After a day of rest, everyone regained their strength.
These people, seasoned by countless battles, were like demons rising from hell, already numb to the unpredictability and changes of fate.
After Albatross, no one was left to take care of Arabella's daily needs.
At first, amidst the chaos of fleeing, Arabella didn't notice.
But this morning, when she saw the various breakfast items bought from the breakfast cafe spread out on the table, her brows slightly furrowed.
Arabella didn't say much. After Albatross's name flashed through her mind, she silently picked the bread with sausage.
She was carnivorous, liking meat in every possible way.
Now that Albatross was gone, she felt as if no one had properly nourished her, from head to toe.
But the thought of Albatross's kindness lasted only a moment. Her emotions were lacking, almost as if there were no trace of attachment or lingering feeling.
Raven had followed her closely for many years and understood the subtle changes in her expressions. Seeing Arabella silently picking at her food, he felt a moment of relief in his heart.
So what if Albatross was gone?
It was because he had pampered this woman too much that she became so reckless in her indulgence.
Now that Albatross is gone, it will make her uncomfortable for a while, but eventually, she will learn to cherish the self she has left.
Raven thought back to that night in the tent, when Arabella was maintaining his rod.
Thinking about it, it was probably time for the rod to be maintained again.
As Raven observed coldly, Taras sat beside Arabella, watching her pick at her meat. He remembered their first meeting, when she had a drink in one hand and a piece of meat in the other, smiling as she made a deal with him.
"Come on—eat the meat inside first. I'll go out and look for a butcher's shop to buy you some more."
Arabella's eyes were filled with a smile as she leaned closer to Taras, whispering, "Don't rush off. Tonight, I have a date with you."
Her voice wasn't loud, but with the several men sitting around her, everyone's attention was focused on her.
As soon as she spoke, the other men's gazes instantly turned cold.
Only Taras smiled, his expression blooming like a flower. His pretty eyes, when he smiled, rippled with an irresistible charm, a stark contrast to the sharp, oppressive features of his face.
But by nightfall, Taras could no longer smile.
What was supposed to be a date turned out to be a gathering where Arabella brought along the wrong people.
Taras glanced at the three "third wheels" behind them and couldn't help but complain, "Why did you bring these three along?"
"You're the boss, aren't you supposed to bring your lackeys when you go out?"
Doma is a country with a nominal constitutional monarchy.
The royal family's honor is preserved, but the real power of the country lies with the military marshal.
The holder of the country's military and political power is General George Cardew, the new generation heir of the Cardew family. He is said to be very young but extremely low-key, never appearing in public.
In his early years, when he went to war, he even wore a golden mask to conceal his true identity.
It's said that when he was young, he was mischievous and had hot water splashed on his face, severely scarring it, which led him to hide his appearance.
However, he does have a twin sister, Miss Cardew, born of noble lineage, stunningly beautiful, and renowned far and wide as a distinguished young lady from a prestigious family. Her beauty has attracted the attention of prominent young men from within the country, as well as nobles from neighboring nations, all vying for her hand in marriage.
Arabella took them through the streets, circling around several times, gathering information about all the factions of the underground forces in the capital.
Arabella nestled in Taras's arms, the two standing seemingly intimate at the street corner, bantering, though their words were sharp as knives.
"So, with your skills, how long do you think it'll take to take them down?"
Taras held Arabella's slim waist, his fingers tightening.
A soft, lingering kiss, their lips and tongues entwining deeply, exploring each other.
"Don't worry, these little punks are no match for me. Once I've taken care of them, I'll hand it all over to you."
As Taras spoke, he kissed and nibbled at Arabella's neck, feeling the strong scent of alcohol on her.
Earlier, in the restaurant at the street corner, Arabella had drunk seven or eight bottles of wine on her own. It was as if she could never get drunk; the more she drank, the brighter the light in her eyes became, making it impossible for anyone to resist the urge to devour her whole, to tear her apart and swallow her whole.
Raven had long grown accustomed to it. Arabella was not someone who attracted attention; she was indifferent and aloof, unaware that the world even held such a thing as deep, enduring love.
He could hold himself back, but Bramwell and Caracal could not, especially Caracal. He was determined to stay by Arabella's side, so he worked extra hard to impress her.
Taking advantage of the brief pause in the passionate kiss between the two, Caracal couldn't help but interrupt: "Master Unknown, what should I do?"
Arabella looked up at him.
Her eyes were clear and sharp, her expression bright and penetrating. The casual smile on her lips, along with her nonchalant demeanor, made people itch to see what kind of vivid emotions lay beneath that expression.
"Don't worry, everyone has their own tasks to do."
Arabella was alone, skipping stones in a quiet, empty alley.
She had indeed assigned tasks to everyone, some tasks being long-term, while others were time-sensitive.
She didn't have Raven follow her. She needed to establish a foothold in Doma, and that meant preparing everything thoroughly.
Territory, manpower, money, weapons, and intelligence—each one was indispensable.
Until she was firmly established, she didn't need to flaunt her weapons in a show of power.
