[18th Veyra, 495 IC, Dawnsworn]
[The Imperial Corridor]
The sound of her steps reached him long before she came into view, light, deliberate, impossible to hide.
Lady Emmelyne, daughter of the Duke of the West and Alden's ex-fiancée in another life, approached with flawless poise. She stopped at the proper distance, exactly seven steps away, as court etiquette demanded, before lowering her head in an elegant bow. Even in the display of grief, she remained conscious of the observers.
"Your Highness, please accept my greetings."
Alden turned his eyes to Lady Emmelyne. The memories rose one after another, slow and poisonous. The same woman who had falsely accused Limon of forcing himself on her. The same woman who had used her father's influence to strip away the guards he had assigned to protect Aurenya before leaving for war. The same woman who had thrown Aurenya to the wolves out of petty jealousy. Pioneer of the 'Angel hunt' project.
He had imagined this moment countless times during his days in the ruined earth. 'What would I do when I finally see her culprits?' Now that she stood before him, he no longer needed to wonder. He knew.
He let his clenched fingers loosen behind his back as his lips curved into an immediate, magnetic smile, an armor of civility he had long ago trained into a second skin.
'Control,' he reminded himself, tasting the lie even as he obeyed it. 'There is a debt to collect.'
The faint smile lingered a heartbeat longer than protocol allowed, carrying exactly the shade of polite surprise the court expected.
"Greetings, Lady Emmelyne," he replied with perfect courtesy and a slight nod appropriate for his stature. The look of a grieving man genuinely relieved to see a favored face.
Matching Alden's carefully measured depth, Lady Emmelyne let the expression of grief deepen. "I am deeply sorrowful for your loss, Your Highness. I cannot begin to imagine how painful it must have been for you. May Her Majesty's soul rest in peace. She was a blessing for us all."
"Thank you for your kind words. And I appreciate that you thought of my mother so fondly." Alden's tone settled into even composure. "Also... please do not worry. I am slowly coping with my grief." His gaze remained completely focused on her as he listened.
"You are handling this tragedy with such grace, Your Highness," Lady Emmelyne continued, her voice feathering into admiration. "The strength you show... it's truly inspiring. The empire is fortunate to have such a steadfast heir." Alden inclined his head slightly, his smile becoming more distinct, more at ease.
"You flatter me, Lady Emmelyne." His gaze briefly carried a playful glint, a hint of something warmer beneath the surface, before it vanished as swiftly as it came, replaced once more by the weight of grief.
Emmelyne did not miss that look. She blinked softly, her head tilting at a natural, elegant angle that highlighted the curve of her neck. Her hopeful eyes lingered on his dark ones, searching for exactly what she longed to see reflected there. "Your Highness..." Her voice dropped another degree, sliding into a lower, beautiful tone of anticipation.
"Please let me know if there is ever anything I can do to help you through this difficult time."
Alden's lips curved just slightly as he whispered, low and deliberate, "I will."
A faint, cold spark of amusement flickered inside him.
'It may not be long.'
He caught the brief glint of triumph in Emmelyne's green eyes, the faint rose coloring her cheeks as she imagined her victory. One final, elegant curtsy, and she withdrew. Her steps echoed softly down the corridor, measured yet quickening with barely contained excitement. Golden strands of hair caught the light as she moved, the living embodiment of every lesson a noble lady could be taught.
Alden's gaze lingered. For a heartbeat, the present blurred, and memory surged unbidden, a vivid echo he had longed to grasp.
'The flame...'
'The hair that was made of living flame, each strand dancing with her laughter. The way her lips had parted...'
He stopped the thought midstream, the familiar ache flaring within him, a hunger so vast it pressed against his chest, threatening to consume him from the inside out.
From the corner of his vision, he felt Limon's gaze. His friend lingered just long enough for Emmelyne to vanish from earshot, then sidled closer, eyes sparkling with mischief and hopeful anticipation.
"Your Highness, she really is beautiful, isn't she?"
Alden's lips curled into a smirk, still lost in the memory of the flame. "Yes, she is."
Limon's eyes widened, his jaw parting for just a heartbeat before snapping shut again.
"Is your heart finally fluttering? At last... Verdan has come to your barren heart!"
