Jeffrey’s anger surged as
he saw the Emperor leisurely sipping tea. Before his emotions could show on his
face, he bowed his head.
"Your Majesty, I offer
my greetings."
"What is it?" the
Emperor’s voice was indifferent, irritated by the interruption of his rest.
Jeffrey clenched his teeth.
He had come deliberately to find the Emperor in the courtyard, hoping that away
from the formal setting of the study or the office, he might engage in a more
candid conversation.
“I have something urgent to
discuss with Your Majesty.”
“If it’s a long matter,
come to the study later.”
“I’m too anxious to wait,
Your Majesty. I beg you to spare me a moment now.”
The Emperor’s indifferent
gaze turned toward Jeffrey. With a casual wave of his hand, the servants around
them retreated.
“Sit.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Jeffrey pulled out a chair
and sat at the table.
“I’ve heard that Your
Majesty visits the courtyard daily,” Jeffrey began, attempting to ease into the
conversation with light small talk.
“That tree,” the Emperor
said, pointing. Jeffrey turned fully to see what the Emperor was gesturing at.
“The tree with white spots
on its trunk—do you see it?”
“Yes.”
“Your sister gave it to
me.”
Jeffrey’s eye twitched. An
image of his forgotten homeland sprang to mind. It was a type of cypress that
grew near the Acheron duchy.
“How… that tree only grows
in very specific soil conditions.”
“So I’ve heard. It was
originally in a pot. Later, they brought soil from Acheron to transplant it
here. They say the tree has a calming effect on people.”
“Yes…”
Jeffrey blinked rapidly to
stop the moisture from gathering in his eyes.
So, that’s why… Jeffrey now understood why the Emperor spent
so much time in the courtyard.
This is perfect, he thought. He had come to talk about the
Iron King. No matter how cold the Emperor’s heart might be, surely, with this
tree reminding him of Edith, he couldn’t turn away from the son she left
behind. Jeffrey turned back to face the Emperor.
“Your Majesty, I’ve heard
that you appointed the Iron King as the envoy to the allied nations.”
“I did.”
Jeffrey’s voice became
grave. “Your Majesty, I implore you to reconsider.”
The Emperor, who had been
resting his chin on his hand while gazing at the tree, shifted his eyes to
Jeffrey.
“That decision was made in
consultation with the council.”
“Your Majesty is the final
decision-maker.”
“If not the Iron King, then
who should go?”
“There are others who can
go.”
Jeffrey didn’t directly
mention the Silver King, but the implication was clear. There were only two
royals suitable for the mission: the Iron King and the Silver King.
Their gazes locked. The Emperor,
catching the resentment in Jeffrey’s eyes, chuckled faintly.
Jeffrey, whether
deliberately or not, barely concealed the fury in his expression—fury that
bordered on hostility. Such audacity would have been unforgivable from anyone
else, but the Emperor chose to overlook it.
It wasn’t because Jeffrey
was Edith’s brother. It was because every time the Emperor looked into
Jeffrey’s eyes, he was reminded of her, stirring old memories even more
vividly.
“Why shouldn’t the Iron
King go?”
“It’s dangerous. The desert
is a place where monsters roam. Furthermore, the Iron Queen is about to give
birth. With such uncertainty in travel times, the Iron King might miss his
child’s birth. And if the Iron King’s succession rights are restored, he is
your heir.”
“There’s no real
danger—he’s not going alone, and a whole army is being dispatched with him.
Even if he misses the birth, what difference does it make? The Iron Queen will
give birth safely in the palace. As for the succession, it doesn’t matter. Either
the Iron King or the Silver King will inherit after me. All of your concerns
are dismissed.”
“Your Majesty!”
Jeffrey almost shouted, but
bit down on his anger. Angering the Emperor would only make matters worse.
“Dian is Edith’s son,” he
pressed.
The Emperor’s gaze drifted
into the distance. Jeffrey believed the Emperor was looking past him at the
cypress tree behind him.
“If Edith hadn’t been
pregnant, she wouldn’t have died.”
Jeffrey’s eyes widened in
shock. His hands, resting on the table, trembled violently, and he clenched his
fists. In his heart, he had already punched the Emperor’s face a hundred times
over.
“How could you say such a
thing, Your Majesty…?”
“Talking about the past is
pointless. I hold no ill will toward the Iron King.”
Jeffrey’s tension eased
slightly.
“Did the Iron King say he
doesn’t want to go?”
Jeffrey hesitated, unable
to answer. Dian didn’t know Jeffrey had come to meet the Emperor at all.
“If he doesn’t want to go,
let him come and tell me himself. He shouldn’t hide behind you.”
“Your Majesty, the Iron
King didn’t send me in his place. I came of my own accord.”
“That’s exactly my point.
Why are you making decisions for him?”
