Vergil didn't say a word. He just turned and began climbing the stairs leading to the second floor, his cloak billowing behind him like an obedient tongue of darkness. The hall, still frozen in silent reverence at the triumphant entrance, barely noticed his departure. But Stella and Raphaeline did—and followed him immediately, like loyal shadows that needed no orders.
Vergil's mind was a whirlwind of possibilities. Cabernet was not the type to be easily alarmed. If she said it was a "huge problem," then something truly catastrophic had happened. And he already suspected who the key player would be.
At the top of the staircase, opulent corridors stretched like golden veins through the body of the castle. Tapestries fluttered without wind, and the sculptures on the walls seemed to watch their passage with subtle eyes. The presence of the three kings on the second floor made the servants instinctively step aside, bowing silently or disappearing into the shadows.
