News of the poisoning attempt and Aurelian's "frightened" reaction spread like a flood. In the eyes of the court, the Third Prince was utterly shattered. Shut away in his room, surrounded only by a few old, loyal servants. Cassian, passing Finnian in the corridor, laughed coarsely.
"See? He doesn't even dare to come out after a poison attempt. Like a baby rat."
Finnian smiled thinly, but his eyes narrowed. "Or perhaps he is planning something."
"Planning a dirge?" Cassian mocked before walking away.
Finnian wasn't so sure. The brief encounter at the hunt had left an impression. There was something different in Aurelian's gaze. Like a merchant appraising goods, not a prince seeking approval. But, with his few guards and no real backing, what could he possibly do?
Behind the closed doors, they knew nothing of what the weak prince was truly up to.
My bedroom had a secret basement connected to an old network of tunnels, relics from when the palace was a war fortress. Very few knew of it, including the unfortunate Aurelian, who had stumbled upon it as a child and used it as a secret spot for reading poetry. Now, it became the headquarters of my operations.
The surviving food taster, a young man named Leo, finally recovered. He was brought before me in the lantern-lit basement. The room had already been transformed into a simple command center. Maps of the kingdom, financial records, and lists of names hung on the walls.
Leo knelt, trembling. "Your Highness, forgive me, I didn't know—"
"Rise," I said, my voice flat. "You have proven your loyalty by risking your life. Now, I offer a choice. Remain a servant, with comfortable compensation. Or… work for me in a different way. More dangerous, but with far greater rewards."
Leo stared at me, confused. "Work… how?"
"You will be my eyes in the kitchen and among the servants. Gather gossip, observe who meets with whom, report suspicious behavior. And sometimes, deliver specific messages or packages."
Leo's eyes widened. This was far beyond a servant's duties. But he saw my eyes, cold. No scorn or condescension in them. And he remembered the bounty that had been delivered to his family.
"I… I choose the second, Your Highness."
"Good. First rule: never lie to me. Second rule: absolute loyalty. Break either, and the consequences will be far worse than poison." I didn't raise my voice, but the chill in it made Leo shiver and nod quickly.
That was the beginning of my web. I recruited other servants to whom I had "loaned" money. The gardener whose daughter was now treated by a physician I paid, the gatekeeper whose brother I freed from gambling debt. They weren't professional spies, but they were everywhere. And in the world of intelligence, access is often more valuable than skill.
Meanwhile, physical training with Kael continued. Aurelian's skinny body began to tighten. Muscles formed, though he was still far from a knight. But Viktor knew real fights were rarely won by brute strength alone. Kael taught me how to use a dagger. A weapon easily concealed, deadly at close range.
"You learn fast, Your Highness," Kael murmured one day, after I successfully disarmed his wooden sword with a tricky move. "Too fast. As if… you've done it before."
"You could say I am a diligent student," I replied, wiping sweat. "But, Kael, I have a question. Who among the palace guard knights is the most discontented? Those who feel undervalued, or are in debt?"
Kael narrowed his eyes. "Why?"
"Because a discontented man is a man who can be bargained with."
He was silent for a moment. "There are a few. Sir Rylan, for instance. A talented knight from a poor family. He's often passed over for promotion in favor of nobles with better connections. And he has a sizable gambling debt."
"Good. Arrange a meeting. Discreetly."
My web expanded. From servants to guards. But I needed resources. My princely allowance wouldn't be enough.
I studied the kingdom's financial records I had secretly obtained from the treasury. The eastern harbor, as I had told Finnian, was indeed performing poorly. Corruption and mismanagement. It was an opportunity.
Disguised as a wealthy merchant with dyed hair and plain clothes, accompanied by two loyal guards I had recruited (former mercenaries out of work who liked my gold more than my questions), I visited the eastern harbor of the city of Valerium.
The chaos there was exactly as imagined. Goods piled haphazardly, customs officers taking bribes, harbor thugs extorting "protection" fees from merchants. It reminded me of the harbors I once controlled. Bittersweet nostalgia.
