Chapter 133 (From engineer to Conqueror part 2)

A week had already passed since that difficult conversation

with Duke Valmir and the arrival of young Cecilia. Miguel was back in his

office. The place was large, with shelves full of books and a pleasant smell

of old paper and a little polished wax. Outside the window, the late afternoon sunlight

was beginning to gild the rooftops of the city below. He was sitting at his

desk, scanning some reports, those thin papers with tiny letters

that told what was happening in distant lands.

He knew that, by now, Duke Valmir must have already

returned to his own castle. Miguel decided to send a swift messenger

with a letter to Ricardo, telling him everything they had agreed upon.

Ricardo, who besides being his uncle was a dear friend, was commanding the

soldiers on the front line. His task was to keep Aurelio's army,

Miguel's brother, far away from Drakmoor, whatever the cost. Miguel thought

about this and felt a weight in his chest. He knew that, even having invented and given his

men those new weapons, which made a loud noise and shot fire from the

tip – something never seen before in that world – the enemy wasn't foolish. Aurelio's

soldiers were smart and were learning quickly, finding

ways to hide, to attack differently, to deal with the danger of the

new weapons. The war was getting harder every day.

"This war... it needs to stop soon," he thought, looking

at the words in the reports, feeling the weariness and the urgent need for

an end. He even had an idea for an even better, stronger, and

safer weapon, a design that only existed in his head for now. But there was something

else that occupied his thoughts. He waited, with a hint of anxiety,

for the ship that the dwarves, those beings who lived on the islands far away,

were building for him to arrive soon. He himself had scribbled the designs of

what this ship would be like, like a wooden bird that glided over the water, and

sent the plan to them. If that first one worked out, if it was strong and

fast, he could ask them to build many more, an entire fleet

to protect his kingdom not just by land, but also by the rivers and the sea.

A sound at the door. Knock-knock. Light knocks, but they

pulled him out of that dive into thoughts about war and inventions.

"Come in," Miguel said, his voice still a little distant.

The door opened and Martha, the head cook, entered. She was

a woman with a kind face, her hair pulled back and an apron always impeccable,

smelling of fresh bread and spices.

"I'm not hungry right now, Martha," Miguel said, thinking

she had come to offer him something to eat.

"I apologize, my lord," Martha replied, her voice a little

lower than usual, with a touch of concern in it. "But that's not why

I came."

Miguel sat straighter in his chair, his attention now

fully on her. "What happened?" he asked, noticing the old

cook's unease.

Martha took a step forward and replied, the concern

clear in her eyes. "It's our guest, sir. Young Cecilia." She paused,

seeming to weigh her next words. "She seems to be eating

very little. She barely touches the food we take her. This worries me

about her health, if she's feeling well, if she's getting weak." Martha looked

at Miguel, a silent plea in her expression. "I thought... perhaps, if your

lordship wasn't too busy with your papers and war plans,

you could go talk to her. I've already tried talking, sir, I asked if she

needed anything, but the excuses she gave me... they didn't truly convince

me. She seems to be sad, or perhaps frightened by all of this."

Miguel paused for a moment, thinking about what Martha had said. Young Cecilia. The daughter of Duke Valmir, who was now under his protection. He knew she was important to the Duke, and therefore, she was important to him as well. She was to be treated with the utmost respect and dignity, as any guest should be—especially one from such a background. But, he admitted to himself, deep down... he also felt a spark of curiosity about her. Who was this girl who had entered his life so unexpectedly, bound by a pact of war and protection? He looked at Martha’s worried face, at the sincere kindness in it.

“Don’t worry, Martha,” Miguel said, his voice firm, making a quick decision. “You’re right to be concerned. Before this day ends, I will speak with her myself.”

A small smile of relief appeared on Martha’s face. “Thank you very much, my lord,” she said, bowing slightly before turning and leaving the office, leaving Miguel alone with his reports and this new task in mind.

Later that day, when the sun had completely vanished and the full moon had begun casting its silvery light into the darkness, Miguel walked down the long, silent hallways of his large home. The stone floor was cold beneath the soles of his boots, and the soft torchlight flickered on the walls, creating long shadows that followed him. Some of the servants tending to the house passed by, pausing for a moment to give him a respectful nod. Miguel returned the gesture with a slight nod of his head, a faint smile on his lips.

He continued on, his steps steady, until he reached the guest wing, stopping in front of the door he knew to be Cecilia’s. He had already sent one of his men ahead to let her know he would be calling for a conversation at this hour of the night. He raised his hand and knocked gently on the polished wood. Knock-knock.

