[Duke Viremont's Capital Residence]
"Is Father back?" Emmelyne demanded, cutting a sharp turn on the rug. "Why am I being kept waiting?"
Saim kept his head low. "He is within, my lady. But... I would not advise going there..."
Emmelyne didn’t wait. With a sharp of heels, she marched toward the study, chin high.
Her lips moved silently, rehearsing the words, savoring the sharp consonants of "Insolence" on her tongue. She would demand heads.
The heat of the banquet still lingered. She rubbed her cheek, as if the memory of Prince Jeremy’s sneer and Princess Jenna’s whispers about "rotten ropes" hissed in the air.
Steeling herself, she smoothed her skirts. "I just need to secure Prince Alden before the whispers reach him," she muttered. Alden was freshly victorious and still in mourning—surely too distracted by court politics to care about idle gossip. He had ignored worse rumors before.
She squared her shoulders, taking a slow, steadying breath before marching down the remaining stretch of corridor toward the heavy oak doors of her father's study.
But as she reached for the heavy oak doors, a voice cracked through the wood.
Her father’s voice.
"Gone?"
The single word fettered her feet to the stone, her hand hovering inches from the iron latch.
Inside, Duke Viremont’s voice rose, trembling with a fury that sounded dangerously close to panic.
"Ten million gold Imperials? By tonight? Madmen! I hold title to half the western coast! My mines alone bleed silver!"
Emmelyne’s stomach dropped. The voices were heavy, laced with terror, not the usual authoritative tone of her father. She leaned in to hear more as a reply came from the High Steward.
"But you do not have the coin, Your Grace. Not in the chest."
Emmelyne couldn't reconcile the voice with the man she had known steadily behind her father for years. The steward who had read a thousand treaties without faltering now fractured.
Another sound followed. Emmelyne peered through the gap in the door, opening it slightly.
The Steward dropped the heavy leather-bound ledger. His head bowed low as he explained. "It was not chance. The Iron Bank, the Copper Guild, the moneylenders... they moved as one. They called in every marker at dawn. They demand the principal. All of it."
"Then empty the warehouses!" her father snarled, the sound of glass shattering against the wall following the command. "Sell the silk reserves! Pay the vultures and then we'll find out the snake behind it!"
Emmelyne paused. 'The silk reserves, yes, we can sell those. Uncle Jorik will handle the rest.'
"We cannot," the Steward whispered. "The warrant was signed secretly a day ago. The Royal Advisor sent the bailiffs before dawn. Every warehouse, every ship... they are under the Crown’s seal. Nothing leaves your docks."
Emmelyne’s eyes widened. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs, and she clutched the fabric of her bodice as a single name flashed in her mind. 'Alden. He can help.'
As if reading her mind, Viremont shouted, "Send word to Prince Alden! Now."
"Your Grace... even if he wished to, reports say he will be leaving early in the morning for the East..."
Emmelyne's hand touched the latch, her chest tightening. But then the Steward's next line stopped her cold.
"Also, whether the Prince knows it or not, Your Grace, the whole city is whispering. It won't take long for the rumors to reach his ears." The Steward’s voice trembled. "Furthermore... If the Prince sides with us, he loses the entire military order. After all, the young lady maimed the Knight Commander's son..."
Emmelyne’s breath caught in her throat. 'Knight Commander’s son? Who?' she gasped, pressing her hand to her mouth. "How could this be?" She was certain he was just a stray who kept proposing and following her everywhere. A count’s son she paid no interest in. 'But a count who is also a Commander, and directly under Crown Prince Alden, no less. How could I not have known...'
She had made an enemy of the entire army. 'No... no... It can’t be.' Her whole body shook as the words echoed in her mind.
'Rotten rope? Who? Prince Alden? No…' She glanced at her father, who was frantically clutching his head, and then at the opulent purple decorations behind him, the art that had been acquired with thousands of gold coins.
She clenched her hands into fists, her eyes gleaming with sudden conviction. 'Right, if we sold all these, we can manage a few million. At least to pass the storm. Uncle Jorik can sell them in secret.'
But just as she was about to open the door and propose her idea, the Steward held up a crumpled piece of parchment, his fingers leaving sweat stains on the ink.
"And... it isn't just the lenders. It’s the captains," the Steward stuttered. "He is with the Justicars. Someone gave him the real ledgers. He has already confessed to the 'Sea Foam' fraud, admitting the wreck was staged."
The floor beneath Emmelyne's feet—the marble she had walked on her entire life—suddenly felt thin. Fragile. Her hand froze on the doorframe again.
"Captain Jorik? He’s been dining at my table for two decades! He commands my flagship!" Her father snatched the paper, his hands shaking as his face turned ashen. "I made him a wealthy man!"
