A group of High Nobles surrounded the Empress for a toast, blocking Ophelia's view of Lethia's corner. When the crowd parted, the seat was empty. Silas was gone. Lethia was gone.
Ophelia leaned toward Duchess Ruhina, her voice a triumphant hiss. "The mouse has taken the bait. He has surely moved her to the private wing by now."
Ruhina nodded, her eyes glinting. "Then let us ensure she has an audience for her downfall."
***
Ophelia stepped in first, a look of "shocked" pity already prepared on her face. "Lethia! My dear, what is the meaning of..."
The words died in her throat. Her jaw literally dropped.
Behind her stood Ruhina, Catherine, and half a dozen noblewomen who had followed sensing the drama.
They hadn't found Silas there.
They found Lethia, her dress disheveled and lips swollen, locked in the arms of Serik the Duchess's youngest son.
Serik's hand still firmly planted on Lethia's waist in a protective grip.
The silence was deafening.
Catherine's face turned a ghostly white.
Lethia leaned her head against Serik's chest, a tiny, wicked smirk touching her lips that only he could see.
"Aunt Opehila," Serik said, his voice a deep, dangerous rumble that shook the room. He didn't let go of Lethia. In fact, he pulled her closer. "I believe we were having a private conversation. Do you usually enter rooms without knocking?"
Ophelia looked like she was about to have a stroke. Her "perfect" plan hadn't just failed she had accidentally handed Lethia a wonderful opportunity.
Lethia had finally succumbed to the laced wine; her eyes had fluttered shut, and she had fallen into a deep, unconscious sleep against his chest.
Serik!" Ophelia gasped, her voice cracking. "What... what is the meaning of this? Why are you with her?"
Catherine's face turned a sickly shade of white. Her cousin the golden pride of the Valdor was holding the "Calvane disgrace" as if she were the most precious thing in the Empire. "Brother Serik, let her go!" Catherine hissed, her voice trembling with rage. "You are a Sidereon! How could you let yourself be dragged into her filth?"
Serik's amber eyes flashed with a coldness that silenced the room. He didn't answer. He simply tightened his grip on the sleeping Lethia, shielding her from their poisonous stares.
"Get out," Serik commanded, his voice a low, terrifying rumble. "All of you. Leave this room now, or I will ensure his majesty hears exactly what kind of 'hospitality' was offered here tonight."
Ophelia stepped back, sensing that their plan had not just failed but had turned into a weapon against them, the women retreated into the hallway, whispering in frantic, angry tones.
Outside the door, Ciro stood waiting. He had done exactly as Lethia ordered he had brought the crowd.
"The carriage is at the rear gate," Ciro whispered, stepping forward.
Serik nodded once... as Ciro led them through the shadows of the palace's back corridors.
As the carriage pulled away from the palace, the only sound was the rhythmic beating of horses' hooves against the cobbles. Serik sat in the dim interior, Lethia draped across his lap and chest to keep her from sliding off the seat.
He looked down at her pale, sleeping face, his heart heavy with a new kind of disappointment. He had always known the nobility was wicked trading reputations like currency and killing with whispers. But to realize his own Aunt Ophelia and even his mother, the Duchess, were the ones pulling the strings? It made his skin crawl. This was why he preferred the battlefield. At least there, the enemies showed their blades.
Suddenly, Lethia stirred. Her eyes opened just a crack, glassy and unfocused from the laced vintage. She looked up at Serik, her gaze wandering over his sharp jawline.
"Sir Knight..." she murmured, her voice a soft, hazy rasp.
Serik whispered, "You need to sleep."
She gave a small, weary smile… and drifted back into what felt like a dream.
***
The sunlight was too bright, cutting through the velvet curtains of the Lorvil mansion. Lethia's head throbbed from the laced wine, but her mind was already stitching together the jagged pieces of the previous night.
Downstairs, the house had been a storm of fury. Sebastian had been ready to have Ciro flogged for his failure, his hand already on his sword. It was only Serena who had stepped in, her voice cold and steady.
"Ciro is not part of your Duchy, My Lord," Serena had reminded him. "Only Lady Lethia has his ownership."
Now, the room was finally quiet. Elowen was clinging to Lethia, sobbing into her silk sheets. "I was so scared..."
Lethia patted Elowen's head tiredly until Serena finally escorted the crying girl out. The door clicked shut, and the room turned cold. Serena turned to Lethia, crossing her arms.
"The engagement with lord Hael is dead," Serena began flatly. "The news has traveled faster than a wildfire. In that sense, your plan worked."
Lethia leaned back against her pillows, a faint, wicked smile touching her lips. "Well... the partner changed at the last moment, but I must admit, it was delightful."
"Delightful? My foot," Serena snapped, her expression hardening. "Lethia, do you even know who your was that person? "
Lethia's smile lingered for a second. "Who?"
"Serik Sidereon. The second son of the Duke of Valdor."
Lethia froze.
The warmth that had lingered in her chest the memory of those comforting words turned into jagged ice. Her smile vanished. Her hands curled into tight, white knuckled fists against the duvet.
She let out a short, hollow laugh that sounded like breaking glass.
"A Sidereon," she whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of rage and shock. "Of course. These snakes... I was wondering how anyone in this city could be so kind."
Lethia's hatred for the Sidereons ran deep; they were the backbone of Ophelia Calvane's power. But what cut the deepest was the disappointment. For the first time in five years, she had felt something genuine from a man only to find out he belonged to the very bloodline she wanted to destroy. She felt sick.
With a bitter laugh, she turned her head to look out the window.