The game of skipping stones was something that Cyrus had taught her.
It was shortly after she had been brought to Vincent's side. At first, Vincent felt guilty and tried to spend more time with Arabella.
Once, Arabella lingered in front of a children's store that sold beautiful dresses but did not enter.
Vincent thought she liked it, so he bought her a gorgeous, beautiful princess gown.
Arabella didn't think she liked it. She had simply never seen such a dress before and was just curious.
Not long after, the dress was torn. After all, such a lavish garment couldn't withstand climbing, jumping, or fighting with guns.
Looking at the torn hem of the dress, the young Arabella became unusually irritated. She didn't know how to release her emotions, no one had ever taught her.
She struck at massive rocks like a trapped beast, repeatedly shooting at targets, but still couldn't vent the emotions that weighed heavy in her heart.
It was Cyrus, smiling gently, who told her that if she ever felt unhappy, she could skip stones to feel better.
Skipping stones, self-entertainment—whether she won or lost, she could control it according to her mood.
While Arabella skipped stones, Cyrus sat beside her, smiling as he sewed the torn dress back together.
In truth, Cyrus was still young and didn't know how to sew. He had no idea how many times he had pricked himself with the needle, and the stitches were crooked and uneven, barely holding together.
She never wore the princess gown again. It had been kept as a cherished memento, until that night when she was betrayed by Cyrus. During her escape, with death looming over her, all her belongings were lost.
Including that dress, and the person who sewed it for her.
Caracal returned quickly; he was an expert in gathering intelligence, ranked third on the Intelligence List, and his abilities were naturally not to be underestimated.
Master Unknown—he had successfully arranged the identities for infiltrating the party. A pair of marginalized young couples from the royal family, who did not have the qualifications to attend royal gatherings, had been added to the list by sheer luck this time.
Arabella had no objections and allowed Caracal to disguise her as the other person.
In truth, Arabella's appearance was unremarkable, plain and ordinary. However, her skin was something else entirely—flawless, translucent, smooth and radiant, without a single imperfection.
On the other hand, the person she was disguised as had deep-set features, prominent cheekbones, and a well-defined profile—an unquestionably beautiful face. Paired with Arabella's flawless skin, it gave her an almost stunning appearance.
Although it was called a royal party, it was really just a gathering of spoiled young heirs.
The royal family only retained its honor, but from top to bottom, they were all idle, unproductive people.
The royal small palace was used for parties, and this time, both men and women were gathered around the large pool.
The theme of today's event was a swimsuit party.
So everyone was dressed in swim trunks or bikinis, and the atmosphere was filled with laughter and merriment, giving off the feeling of a decadent feast.
When Arabella entered with Caracal, her disguised identity was not particularly noble, so the servant at the door merely called out indifferently and then allowed them to enter.
Some people heard the voice and turned to look at them with disdain, their gaze full of superiority, before quickly dismissing them.
A few scattered men also cast their gaze on Arabella. She wore a dark red bikini, her skin glowing pale and flawless. Her features were sharp, with alluring curves and deep contours, her waist and legs slender. A few damp strands of hair clung to her forehead, and her lips curled into a subtle smile, presenting a seductive and captivating image.
However, with so many beautiful women around, although Arabella stirred a few ripples in some men's hearts, it quickly dissipated and she was no longer the center of attention.
Arabella was at ease, fearless, and those indifferent stares were nothing worth worrying about.
The entire pool area was bustling with activity, and no one noticed the faint flickering lights at the left side of the palace above the pool.
A group of people followed behind a man, trembling in fear, not even daring to breathe.
The man casually draped a deep blue silk bathrobe over his shoulders. With broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and long legs, his abdomen was defined by six tight, sculpted muscles. A beautiful V-shaped line of muscle traced down from his waist, disappearing beneath the bathrobe, but with each step, it could be faintly seen shifting. Unfortunately, his face was unrecognizable, as he wore a golden mask.
No one in the small palace could imagine that the usually busy and diligent general would suddenly have the interest to take a break here.
"Who allowed them to act recklessly here?" George stopped, his voice cold and firm, his stance one of authority.
Everyone fell silent. In front of the general, even the highest-ranking royal family members were insignificant.
"Get rid of them all—" His words paused as his gaze locked onto a corner of the pool. Gradually, his eyes became darker, as if casting a giant hunting net that trapped his target, locking onto them as his prey.
His gaze was fixed on Arabella. She had just swum a lap and emerged from the water, shaking her head. She leaned on the edge of the pool, a smile playing on her lips, the corners of her mouth curling upward. The tips of her eyes seemed to carry a trace of moisture as she took in the lively scene around her.
She looked at others, and someone was gazing down at her from above.
Moments later, George felt the woman suddenly lift her head and glance toward the distant corridor of the small palace.
It was as if she knew someone was standing in the shadows of the corridor. Her gaze swept over calmly and indifferently, showing no fear of the oppressive gaze directed at her.
Someone passed between their gaze, and in an instant, the woman disappeared.
George raised an eyebrow and issued an order: "Close the palace gates! Find that woman for me!"