"And today, he was offered a pardon to destroy you," the Steward said, his voice dropping to a hopeless rasp. "Your Grace, every captain, every silent partner... they are turning their coats to save their own necks."
"Get out."
"Your Grace, the City Watch is coming for the books—"
"GET OUT!"
The door flew open. Emmelyne lurched back—the edge caught her nose, not hard enough to bleed, but enough to sting. The High Steward barely registered her. He pushed past, his cravat undone, his neck glistening with cold sweat. He dropped the manifest on the floor and didn't bother to pick it up.
"My lady," he breathed, the scent of cold sweat clinging to him. He didn’t bow or apologize; he simply scrambled past her.
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Emmelyne gazed into the dimly lit corridor where he had vanished. His footsteps reverberated, gradually fading into the darkness, leaving the door swinging open.
From the study, the sound of another vase shattering echoed. But Emmelyne heard only the sound of a drowning man. Her father was clutching his chest, staring at the empty air. He didn't even see her standing there.
'Who?' The question hammered in her skull. 'Who has this much gold? Who wants us gone?' She backed away, her hand trembling on the doorframe, retreating from the ruin of her name. 'And more importantly, who can help us now?'
The oppressive silence of the house, amplified by the absence of any sound, drowned out her father’s agonizing breaths, leaving only the haunting memory of the Countess’s scream.
Emmelyne stared at her own hands. They were shaking. Another servant rushed past her, entering her father's room.
Through the swinging door, she caught a glimpse of it—a folded letter on the edge of her father's desk, the wax dark and unmarked. No house seal. No signet ring. Not recognizing the handwriting, she looked away before she could think too hard about what that meant.
Words continued to be exchanged inside—screams of rage, helplessness, and fortunes slipping through their fingers.
Emmelyne kept walking forward, refusing to turn back this time.
There was nothing her father could do now. These weren’t mere numbers; they were cracks in her family’s standing. If the duke’s fortunes fell, so would her support. The stakes were clear.
"Alden," she whispered, heading towards her room. "I need him now more than ever."
As she turned right in the corridor, she nearly bumped into Mina, who was carrying fresh linens to her chamber.
"My lady!" Mina gasped, steadying herself. "I didn't notice—"
"Perfect timing," Emmelyne interrupted, her voice sharp with newfound urgency. "Drop everything you’re doing. I need you to prepare me. For tonight."
Mina's eyes widened at the intensity in her mistress's tone. "It... It's late, my lady. E...Evening. If... if you meet someone now..."
Emmelyne glared at Mina. "Do as I say. Don't make me repeat myself."
"Of... of course, my lady. Shall I prepare the rose bath with—"
"Use everything we have. My golden hair should be braided with those light-catching pearl ribbons and tiny white jasmine blossoms from the garden." Her voice turned more urgent as she added, "Make me look like Verdan itself has crowned me."
Mina nodded frantically, her hands already fluttering as she mentally gathered the list of necessary oils and silks. "The ivory silk gown with emerald trim?"
"Yes, but don’t you dare utter a single word about my outing. One word." Emmelyne’s jaw clenched. "You don’t want to be Nero’s meal, do you?"
Mina shook her head in horror. Pleased, Emmelyne nodded once. "Get done with it."
Mina gasped and didn't respond; only the sound of water running in the tub began.
Two hours later, Emmelyne gazed at her reflection, satisfaction warming her chest despite the anxiety. The ivory gown hugged her figure perfectly, and the emerald trim complemented her green eyes.
"My lady, you look like a goddess," Mina whispered, admiring her work. "No man can resist this."
Emmelyne smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes as she draped the hooded cloak over her shoulders. 'I have to be. Everything depends on it now.'
"Immediately prepare the carriage," she commanded, gathering her silk gloves. "No insignia, no livery, just a plain ride." She turned sharply, her gaze fierce.
Emmelyne descended the grand staircase. In the courtyard, she walked past the Viremont family’s carriage and stopped before a brown carriage. Tugging her hood one more time, she whispered, "Emerald Castle. Direct, no stops."
'Tonight, I will make him absolutely mine,' she thought as she settled into the plush velvet seats. 'Before everything slips past me.'
The carriage rolled forward, carrying her toward the Imperial Palace and what she desperately hoped would be her salvation.
The silence of the ride pressed in, no longer peaceful, but suffocating. Again, the voice echoed in her mind.
[Southern Wing — Prince Aran's Study]
"What? Leaving for the East, you say?" Aran's tone was soft, with a hint of annoyance in it.
"Yes, Prince. He went to bed early tonight." The kneeling man pressed his forehead against the carpet. "However, His High… I mean, Alden would likely take at least noon, if not even evening, to actually depart—"
Aran tilted his head slightly, cutting him off. "Which order would he be taking?"
The man looked down. "None has been reported to have East mobilization order yet. The order came late today. He would likely decide early tomorrow morning."
