Forbidden Desires: Conquering Kingdoms And Women In a Fantasy World!-Chapter 32: The Journey To The Capital of Lorendia!

The moment I delivered the news to Queen Emma and the others that everything was settled, preparations were immediately carried on to leave.

In my modest room, I carefully packed my worn leather satchel, folding my few changes of clothes.

Most importantly, I secured the bow and hunting knife that Lisa had gifted me three years prior. I wouldn’t god weaponless in such a trip after all.

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the village when the final preparations were completed. The time for farewells had arrived, and I knew this would be the hardest part.

Isabella stood there with the other villagers. As I approached, she immediately pulled me into a fierce embrace, her arms wrapping around me as if she could somehow anchor me to this place through sheer force of will.

"Come back," she whispered against my shoulder. I could feel the subtle tremor that ran through her body, the way her fingers gripped the fabric of my shirt.

I returned her embrace, one hand gently stroking her white hair. "I will never leave you guys alone," I said, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes and offer what I hoped was a reassuring smile. "I promise, Mother. This isn’t goodbye—it’s just ’see you soon.’"

Isabella managed a watery smile, though her eyes remained bright with unshed tears. She stepped back reluctantly.

It was then that Queen Emma approached.

"Your Majesty," Isabella said, immediately dropping into a perfect curtsy. Despite her humble origins, her form was flawless—back straight, head bowed at precisely the right angle, her movements fluid and graceful.

Queen Emma observed this display with keen interest, her sharp eyes missing nothing. "Your etiquette is flawless," she said suddenly. "Where did you learn such refined manners?"

I watched as Isabella’s composure faltered for just a moment, a barely perceptible flinch that I doubt anyone else caught. The question hung in the air like a sword waiting to fall, and I could practically see the wheels turning in Isabella’s mind as she searched for an appropriate response.

The silence stretched uncomfortably. Just as Isabella opened her mouth to speak, Queen Emma raised a hand, her expression softening into something approaching maternal warmth.

"Forgive me," the Queen said, her voice gentler now. "That was presumptuous of me to ask. What matters is this—I promise no harm will befall your son. He will be safe under my protection, and my guards will ensure his wellbeing as if he were my own blood."

Isabella sighed in relief as she bowed her head deeply. "Please," she said simply.

The sound of approaching footsteps drew my attention, and I turned to see Lisa striding toward us. Riley and Zoey flanked her.

Without any of her usual hesitation or consideration for propriety, Lisa pulled me into a tight embrace that caught me completely off guard.

"Be careful, Harold," she murmured against my ear.

"You know me," I replied with a grin, patting her back in what I hoped was a comforting gesture. "I’m always careful."

Lisa pulled back far enough to fix me with one of her infamous skeptical looks. "It’s exactly because I know you that I’m worried," she said, grasping my shoulders firmly. "Please, don’t be reckless, Hal."

"Don’t worry about me," I said, deflecting with humor as I always did. "Just watch over Mom and Rosaluna in my absence—especially my big sister. She’s going to be absolutely furious that I left without telling her."

Lisa’s expression grew guilty, and she glanced away briefly. "I am certain of that," she admitted. "

"It’s my decision, Lisa," I whispered, leaning closer so the others wouldn’t overhear. "You don’t have to feel guilty about it. Just take care of those two, and whatever you do, don’t let that old man bully them while I’m gone." I nodded subtly toward Aldan, who stood at a respectful distance in his role as Village Chief, officially seeing off the Queen.

Lisa followed my gaze and let out a soft giggle despite her worry.

"Oh," she added suddenly, as if remembering something important, "Rumia is at the capital. You should pay her a visit while you’re there."

I raised an eyebrow. "Do you want Aldan to kill me?"

"Idiot," Lisa said fondly, reaching up to poke my forehead with her index finger. "You know how much Rumia cares about you. She’ll be absolutely be furious if she finds out you were in the capital and didn’t visit her. Trust me, facing her anger would be far worse than dealing with her father’s overprotectiveness."

She had a point. Rumia had always been... intense in her affections. "I’ll see what I can do," I said.

"Have a safe trip, Harold!" Zoey called out. Her cheeks were flushed pink, whether from the cool air or embarrassment, I couldn’t tell.

"Thanks, Zoey. And you," I turned to Riley, who was scuffing her boot against the cobblestones and trying to look anywhere but at me, "don’t make things difficult for Lisa while I’m gone."

"I...I know that!" Riley snapped, his face reddening with indignation. "I’m not a child!"

The sun was sinking lower now, painting the sky in brilliant shades of orange and pink. Queen Emma’s voice cut through the emotional farewells.

"It’s time," she announced.

I took one final look at the small group of Isabella, Lisa, Zoey and Riley. With a final nod to Isabella and a wave to the others, I turned and walked toward the waiting procession. The Queen’s knights formed a protective formation around us.

