Dragon's Awakening: The Duke's Son Is Changing The Plot
Chapter 207 - 206 - Lia and Graye.

Chapter 207: Chapter 206 - Lia and Graye.

The sun filtered softly through the cracked wooden shutters of the little roadside inn, illuminating a humble room that smelled faintly of old parchment, breakfast stew, and mild regret.

Inside, Princess Lia of Hector sat cross-legged on the bed, clutching a steaming cup of herbal tea like it was the last bastion of sanity.

Across from her, sitting upside down on a chair—with her legs in the air and helmet still on—was Graye, the human equivalent of a blunt force trauma in armor form.

"I still say we were cursed by delicious food," Graye mumbled from behind her visor. "I knew that last sausage had something shady in it. It tasted like betrayal."

Lia sighed, setting the cup down. "It wasn’t the food, Graye. It was the wine. Or possibly the bread. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if even the butter was enchanted."

Graye gasped. "The butter?!"

Lia nodded grimly, brushing a lock of golden hair behind her ear. "Think about it. We were dining with King himself. Selena was there, the queen, even the crown prince. The whole royal lineup. Then bam—next thing we know, we’re waking up in a carriage like we rage-quit reality."

Graye tilted her helmet slightly. "So... the feast was a trap?"

"Of course it was," Lia said calmly. "I’m a princess. You’re also the daughter of one of the leaders of Zaraqt Kingdom, with the muscle mass of a battle rhinoceros."

Seeing Graye tilting her head in confusion, she shook her head, explaining her point. "We’re both political tools. Something’s going on in Velmoria, and I’d bet my last hairpin it involves someone keeping us far from it."

Graye nodded slowly, then asked, "What’s a hairpin?"

Lia took a long sip of her tea. "Never mind."

They both went quiet for a moment, listening to the faint noises of the inn—the creaking floorboards, the distant clatter of plates, the muffled yelling of a man downstairs who had apparently discovered that his "vintage wine" was just red vinegar in a fancy bottle.

Graye stretched, her armor squeaking. "Should we panic now or later? I have a schedule."

"We’re not panicking," Lia said firmly. "Because Raven’s still in Velmoria. And if there’s one thing I know about that strange, wonderful, walking headache of a man..."

"...He’ll break the entire kingdom before letting us get exiled?" Graye offered helpfully.

"Exactly."

There was a knock at the window.

Both girls blinked.

The room was on the second floor.

Another knock.

Graye leapt up with a war cry, nearly tripping over her own knee guards. Lia reached for a dagger instinctively before slowly, slowly, turning toward the window.

Nibbles was perched on the ledge, tapping the glass with a tiny stick.

He wore what could only be described as a tiny red scarf and held a small wooden board in its paws that read, "Follow the squirrel. (–From Raven.)"

They stared.

Lia blinked.

Graye whispered reverently, "He sent the prophet..."

There was no hesitation.

No suspicion.

Because frankly, who else would send a squirrel courier armed with a sign and stage presence?

Only Raven Von Vaise.

With all the confidence of two girls who had clearly stopped asking ’why’ long ago, they opened the window and launched themselves out with zero hesitation.

Lia landed gracefully on a thick branch, vines curling up to catch her like old friends.

She waved a hand, and the nearby trees bent slightly, opening a path through the dense woods and swallowing their scent like a leafy ninja.

Graye, on the other hand, plummeted like a metallic bowling ball, bounced off a shrub, and immediately sprang to her feet. "I’m good!"

The squirrel took off.

They followed.

It was an oddly magical run—through trees and over streams, past wildflowers and startled rabbits that probably whispered to each other, "Why are princesses always weird?"

Lia moved like a whisper, guiding the terrain. Graye clanked like an enthusiastic tank but somehow kept up.

After a few minutes, the forest began to thin, and ahead of them... stood a figure.

Black coat. Black hair tousled by the morning breeze. That half-smile that always made people suspicious for no reason other than how punchable it was.

And his red eyes seemed to have seen war, memes, and probably at least one tax fraud attempt.

Raven.

The squirrel casually trotted over to his feet and flipped a new sign that read, "You’re late."

"RAAAAAVEN!" Graye screamed, barreling forward like a trebuchet with feelings. She launched herself and hit him square in the chest.

"Gah—!" Raven wheezed as metal and emotion collided. "We really need to talk about your love language being tackle hugs—"

But Graye just clung to him like a full-body koala, arms and legs wrapped around him.

Lia approached more slowly, her heart doing a strange little flutter. She was royalty. She had composure. She had dignity.

So naturally, she sprinted the last few steps and slammed into him too.

Raven staggered back a bit, catching her instinctively with one arm while the other still held Graye like a squirrel-themed backpack.

Then...

Lia realized.