"At least the engagement with Hael is gone," Serena said, "But there's one more thing. You got an invitation this morning."
Serena handed her a stiff, cream-colored card with a gold-pressed seal. She gave Lethia a stiff, uneasy smile.
"Huh?" Lethia muttered, taking the card.
She stared at the letter until the ink blurred before her eyes.
My dear child,
I have heard of last night's distress and hold a sincere regret in my heart. No sorrow of yours is light to me.
If your strength allows, come visit me at the palace. I wish to see you and offer my comfort in person.
Until then, may peace stay with you.
By Her Grace
The Dowager Empress
As the second wife of the late Emperor Arthur, Athena had never borne a child of her own, but she had birthed an era. Years ago, when the court was a viper's nest of succession wars, she had done the unthinkable... she turned her back on the legitimate, cruel Crown Prince to crown an outcast. She had reached into the shadows of the palace and pulled out Marcus, an illegitimate child with no hope and no allies.
With the power of her own family, the Duchy of Valdor, and the sharp edge of her own intellect, she had fought the factions tooth and nail until she placed that boy on the throne. To cement the power, she had married her own niece, Isabella Sidereon, to him, binding the Sidereon blood to the Crown.
Though they shared no blood, the current Emperor treated Athena with more reverence than a birth mother. Her reputation as a "Benevolent Phoenix" was not just courtly flattery; she was the woman who had saved a discarded prince and turned him into a Sovereign..
Lethia looked at the letter again. This was the woman who was now reaching out to her. This was the legendary matriarch of the Sidereons. To receive "comfort" from the woman who had paved the way for the Sidereons' dominance was a move Lethia couldn't yet decipher.
***
The sun beat down on the imperial training grounds, the air thick with the scent of dust and worked iron. Serik stood near the weapon racks, his chest heaving under a damp tunic. Sweat matted his golden hair, glistening on his neck as he leaned heavily against a wooden pillar, the heat of the morning practice still radiating off his skin.
A sudden, sharp smack landed on his shoulder, nearly jarring him from his stance.
"And here I thought the young master of Valdor was incapable of getting into scandals," a smooth, melodic voice chirped.
Serik didn't need to look to know who it was. Davian, the Second Prince, stood there with a playful glint in his blue eyes, his black hair shining like a raven's wing in the sunlight. Despite his royal status, Davian lacked the stiff arrogance of the royalty.
"I've spent the morning hearing your name whispered more often than the Emperor's," Davian teased, leaning casually against the rack beside Serik. "An intimate meeting in a locked room? Truly, Serik, I'm impressed. You usually treat ladies like they're made of glass or live explosives."
Serik wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, his expression grim. "It's not that simple, Davian."
"Oh, I see," Davian chuckled, his smile widening. "You mean about your Aunt Ophelia?"
Serik turned a flat, deadpan look toward the Prince. "Even you know about that."
"It's not exactly a secret anymore," Davian said, his playful tone softening just a fraction. "The whole capital knows the Calvanes were hunting for a scandal, and they accidentally caught a Valdor lion instead. Only if you had remained silent."
The humor faded from Davian's face, replaced by a sudden, heavy sincerity. He looked out at the other knights practicing in the distance, his voice dropping into a sadder, more reflective tone.
"But Serik... I really admire this about you. You have the courage to stand by what you feel is right, regardless of the fallout. You don't hide who you are to make the throne feel comfortable."
The weight of Davian's words hung in the air. As the son of a concubine and not Empress Isabella, Davian had spent his life playing the part of the "spare." He was never supposed to stand out more than Crown Prince Lucian. To survive, Davian had learned to dim his own light, staying away from political schemes and burying himself in training. Like Serik, he preferred the honesty of the battlefield to the suffocating, gilded lies of the capital.
The air on the training grounds remained thick with heat as Serik wiped his neck, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the prince.
"You should worry about yourself," Serik countered, his voice low. "I heard the Imperial Grandmother is bent on arranging your marriage with the eldest daughter of the Solmere Duchy."
Davian's playful expression instantly soured into one of irritation. He kicked at the dirt with his boot. "Grandmother is relentless about it. She wants me to have a strong ally in case someone decides to give me a 'hard time.'"
They both knew exactly who that "someone" was. Empress Isabella was a woman who saw shadows in every corner. Despite her own son, Lucian, being the Crown Prince, her insecurity ran deep. She viewed Davian with his military talent and likability as a threat to be stifled, and she never missed an opportunity to make the Second Prince's life difficult.
Serik let out a short, bitter laugh. "I suppose she also hates me for being a Sidereon."
Davian caught the tone and gave him a playful smirk, nudging Serik's shoulder again. "Don't tell me you really are into Lady Lethia. You're acting quite the martyr for a man who just had a 'scandalous' evening."
"It's not like that," Serik snapped, his irritation flaring. He looked away, his gaze fixing on the horizon. "It's just... I want to take responsibility for what happened. But I know anything I do won't look like goodwill; it will look like another scheme to her. And looking at our family history... I can't even blame her for thinking that."
Davian's face went flat, his teasing finally subsiding. He saw the genuine conflict in his friend's eyes the struggle of a man who wanted to be honorable in a world built on lies.
"Well," Davian said, clapping him on the back one last time. "Grandmother has invited her to the Ivory Wing. She has a way of smoothing over even the roughest edges. If anyone can help you bridge that gap, it's her."
Hearing that, a visible wave of relief washed over Serik. He let out a long, steady breath, leaning back against the pillar. He trusted the judgment of the Empress Dowager more than anyone else in the palace... If she was stepping in, perhaps there was a chance the fire that had started wouldn't consume Lethia entirely.