A pause as Alden's mind snapped back to present. He watched his aide calmly. The young man who had succumbed to the Curse was still there, untested, untouched by the cunning and hardness that life had once forced into him. The careful, shrewd man he had been before death had not yet returned.
A faint shuffle drew Alden's attention to the corridor. From the hall beyond, the faintest breath of movement revealed the hidden watchers: each sound layered over another, and Alden caught it all, Cedric Devon's young pulse thudding in shallow beats as he stared impatient at Emmelyne's retreating figure, Consort Miriam's maid snagging a hem and shifting behind the tapestry, and to Alden the sounds rang out like annoying bells.
'They are all so loud. Too loud.'
He tightened his jaw and narrowed his world to the slow rhythm of his own breathing.
'Not yet...'
He loosened his shoulders. A slow, indifferent smile tugged at one corner of his mouth as he turned his attention back to the corridor and began walking.
Behind him, Limon followed, eager and oblivious, like a puppy tagging along.
"Yes, Verdan will come," Alden said, the faint smile lingering even as his gaze remained cold.
'But not for her.'
The thought of what Aurenya might have endured in his absence, the fear, the pain, the endless waiting for him to return, hammered his mind like iron striking stone.
His fingers twitched near his throat, the slightest movement enough to channel lethal intent, to reduce the pretentious schemer to ash and memory... but that would be too simple, too easy for what she and Aran had done.
"It's suddenly so cold in this corridor. Is it already the month of...?" Limon's voice faltered, trailing off as he shivered, wrapping his arms tight around himself.
Holding the warm Ichor hanging by his chest, Alden closed his eyes, drawing the killing intent back into himself. The temperature immediately began to return to normal, as small patches of frost melted into nothing around the corridor where Emmelyne had just left.
---
[Duke Viremont's Capital Residence - Lady Emmelyne's Private Chambers]
The late afternoon sun streamed through tall windows. Lady Emmelyne reclined in her private sitting room, her head tilted back in languid satisfaction as her maid Mina's fingers worked through the elaborate coiffure that had taken two hours to perfect that morning.
The room itself was a testament to the Western Duchy's wealth, silk wallpaper in shifting shades of cream and gold, furniture carved from rare heartwood and inlaid with mother-of-pearl, vases brimming with white roses that perfumed the air with a delicate, lingering fragrance. Every surface, every detail whispered of refinement, of a life lived at the pinnacle of luxury, the sole daughter of Duke Viremont, heir to the richest of the Four.
Emmelyne's eyes drooped in blissful reverie, her lips curving into a secret smile that seemed to catch the light like sunbeams. 'Finally...' she thought, her expression growing softer, more dreamy, tinged with quiet triumph.
'He noticed me.'
The memory played over and over in her mind like a favorite melody. The way his eyes had lingered on her face, the subtle glint in his eyes that he hid immediately.
She had dreamed of this moment since childhood. If everything went as planned, she would soon become the most powerful woman in the empire. 'Father promised. Once the Crown Prince comes of age, the duchy will send a formal marriage proposal.' Now she was certain, he would accept.
She hummed softly as Mina's fingers worked on her scalp. The maid had served her family for six years and was more than a servant, a confidante who understood her completely. Her words always soothed her, as they did now.
"His Highness is fortunate to have caught your attention, my lady," Mina said, her voice warm, edged with playful pride. "If he is not blind, His Highness would choose you in an instant. And the way he looked at you today... he must be already smitten."
Emmelyne's smile deepened, satisfaction flowing through her like rich wine. "Oh, Mina... it was nothing special. He was just being polite," she said lightly, though her pulse raced and her mind was already mapping her future.
Mina insisted, "Oh, my lady. You carry yourself like the empress already. Who else could be more suitable for him if not you?"
'Indeed... It is only fitting,' Emmelyne told herself. 'Someone must hold the empire steady when the winds shift. Someone with the wealth and wisdom to guide the crown through whatever storms may come.'
In her thoughts, this was no mere pursuit, she was already destined, fated to be chosen. The world would bend, willingly or not, to the inevitability of her claim.
Evening faded into night, but Emmelyne's heart betrayed no sign of slowing, no hint of calm.
