Chapter 27 — The Princess and the Prince Meet the Plague
The royal audience chamber smelled faintly of polished marble and roses. Sunlight streamed in through tall arched windows, staining the crimson carpet in molten gold. Above, banners bearing the crest of Lurtra swayed gently, stirred by a breeze that crept through the high balcony doors.
The room was beautiful—yet the beauty felt brittle, as if one wrong word could make it shatter.
Leornars stood at the center of that fragile calm, his cloak pooling behind him like a shadow that had learned to walk. His expression was neutral, but the faint curve of his lips betrayed the truth.
Yes… that's it. Break. Break.
The steady echo of boots on marble grew louder. Sharp. Controlled. But when the owner came into view, his control was already cracking.
"Where did you get that information!?"
Prince Edward's voice thundered through the chamber, shattering the quiet. His hand shot forward, gripping Leornars by the collar. The fabric tightened against Leornars' throat, but his smirk never faltered.
So Stacian was right, he thought, crimson eyes locking with the prince's. Bastard child of a mistress. A prince in title, but not in blood's sanctity. That makes you… useful.
"It doesn't matter where I heard it," Leornars said, voice calm as a winter river. "The fact remains—you understand the position you're in."
Edward's grip faltered, ever so slightly. His jaw tightened. "W…what are you getting at?"
Leornars tilted his head, almost sympathetically. Almost.
"I wonder," he murmured, "how the noble factions would react if they knew the truth. That their would-be king is but the by-blow of a royal affair. Would they choose to keep you? Or cast you aside? Disownment… rejection… exile. Which seems more likely to you?"
Edward's shoulders stiffened. "You're blackmailing me?"
"No, no." A light chuckle escaped Leornars' lips. "I am merely… predicting the outcome."
The prince's gaze sharpened, but Leornars pressed on.
"What I want is simple. You will rule the Theocracy of Lurtra as king. Not your half-sister. You, and you alone."
Edward's voice was low, dangerous. "And how does that benefit you?"
"That," Leornars said, leaning closer, "is none of your concern. You will rule, and you will mind your business." His tone cooled to a blade's edge. "But your sister… and your father… must be removed from the equation. Permanently."
The prince's breath caught. For the first time, he looked away. "…I didn't think you would say that. I thought you were helping my father retrieve my aunt from Durmount."
Naïve child, Leornars thought, almost amused. You don't realize the man standing before you is carving your kingdom into pieces… and you're handing him the knife.
"I could take your nation for myself if I wished," he continued. "Your father will soon gift me a large portion of it—proof he trusts me more than you. Do you know why? Because you are a replacement child. Like a sewing needle kept in the kitchen drawer—always there, never used."
The words hit like a thrown dagger. Edward's expression faltered. He tried to mask the hurt, but his lips trembled.
"Listen well," Leornars said, stepping forward. The air between them tightened. "With me, you will take the throne without question. So… will you join me?"
He extended a gloved hand.
Edward's eyes flicked toward the adjoining chamber. Through the open door, the princess was seated with Stacian, laughter soft between them like distant chimes. The sound only deepened his unease.
The prince swallowed hard. His hand—hesitant, trembling—met Leornars'.
Leornars' smile curved higher. "Perfect. That's how you become a ruler who is never forgotten."
Edward's voice was flat. "…And the simple thing you wanted me to know?"
Leornars' eyes lit crimson, the glow burning in the dim corners of the chamber. His words lowered to a frigid whisper.
"If you betray me… I will make you regret ever being born. I will tear the organs from your body, break your limbs… stab out your eyes… and feed the remains to goblins. That, I promise."
Edward's throat bobbed. "I… won't…"
"Let's hope so."
---
In the next chamber
The faint clink of porcelain cups marked the rhythm of a quieter conversation. The air smelled faintly of jasmine tea and sugared pastries. Delicate light filtered through the gauzy curtains, casting soft shadows across polished wood and the fine embroidery of the cushions.
The princess sat with the ease of someone who had been raised in palaces and trained to smile even when daggers were drawn under the table. Her fan rested lightly in one hand, a painted swan spreading its wings across silk.
"I heard you and Leornars-sama share the same bed," she said with a playful smile, her fan half-covering her face, eyes peeking over the edge like a cat watching a bird.
"Y-Yes…" Stacian replied, her tone light but her posture just a shade too rigid. She reached for her cup, sipping without haste, buying herself a heartbeat before answering more.
The princess tilted her head slightly, letting her fan fall just enough to reveal the faintest blush. "Do you… every night?"
"No. Absolutely not," Stacian replied, setting her cup down with deliberate care. "I stay by his side because I am the only one he can rely on… and because I am easily kidnapped." The last words were delivered with an embarrassed softness, her gaze dipping downward as though reluctant to confess it.
"Oh… I see." The princess's voice carried a note of relief, her smile loosening.
Stacian's lips curved in return. It was a warm smile—too warm.
Poor girl. She doesn't know she's walking with death's shadow. Intelligent… yes. But too dangerous to be left alive.
The princess shifted the conversation with courtly ease. "The court seamstresses are preparing for the Spring Banquet already. They say the fabrics from the southern caravans are unusually fine this year. Velvet the color of midnight. Silks so thin they float on the air."
"They sound lovely," Stacian replied. She spoke of dresses she'd worn, of fabrics that caught candlelight like water, of ballrooms in distant cities. Each word wove a web of shared interest, yet her mind measured the woman before her the way a butcher might weigh a cut of meat.
The princess poured more tea, her wrists delicate and precise, but Stacian noted how her gaze drifted briefly to the open doorway—as though checking whether the conversation in the audience chamber was nearing its end.
They spoke of gossip—of lords who danced poorly but believed otherwise, of rival noblewomen whose jewels were just a little too gaudy, of a foreign diplomat who had mistaken a royal hound for a servant's pet and tried to shoo it from the hall. Stacian laughed in all the right places, but her thoughts traced the edges of opportunity.
She's cautious. She listens more than she speaks. Not the harmless type she pretends to be.
When the tea cooled, they lingered a little longer, the silence filled with the subtle music of the palace—footsteps in distant corridors, the wind stirring banners outside. Stacian could feel the tension like the thin edge of a blade hidden under silk.
Finally, the cups were empty, and the ritual of parting began. They rose, exchanged the graceful courtesies demanded by rank.
"May your day be peaceful," the princess said, her fan concealing her mouth once more.
"And yours," Stacian replied, bowing just enough to honor her, not enough to lower herself.
As they left the room, Stacian walking in measured step beside Leornars, the princess's smile remained fixed… until the instant they crossed the threshold. Then, slowly, it faded—like candlelight smothered by a sudden wind.
---
The carriage ride
The palace gates receded behind them, swallowed by the city's twisting streets. The clatter of wheels on cobblestones filled the silence until Leornars spoke.
"What's your assessment of the princess?"
"She's sharp. Dangerous. We can't keep her alive."
"Exactly as I thought. And the prince?"
"An overgrown toddler," Stacian said without hesitation. "We can shape him however we like."
Leornars nodded. "Still, remember—this nation is already dead. Taking it would be nothing but liability."
"Hmph… very well. Where's Zaryter Daternmum?"
"I sent him back to the Black Acers. He'll act as though nothing has changed. No suspicion. No whispers of betrayal."
A faint smile touched Stacian's lips. "Good move."
The wheels continued their rhythmic clatter. Outside, the sun dipped lower, staining the streets in long shadows. Inside, the two conspirators sat in companionable silence—both knowing that tonight, the first stone had been placed in the ruin of a kingdom.