“Worrying too much isn’t good for your health, Duke Krobe. I hold no personal grudge against Sir Rehart.”
The Duke looked unconvinced, but soon bowed slightly and offered a calm smile.
“I have no doubt in Your Highness’s sense of fairness. I am the one who should be careful not to let personal feelings interfere.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“The nobles who chose me as their representative hope to curb Your Highness’s unilateral rule. Since His Majesty is still alive, they sent me to ask you to leave the throne vacant. But since I spoke otherwise… once I leave this hall, I’ll be met with a storm of blame.”
So he’s asking for protection from the nobles’ pushback?
But Duke Krobe was ultimately just informing him he planned to leave, even as he framed it as seeking permission.
“Are you not concerned about His Majesty’s condition, Duke? Postpone your return to your estate. Once His Majesty regains his strength, he will surely wish to see his old friend and loyal subject.”
The Duke didn’t respond right away.
He wore a deeply contemplative expression, and at last, bowed his head and spoke in a low voice.
“Your Highness, I have already given you my son. He will remain at your side in my stead.”
Kalian thought of Duke Krobe’s second son, Lenz Krobe—one of the members of Blayden’s elite unit, Kinolf.
Outwardly, he served as Blayden’s right-hand man, but his true role was something else entirely—a young knight with a secret mission.
“He may be an unworthy child, but I hope he can serve as a bridge between Your Highness and Sir Rehart.”
Ah, he’s basically saying: Don’t fight with Blayden—get along with him.
Feigning ignorance, Kalian gave a gentle smile.
“Your loyalty is admirable. Then remain a while longer at court with that same devotion. When His Majesty rises again, I intend to recommend he settle the succession. Whoever he names, I will follow—and I hope all others will do the same.”
Realizing further pleas were useless, the Duke gave a brief reply.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“As you said, a time of peace has come. Remember that this is a time for unity.”
Kalian spoke with pointed meaning.
The Duke, maintaining proper decorum, withdrew without another word.
Where the Duke had stood, a split apple rolled on the floor.
Kalian looked down at the juicy, red fruit, twisting his lips in thought.
Just as he bent down to pick up a piece of the apple, a rustling sound came from a corner.
His sharp gaze shot toward the massive lion statue.
Still so diligent, are you?
“You may come out now.”
No reply.
Kalian took a large bite of the apple and walked toward the statue.
“How long do you plan to skulk like a rat? Come out.”
A sliver of white robe peeked from beneath the lion’s paw.
Kalian, still chewing on the apple like a predator herding prey, spoke again.
“Must I drag you out myself?”
At last, Athenac emerged.
He stepped from behind the statue, bowed respectfully, and asked calmly:
“Do you truly believe in unity, Your Highness?”
No trace of embarrassment at having eavesdropped—just the composure of someone who believed he had done his job.
Perhaps he was confident the prince wouldn’t punish him.
Hmph.
That boldness will help you live long.
Kalian sneered inwardly and reviewed his conversation with the Duke.
“To claim the throne, justification is key. I will handle things so no one can question my legitimacy.”
“Wise words, Your Highness.”
Kalian was briefly surprised by the sudden praise—but Athenac’s tone soon grew solemn.
“But do not place too much trust in Sir Rehart. If he could strike down a woman he once considered a sister, then he could strike down anyone.”
Trying to lecture me, are you?
“Are you implying I’m included in that ‘anyone’?”
Kalian took another huge bite of the apple, letting the crunch ring out.
Do you still see me as some naïve child?
I spent five years on the battlefield.
The boy who once trembled the night before deployment is long gone.
I was the one who gave the order to kill my own sister.
If anyone can cut down another, it’s me.
Kalian stared at Athenac, chewing the apple slowly and deliberately.
“Sir Rehart would never strike me.”
At least for now.
If he strikes me down, he’ll be surrounded by enemies—because the king protecting him is currently unconscious.
He wouldn’t draw his sword without a shield.
Deep wrinkles formed on Athenak’s forehead.
“Your Highness, do you remember when Sir Rehart laid his cloak on the floor in the Great Hall?”
Cloak?
Why bring that up now?
Holding an apple near his mouth, Kalian lowered it and narrowed his eyes.