I approached a desperate-looking cloth merchant, whose goods were being slowly inspected by an officer expecting a bribe.
"Trouble?" I asked.
The merchant, named Goran, glanced at me. "Trouble? Just a usual day at East Harbor. If you don't pay, your goods are held until they rot. Or stolen."
"And who collects the fees?"
"Many people. The customs officers, the thugs of Lord Harlan. He's the harbor supervisor's nephew. Even the city guards take a cut."
Lord Harlan. I knew that name. A low-ranking noble who supported Prince Cassian, given the harbor supervisor position as a reward. Greedy and sloppy.
"What if there was someone who could guarantee your goods pass smoothly, for a fee lower than the total bribes you pay now?" I asked.
Goran laughed bitterly. "A helpful god? There isn't one."
"Let's say… there is. What would you pay?"
He looked at me suspiciously, then named a figure. It was still profitable for me, and much cheaper for him.
"I will arrange it. Tomorrow, send one trial cargo. Tell me when the ship arrives. I will ensure its smooth passage. If it works, you pay. If not, you lose nothing."
Goran hesitated, but desperation made him agree.
That night, I sent an anonymous message to the greediest customs officer, named Krovos. The message was simple: "Tomorrow, Goran's cloth cargo is not to be touched. If it is, your affair with the neighbor's wife and your wine smuggling will become common knowledge." I had gathered this information from my servants in the city, who heard all sorts of gossip.
To Lord Harlan's thug boss, I sent another message: "Keep your men away from pier three tomorrow. If not, Lord Harlan will learn about the percentage you've been hiding from him."
And to the corrupt city guard commander, a third message: "Keep your guards at their posts tomorrow. Or your 'special' financial records will be sent to the royal treasurer's office."
They were all guesses based on gathered intel, but specific enough to instill fear.
The next day, Goran's cargo came in and out without a hitch, undisturbed. He was shocked and relieved. He paid, as promised.
That was the first step. Over the following weeks, using the same method—subtle blackmail, threats against their secrets, and sometimes direct payments more lucrative than random bribes—I began to "organize" a small slice of the harbor. I didn't control it all, but created an efficient pipeline for a few paying merchants under my protection. Money flowed into my secret coffers, hidden in the basement.
I had a codename: "The Violet Web," named for Aurelian's eyes. Unseen, yet potent.
One day, while walking in disguise, my guard whispered.
"Your Highness, someone wishes to meet."
An alarm rang in my head. "Who?"
"He calls himself 'The Tailor'. He says he has business to discuss with the master of the web."
I nodded. "Bring him to the tunnels. To the second meeting room. Keep my face shadowed."
The Tailor turned out to be a middle-aged woman with a plain appearance, but her eyes were sharp as a hawk's. She sat across from me in the dim room, my face hidden by a hood.
"The Violet Web," she said, her voice smooth. "Efficient. Unobtrusive. But still small."
I was startled. She knew.
The surprise lasted only a fraction of a second before cold logic took over.
"What do you want?" I asked, making my voice raspy.
"The Violet Web," the woman said again, her fingers tapping the simple wooden table. "A poetic name for a web of extortion and protection. You move quickly, Master Merchant. But your scale is still too small. Harlan's thugs and Officer Krovos are growing suspicious. They will soon realize there's a third hand."
"I don't know what you mean."
The woman gave a small laugh.
"I am with the little people. I know you hold the future. I wish to cooperate."
I listened, guessing and analyzing.
"I have access to goods. Documents from the palace. Private letters. Also, untraceable poisons and rare medicines."
My eyes in the palace hadn't reached that level. This was an opportunity.
"And the price?"
"Protection. And occasionally, assistance in shipping certain goods through the harbor."
I pondered. "Show proof. Tomorrow, at a place I designate. If satisfactory, we have a deal."
She nodded. "Be wary of Prince Finnian. He is starting to notice odd activity at the harbor. He has eyes everywhere."
A valuable warning. Finnian was more dangerous than Cassian in this regard; he was a manipulator, not a brawler.