The royal carriage sat apart from the main group, an elegant vehicle of polished wood and brass fittings. Most of the other travelers, including the stern-faced twins Olivia and Oliver, were mounted on horseback.

To my surprise, Queen Emma gestured toward the carriage door. "Take a seat," she said.

I hesitated for a moment, acutely aware that it was highly unusual—perhaps even scandalous—for a commoner to ride in the royal carriage. But the alternative was spending the next hours on horseback, and after several hours in the saddle, I knew I’d be in agony.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," I said, accepting the unexpected courtesy.

The interior of the carriage was even more luxurious than I’d imagined. Rich velvet cushions in deep burgundy lined the seats, while intricate gold embroidery decorated the walls. Small crystal lamps provided gentle illumination, and I could feel the superior craftsmanship in every detail—from the smooth way the door closed to the carefully balanced suspension that would make the journey far more comfortable.

I settled into the seat across from Queen Emma and Princess Judith, who sat side by side like a study in royal composure.

As the carriage lurched into motion, the village began to fall away behind us. Through the small window, I caught a final glimpse of Isabella, still standing in the courtyard with her hand raised in farewell.

"Your mother cares deeply for you," Queen Emma observed, breaking the silence that had settled over us.

"Yes, she does," I replied, settling back against the plush cushions. "She’s afraid of the outside world—and with good reason."

If Isabella knew the full truth about what had happened during Judith’s rescue—the sword wound that had nearly killed me, the blood I’d lost she would have barricaded the doors and refused to let me leave the village ever again.

"And she’s right to be afraid," Queen Emma said gravely. "The world beyond these peaceful borders is dangerous, and the capital most of all. It’s a place where smiles hide daggers and every conversation carries hidden meanings."

"I can only imagine..." I murmured, though in truth, my imagination was already running wild with possibilities.

Every capital city was the same in its way—a nexus of power where ambition and desperation danced together in deadly harmony. Noble houses would scheme against each other in drawing rooms while assassins moved through shadows. Merchants would peddle information alongside their wares, and even the servants would have their own networks of secrets and lies.

"To keep the promise I made to your mother, you shouldn’t wander around aimlessly once we reach the capital," Queen Emma said then. "Do you understand?"

Maybe because she was a Queen used to being obeyed it sounded like an order.

I shifted in my seat, acutely aware of Princess Judith’s curious eyes watching our exchange.

"I have no intentions of doing that," I replied, though even as the words left my mouth, I wasn’t entirely sure of their truth.

This would be my first time experiencing such a place—back in our quiet village, the most excitement we ever had was the occasional traveling merchant or wandering minstrel. The thought of exploring those winding streets, discovering hidden corners and forgotten alleyways, made my pulse quicken with anticipation.

I mean I was in a fantasy world so I wanted to explore it.

Queen Emma’s eyes narrowed suddenly, like a hawk spotting movement in tall grass.

"By the way..." she began, her tone deceptively casual, "where exactly did you learn to fight like that?"

There it was. The question I’d been waiting since the moment I’d thrown Oliver to the ground during our sparring match. I’d seen the shock in everyone’s eyes, the way conversations had stopped mid-sentence, the glances exchanged between the guards. Even though they’d all been preoccupied with Judith’s wellbeing after the bandit attack, I knew it was only a matter of time before someone pressed me for answers.

Oliver’s confident stance crumbling as I redirected his momentum, the precise strikes I’d delivered to pressure points he didn’t even know existed, the way I’d moved with a fluidity that spoke of years of training. For a thirteen-year-old village boy, it should have been impossible.

"Nowhere," I said carefully, meeting her gaze without flinching. "I learned it myself."

It wasn’t entirely a lie. The Krav Maga techniques I’d mastered in my previous life as James Trevills were self-taught to a degree, learned from military manuals and countless hours of practice. But the fusion of those earthly combat techniques with this world’s magical principles—that was something I’d spent years perfecting in secret in the backyard of the house.

Queen Emma’s lips pressed into a thin line. She leaned forward slightly, her scrutiny intensifying. "I’ve witnessed countless warriors in my time, boy. Court fighters, mercenaries, knights trained from childhood in the finest academies. I have never—never—seen someone fight with your particular... style. Especially not a child of your age."

Princess Judith also looked very curious. She hadn’t see my fight so she had no idea what it was about.

"And your mother," the Queen continued. "she doesn’t strike me as someone who belongs in a simple village either."

Of course she’d noticed. Isabella’s ethereal beauty was impossible to ignore along our white hair and pink eyes. In a world where most people had brown, blond or black hair, where magical abilities were rare and precious, our family stood out like exotic birds among common sparrows.

