The Grand Duke's Son Is A Heretic

Sighing, Kael ran a hand through his hair and cast one last glance at the tent before turning away.

There was no point in lingering any longer. He was on a tight leash now, and the mission ahead demanded focus. No matter how deep the questions burned in his mind, this wasn't the time to chase shadows.

He made his way through the bustling streets and finally reached Gulliver's Restaurant, a refined and subtly elegant building nestled along a quieter side of the royal district.

Its exterior was lined with dark wooden beams and soft golden lanterns, casting a warm glow over the polished glass windows. Inside, the lighting was mellow and inviting, with smooth music drifting through the air, and the scent of roasted herbs and buttery meat lingering like a soft whisper.

As Kael stepped through the front doors, a well-dressed waiter approached him with a slight bow.

"Are you perhaps Mr. Ael?" the man asked politely.

"Yes," Kael replied with a curious nod.

"They are in private room number five. I was asked to escort you."

Kael gave a small smile and followed the waiter through the restaurant. The polished wooden floor creaked gently beneath their steps. As they passed tables set with elegant porcelain and low-hanging candles, Kael could hear the clink of glasses and soft laughter. Then they stopped before a lacquered door marked with a golden '5'. The waiter opened it quietly.

Inside, a cozy round table was laden with plates of roasted duck, fresh greens, and goblets of red wine. What surprised Kael wasn't the food—it was the atmosphere.

Everyone was laughing and talking so casually, like close friends on a retreat. Even Martina—the princess herself—sat relaxed, her silver hair loose over her shoulder, sipping wine and speaking with ease. The cold, commanding presence she exuded earlier was nowhere to be found.

Kael blinked in disbelief and slowly made his way to the empty chair. As he sat down, Sol leaned in eagerly.

"So?" Sol asked, eyes gleaming. "What did you find out?"

Everyone quieted down, leaning forward.

Kael shook his head and replied, "The one who wrote the script isn't from here. I couldn't meet her."

"For real?!" Sol nearly dropped his fork, his voice echoing slightly.

Adonis leaned back, frowning slightly. "So they're not a local troupe… Traveling operas, then?"

Kael nodded. "Seems like it. They got the script from a woman they met in Dawna."

"Haa... too bad," Sol muttered, slumping in his chair. "I really wanted to know how they got those scenes so accurately."

The group ate and drank for a little longer before Martina, now with a serious expression, gently set down her glass and looked around.

"Alright," she said firmly. "Let's go through the mission one more time."

The tone of the room shifted immediately.

Plates were set down. Glasses stopped clicking. Everyone sat straighter.

Martina's gaze swept across them, calm but piercing.

"Our goal is to sneak into the port. That part will be easy. Arrangements have already been made in advance through our informants. The real task lies beyond simple observation."

Kael frowned, sensing the change in weight behind her words.

Martina continued, her voice quiet but resolute. "There will be a deal happening there. An exchange. We don't just need to witness it. We must intercept the items being traded—without being detected and find out what they are trading."

Kael's eyes sharpened. He leaned forward slightly.

"Sounds a bit more serious than I expected," Herion said, voice low.

Martina met his eyes. "It is. And it may get worse before it gets better. So stay sharp."

Kael sat back, his gaze lingering on the half-filled goblet in front of him, thoughts swirling like the wine inside.

Trouble was coming.

And they were walking straight into it.

The mood in the room shifted completely as the plates were cleared away. The soft warmth of the restaurant was replaced by a cool tension, as if a cold wind had swept through the air. Martina sat at the head of the round table, her posture regal, her eyes sharp.

"Let's go over the plan in detail," she said, her fingers lightly tapping on the table. "Sol, Herion, Adonis, Freya, Linda—each of you will have a specific role. We do not have room for error."

Kael leaned forward, attentive.

Martina nodded to Herion first. "Herion, you're in charge of surveillance. You'll be stationed at the northern ridge of the port. Use your long-range vision scope and monitor all movements. Relay anything unusual through the signal line."

Herion nodded once, calm and composed. "Understood. I'll keep my eyes open. Nothing gets past me."

"Good," Martina said, then turned to Freya. "You'll be in disguise among the port workers. Blend in, listen, and try to identify any key figures involved in the trade. You know what to look for."

Freya smirked and nodded. "Already have an outfit ready. They won't even know I'm there."

"Linda," Martina continued. "You'll manage extraction. Prepare the second cart and wait at checkpoint B. Once we secure the item, your job is to get it out fast and clean."

Linda crossed her arms and gave a small grunt. "Fine by me. Just don't take too long with the package."

Martina then looked at Sol.

Sol grinned and thumped his chest. "So I'm the frontman, right? Create a distraction, talk to the guards, maybe throw in a few charming lines to keep their attention on me. Easy work."

Adonis let out a quiet scoff. "Just don't blow our cover with your 'charming lines,' idiot."

Sol turned to him with a glare. "Oi, I've handled worse with a wink and a smile."

"Sure," Herion muttered dryly, "and then we end up fighting for our lives because you winked at the wrong woman again."

Even Kael chuckled at that, and Sol waved a hand dramatically. "You all are just jealous of my natural charisma."

Martina allowed herself a brief smile before raising her voice again.

"Adonis, you're my second-in-command on this. You and I will handle the interception. Once the exchange begins, we'll move in from the west side. The informant says the cargo will be handed off in an unmarked black chest. Our job is to grab it and vanish. Quiet and clean."

Adonis nodded, sharp-eyed. "Got it. We'll be gone before they notice it's missing."

Martina looked over them all now—Sol still grinning, Freya checking her nails, Herion with arms folded, Linda adjusting the clasp on her belt, Adonis serious and focused, and Kael watching intently, gears already turning in his mind.

Then she stood.

"This mission is of prime importance," she said, voice steady. "Not just for us, but for the entire Heizen."

Her words hung in the air like the toll of a great bell. Each of them looked up, caught in the weight of her conviction.

Kael felt something stir in his chest—this wasn't just another task. It was something bigger.

Martina looked out the window where the sky had begun to darken.

"We move at dusk."