A few seconds passed—ones that felt longer than they were—then the door opened slowly, and then a little more, revealing Cecilia. She was... truly stunning. She wore a dress that resembled the deep color of the night sky, a beautiful shade of blue, made from thick fabric clearly intended to protect against the biting cold of Drakmoor. There was a hint of nervousness in her eyes, but she gave a respectful curtsy. “My king,” she said, her voice a soft whisper, “it is a great honor to see you this evening.”

Miguel could feel her nervousness in the air, but he gave her a gentle smile. “You look lovely, Miss Cecilia,” he said sincerely, his eyes briefly taking in the dress and the graceful way she carried herself. He extended his hand, gesturing for her to follow him out of the room. “Come, please, walk with me.”

She obeyed, quietly closing the door behind her, and began to walk beside him down the corridor. Miguel tried to break the ice, to help her feel less tense. “So, Miss Cecilia,” he began, his voice calm and gentle, “how was the journey from your father’s lands? Was it too tiring?”

“No... not too much, Your Majesty,” she replied, her voice low, almost timid.

“And your father’s duchy—what is it like there?” he continued, looking for light topics. “Is it very different from here in Drakmoor? The climate, the landscape?”

She hesitated slightly before answering, as if carefully choosing her words. “It’s... greener there, I suppose,” she said. “There are more fields and fewer dark mountains like here.”

“And the food?” Miguel asked with a slight smile. “Is there something you enjoy more than others?”

“I... I like fresh fruits when they’re in season,” she answered.

Miguel kept asking simple questions—about the flowers that grew in her land, about the rivers, about the small festivals they held. She answered all of them politely, but he could still sense the tension in her slender shoulders, the way she looked at the ground or the torches on the walls instead of at him. She still seemed like a frightened little bird that had landed in an unfamiliar place.

Miguel realized that the casual questions weren’t really helping her feel at ease—they only made her respond out of courtesy. He had an idea. It was something he enjoyed doing, something that might distract her and show another side of him.

“You know, Miss Cecilia,” he said, stopping for a moment in the hallway, “I’d like to show you something I made. Come with me, please. It’s not far from here.” He gestured for her to follow him down a different path. She nodded slightly, and they resumed walking side by side.

After a few more corridors, they reached a large, dark wooden door. It was the door to Miguel’s study. He opened it and motioned for her to enter first. “Please, make yourself comfortable,” he said.

The study was much cozier now than it had been earlier. The fireplace in the corner was lit, casting a pleasant warmth and a soft orange glow that danced along the wood-paneled walls. Through the large window, the full moon shone outside in the dark sky, casting a silver gleam on the stone floor and making the glass panes look like small, dark, shining mirrors.

“Please, have a seat,” he said, gesturing to a large, soft armchair near the crackling fire.

He walked over to his heavy desk, opened a side drawer made of dark wood, and took out a box. It was a small box, made of lighter, polished wood, with delicate and beautiful carvings of leaves and tiny flowers on the lid.

He came back to her, holding the box carefully in his hands.

“What is that?” Cecilia asked, her voice sounding more curious now, her eyes fixed on the object.

“It’s a music box,” Miguel explained with a small smile. “Something I like to make in my free time, when my head is too full of the kingdom’s matters. To pass the time... to use my hands to create something.” He showed her the side of the box. “Look, there’s a small crank here.” He turned the crank slowly, gently. And then, a soft sound—a sweet and delicate melody—began to come from the box, like the music of a tiny fairy or the sound of wind chimes.

As the music played, he opened the lid of the box. Inside, in a small velvet-lined space, was a ballerina made of wood, carefully carved and smooth, which began to spin and dance gracefully to the tune.

Cecilia stared wide-eyed, completely captivated by the little tune and the dancing figure. When the soft melody came to an end, she let out a quiet sigh, almost inaudible. “This is... it’s so beautiful...” she said, almost breathless, her voice full of wonder and surprise. “It’s... it’s fascinating. I’ve never seen anything like this in my entire life.”

“I’m glad you liked it,” Miguel said, feeling a warm sensation inside at seeing her genuine reaction. He held the box for another moment, looking at it, at the little dancer. “You know...” he said, his tone lighter, “I... I was thinking of giving this to my sister, Amélia.” He let out a small chuckle. “But the way she is... a bit grumpy and clumsy at times, I get the feeling she’d end up breaking the little thing in a second. I think you’ll take better care of it.” He held the box out to Cecilia. “You can keep it, if you’d like. A small welcome gift to Drakmoor.”

Cecilia looked at the offered box, then at Miguel. A small smile—less tense than before—appeared on her delicate face. The shyness was still there, but now mixed with a bit of comfort and happy surprise. She reached out and took the box carefully, holding it as if it were a precious treasure. “Thank you very much, King Miguel,” she said, her voice still soft, but a bit steadier now, a bit more at ease in his presence. For the first time, she seemed to be breathing just a little more freely.