After The Tailor left, I ordered my guard to follow her discreetly. She entered a secluded apothecary in the city. An apothecary known to make potions for high nobility. An interesting connection.
The next day, I received a package containing a copy of a secret letter between Lord Harlan (the harbor supervisor) and Cassian, discussing siphoning harbor revenue to fund Cassian's private troops. It was gold. Misuse of royal funds. I stored it safely.
My web grew. Money flowed. I could now pay more informants, even bribe a clerk in the treasurer's office for official financial reports. I also purchased small weapons. Daggers, poison needles, concealable crossbows.
Yet, the storm finally came.
Cassian, increasingly frustrated with the approaching Crown Prince selection and his lack of progress in gaining full support from the old nobles, decided to showcase his strength. He held a military parade in the city square, displaying his disciplined private troops. The King, though ill, was present on the balcony, his face pale but his eyes watchful.
I was also there, standing among the other nobles, playing the part of an impressed and slightly fearful Aurelian. Finnian stood beside me, smiling sardonically.
"Cassian thinks strength is everything," Finnian whispered. "But Father dislikes arrogance."
"Does Father like anything?" I asked innocently, as the old Aurelian might have.
Finnian looked at me, searching for mockery, but found only a blank expression. "Father likes control. And Cassian is starting to look like he can't be controlled."
That was a valuable insight. The King feared an heir too strong.
Suddenly, a commotion broke out below. An old beggar, perhaps disturbed by the crowd, broke through the guard lines and ran towards the carriage carrying Cassian's banners. It wasn't a real threat, but Cassian, in his anger seeking an outlet, shouted: "Seize him! Whip him to death!"
The guards caught the terrified beggar. Whips were prepared.
The nobles murmured. Some agreed, some were disgusted but silent. I saw the King's face; there was disapproval, but he said nothing. He was too weak to intervene.
But Viktor Dragov knew one thing: the loyalty of the masses was won in unexpected ways. And Aurelian had no public image besides being weak.
Before I could think further, my feet were already moving forward. My voice, projected loudly as I once did commanding my crew, cut through the din.
"Stop!"
All eyes turned to me. Cassian glared. Finnian gasped.
"Little brother," Cassian hissed. "Do not interfere in men's affairs."
"I am a prince of this kingdom, same as you," I said, walking down the steps to the square. My voice was no longer weak, but clear and authoritative. "And royal law requires a trial before execution, even for a beggar. Do you wish to show our people that a potential Crown Prince tramples on our father's laws?"
It was a public slap. Cassian's face reddened with rage. "He attacked a royal parade!"
"He is a confused old man, not an enemy soldier!" I retorted, now standing between the guard and the cowering beggar. I stared directly into Cassian's eyes. "True strength isn't in tormenting the weak, brother. It's in protecting them. Is that not what our ancestors taught?"
My words resonated. The watching merchants and commoners began to whisper. They saw the Weak Prince standing against the Cruel General to defend a commoner. A narrative was instantly born.
Cassian snarled, his hand gripping his sword. For a moment, I thought he would attack me right there. But he wasn't a complete fool. Killing a sibling in public would ruin his claim.
He finally released his sword. "Take the beggar to the cells. For… trial." He spat the words.
I gave a slight bow. "Your wisdom is commendable, Cassian."
I turned and helped the old beggar to his feet before the guards took him. A brief eye contact, and I whispered, "Be calm, you will not be harmed." Then aloud, casually, "I shall ensure a fair trial."
As I walked back to the nobles, the crowd was silent, then a few cheers broke out—small ones. I looked up at the balcony. King Alistair was staring at me, his eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable. Finnian looked at me with a new expression, one of deep wariness.
I had stepped onto the battlefield. And I had made a powerful enemy furious.
That night, in the basement, Gideon trembled. "Your Highness, that was so dangerous! Cassian will certainly retaliate."
"Of course," I said, cleaning the dagger Kael had given me. "But now, the people see Aurelian as brave, not cowardly. And the King sees that I can be used as a counterbalance to Cassian. That gives us a sliver of protection."
"But what will Cassian do?"