---
Inside the study, the air hung thick with the scent of burning beeswax and old paper.
Emperor Alger, known to the world as Caelus IV, sat behind a desk that functioned more like a barricade, piled high with scrolls and reports. His hand hovered over a document, the quill dripping ink. The silence stretched, measured only by the indifferent ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.
"His Highness Crown Prince Alden requests an audience, Your Majesty," the Chamberlain murmured from the doorway, bowing low. "Will you receive the heir?"
Caelus IV gave a stiff, almost imperceptible nod. The quill resumed its scratching, a noise to fill the void.
The doors swung open.
Alden walked in. His steps were silent on the plush carpet, his posture straight as a drawn blade. He stopped three paces from the desk, the distance formal and precise.
To the man sitting behind the desk, the image superimposed itself over a memory from years ago, a desperate boy, hands trembling, pleading for the royal physicians to try one last experimental cure. That was the ghost that usually haunted this room.
But the young man standing there now bore no resemblance to that ghost. Alden stood perfectly still. He did not fidget. He did not glance around the room. He simply waited.
Alden lowered his head. It was a perfect court bow. "Your Imperial Majesty. Greetings."
The simple, formal address, devoid of any personal title, cut through the deep silence.
The scratching stopped. Caelus IV, who had been meticulously signing documents, froze. The quill remained motionless on the parchment, the ink bleeding into a dark blot that instantly ruined the official decree. Alden had not said 'Father'. A term he had always used in private audiences.
A dull ache mixed with confusion settled in the Emperor's chest. He slowly lifted his head, looking across the expanse of polished marble floor at the young man. He searched the boy's face, looking for the small child who used to run into this room with toy swords, laughing and tripping over the rugs. He looked for the grief-stricken teenager he expected to see, someone crushed by the loss of his mother, someone vulnerable who would look to his father for stability.
But he found neither; Alden's face was a mask of glass, reflecting nothing, no warmth, no pain, no expectation. The only thing visible was a deep, unsettling competence. Deep dark eyes, dark hair. Just like her.
Caelus IV's gaze drifted lower, catching the glint of crimson against the high collar. The blood-red pendant hanging at his throat.
The memory surfaced unbidden. He remembered Cassandra placing that shard around Alden's neck the moment he was born, before the midwives had even finished swaddling him. The wailing infant had immediately fallen silent, his tiny, flushed fingers clutching the sharp edges of the crystal as if it were a lifeline. Curiously, Caelus IV had once tried to inspect the pendant himself a few days later, reaching into the cradle. He remembered the sound of her hand striking his away, a harsh, feral rebuke from the Late Empress that had left him stunned.
Now, that same red stone rested against the throat of a son who looked at him like a stranger.
"I have come to claim my inheritance," Alden said, his voice breaking the Emperor's trance. "And the authority of the Late Empress."
Caelus IV felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach. He remembered the funeral yesterday, the empty seat beside the coffin where he himself should have sat, but he couldn't. He had left after a few minutes of presence, forcing the boy to take responsibility for his own mother's funeral.
His hand trembled, the quill rattling against the wood as he set it down.
"Alden, my son." The Emperor's aged voice cracked imperceptibly.
"Yes, your Majesty, I have come here to plead a formal request." Alden replied. His voice was steady, meeting the broken address with cold, unyielding formality.
"Go on. " Caelus IV drew a slow breath. He lifted his gaze from the ruined document to the young man.
Alden spoke calmly. "I wish to immediately begin my duties as heir apparent." The Emperor noticed Alden's rigid posture, the carefully neutral expression while he uttered each word... "It would help me understand my role and learn my responsibilities."
"Alden," he said, quieter this time. "You have just lost your mother. There is no need to rush into duties so soon."
Alden did not flinch. He stood like a statue in a storm.
Almost bored.
Unnaturally so.
"My grief changes nothing, Your Majesty." Alden's eyes flicked upward. "The Empire cannot wait. And neither can I."
The Emperor's jaw tightened.
'He is shielding himself with protocol.'
"You are seventeen," Caelus IV said, the words coming out more like a plea than a command. "There is time yet."
"I intend to be ready, Your Majesty." Alden met his gaze fully.
The silence between them sharpened.
