"The Crown Princess of Kaltharion?" one of the ministers scoffed, clutching his sides as laughter tore from his throat. "The mute hostage princess is the one who controls Vaeloria’s underbelly? Truly, Cedric, you jest!"
"Or perhaps," another drawled, swirling the wine in his goblet, "we are ant to believe the vassal state turns its mutes into madams of brothels?"
Their laughter spilled through the marble hall like oil; thick, gleaming, impossible to wash away.
Cedric stood alone before the dais. The light from the high windows carved sharp lines down his face, highlighting the tension in his jaw. He did not flinch, though every sound of laughter cut into him like chipped glass. He had co here to speak the truth, and yet the truth had beco his humiliation.
But he mocking got louder.
Cedric tried to be patient, tried to mirror the calm restraint of Prince Leroy, whose composure had always been the kind n admired and never quite understood. But as laughter rippled through the court like a taunt ant only for him, sothing inside him broke loose. The patience he had practiced so hard to wear fell away like thin glass.
"I have proof!" he snapped, the words ringing sharper than he intended.
A hush swept through the room.
The Emperor’s eyes flicked toward him, slowly, almost lazily, as if studying a bird that had forgotten its place among lions. The gaze was heavy, asuring, and then... a faint curve touched the Emperor’s lips. Not quite a smile, sothing smaller, more dangerous.
It was the look of a man who had expected this reaction all along.
"I found this ledger," Cedric continued, forcing the tremor from his voice, "in Lazira’s hidden quarters."
He held out the book as if it were a weapon. The nearest guard carried it forward, laying it at the foot of the throne. The Emperor’s fingers brushed the cover, then flicked it open.
Page after page turned beneath the hush of the hall. Ink and numbers, codes and lists... every mark tracing the pulse of Vaeloria’s underworld. Nas of nobles, rchants, and soldiers, all touched by Lazira’s hand. And in the spaces between the words, a pattern breathed: every strike, every ruin, every shadowed act had circled back to a single na.
Lorraine Regis.
By the ti the reading ended, the sunlight had shifted across the floor, stretching long and golden between the pillars.
Murmurs rippled through the court. So voices were irritated, others indifferent. "What use is this?" one minister muttered. "We have wars to fund and borders to nd. Must we waste daylight on phantom won and vendettas?"
Others disagreed. The faint sll of blood, old and unforgotten, hung in the air.
For years, Lazira had been their silent counterweight, the blade that struck where the crown’s laws dared not reach. She had punished the untouchable, kept balance in a kingdom steeped in corruption. To so, she was necessity itself, as Vaeloria’s unspoken justice.
But for those she had broken, she was a scar that never faded.
Now, as her na echoed through the hall, those long-buried grudges stirred awake. The hall filled with the murmur of jackals cloaked as courtiers, circling the scent of an old kill.
"Bring her here!" one voice cried. "Let her answer for her cris!"
"Justice!" another shouted.
And then another.
The Emperor leaned back, a smile ghosting over his lips. This was his theatre, his mont. For once, his mother’s caution had been wrong. The pieces were falling exactly where he had placed them. She should have let him handle the affairs of the kingdo more. Clearly, he was smarter than she was.
But then...
"Where is Leroy?" The question ca quietly, almost to himself. Then sharper: "Has he defied my summons?"
The spell broke.
A tremor passed through the room. Whispers followed like a rising wind. In the corner, the ssenger from Kaltharion, who had long pretended to be part of the marble, went rigid.
Sothing had shifted.
It seed like everything was getting orchestrated as part of the plan of the emperor. He worried about his job. What would he say to the Kaltharion King when the Emperor refuses the physician for Prince Gaston?
-----
Leroy said nothing as he followed the royal guard down the sun-drenched road leading from his estate. The afternoon light shimred off the polished armor ahead of him, too bright, too still. His gaze never left the man’s back—cold, unwavering, as though he could carve through him with nothing but intent.
The guard shifted uneasily in his saddle. He had expected questions, or at least a demand for explanation. But this silence was far worse. Silence ant thought. And thought, from Prince Leroy of Kaltharion, was never safe.
"Your Highness," the man began, his tone trembling despite himself. "We received a ssenger from Kaltharion this morning. He delivered a letter to His Majesty, but I don’t—"
A sudden thud cut through the still air.
Before he could finish, Leroy struck him cleanly at the base of his neck, a single, precise blow. The guard collapsed forward, unconscious before he hit the ground.
Leroy caught him by the collar and dragged him off the road, into the tall grass at the forest’s edge. The afternoon breeze carried the hum of distant cicadas, indifferent to the motionless man now hidden among the trees.
He tied both horses to a low branch, his movents deliberate, thodical. There was no rage in him, only a stillness that ran deeper than calm.
He had expected this. A summons from the Emperor, wrapped in royal courtesy, but ant to pull him away from his ho, from her.
Leroy crouched behind the brush, eyes fixed on the bend in the road. The sunlight dappled across his coat, glinting like gold. His hand rested lightly on his sword, in readiness. He would wait.
-----
In the audience hall, far away from the quiet road, tension brewed beneath gilded ceilings. Cedric stood in the center of the chamber, his voice ringing against marble.
"Your Majesty, honorable ministers," he declared, raising the weathered ledger. "This is only one among many. I’ve found an entire room filled with them; records of coin, favors, and nas. Tell , should a princess of noble descent preside over brothels and command her own empire in the city’s underbelly?"
The word empire struck like a stone dropped into still water.
The Emperor’s eyes narrowed. His fingers tapped the armrest of his throne, the faintest curl ghosting his lips; not amusent, but sothing darker.
"A separate empire?" he repeated softly. "Under my rule?"
Cedric smirked as his plans to bruise the emperor’s fragile ego had worked.
The Emperor rose, the movent graceful and terrible in equal asure. "Send the royal guard to their mansion," he ordered. His voice carried through the hall like a blade drawn from its sheath. "Bring the Prince and Princess of Kaltharion... both of them."
The laughter that had once filled the chamber was gone now. Only the sound of bootsteps echoed as guards moved to obey.
And above it all, the Emperor smiled, small, controlled, certain that the board was finally turning his way.
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