The king sat at the head of the table, as if the very room were built around his presence.
Every movement of his was deliberate, like a man who had long forgotten what it meant to act without purpose.
He lifted his porcelain teacup with delicate precision, took a sip, and let silence reign for just long enough before speaking.
"Hmm. So the Ashbournes intend to relinquish all rights to the mines... in favor of the Crown."
"Yes, Your Majesty. However, in return, we would like to request ownership of the southern villa currently held by the Crown."
The Southern Villa.
It was a property that belonged to the Crown, behind which lay a forest and beautiful mountains. The villa was no longer in use by the Crowndale family because it had swarmed with all kinds of beasts from the forest, making it unsuitable for royal vacations. However, that forest stretched all the way to the mountains at the back, and the Crowndale family remained unaware of what lay there.
It was specifically mentioned in the novel that...
There was a mine hidden in that forest.
A diamond mine, at that.
The king would think little of the request and would pass that burden off with a smile. He would give it up without a second thought.
But what he didn't know… was what the future held.
The king's would hastily signature on the documents and wouldn't even read them properly. The quiet years that would pass. The smugness with which he would speak of it. That is, until the moment he learns the truth. That it contained the diamond mine.
By then, it would no longer be his to reclaim.
The Crown's pride would become its own gallows. To seize back what it had discarded so carelessly would be to admit its failure to the world. It would leave a crack in the facade of its infallibility.
The smile he now hid behind his teacup… would not last.
"How are you feeling after assuming your role as the acting head of House Ashbourne, my nephew?"
The corners of his lips curled into a gentle smile.
To an outsider, it might have looked as though he was being benevolent. But in reality, it was nothing short of a performance.
Arthur met his gaze with a small, polite smile as he replied to the King.
"Thanks to you for bestowing upon me such great responsibility. I am growing more accustomed to it, Uncle."
There was a flicker at the corner of his mouth, a twitch that betrayed the instinct to respond, though he mastered it quickly.
Across the table, Demetrius sat in composed silence, a faint smile etched into his features like it had been carved there long ago.
But Arthur had spent years watching him.
To the untrained eye, that expression might have seemed pleasant, perhaps even kind. But he knew better. He knew the subtle tautness of his jaw that revealed a carefully veiled amusement.
"Is that so...?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Then, another voice rang out in the hall.
It was the Queen.
She sat with poise that seemed carved from marble, one delicate hand resting lightly upon the armrest of her chair. Her posture, her expression, her very presence was graceful. She was every inch the sovereign consort.
But beneath that carefully constructed veneer, her words held the weight of a guillotine blade.
"So, when do you plan to marry our Ophelia?"
The question was a noose, slipped around Arthur's neck with the gentleness of silk.
'Oh, so this was their plan after all. Now that they can no longer continue to suppress me, they want me to bind myself with marriage. Ha! They didn't even bother to ask the other person in question.'
Arthur's fingers curled ever so slightly in his lap as he drew a slow breath, steadying himself before he spoke.
"As embarrassing as it is, Your Majesty… I must admit that I am not yet prepared to shoulder such a great responsibility."
It was neither denial nor rejection, merely an admission of inadequacy. A ploy.
The queen's eyes held Arthur's, cold and serene. He did not avert his gaze.
"So, I would humbly ask His Majesty for permission to allow an engagement prior to the wedding. I am far too lacking to stand beside the Princess as I am now. After all, she is a woman who bears the grand Crowndale name and deserves a partner truly worthy of her."
Arthur knew very well that the king was a man easily swayed by honeyed words and reverent tones.
And just as he expected, the king laughed, the tension in his shoulders loosening, the corners of his mouth lifting into an indulgent grin.
"Haha! Yes, yes. Take your time before the marriage. However, do not make me wait for long. My patience is wearing thin as it is."
It was a threat disguised as leniency.
Arthur inclined his head, the very image of deference.
"As you wish, Your Majesty."
And thus, the first snare had been set and sidestepped. But this was merely the beginning.
The matter of marriage was put on hold for now.
But there was still another matter to attend to, one that required far more than mere words.
Arthur offered a slight bow, murmured a brief excuse, and slipped away from the suffocating atmosphere of the royal dining hall.
The heavy doors closed behind him with a muted thud, cutting off the polite chatter and hidden barbs that danced behind porcelain smiles.
There was no reason to linger any longer than necessary.
The corridor he entered was a cavernous artery of gilded silence, its walls lined with towering mirrors and tapestries that seemed to watch with silent judgment.
Every step he took echoed softly against the marble floors, swallowed quickly by the grand hush of the palace.
It was then that a quiet realization flickered to life within him.
'Damn it. I don't know the way to Princess Ophelia's palace.'
It was a minor detail, a trivial inconvenience. And yet, in a place like this, even the smallest ignorance could be treated as a vulnerability.
Just as he contemplated whether to retrace his steps or risk wandering aimlessly, he caught the faint rustle of fabric and the soft tread of slippers against polished stone.
A maid.
She moved with the fluid grace of someone trained to disappear in plain sight.
'Perfect timing.'
"Wait a moment."
She halted instantly, turning to face him with a gentle dip of her head. A young woman clad in the palace's pristine livery, her posture straight, her expression carefully composed.
"Do you require any assistance, My Lord?"
"Yes—"
But the words had barely left his mouth before a familiar voice sliced through the quiet like the edge of a finely honed dagger.
"—Arthur!"
He turned instinctively. And there she stood at a distance, still and silent as a statue carved from frost.
His mother.
She had said nothing throughout the breakfast, not a word. Her silence had been louder than any insult. And yet now, in the hush of the corridor, she spoke.
The maid immediately lowered her head into a graceful bow.
"You may take your leave."
"Yes, Princess."
Without hesitation, the maid vanished down the hallway, her presence receding into the shadows as though she had never been there at all.
"Mother, I was merely asking her about a certain direction."
Though the protest passed his lips, he had already understood that her interruption must not have been random.
"She belongs to the Lionheart Palace."
The Lionheart Palace.
It was the domain of the Crown Prince. Every corner of it bristled with hidden ears and veiled intentions. Her warning, though unspoken, was clear:
Do not trust. Do not speak freely. Even a harmless question could be twisted, used, turned against you.
Arthur replied softly, giving a slight nod.
"I understand. Well then, I'll see you at Granville Manor."
"You will?"
A flicker of surprise touched her voice.
"Yes. What else can I do? Though, I won't be staying long."
"Very well. If it's Ophelia's palace that you seek, my maid will guide you there."
'Really?'
Her gaze shifted with graceful deliberation, and she called out with quiet authority.
"Anne."
At her word, a figure came forward from the shadows, a woman cloaked in the muted elegance of his mother's household staff. She stepped forward with quiet obedience, her face composed, her hands folded.
"Take Arthur to Ophelia's palace and return immediately afterward. It would not do to be seen wandering these halls without purpose."
Anne dipped into a deep, respectful bow as she replied.
"Yes, madam."
Arthur gave her a slight nod with a smile as he said:
"I'll be going, then, Mother."
And with that, he turned and followed Anne, their footsteps weaving through the palace.
Anne.
She had served Adelaide far longer than Arthur had ever been allowed in her presence. Through the rise and fall of seasons, her place at his mother's side remained unchanged.
There was no doubt in his mind that she understood his mother far better than either he or his father ever could.
A thought stirred within Arthur, and before he could stop himself, it slipped past his lips.
"Anne, what would be a suitable present… if I were to give one to Mother?"