Caelus IV's hand drifted toward the quill again, not to write, but to have something to hold.
"Alden... what happened at the funeral..."
"I am not here to discuss that, sire. What happened at the funeral was... understandable, even expected. After all, the Emperor always has more important tasks at hand. There is no need to explain, Your Majesty. I bear no grievances."
Alden's tone was perfect. Respectful. Controlled.
Unforgiving.
Or rather... emotionless.
Alden stood straighter. "Please assign me responsibilities suitable for the heir apparent. I will complete them without fail."
With each word, Caelus IV felt the cold knot tighten again.
"So be it," he said at last. "You will begin after a week. I need to arrange your official seal and other paperwork. Wait till then. "
"Thank you, Your Majesty." Alden bowed formally. However, he did not turn to leave. He remained fixed in place.
"Is there something else you wish to discuss, Alden? Speak without hesitation, son."
"The Seal of the Inner Palace," Alden said calmly. His eyes remained fixed on a point just above Caelus IV's head. "It has remained in the care of the secretariat for seven years. Since Mother fell asleep."
The euphemism, fell asleep, landed with chilling precision. There was no tremor in his voice, not even a flicker of pain.
As Alden stepped forward by half a pace, straight to business. "I wish to reclaim it. The management of the Inner Palace, the central treasury, the patronage of the arts, the oversight of the Royal Harem, all of it must be restored to proper order. And temporarily, I wish to handle them as her son, alongside my own duties as the Crown Prince."
The Emperor stared at him, momentarily speechless. It was unprecedented request from a heir so young.
"That would be too much, Crown Prince." Caelus IV slipped into professional distance, probing. The duties of a Crown Prince were already overwhelming for a teenager who also bore the military responsibilities of a Swordsmaster and the owner of five Knight Orders. And now he was asking for the Empress's duties as well?
"Your Highness," Aldric Corlen stepped out from the shadows behind the Emperor's seat. He bowed deeply to the Emperor before turning a smile toward Alden. "Your zeal is commendable, Your Highness. But you are not yet of age. The intricacies of the Inner Court... they are delicate. Bureaucracy is a beast that chews up even experienced men. Why burden your youth with such dull ledgers?"
Aldric gestured toward the stacks of files on the desk. "We have managed these duties without error for seven years. There is no need to rush. And besides, these are the responsibilities of the Empress, not something a Crown Prince is usually expected to oversee..."
Before he could finish, another voice spoke up. "And who decided that?" Callum Beaumont spoke from the right. He adjusted his monocle, fixing Aldric with a look of disdain. "We are merely proxies, Aldric. Do not forget that. And he... is the sole heir."
Callum turned to the Emperor and bowed. "Your Majesty, according to the law established by Caelus I, after the Empress passes away, the Emperor himself, or the heir apparent may oversee her duties as long as a new Empress has not been installed. I personally believe it might be wise to allow the heir to take them on."
"But he is a child, Callum! Only seventeen. " Aldric snapped. "The court is fragile right now. One mistake..."
"Enough."
The single word from the Emperor extinguished the room.
Caelus IV looked up. His eyes felt heavy. He scanned Aldric, then Callum, and finally settled on Alden. He studied his son for a long, uncomfortable minute. Alden held the gaze, refusing to blink.
"What do you think, Magnus?" the Emperor asked. "You are the one responsible for the heir's education. Do you think he is capable?"
A middle aged man with orange hair and eyes stepped out of the shadowed alcove.
Magnus, the Grand Master, bowed first to the Emperor and then toward the heir. "Your Majesty, I am fully confident in my teaching. However..."
He paused for a heartbeat before continuing. "...my belief should not dictate the decision to assess the heir's capability."
In a lower tone, he added, "Why not see it for yourself? With a test you deem suitable... it would convince the court."
The room fell silent.
"Very well. I find the Crown Prince's request logical." The Emperor leaned back, tapping his finger against the wood of the desk. "But the Inner Court is not a classroom where mistakes can be erased with a fresh sheet of parchment."
He pulled a file from the bottom of a stack and slid it across the massive desk.
"The accident at Rosewick," the Emperor said. He watched Alden's eyes flick to the file. "The Silver Star claims it was sabotage. The Alchemists' Conclave claims it was negligence. They have been bickering for weeks, and reconstruction is stalled."
