored into Riftan’s face as if to seek his true intentions. After a moment of tense silence, he returned to his languid posture and let out a dry laugh.

“Then make the whole kingdom aware of it. Go, show everyone that you are over the moon at the birth of my grandson.”

Riftan let the silence build again before offering a reply. “I will do my best.”

Not reassured by his less than sincere answer, King Reuben raised an eyebrow before clicking his tongue and waving him off. “Very well. You may take your leave.”

Riftan bowed and left for the banquet hall, where the bustling activity instantly became subdued. Ignoring the furtive glances, he hurried through the arched doors at the other end into a circular hall overlaid with an intricately-patterned carpet. Nobles decked out in silks and furs were huddled in conversation. Princess Agnes seemed to be leading discussions in the middle of the group, but she paused when she spotted Riftan.

“Sir Riftan. You came,” she said, her face lighting up.

“What a long time it has been, Your Highness.”

Princess Agnes excused herself and gracefully made her way over. Riftan gazed at the unfamiliar sight of the princess in a flowing gown before turning to the person accompanying her. The young man bore the same handsome features as the princess’s, except with golden eyes. He was looking back at Riftan with keen interest.

Introductions were not necessary. Riftan bowed in respect.

“And even longer still, Prince Elias.”

“Indeed, Sir Riftan,” the prince replied, extending a hand in welcome. “I was but a child when we last saw each other. Thank you for coming all this way.”

“Please forgive me for not being here sooner. I bring four warhorses from Lakazim as gifts. I hope they will be to your liking.”

“From Lakazim, you say?” Prince Elias said, a bright smile lighting his features.

Riftan regarded the crown prince’s boyish face with a peculiar expression. The willowy, pale-skinned Elias Reuben looked too young and naive to be a father.

“May I ask what breed they are?” Prince Elias inquired excitedly. “What about their coats? I do not doubt their pedigree if they were selected by you, Sir Riftan.”

Princess Agnes shook her head in exasperation. “You seem more pleased by the horses than your firstborn.”

“Abel is adorable, of course,” the prince gushed as though bragging about a puppy he had been gifted. He then added with a grin, “But he is much too small for me to ride.”

“I cannot believe you.” The princess shot her younger brother a glare before turning back to Riftan. “Thank you for coming. The child is in that room. Would you like to see him?”

Riftan bobbed his head. Though it was clear the prince was dying to see the horses, he led the way to the baby at his sister’s urging.

Thick drapes covered the entrance to the room at the end of the hall. The prince drew them aside and stepped through. The new mother, Rosetta, lounged on a long couch with her maidservants in attendance. She looked up at them as they entered, her eyes apathetic. Dressed elegantly in a rose-colored dress, her silvery blonde hair coiled in a bun, the crown princess looked nothing short of regal.

“Rosetta, Sir Riftan has come to congratulate us on the birth of our son,” the prince announced with enthusiasm as he approached his wife.

Rosetta’s gaze fell on Riftan, a question behind her turquoise eyes. His face hardened. She opened her mouth as if to say something before apparently changing her mind and looking at her husband once more.

“Please lower your voice. The baby has just fallen asleep.”

Rosetta accepted the infant from one of her ladies-in-waiting. The prince shrugged, clearly unaffected by his wife’s icy tone.

He turned to Riftan with a mischievous smile. “Abel is a little devil when he’s awake, you see. You should hear the lungs on him. I’m certain he’ll grow up to be a tyrant.”

The prince bent down to his son. In contrast to his flippant tone, the prince’s eyes as he gazed down at the sleeping infant were brimming with affection.

A sigh of relief escaped Agnes’s lips. In the years they had been apart, her younger brother had grown into a sly man comparable to their father. Since he had taken to hiding his true intentions behind a comical mask, she had been worried that he might treat his own son in the same manner. She was relieved to see that was not the case.

He seems to have grown quite fond of Rosetta too.

Contrary to the rumors that the crown prince did not get along with his wife, the pair seemed to be on amicable terms. Agnes smiled as she watched them. They seemed as beautiful as the couples one would find in paintings.

Turning away, she noticed Riftan standing by the door, his expression dark. She was about to invite him to take a closer look at his nephew when her breath hitched in her throat. Though he kept his distance, the agony on his face was stark, as if there were a dagger lodged in his heart.

Startled by his palpable pain, Agnes touched his arm. “Riftan, are you all right?”

He flinched and pushed her hand away, immediately drawing all eyes in the room to them.

Agnes directed a reassuring smile to the watchers and addressed Riftan in a gentle voice. “You look tired, Sir Riftan. You must be weary from your long journey. Please, take some rest for the day.”

Riftan cast his eyes down, hiding his emotions, and nodded slowly. “The hour is late. Excuse me, Your Highnesses.”

As if sensing the strange shift in the air, the crown prince did not say a word. He granted Riftan his leave with a nod. Riftan gave the royals a perfunctory bow before whirling around and leaving the room.

Agnes chased after him. “Are you truly all right?”

“Why should I not be, Your Highness?” he replied flatly, keeping his gaze fixed ahead.

The princess pursed her lips at his frigid demeanor. They walked in silence until they reached a secluded corridor, where Agnes once again attempted conversation.

“It appears the Mage Tower has been communicating with the church recently. It is impossible to know what they are discussing, but I suspect they are exchanging information regarding the recent resurgence of monsters.”

Riftan froze.

Agnes studied his stony face before cautiously adding, “Once the Mage Tower opens correspondence with the church, regulations within the Tower will be eased as well. When that happens, the novices should be able to freely communicate with the outside world. If you wish, I could take a letter to Maximil—”

“Stay out of my affairs,” Riftan snarled, whirling to face her.

Agnes instinctively took a step back. Fixing her with an ice-cold stare, Riftan spat the words one by one through gritted teeth.

“Your meddling is not welcome. I will not stand for any interference in my marriage again.”

Hearing his voice break at the end, Agnes clenched her jaw. Riftan turned on his heel and strode down the corridor, leaving her sighing at his obstinance.

After Maximilian Calypse had left for the Mage Tower, Riftan had poured all of his attention into consolidating his power, going to astonishing lengths to win over the southern nobles. Not shying away from employing shrewd political maneuvers, threats, or imposing economic pressures on his targets had allowed him to bring the western nobles into his fold as well. The frightening determination with which he achieved all this had caused quite the stir within the walls of Drachium.

Agnes bit her lip. She had known that sending Maximilian to the Mage Tower to prevent the trial would inevitably earn his rancor. What she had not anticipated was how long his resentment for her would persist.

The princess looked at Riftan’s receding figure one last time before listlessly turning away.