"But there's a concerning issue, since the representative was arrested—"
The door flew open. A servant rushed into the room. "Prince. Emergency."
The kneeling man disappeared into the shadows.
Aran turned his gaze towards the door in annoyance, his golden eyes flashing in the candlelight.
The servant gasped and knelt down, whispering urgently, "The Green Spire… Flame Feather has seized it! The entire capital is in chaos."
Aran's hand paused. Then another servant rushed in the same manner. "Prince. Lord Aldric... says—"
Aldric rushed into the room before the servant could finish announcing, exclaiming, "We’ve been spotted, Prince."
Aran’s golden eyes narrowed as if to say, 'Elaborate.'
Aldric added calmly, word by word, "Our financial sabotage was going well. Viremont was almost done. But suddenly he paid back his creditors."
Aran's brows furrowed. "Someone helped him?"
"Yes, I am certain. Even the illegal businesses were taken just before we could intervene." Aldric stood with a calm expression, but his shaking eyes betrayed his unease. "Someone is one step ahead of us. At every turn. It’s as if a horde of ghosts has descended upon us."
A low chuckle escaped Aran, quickly spiraling into a sharp, manic laugh that shook his entire frame as he doubled over. "Is it you, brother? I can't really tell anymore," he mumbled, but then he stopped abruptly. His hands tightened their grip on the armrest. "He really went that far to save that woman?"
"I wouldn't jump to that conclusion, Prince." Aldric opened his mouth, looking outside the window. "If he wanted to save her, there would be a much cleaner method, wouldn't there?"
Aran's left brow went up, inquiring as Aldric ended the sentence. "He could have simply overwritten my seal! He holds the authority now."
Aran’s eyes narrowed, his fingers drumming a rapid rhythm on the armrest. He gestured sharply at a servant, who scrambled forward to pour white wine into a crystal goblet. Aran snatched it up, swirling the liquid absently.
Then he stopped, his eyes flashing cold. "Where is she? That Emmelyne..."
"..." Aldric couldn't answer.
"Leave, all of you," Aran snapped in annoyance.
The door locked shut.
After Aran dismissed all the servants, he quietly waited before leaning back, tapping his finger on his chair's armrest.
"Where did the Iron Guard go?"
A shape detached itself from the far wall—the previously kneeling man, still as furniture until now. He stepped forward into the candlelight. The man kneeled again and stuttered, "We still couldn't track the destination. They were deployed preemptively last night."
"Excuses... Or should I call it incompetence? Ah, they are the same thing." Aran twirled his finger on the wine glass.
"But... Prince. Since Aldric did bring down Viremont... Now they will—"
The crystal goblet shattered in Aran's grip. Wine and blood mingled, dripping slowly onto the floor. He ignored the shards biting into his palm. "One task," he hissed. "And even that wasn't done properly."
He began licking the wine from his fingers, muttering, "The cost was too high. How did he catch Green Spire? And how... did I have no idea at all?"
The kneeling man trembled. "No one could have foreseen Lord Limon's infatuation with Veiled Poison, Prince. She must have fed him the information."
Aran sighed. "And how do you think she talked? Does it make sense to you?"
The man lowered his head, "That… We don’t know yet. With Torvenn arrested, Silver Star and Crimson Veil gone, we have no means to investigate how Alden acquired a cure. It could be Geralt's secret success he hid from us, or it could be a coincidence…"
"Coincidence, you say?" Aran closed his eyes. "Keep a close eye on him, Alden. No. Don't trail him. Trail Limon instead. He won't leave late. Early morning. That's when he'd leave."
"Understood."
"Now get lost."
The kneeling man stood up and rushed out.
Finally, his shadow guard walked out of the window curtain. "Sharp as always. This Aldric is more than what he seems, Prince," he commented.
Aran smirked. "Did he notice you?"
The man in gray walked forward. "I can't tell. But... You better stay cautious. He always reminds me of a snake who wouldn't hesitate to devour its master."
"Indeed. That's why I couldn't let him go elsewhere, you see." Aran smirked. "However, there is a lot going on in the city. So much at once that it almost feels suspicious."
"Are you not worried, Prince?"
"Worried? About what exactly?" Aran's golden eyes flashed; the man immediately lowered his head. "You are absolutely right. There is nothing you need to be worried about. Just let these servants know and we will take care of them for you."
"Bring that woman to my chamber," Aran ordered.
"Who, my Prince?"
"That servant... what was her name?" Aran smirked. "Ah, Apate."
The man in gray paused. "But, we still don't know whether she is..."
"What's there to worry... You will be here anyway," Aran replied. "And the first pressing is always the sweetest, even if the grapes were grown in a field of hemlock."
"Understood, my Prince."
Aran closed his eyes once more, and as he opened them, the golden shades were dull with no anticipation or joy. Only the empty look of the forsaken.