The Emperor picked up his quill, dipping it into the inkwell.
"Solve it," he commanded, returning his attention to the document before him. "Find the truth. If it was sabotage, bring me the head. If it was negligence, bring me the reparations."
Alden reached across the table and took the file.
"You have one week. Do you think you can manage this crisis?" Emperor Caelus IV said. "Let me warn you, my aides have already struggled with it for weeks. It also has political implications. Tell me now, if you can't..."
The Emperor watched Alden closely. He expected hesitation. He knew the case was nearly impossible. He warned hoping the heir to realize his limitations. But...
"I can."
The answer was immediate and final. He didn't even pause to consider, nor asked for resources, extensions, or clarifications. For a heartbeat, Emperor Caelus IV's eyes flickered with surprise, before settling back into scrutiny.
"Very well. If you solve it perfectly, the reward will be satisfactory, along with everything you have requested. Until then, you may observe the court as usual."
Alden bowed, his expression serene. "Understood, Your Majesty."
With all this happening, Aldric looked away, jaw tight, while Callum offered a nod. Magnus held his gaze steady, although something flickered in his gaze before disappearing to nothing.
And then Emperor Caelus IV watched his son leave. The boy did not look back. He walked with the same grace with which he had entered. When the door closed behind Alden, the silence rushed back in, heavy and suffocating. And Emperor Caelus IV realized once again, how wrong he had been.
It had not even been a full day since the Late Empress, Cassandra passed. He had expected Alden to falter, to break under the weight of the last seven years. Yet now shockingly, the Emperor realized there was nothing left in Alden that clung to the past. The hidden fear in his chest, kept trying to creep upwards, while he actively buried it back.
'The boy I knew is gone,' Emperor Caelus IV thought, the realization cutting through him like ice. In place of the child he remembered, a stranger wearing his face had just walked out of the room.
---
[Emerald Castle, Prince Alden's Study]
Limon knocked lightly on the heavy study room door, waiting for the curt acknowledgment before entering. The study smelled faintly of aged parchment and polished wood, the late afternoon sun spilling across the green-tinted rugs that lined the floor. Shelves of tomes, ledgers, and scrolls rose along the walls, interspersed with artifacts of governance and maps of the empire.
Prince Alden sat behind a large wooden desk, eyes fixed on a stack of meticulously organized documents. His posture was calm, shoulders squared, hands moving deliberately as he reviewed tomorrow's court proceedings.
Within a week, he had to show results in solving the Silver Star and Alchemists' Conclave conflict regarding the recent Rosewick accident. Both claimed their non-involvement and if Alden found the real culprit, he would immediately be handed over the responsibility. For now, he would simply attend the court to learn until eventually proved his worth.
Limon stepped in quietly, careful not to disturb the methodical flow of his friend's concentration. He took in the scene: the neatly stacked ledgers, the subtle scent of ink and parchment, the faint glimmer of gold trim along the edges of the documents.
"Greetings, Your Highness," Limon said softly as he slipped into the study, closing the door behind him with care.
Alden's eyes lifted for the briefest second before dropping back to the documents spread across his desk.
Limon approached, curiosity tipping his head to one side.
"You're really going to handle all of the Empress's duties yourself?"
"Only if I pass the test." Alden's reply was clipped.
Limon let out a low whistle, half awe, half nerves.
"You really mean to throw yourself into the deep end, don't you, Your Highness? What's the hurry?"
Alden's fingers paused over a ledger, his gaze sweeping names, timetables, and responsibilities.
Without looking up, he asked quietly,
"Limon. Did you complete your task?"
Limon straightened instinctively.
"Yes, Your Highness. Every letter has been sent exactly as you instructed. And the reply from Silver Star has already arrived."
He hesitated, lips pressing together before continuing.
"They claim to have no information on paralysis poison. And they seem to think your interest is a baseless accusation. They're requesting... that you respect their autonomy, Your Highness."
The room stilled.
A slow, chilling smile curved along Alden's lips.
"Is that so," he murmured, voice soft enough to send goosebumps up Limon's arms.
Alden didn't say anything further as he refocused on the parchment before him.