"Something predictable," I answered. "He will try to attack me directly or ruin my reputation. We must be ready."
I ordered my guards to keep watch around my quarters. The Violet Web was ordered to gather information on Cassian's movements.
A few days later, reports came. Cassian had ordered his guards to investigate my activities. They began asking about where my allowance went, about my sword instructor Kael, about my visits to the harbor.
Time for misdirection.
I had Kael "discovered" by Cassian's spies, then have him flee to the city as if hiding something. I also made it seem like I had fallen for a maidservant (one of my agents) and was spending lavishly on extravagant gifts for her. A plausible explanation for large expenditures. Let Cassian think I was just a frivolous prince playing hero and romance.
Meanwhile, through The Tailor, I obtained valuable information: Finnian was secretly supporting a minor rebellion on the western border, to keep Cassian busy and have him fail in dealing with it. That was typical Finnian, striking from the shadows.
I decided to use this information. I sent an anonymous tip to the King's trusted advisor about the possible rebellion, without naming Finnian. Let Cassian look negligent, and let the King grow more suspicious of both his sons.
The three-way rivalry was heating up. I was no longer an ignored player.
One night, as I studied maps of the border region, a servant brought a wax-sealed letter. Its contents were simple: "There is a rat in your kitchen. He eats from Cassian's bowl. Be wary of your wine tonight. —S.T."
S.T. The Tailor. A warning.
I immediately checked the wine supply. One bottle, a gift from an "unknown admirer," had been slipped among the others. I gave it to a stray cat that frequented the gardens. A few hours later, the cat died.
They were still trying to kill me. But now, they were more careful.
I smiled, humorlessly. The game was getting interesting.
I ordered Leo, my eye in the kitchen, to find the "rat." Within two days, he reported a dishwasher who was often seen receiving coins from one of Cassian's guards.
I didn't confront him directly. Instead, I made sure that servant was assigned to serve Prince Finnian at his next small gathering. Let my other brother deal with the traitor.
A few days later, Finnian held a dinner. That servant disappeared afterwards. Sent to a remote estate, according to rumors. Finnian must have found poison or a spy among his own. The tension between my two brothers grew, exactly as I wanted.
Time passed. The Crown Prince selection drew nearer. The King announced there would be three tests: one for military leadership (Cassian's domain), one for administration and economy (Finnian's domain), and one for diplomacy and rapport with the people (a domain none had mastered).
I stood on my chamber balcony, looking at the full moon. Viktor Dragov never wanted a throne, but he always wanted power. And in this world, the throne was the pinnacle of power. I had built an underground network, resources, and a sliver of popular support. But it wasn't enough.
I needed a clear victory, something the King and the nobles couldn't ignore.
And that opportunity came from an unexpected direction. A report from the Violet Web mentioned disruptions at the eastern harbor. A large-scale confiscation by customs officers who had suddenly become honest. A quick investigation revealed that the King, having heard whispers of harbor corruption (whispers I had anonymously spread), had ordered an audit.
Lord Harlan, the harbor supervisor and Cassian's ally, panicked. He began covering his tracks, moving records, even planning an escape.
This was a golden opportunity. Not just to topple Cassian's ally, but to showcase "my capabilities."
I formulated a plan. As Lord Harlan tried to escape by ship at night, he would be "ambushed" by city guards loyal to the King—information I would provide anonymously. But, among his belongings, they would find not only records of his corruption, but also letters proving Cassian's knowledge and support, and a letter from Finnian implying blackmail against Harlan. Evidence "carefully arranged" by The Tailor and a team of forgers I was beginning to assemble.
By dawn, Harlan would be captured, Cassian would be tainted, Finnian would be implicated, and the only prince who appeared clean and concerned with the kingdom's finances would be Aurelian, who had "warned" about the harbor issue at the hunt long ago.
It was risky. But in this business, risk was the only path to the top.
I gazed at the violet eyes in the mirror. "Get ready, Viktor. Tomorrow, we begin seizing the throne openly."
The moon smiled coldly, illuminating the conspiracy-filled palace. The next act was about to begin.