Third Arc (Fallen Heart) - 386. Harmless Information
Angel slowly opened his eyes.
The floating eye hovering in the air flickered once and then dissipated, like a soap bubble popping without a sound.
He blinked a few times, adjusting to the warm glow of his chamber and the distant hum of the maids' chatter from the next room. His fingers loosened their grip on the armrest of his chair, and he finally let out a long, low exhale that he hadn't even realized he was holding in.
"So… the coded message is simply just harmless information…" he muttered to himself.
He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, rubbing his face with both hands like someone trying to shake off a bad dream—or in this case, trying to make sense of a dozen different outcomes all colliding in his head. His shirt, partially unbuttoned and slightly wrinkled, clung lightly to his back where the fabric stuck from sitting too long. The air in the room still smelled faintly of perfumed oils and wine left over from the earlier party.
Angel sat there for a moment longer.
He wasn't convinced.
Sure, the spy's tone in the interrogation—his posture, his answers—they didn't scream guilty. The guy hadn't tried to resist arrest, hadn't thrown any wild accusations or started pleading for his life. That kind of composure could be genuine… or it could be a well-rehearsed mask.
Angel knew better than to rely on first impressions.
Better safe than sorry.
He pushed himself up with a grunt, stretching his arms over his head. His shoulders ached. His back cracked. That was what hours of standing straight in formal wear followed by hours more of sitting still would do to a man. Even a king.
He crossed the room, stepping barefoot across the polished floor to where a small table had been left with a half-full glass of cold tea. He took a sip—it was lukewarm now, slightly bitter, and not entirely pleasant—but it helped clear the dryness in his mouth.
His eyes flicked to the closed door where Rose was still getting changed. The soft murmurs of her maids could still be heard, occasionally accompanied by the rustle of fabric and her quiet voice giving instructions.
He sighed again.
If that coded message really was nothing more than a detailed observation of his castle and court—as the spy claimed—then the man technically hadn't broken any laws that called for severe punishment. Sure, he came in without an invitation, and that alone was enough to earn suspicion, maybe even expulsion. But expulsion wasn't the kind of statement Angelus wanted to make if this spy turned out to be part of something bigger.
Still, as frustrating as it was, there were rules. Diplomatic codes. Political optics. And if the man really hadn't done anything but observe and record public behavior... then legally, there wasn't much Angel could do except keep him under close watch and kick him out of the country.
But Angel didn't trust appearances. Not fully.
The spy's story about Prince Jake looking for an alliance once he ascended the throne? It sounded reasonable on paper. Smart, even. Preemptive diplomacy made sense, especially from a prince who knew the old king didn't have long left. But all of that could just as easily be a cover. A nice, neat explanation to earn sympathy and avoid a cell—or worse.
Angel ran a hand through his hair and let it fall.
He'd left this entire mess in Darius' hands on purpose. Darius wasn't just a member of Harmonia's official delegation; he was one of the few lords Angel actually respected. Calculated. Careful. Honest, but not naive. And if the spy was lying—if there was even a shred of hidden intent—Darius would pick up on it.
Unless something changed, unless the decoded message turned out to be something else entirely, Angel wasn't going to interfere.
For now.
He walked back to his chair and sank into it again, this time more relaxed. His mind was still working, though. Every scenario played out in his head like a chessboard—what if Prince Jake was sincere? What if this really was an awkward, desperate attempt to feel out a potential ally before the old king passed?
It would mean Harmonia was bracing for a storm. And Jake, being the one who'd inherit the crown, had no choice but to act before the vultures started circling.
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