---
[Silver Star Tower – Upper Laboratory]
Moonlight filtered through the narrow crystal windows of the [Silver Star Tower]. Shelves of glass vials lined the walls, each filled with strange, shimmering dark substances. Arcane machines hummed softly.
At the center stood Tower Master Geralt, his silver-streaked hair tied loosely, robes stained with ink and powdered reagents. His expression was grim.
Across from him, Rhodri, his young disciple, waited nervously, hands clasped behind his back, eyes flicking toward the floor each time one of the vials crackled.
Geralt spoke first.
"The prince's dog was snooping around today," he said, voice low. "Asking if we know anything about paralysis poison."
Rhodri blinked. "Then can't we simply let him finish his investigation and leave? We are not connected to the Late Empress's paralysis anyway. "
Geralt slowly turned to look at him, an expression of cold disbelief sharpening his features.
"You fool."
The word hit harder than a slap. Rhodri stiffened.
Geralt stepped closer, lowering his voice to a dangerous hush.
"Do you truly think it ends with paralysis poison once they start digging? Do you not remember what we are researching here?"
The disciple's face drained of color.
He did remember.
The sealed vault beneath the tower.
The forbidden experiments using blood magic drawn from living subjects.
The dark toxin that twisted the mind, forcing people to speak in a semi-conscious state.
The incomplete formula still scribbled across half a dozen blackboards.
"Oh..." Rhodri whispered, realization dawning with dread. "Right. If that ever reaches their hands... we're doomed."'
Geralt's eyes hardened. "Now you understand."
A low rumble rolled through the tower as if in agreement, arcane engines shifting gears deep underground.
"At no cost," Geralt continued, each word clipped and firm, "can we allow him to investigate us."
Rhodri bowed his head quickly. "Understood, Master. I was... truly shortsighted."
"Hmph." Geralt turned away, pulling on his gloves with sharp, practiced motions, each tug punctuated by the faint creak of hardened leather. The chill in the chamber made small wisps of breath curl from his lips. "We don't have the luxury of mistakes."
"But Master... there was His Highness's personal letter too. We can't just ignore that. He is the sole heir to the throne after all." Rhodri hurried after him, nearly tripping over the edge of a rug embroidered with old sigils and fumbling with a stack of parchment. "And he has asked for you, the Tower Master, to meet him personally. What will you do?"
"That indeed is a problem." Geralt halted, turning just enough for the torchlight to carve sharp lines across his face. "He would grip on this topic and bother us endlessly."
He began to watch the parchment held by his disciple, his eyes scanning the royal seal with pure annoyance. It was a waste of his time, time better spent on the distillation of star-salts than entertaining a child playing the crown prine. But after a few moments, the annoyance faded, replaced by a slow, calculating look. A faint, mocking smile formed on his lips.
"Tell me, Rhodri," Geralt asked, his voice low and smooth, cutting through the hallway's silence. "He is not yet with any authority, right?"
Rhodri blinked, confused by the sudden shift in mood. He hastily adjusted his glasses, trying to keep pace with his master's logic. "Technically... no, Master. His coming of age has not yet passed. But" He paused, a furrow appearing between his brows as he recalled the gossip from the representative who went to court. "I heard he petitioned for the Late Empress's authority along with his own. He was given a test to prove his worthiness." The young man's voice wavered, though the information was delivered faithfully.
"Exactly." Geralt snatched the letter from Rhodri's hands. He didn't read it; instead, he tapped it dismissively against his open palm, the parchment crinkling under the force. "A boy taking a test is still a boy. A request from a prince who is not yet Emperor is just that, a request. It is not a decree. He has no authority to command the Tower Master to abandon his duties."
He tossed the scroll back to the fumbling disciple, who barely managed to catch it against his chest.
"Send someone else. Someone high enough to be my proxy and enjoys the company of court peacocks."
Then paused for a bit before adding. "Let Feroz go. Make up an excuse that I am currently unavailable. Tell them I am in the middle of a delicate concoction."
'Let him play at politics,' Geralt thought, turning his back on the disciple and continuing down the corridor, his heavy robes sweeping the stone floor with a hush. 'I have real power to cultivate. If the boy wants attention, he can get it from my disciple. And if he still continues snooping around... '
A slow smile formed on Geralt's lips. "As for the authority... let's also make sure he wouldn't get any... anytime soon, while we are at it."
