"You couldn't take my queen if I handed her to you on a silver platter."
Gareth retorted, earning a snort from one of the onlookers.
The other three knights watched intently, some munching on snacks pilfered from the kitchens.
"Forget the game..."
One of them chimed in, a younger knight with a crooked smile.
"We all know Gareth's going to win.
Let's talk about something more interesting. Like Professor Scarlett."
The mention of her name drew a collective groan of agreement.
"Ah, Professor Scarlett...."
Sighed one of the onlookers dramatically, placing a hand over his heart.
"Those eyes could freeze a man solid, and those legs—"
"Don't even start."
Leon interrupted, his concentration breaking as he glared at the younger knight.
"I'm still trying to figure out how she manages to look so... distracting in a lab coat."
"Forget the lab coat..."
Gareth chimed in, leaning closer.
"It's the way she says 'incorrect' when someone messes up in her Advanced Magic Theory class.
I'd fail on purpose just to hear her say it."
The group erupted into laughter, the chess game momentarily forgotten as they exchanged exaggerated tales of their interactions with the enigmatic Professor Scarlett.
But their mirth was short-lived.
A sudden, loud crash echoed through the hall.
The unmistakable sound of shattering glass and things breaking reverberating through the ornate space.
The knights froze, their laughter dying in their throats as they exchanged wide-eyed looks.
"What the hell was that?"
Leon whispered, already reaching for his sword.
"It came from... the princess's room..."
One of them said, his voice tense.
Without another word, they bolted toward the source of the sound, their armor clinking as they ran.
The corridor seemed to stretch endlessly, the chandelier's golden light casting ominous shadows that danced on the walls.
When they reached Princess Elara's door, they found it tightly shut.
Gareth rattled the doorknob.
"Locked.
Of course it's locked."
"Step aside..."
Leon said, already channeling magic into his palm.
Flames licked at his fingers, illuminating the tension etched into his face.
With a sharp motion, he released a burst of fire magic at the lock.
"Miss Scarlett..."
The knight called out, pointing to the trapdoor.
"...there's something here."
Scarlett's eyes narrowed as she stepped closer.
She gestured toward Old Man Wilfred.
"Open it."
Wilfred's face twitched, but he forced a grin.
"Oh, that? It's just my storage cellar.
Nothing but old barrels, crates, and parchment.
Hardly worth your time."
Scarlett crossed her arms, unamused.
"Open it, Wilfred...
Or we'll do it ourselves."
Reluctantly, Wilfred stepped forward, brushing the dust off the trapdoor and unhooking the latch.
"Fine. But you're wasting your time..."
He grumbled, pulling it open to reveal a set of rickety wooden stairs leading into darkness.
The air wafting up was damp and cold, carrying the faint smell of mildew.
Professor Scarlett turned to the knights.
"Check it thoroughly. Leave no stone unturned."
As the knights descended into the basement with their lanterns, Scarlett stayed behind, watching Wilfred closely.
"You seem unusually reluctant, Wilfred.
Anything you want to tell me?"
Wilfred shrugged, his tone casual but laced with irritation.
"Just annoyed at having my shop treated like some kind of criminal hideout.
You used to come here all the time, Scarlett, buying ingredients and asking for advice.
Funny how quickly that respect vanishes."
Scarlett's eyes softened for a moment.
A flicker of something resembling regret crossing her face, but she quickly masked it.
"This isn't personal, Wilfred."
"Sure doesn't feel that way..."
Wilfred muttered under his breath, turning away to rearrange a stack of bottles.
Minutes passed before the knights returned.
Their faces blank as they reported to Scarlett.
"Nothing down there, Professor.
Just a mess of old barrels, crates, and dusty parchments.
It's freezing and damp—
No one could possibly live there."