I had expected his outrage—and was prepared for it.
"No," I replied coolly. "I know he'll try to kill me. That's not a question. But I also know things he doesn't. I could escape if I had to. I could ruin his peace with a few calculated moves, make his every step burn."
I leaned forward, voice colder than before. "But that's not the point. The point is: if you keep dismissing my questions with arrogance and pride, I might just give up the throne altogether. Walk away. Disappear. I could live quietly, even in obscurity. But could you?"
My voice sharpened. "Could you kill your pride and crawl into the gutters like a rat? Could you live beneath your brother's shadow, with no name, no crown, no dignity?"
I knew I was poking the bear. According to the novel, the prince I was speaking to eventually sparked a rebellion just to claim the throne—his desire wasn't passive; it was obsession. And here I was, dangling it all over the fire.
I expected a furious outburst. But instead... silence.
Not the offended kind. The dangerous kind.
The calm before the storm.
And that silence? It was far more terrifying.
I waited—half dreading, half hoping for a reaction—but he gave me none. No words. No fury. Just that quiet, unsettling stillness. I had to shift the topic before things escalated. So I softened my tone.
"Prince… you know I have nothing against you. You want the throne? Fine. But answer my damn question, because I'm the only one here who's working with knowledge from the future. I can pull strings, dodge traps, and see outcomes before they even happen. But I need your help. Your experience. Your insight."
He was listening now—I could feel it. So I pressed on.
"A plan you made in the novel, it failed—miserably. You rushed it, let your emotions lead, and paid the price. I'm not here to mock you; I'm telling you what could happen again if we don't do this right."
I met the silence again, but this time it was thoughtful.
Then, finally, the prince spoke—and his words carried weight.
"You want a serious answer?" he asked, voice devoid of jest.
He continued, "Let's see. First, you solidified our alliance with the tribe. Then, you struck a deal with the half-fairy girl—ensuring financial support. And now, you've extended ties to the Barbarians, guaranteeing military strength."
I let a soft smirk curve my lips. "Impressive. So what does all of that tell you?"
He frowned. "I'm not sure what you're getting at."
"Come on," I prodded. "You're the political genius here."
After a pause, he responded, "You're diversifying our assets. Earlier, most of my strength came solely from Wellesley. Now, you've spread our power base."
"Exactly!" I grinned. "There's a saying—not sure if it exists in this world—but 'Don't put all your eggs in one basket.' If that basket falls, everything breaks. So I'm making sure even if one alliance crumbles, we've got others holding us up."
I was deliberately flattering him, trying to cool whatever storm was brewing inside him. But his response remained neutral.
"Alright," he said. "I understand. So what's next?"
His lack of enthusiasm stung a little, but I brushed it off.
"I've done what I can," I said. "I laid the groundwork, secured allies, spread our influence. Now it's your turn. What will you do to make sure we survive this game?"
He was silent for a moment, but then nodded slowly, a glint of fire returning to his eyes.
"You want me to cripple our enemies… while strengthening our wings."
"Precisely," I confirmed. "We need to create a distraction—something loud, something bold. Your brother won't leave us alone, especially not while we're outside the palace. He'll be hunting for leads, for any scent of rebellion."
I looked at the windows with meaning. "We can't give him that. So, before he catches wind of what we're doing, I need you to stir the pot—pull attention away. Whatever you say, I'll back it. But it has to be something that keeps him occupied."
He thought for a few beats, then said slowly, "If you want something that loud… I suggest you aim for the Administration Department."
I blinked. "The administrative wing? What could we possibly gain there?"
I could feek his lips curling slightly, like a teacher explaining to a slow student.
"Plenty. You're still new to this world, so let me break it down. Among humans, there are two real classes—nobility and commoners. Slaves are barely acknowledged as human."
I nodded, following him carefully.
"And where there are classes," he continued, "there is inequality. Nobility dominate. Commoners serve. That's the unspoken rule. In the palace, commoners aren't even allowed unless they possess extraordinary talent—like Wellesley."
He leaned back, his voice laced with a knowing tone.
"That's why the Magic and Knight Departments are exceptions—they need talent. They're the only ones who recruit from among commoners. And most magic users, as you know, are from common backgrounds. Magic is rare. Which is why those departments are more progressive."
"But the rest of the system?" he scoffed. "Still stuck in its aristocratic rot. The Administrative Department is where the tension simmers."
He leaned forward again, eyes sharp now. "Play it right… and it will erupt."