He swept his hand across the stone table. Thin cracks between the runes glowed with a cold blue shimmer. Several glass vials' contents swirling in muted colors, emerald haze, ash-grey mist. A faint silver light spiraled from the sigils, crawling across the surfaces of the vials.
'Dangerous tools for dangerous times,' Geralt thought, watching the light flicker over the concoctions. The air prickled with alchemical scent, ozone, herbs, and the metallic tang of dark magic.
Rhodri swallowed hard. "Master... are we truly going this far? What if..."
Geralt didn't look away from the hovering vials. "Far? If he keeps this up... we will make sure" he said, voice low, "that the court will find another heir before he proves anything at all."
"Now go," Geralt commanded. "We need all the data on the samples processed tonight. Every sequence, every shift in reaction. If even one variable is off, our entire year of progress collapses."
Rhodri straightened, determination replacing his earlier fear.
"Yes, Master Geralt."
"And Rhodri," Geralt added without turning, his voice echoing slightly in the stone corridor. "Double-lock the north archives. If anyone, anyone, tries to access them, I want to know immediately."
Rhodri nodded sharply, clutching the scrolls tighter against his chest. "At once, Master." He hurried out, his footsteps fading until the heavy iron-bound door sealed behind him with a final, resonant thud.
Left alone in the silence, Geralt exhaled slowly. He walked over to his workbench, staring at the rows of softly glowing vials that pulsed with a sickly light.
"Paralysis poison... his thoughts are like a child after all... revenge, is that it?" he muttered, picking up a vial and swirling the viscous liquid. "If only they understood how small a threat that truly is."
He set the glass down with a sharp clink. His fingers tightened around the rough edge of the slate table, his reflection distorted in the glass apparatus before him.
"They're searching for a spark," he whispered into the gloom, a dark glint in his eyes. "They have no idea we're holding the fire."
---
[Viremont's Capital Residence]
Mina moved to the jewelry case, a masterwork of carved ebony that had been a wedding gift to Emmelyne's grandmother. From within its velvet-lined compartments, she carefully lifted a pair of green leaf-shaped earrings that seemed to capture the very essence of Verdan, delicate green leaves carved from the finest emerald, so realistic that they seemed to tremble with wind.
"These green earrings match your eyes perfectly, my lady," Mina murmured, holding them up to the light where they caught the golden rays and scattered them like tiny verdant flames. "These will enchant everyone at the Duchess of Helbart's Reception. Don't you agree, my lady?"
Emmelyne took the earrings with a hint of surprise. They were truly beautiful. Mesmerized, she asked Mina, "I have never seen such unique earrings in the entire empire. Where did you find these?"
Her fingers traced the delicate etched veins, marveling at the craftsmanship. Each leaf-shaped emerald shimmered with depth, stones of such clarity were rarer than diamonds, and large enough to carve only in the hands of a true master.
Mina, still breathless with excitement, had eagerly told her mistress about the small jewelry shop she'd discovered. Their pieces were exquisite, unlike anything circulating among the noble houses. Still new, still unnoticed by the wider court, perfect for Emmelyne, who was determined to distinguish herself with a fresh, unmistakable style.
"Would you like to see it for yourself, my lady?" Mina asked, eyes shining.
Emmelyne agreed without hesitation. If the shop's craftsmanship was truly this refined, establishing a connection, or even patronage, would be a smart investment. These weren't just accessories. They were declarations. Symbols of the future she intended to claim.
With a gentle nod from her mistress, Mina fastened the emerald earrings into place.
Emmelyne rose gracefully and stepped before the full-length mirror dominating the chamber wall.
The reflection that greeted her was the culmination of years of grooming, discipline, and unshakable ambition, golden hair cascading in silken waves, green eyes vivid with intelligence and purpose, skin like porcelain warmed by the faintest flush of excitement.
Yes.
'This was a woman destined for the throne.' She told her reflection silently. 'You will wear the crown jewels, sit beside the throne, and bear his heirs.'