She had her face buried in his chest. It felt warm from sleep and battle. It felt so good just holding him like this that she didn’t want to let go, but that didn’t mean she was supposed to do this.

She had decided not to show her feelings like this and wait for Raven to notice her charm, yet she couldn’t stop herself.

She blushed harder than a tomato in love, instantly pulling back and brushing herself off with practiced royal dignity. "I—We—I was just verifying your health status."

"...By headbutting my sternum?"

She turned away, flustered. "Shut up."

Graye, still hanging on him, mumbled, "He smells like victory and toasted almonds..."

Raven chuckled softly and didn’t push either of them away. He just smiled.

"That’s enough, girls. Let’s go."

Lia looked back at him. "Go where?"

Raven’s grin widened. "To where the plot thickens."

Graye gasped. "Like soup?"

He winked. "Exactly like soup."

They didn’t need more. The squirrel had already flipped another sign:

"Adventure arc: loading..."

"No, Nibbles. Not adventure. It would be training," Raven corrected Nibbles, who paused for a second before furiously scribbling on the signboard.

Squeak!

He raised it again, his eyes burning with fighting spirit as if he were ready to change it if Raven had a problem with the new one.

The board read, "Training and Loving Arc: Loading..."

Raven squinted, making the squirrel nervous, before the protagonist smiled. "Yeah, that’s better."

Squeak!

Nibbles puffed his chest with pride while secretly letting go of the breath he had been holding in.

As they moved, the wind carried the scent of change. Of destiny. Of whatever cologne Raven accidentally used when his potions exploded.

Following him into the trees, Lia felt it.

Trust.

Not the naive kind. But the kind that walks beside chaos, throws a squirrel into a king’s banquet, and smiles like a lunatic while saying, "Trust me."

Somehow...

She still trusted him.

..................

Meanwhile, in the main estate of the Vaise family.

The room was grand but cold. It was an immaculate display of nobility with walls lined with crimson silk basked under a chandelier that looked like it could fund a small war.

Sitting regally atop a high-backed velvet chair was a woman in her early twenties, though the way she held herself made her look like she’d ruled kingdoms for decades.

Her crimson hair spilled like molten fire over her shoulders, glistening under the light. Her eyes—equally red, like blood kissed by royalty—were sharp and unreadable.

She sat still, composed, legs crossed, hands resting lightly on her lap.

A servant knelt before her, head bowed low, sweat beading down his temple. He dared not look her in the eyes.

He wouldn’t do anything he wasn’t asked to.

"...And so," the servant said quietly, "neither Raven nor his team were located anywhere near the battle site. The Patriarch and Grand Elder Crisaius returned alone, wounded. His Majesty, after consulting with both of them, concluded the group perished in a large-scale demon ambush."

There was a long pause.

"In the Royals report, it is said that young master Raven and his group fought valiantly and bought enough time for Patriarch and Grand Elder to escape," the servant added softly, "Princess Selena has also perished along with the group."

There was a pause before the servant added gently, as though offering the smallest comfort to an impossible storm. "...He saved the Patriarch and Grand Elder."

The woman did not move.

"The Patriarch isn’t saying anything about it," the servant added, his voice nearly a whisper now. "The estate is... assuming the worst."

Still, the woman said nothing.

After another tense moment, she simply lifted her hand and waved it once—graceful and final.

The servant didn’t wait. He bowed deeply, scrambled to his feet, and all but fled from the room, closing the decorated double doors behind him with a soft click.

Silence fell.

Then—

Her back slumped. Like a dam giving way, her noble posture cracked as she leaned forward in her chair and buried her face in her hands.

"...No," she whispered, her voice breaking through the quiet like a trembling blade. "He’s not dead. He can’t be dead."

Her fingers gripped her hair.

"Not when I promised I would protect him..."

Her voice trembled, but not from despair. It was frustration, pain, and something sharp beneath—hope.

She sat like that for a long moment, staring into her palms as if trying to pull his face out of memory.

Even the first time she met him, he had his annoying trademark smirk.

He had treated her cautiously, but it wasn’t uncalled for. Their family was always like that—everyone trying to kill one another.

But the fact that even a child like him, who never had any love in his life, was pushing her away when she had approached him with no ill intentions had hurt her.

He wasn’t angry at him but at the family.

This family made him like that.

So, she had, on that day, promised him that she would always protect him.

Until this day, she had always been keeping an eye on him, always ready to help him if he were stuck in a problem he couldn’t solve.

But that situation never came.

Every time that she thought that he would need her help. Every time that she got ready to help him. He emerged victorious.

Looking at him growing up, she felt proud and disappointed at once.

Although she was happy that he was growing, she couldn’t help but be sad that there was nothing she had done for him.

That was until now, when people were saying that he was dead.

The mask of nobility slid back into place like armor reforged as she stood up.

"I need to talk to the Patriarch."

With that, she moved.