For Our Cherished One

The room was dimly lit, its air thick with unspoken tension. A single lantern cast flickering shadows against the cold stone walls, illuminating the figure of Duchess Shanis Mysetria seated in an ornate chair. Her silhouette was regal, her presence commanding, even in the oppressive darkness.

Eren Lacquier knelt before her, his posture rigid despite the exhaustion from the day's battle. His sword lay at his side, a silent acknowledgment of his failure.

"She's not bad," Eren admitted, his voice steady despite the weight of his words. "As you may have known, I lost."

For a moment, silence reigned. Then the Duchess stirred, her figure shifting as she leaned forward. The faint outline of her features emerged from the shadows—sharp, elegant, and unreadable. Her voice, low and laced with anxiety, broke the stillness.

"But that's impossible…" Shanis muttered, more to herself than to him. "At this point, she should still have restrictions. And why did she go by the name of Ellen?"

Eren's brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his face. He remained kneeling, head lowered, as he asked, "What… does that mean, Mistress? Do you know her?"

The Duchess cleared her throat, regaining her composure. Her tone turned sharp, dismissive. "It's nothing. Just observe her… and don't get close to her."

"Yes?" Eren hesitated, unsure what she meant.

"Women are vicious," Shanis continued, her voice dropping to a near-whisper as though speaking from experience. "Especially when their heart belongs to a tyrant. You ought not to let yourself get burnt ahead of others."

The cryptic warning left Eren unsettled, but he nodded in deference. "As you command, Mistress."

Without another word, Shanis reclined back into the shadows, her presence an unyielding weight in the room. Eren stood, his movements careful and deliberate, and exited the chamber with his thoughts swirling.

The chill of the dark hallway gave way to the inviting warmth of the kitchen. The scent of roasted meats and freshly baked bread greeted Eren as he approached, accompanied by the murmur of voices and occasional bursts of laughter.

It was his nightly task to prepare meals for the new recruits—a duty assigned not as a punishment but as a recognition of his culinary skills. Cooking had always been a respite for him, a way to clear his mind. Tonight, though, his thoughts were anything but clear.

As he neared the door, he recognized the laughter. It was the trio he had seen before—Fulgur, Willhelm, and Ellen. Their camaraderie filled the space, bright and alive, starkly contrasting the heavy atmosphere of the Duchess's chamber.

Peeking through the doorway, Eren paused, his eyes falling on Ellen.

She was seated on a stool, her posture relaxed as she recounted something animatedly to the group. Her hands moved as she spoke, painting vivid pictures in the air to accompany her story. Fulgur leaned back in his chair, roaring with laughter, while Willhelm's chuckles were more subdued, his eyes alight with amusement.

Eren stepped inside, the sound of his boots on the stone floor drawing their attention. The laughter quieted as all three heads turned toward him.

"Eren!" Fulgur called out, his grin wide. "Just in time. Ellen was just telling us about her 'brilliant strategy' against you earlier."

Eren raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a faint smile. "Oh? I didn't realize dodging was considered strategy."

Ellen huffed, crossing her arms. "Hey, dodging is a perfectly valid strategy. It's called not dying."

The group erupted into laughter again, and Eren found himself smiling despite the lingering unease from his earlier conversation with the Duchess.

He moved toward the counter, rolling up his sleeves. "I suppose I'll let you have that one," he said, his tone light. "Now, let me see what I can make for all of you."

As Eren began preparing the meal, he couldn't help but steal glances at Ellen. There was an ease about her, a lightness that seemed at odds with the warning Shanis had given him.

Women are vicious… Especially when their heart belongs to a tyrant.

The words echoed in his mind, but he pushed them aside. For now, Ellen was just another recruit, laughing with her companions in the warmth of the kitchen.

And yet, as he worked, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to her than met the eye.