CHAPTER FIVE: THE KING'S MESSENGER

It had been weeks since Rosé began her investigation, and Windermere remained shrouded in the same thick fog that had suffocated it for months. The village continued its uneasy rhythm—footsteps were light, whispers hushed, and the nights stretched endlessly as the mist clung tighter with each passing day. Rosé had moved like a shadow herself, ever watchful, ever probing for a clue that would tear this mystery asunder. But despite her every effort, despite her every inquiry into the village’s secrets, the mist kept its secrets sealed.

The children were still gone. And with each new dawn, the villagers grew wearier, eyes haunted with the knowledge that their own might be next.

Rosé had begun to feel the weight of frustration, a dull pressure behind her eyes as though the mist itself had seeped into her bones. Gregory had been her only clue, his whispered descriptions of the shadow in the fog haunting her thoughts. But even that, vague and elusive as it was, had yielded no further insights.

And then came the messenger.

It was a cold, grey afternoon when the knock came upon the door of The King's Heart. Rosé, seated by the fire with maps and scribbled notes spread across the table before her, lifted her head sharply at the sound. She had come to know the rhythm of the inn well, and this knock did not belong to any of the regular villagers or weary travelers that sought warmth within its walls.

The innkeeper, as wary as ever, shuffled to the door and opened it a crack. Rosé watched from her seat, her instincts prickling with unease. The innkeeper’s eyes widened at the sight of the visitor, and with a quick nod, he ushered the stranger inside.

The man who entered was dressed in the livery of the king—a deep blue coat adorned with the royal sigil, and a cloak of fine wool that marked him as a courier of great importance. His face was pale, sharp-featured, and his posture straight as a spear. He was no common messenger, but a herald of the highest order.

The room fell silent as the messenger removed his hat, a gesture that bore both respect and gravity.

"Milady Rosé of Windermere," he said, his voice smooth yet cold, as though the words themselves were etched in frost. "His Majesty hath sent me to thee with a message most urgent."

Rosé rose from her chair, her eyes narrowing as she regarded the man. The king’s involvement was no small matter. For weeks, she had sent word to the capital of her progress—or lack thereof—hoping to buy time. She had not expected this.

"Speak plainly, good sir," Rosé said, her voice steady, though her mind raced with questions. "What word doth the king send?"

The messenger drew forth a sealed letter from within his cloak, the wax bearing the mark of the royal crown. He handed it to her with a measured grace, his eyes never leaving her face. "His Majesty doth commend thee for thy efforts in this village, yet he groweth restless with the lack of resolution. The plight of Windermere hath drawn his eye, and he can no longer abide the pace of thy progress."

Rosé’s fingers brushed the wax seal as she listened, her lips thinning. She had expected this. The king was not known for his patience, and the disappearances had become more than a mere village’s concern—they had begun to stir rumors far beyond Windermere’s borders.

"And what, pray tell, doth the king suggest?" Rosé asked, though the answer already hung heavy in the air.

The messenger’s expression did not change, though his tone grew colder still. "His Majesty hath decreed that one of the Elite Four shall be dispatched to aid thee in thy investigation."

At these words, a silence fell so deep that even the crackling of the fire seemed to falter. The innkeeper, who had been hovering near the door, paled visibly. His hand gripped the edge of the counter as though it might steady the room itself.

Rosé’s eyes darkened, her hand tightening around the letter. The Elite Four—the king’s personal enforcers, the most feared warriors in the land. They were not mere soldiers; they were legends, whispered about in the darkest corners of the kingdom. Each was said to wield powers beyond human understanding, bound to the will of the crown and answerable to none but the king himself.

Their involvement was not a boon. It was a warning.

Rosé’s voice was low when she spoke again, careful to keep the edge of anger from it. "And which of these… champions, hath His Majesty chosen?"

The messenger’s lips curled into a small, chilling smile. "Lady Helene of the Silver Blade."

A knot tightened in Rosé’s stomach at the name. Helene was known throughout the kingdom for her ruthlessness, her precision in battle, and her unwavering loyalty to the crown. She was a woman who left no stone unturned, no task unfinished—and no opposition unpunished.

"And when doth this Lady Helene arrive?" Rosé asked, though she already knew the answer.

The messenger’s smile faded, replaced by a stony gaze. "On the morrow, milady. She rides even now."

Rosé’s mind raced. The arrival of one of the Elite Four meant that the king’s patience had reached its end. If Helene took command of the investigation, it would no longer be a matter of finding the children—it would be a matter of silencing the whispers, of restoring the king’s peace by any means necessary. The mist, the village, even the children’s lives were secondary to the king’s will.

The messenger stepped forward, his presence filling the room like a cold draft. "His Majesty hath entrusted thee with this task, milady, but make no mistake—should Lady Helene deem thy efforts insufficient, thou shalt answer for it."

Rosé’s gaze met the messenger’s, her eyes hard as steel. "I do not answer to thee, sir, nor to Lady Helene. My oath was sworn to uncover the truth, and I shall see it done."

The messenger inclined his head slightly, though his expression remained cold. "Of that, I am certain, milady. But know this—once Lady Helene arrives, the matter shall no longer be in thine hands."

With that, he turned sharply, his cloak sweeping behind him as he made his exit, leaving the door ajar as the mist swirled in behind him.

The innkeeper approached cautiously, his face still pale. "Milady, what will thou do? If the king’s champion taketh control…"

Rosé did not answer at once. Her mind was already turning over the possibilities, weighing the options that remained. Helene’s arrival meant that she had less time than she had thought—less time to uncover the source of the mist, less time to find the children, and less time to stop whatever dark force was at work here.

"I must work swiftly," she said at last, her voice quiet but resolute. "Helene’s presence will bring neither peace nor justice. She serves only the king, and he hath little care for the lives of these villagers. If I do not solve this before she arrives, Windermere will fall to her blade."

The innkeeper swallowed hard, his hands wringing his apron. "But how, milady? The mist grows stronger, the village weaker. We have naught but fear to cling to."

Rosé turned her gaze toward the window, where the mist clung to the glass like a living thing, its tendrils curling in slow, deliberate movements. "Fear is the mist’s greatest weapon," she murmured, more to herself than to the innkeeper. "But it is also its weakness."

She stepped away from the table, her coat swishing as she moved toward the door. "I shall find the heart of this mist. There is a shadow in it—a force that commands it. Gregory hath seen it, and I shall find it. Before the morrow’s end, I shall tear this veil of fog apart."

The innkeeper watched her go, his face a mix of fear and hope. "Godspeed, milady," he whispered as she disappeared into the mist.

Outside, the fog swirled thicker than ever, as though it sensed the urgency of her steps. But Rosé’s heart was set. She had little time left. The king’s champion was on her way, and when she arrived, mercy would be the first thing to vanish.

Rosé mounted her horse, her gaze hard as she stared into the mist. "The game is not yet lost," she whispered, her voice low but fierce. "But if I fail, Windermere shall know no salvation."

And with that, she rode into the heart of the fog, determined to unearth the truth before the blade of the king’s enforcer fell.