If Queen Emma had witnessed Rosaluna’s absurd amount of magic and her powerful fire magic, she would have been more than dumbfounded. Thankfully she wasn’t there.

Anyway, I kept silence;

I had no answers to give her, not without revealing truths that could put my family in danger. The reality was, I didn’t fully understand our circumstances myself. Why had we ended up in that remote village? What was Isabella hiding from?

Noticing my reluctance to elaborate, Queen Emma’s expression softened slightly.

"Regardless," she said, her tone warming considerably, "I am deeply grateful that you saved my daughter. She is everything to me—my heart, my legacy, my reason for drawing breath each morning."

She reached over and gently patted Judith’s hair, her fingers combing through the chestnut strands with infinite tenderness. The princess’s cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment, but she leaned into her mother’s touch like a flower turning toward sunlight.

"Lisa did the biggest part," I protested, deflecting the praise. "I just helped where I could."

Queen Emma chuckled at my answer.

Yeah, I couldn’t lie to her about that anymore.

The remainder of our journey passed in more comfortable conversation, though I remained acutely aware of the Queen’s occasional appraising glances. As evening approached and shadows began to lengthen across the countryside, our procession came to a halt in a cleared area surrounded by tall oak trees. The decision to make camp was wise—traveling at night invited too many dangers, from roving bandits to magical beasts that hunted under cover of darkness.

The guards immediately sprang into action. They formed a perimeter around our camp, their armor clanking softly as they moved through the underbrush, checking for any signs of threats. Torches were lit and positioned strategically, creating a warm circle of light that pushed back the encroaching darkness.

What surprised me most was discovering who would be preparing our evening meal. As the camp bustled with activity, I watched in fascination as Olivia began setting up a cooking area.

The sight was almost surreal. Here was this woman, still clad in her polished armor, deftly arranging ingredients and cooking implements as if she’d done it a thousand times before.

I found myself gravitating toward her workspace, drawn by curiosity and genuine admiration.

For the first thirty minutes, Olivia pointedly ignored my presence. She worked with single-minded focus, seasoning meat, preparing vegetables, tending a small fire she’d built with expert efficiency. But as my silent observation continued, I could see her growing awareness of my unwavering attention.

Finally, she set down her knife with perhaps more force than necessary and fixed me with that piercing stare I was becoming familiar with.

"What exactly are you watching?" She demanded.

"You," I replied simply, offering a disarming smile.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. If I’d been older—say, a grown man showing such persistent interest in her activities—I had no doubt she would have either glared me away or told me in very direct terms to find somewhere else to be. But faced with what appeared to be a curious thirteen-year-old boy, she seemed uncertain how to respond.

"You’re surprisingly skilled at cooking," I said quickly, hoping to redirect the conversation before she decided I was being inappropriate.

"Surprisingly?" She raised an eyebrow, and I detected a hint of challenge in her voice.

"Well, yes," I explained, settling more comfortably on a nearby log. "I didn’t think knights could cook, regardless of whether they were men or women. It’s not exactly part of standard combat training, is it?"

Olivia’s expression softened marginally. She resumed her work, though I noticed she was paying more attention to our conversation now.

"Even though I serve as the Queen’s Guard," she explained, her knife work never pausing, "I also function as her personal attendant when needed. To properly serve Her Majesty, I must possess a wide range of capabilities beyond swordplay. Cooking, cleaning, organizing, even basic medical knowledge—all part of my duties."

I watched as she expertly seasoned the meat, tasting the marinade and adjusting the spices with the confidence of someone who truly knew what they were doing. The aroma beginning to waft from her cooking area was already making my mouth water.

"That’s genuinely impressive," I said, and I meant it. "You seem young too, relatively speaking. You must have greatly pleased the Queen to earn such a position of trust at your age."

The compliment worthy of James Trevills seemed to catch her off guard. For just a moment, her professional mask slipped, revealing a flicker of pride and perhaps even pleasure at the recognition. A small smile tugged at her lips before she seemed to remember herself.

But then her eyes sharpened again, looking at me with renewed interest. "You know," she said slowly, "you’re remarkably mature for your age. The way you speak, your observations... it’s not typical of most thirteen-year-olds I’ve encountered."

"That’s what happens when you grow up without a father," I said with a casual shrug, falling back on a half-truth that had served me well before. "You learn to see things differently, to understand adult concerns earlier than you might otherwise."

The explanation seemed to resonate with her. "Yes," she said quietly, "I imagine it would be. Loss has a way of forcing maturity upon us, doesn’t it?"

Her empathetic response told me she likely had her own experiences with such loss.

Sensing that I’d pushed the conversation as far as was wise, I settled back to simply observe her work. This time, she didn’t seem bothered by my presence at all. If anything, there was a more relaxed quality to her movements, as if having someone appreciate her skills—skills that likely went unnoticed in her usual duties—was a pleasant change.