Emmelyne lowered her chin slightly, admiring the poised curve of her neck, the perfect fall of her golden hair. The morning sun streaming through the tall windows cast pale rays across her chamber, gilding everything in soft brilliance, the silks, the polished wood, the painted screens. It felt like the world itself was acknowledging her rise.
She let her gaze drift toward the window. Somewhere across the vast sweep of the capital, Prince Alden was awake, likely in his study, reviewing laws or meeting advisors, or deep in the relentless training that filled a crown prince's days.
A warm flutter stirred beneath her ribs.
'Is he thinking of me as I am thinking of him? Does my face linger in his mind, the way his has already taken residence in mine?'
Then she smiled, slow, assured, irresistibly pleased with her own thoughts.
'What a silly question,' she told herself. 'With my beauty, can he really resist? He is a man, after all. And there is nothing I lack.'
---
[Veyrn's Grace Reception — Social Warfare]
The reception at the Duchess of Helbart's city mansion was a battlefield disguised as elegance. Crystal chandeliers spilled golden light across polished marble floors, and the elite of the capital drifted through the hall like jeweled fish in a glittering sea, soft voices, sharp smiles, hidden daggers.
Lady Emmelyne arrived in triumph.
Her midnight-blue gown shimmered with each step, the emerald earrings glinting under the chandeliers like captured forest light. When she entered, heads turned, exactly as they should.
Lady Shuri, daughter of the struggling Marquis Cornwell, approached with visible awe.
"Emmelyne, you look so beautiful today. I almost forgot to breathe."
Emmelyne allowed herself a small, victorious smirk.
"Thank you, Shuri."
She tilted her head just slightly, an elegant, calculated angle that showcased the earrings perfectly.
As expected, Shuri gasped.
"As expected of you, my lady. No one can compete with your sense of fashion. Your admirers must find it hard to resist your charm."
Emmelyne accepted the praise with triumphant composure.
And the pattern continued:
Bows. Compliments. Wide eyes.
Every lady who approached her reacted the same way, shock, admiration, envy. The emerald earrings dazzled them all.
Shuri trailed behind her like a devoted shadow. Pretty enough in her green hair and soft smile, but lacking the refinement of true aristocratic breeding. Still, she was useful, loyal, eager, harmless.
But then something strange began.
At first it was subtle. The conversation shifted, rippling through the circle of ladies like a breeze changing direction.
"Ah, Lady Emmelyne, how is Lord Cedric doing?" Lady Morwyn asked, her voice dripping with sugared curiosity. "He is Count Devon's youngest son, right?"
"I hear Lord Cedric has a bright future!" another voice chimed in. "Count Devon is favored by the Crown Prince as the commander of Radiant Sun, one of his personal Knight Orders."
"Heard Lord Cedric is following his father's footsteps. At only the age of twenty-three, he is already on the verge of becoming an Expert. "
"My... Such a promising young man..." said Lady Morwyn, the sneer carefully hidden behind her painted fan. "To match such a promising lady."
Lady Hena stepped closer, smiling knowingly as she added, "I'm so happy for you. Lord Cedric has the potential to even become a Swordsmaster someday. He will join Prince Alden's order after he becomes an Expert. Isn't it wonderful? "
Emmelyne blinked, the porcelain mask of her expression faltering for a microsecond. She was confused why these women were praising Lord Cedric to her out of nowhere. They spoke as if his achievements were her personal triumphs, as if a link existed that she had not forged. Still, she recovered quickly, replying smoothly.
"Indeed. Lord Cedric is capable." Emmelyne immediately dismissed her confusion, assuming the ladies were merely envious of the attention she commanded from the empire's most eligible bachelor, the Crown Prince, that they were testing her knowledge and social skills by speaking in a roundabout way.
Also, across the hall, Cedric Devon kept glancing her way. Every time her gaze swept past him, he flinched slightly, offering a shy smile, his ears turning a distinct shade of pink. He looked clearly smitten, his heart practically visible on his sleeve.
'Just another moth to the flame,' Emmelyne thought dismissively.
It was a natural occurrence for men to look at her in admiration. It happened at every ball, every tea party. Emmelyne paid it no extra attention.
The rest of the day passed wonderfully regardless. She was bathed in praise, admiration, and attention.
As always.