“That was a gift bestowed by His Majesty.”
Indeed.
On the eve of the final battle against Verden, a royal messenger brought a black cloak to Blayden from Kalian’s father.
At the time, he had mocked it as an executioner’s garb—but in hindsight, it was no laughing matter.
The cloak, made from rare beaver fur, was an official decree.|
It marked him as an executioner acting on behalf of the king.
A license.
Permission to cut down anyone.
“Sir Rehart flung that sacred item to the ground and laid a slave upon it.”
Was that his act of protest at the victory banquet?
Before the most distinguished nobles of Echillium, what Blayden trampled wasn’t the slave—it was the king’s gift.
“In the Great Hall, a symbol of royal authority, Sir Rehart dishonored Echillium. He cast aside the cloak bestowed by His Majesty and tore apart the dress Princess Kiabel once wore—worn then by a slave. What if Priest Boren hadn’t appeared just in time, and Sir Rehart had taken the slave for himself? It wasn’t the slave who was nearly conquered last night, Your Highness.”
To borrow a slave only to insult Echillium.
Ha… Blayden Rehart.
So like you.
You turned everyone at the banquet into cheering spectators for your treachery.
The more he thought about being played for a fool by Blayden, the more Kalian seethed with fury.
“Keep Sir Rehart in check, Your Highness.”
“I already am.”
The order to retrieve the Shadow Flower was also a trap.
“It’s a test by proxy. The trip to the Shadowlands is both a crisis and an opportunity for Sir Rehart. If he harbors treacherous ambitions, he’ll act on them. Counterattacks are his specialty, aren’t they?”
“I’m relieved that Your Highness sees it that way.”
Athenak’s sharp eyes softened a little.
Just as he was about to leave, Kalian called him back.
“That girl.”
“Yes, Your Highness?”
“Look into that slave girl who helped Kiabel escape. There must be a reason why Sir Rehart protects her.”
Such impertinence in one so young.
Her temper was fierce—she wasn’t ordinary.
Blayden had clearly seen something in her.
Something that interested him.
Something useful.
Kalian had to find out what that was.
“I will begin immediately.”
“And…”
Kalian looked down at the apple in his hand.
Most of the flesh was gone—only the bare core remained, like a stripped bone.
“I forgot. Summon the princess’s nanny. I must reward her.”
***
Meanwhile…
The chapel tucked in a quiet corner of Claville’s inner citadel was sacred—but felt like a neglected cave.
The king, who used to visit it daily, no longer came.
Kalian walked past a stone wall with a grand arched entrance into the cool, silent space.
A large altar stood beneath a stained-glass window.
Candles flickered along the edge of the marble altar, and at its center stood a large wooden bust of a woman’s upper body.
This was a hall dedicated to one person alone: Lavinia Metheus, the fallen queen of Kiabeque and once the betrothed of Tigrinu Olaus the Conqueror.
Kalian stared at the bust, grinding his teeth.
Back when Echillium was nothing more than a sparse northern tribal alliance, Lavinia had crossed into Kiabeque to ask for economic aid.
The hedonistic King Odin of Kiabeque had promised a grand reward to anyone who could beat him at chess.
Lavinia not only won the match—but also stole the young king’s heart.
Struck by her brilliance and beauty, Odin proposed to her.
But Lavinia refused, saying she was already engaged.
When she tried to return home, Odin imprisoned her and forced her into marriage.
That was the origin of all tragedy.
Driven by vengeance, Tigrinu invaded Kiabeque and slaughtered countless people.
How formidable must Lavinia have been?
Kalian’s eyes grew misty as he gazed at her wooden effigy.
Are you satisfied now?
The man who worshipped you drenched the whole continent in blood.
Then praise him and take him away already.
His father had two wives and two children.
But the only woman he ever truly loved was Lavinia Metheus.
Just one woman.
He could’ve forgotten her.
But to his father, Lavinia was his soul—his religion.
Violated by Odin, Lavinia bore Blayden… and died during childbirth.
Blayden Rehart—you live thanks to a mother you never even saw.
When your time comes, I’ll enshrine your soul here.
The spawn of our enemy… the one my father loved like a son.