Seeing the situation, the third princess sighed helplessly.
Without ceremony, she hoisted Alan onto her shoulder like cargo and swiftly carried him back to her small palace in Ironblood City.
To call it a "palace" might be a stretch—it was more like a residence.
Its interior was modest, with only the most essential furnishings for daily living. There was no trace of luxury or opulence.
In that sense, it reflected the third princess's personality perfectly.
She was a staunch minimalist. If something served no practical purpose, she discarded it without hesitation.
Her attendants had been waiting respectfully by the entrance for some time.
But the third princess didn't even spare them a glance.
With a simple wave of her hand, she said, "Go fetch Aileen. I need her."
Soon, a figure appeared at the palace gates—an old crone wearing a crooked wizard hat, her face covered in warts.
She looked like the archetypal wicked witch straight out of a fairy tale.