“….”
The Emperor rose from his
seat, but Jeffrey did not move to offer a proper farewell. The Emperor, seemingly
indifferent to Jeffrey's rudeness, simply let it pass.
“Tell the Iron King to come
to me. Someone unwilling shouldn’t be given the role of envoy.”
The Emperor walked past
Jeffrey without another word. His attendants, who had reappeared from the shadows,
trailed behind him like a silent procession.
Jeffrey remained seated,
frozen in place for a long time, his emotions roiling inside. He struggled to
contain his anger, swallowing it down again and again.
After becoming an
investigator and making his survival known to the world, Jeffrey had managed to
contact the surviving members of House Acheron. They had concealed their
identities and continued to live in the Acheron duchy. Through regular
communications, they informed him of troubling developments within the Rimone
duchy.
Jeffrey had become
convinced that the Emperor had begun his long-awaited revenge. He believed that
the Emperor’s hatred for the Rimone family was something they shared.
"Your Majesty, it’s
unwise to destroy the Rimone family too quickly. In the long run, it won’t
benefit the Empire."
The Emperor had responded
coldly:
"You overstep."
Leaving the audience with a
sense of humiliation, Jeffrey couldn’t shake the feeling that something was
amiss. But now, he was certain.
The Emperor doesn’t care
about Edith or the Iron King. All he wants is to quench his own thirst for
revenge.
***
There was someone who
rejoiced at the news of the Iron King's appointment as the envoy to the desert.
“The Iron King, heading to
the desert?”
Patricia’s eyes gleamed
with a sharp, vindictive light. She had been simmering with frustration, unable
to act against the Iron King, who had remained secure in his position. Even the
troublesome Marquis Rad had distanced himself from the Iron King.
“I can’t let this
opportunity slip away.”
This might be her last
chance to remove the Iron King from her path once and for all.
In the empire, the Emperor
held supreme authority, but the next most powerful figures were the vassal
kings. A king enjoyed considerable power under the Emperor’s approval, and any
attempt to harm a king was seen as a direct challenge to the Emperor’s
authority.
Once a royal received a
title and fiefdom, they became untouchable as a vassal king. Ever since Dian
had been made the Iron King, Patricia could no longer openly scheme against
him.
No matter how much Patricia
raged about wanting to eliminate the Iron King, her ability to act within the
palace was limited. For something decisive to happen, she needed full support
from the Rimone family, but Doug had been uncooperative.
Doug's attitude had been
frustratingly passive, as if saying, Why be so anxious? The Silver King will
take the throne eventually anyway. Patricia had been growing increasingly
irritated with her brother's complacency.
“We should have gotten rid
of him back then.”
Patricia still regretted
missing the perfect opportunity when Dian had been sent as an envoy to the
desert before. That failure haunted her, but she resolved that this time, she
would not let the chance slip away.
Ever since the Iron King
had been granted his title, Patricia had felt like something was stuck in her
chest, an irritation that only his removal would resolve. Nothing could be
allowed to stand in the Silver King’s way.
“With Doug absent, this
might actually be better. At least he won’t be a hindrance for once.”
Patricia pouted. Recently,
Doug had come to the capital briefly without even seeing her, and the sting of
that neglect still hadn’t faded.
“He lacks decisiveness.
He’s nothing like our father.”
Doug’s inability to
properly handle the crisis in the duchy was only further proof of his
ineptitude. At first, Patricia had been concerned, but as time passed, she
found herself disgusted by his weakness. If their father were still alive, none
of this chaos would have occurred.
“Once the Iron King is
gone, everything else will fall into place.”
Patricia scoffed as she
thought about the Iron Queen. The woman was naive and inexperienced—handling
her would be a simple task.
Patricia had never publicly
shown any discomfort toward Violet. In fact, she had always been courteous,
even sending congratulations when she heard about the Iron Queen’s pregnancy.
If Patricia had openly tormented
the Iron Queen, people would have seen her true nature. But she knew better
than to resort to such crude methods. Acting obviously hateful would only draw
unwanted attention.
In social circles, Patricia
was known for her clear-cut preferences. Many had fallen out of her favor,
unable to attend the social gatherings she dominated. People whispered about
her bad temper, but most believed that as long as they stayed on her good side,
there was no need to worry.
Patricia had carefully
cultivated an image of being direct and straightforward but not secretly
scheming. Even her reputation as a social tyrant was part of her calculation.
The public, foolish as they
were, often believed what they could see. A person known for their harshness
who occasionally acted kindly would be praised, while someone who appeared kind
but occasionally showed cruelty would face criticism.
Years ago, Patricia and the
Rimone family had played a hand in sending Dian to the desert as an envoy.
People had gossiped, but no one took it too seriously, as Patricia had never
hidden her disdain for Dian.
But no one had suspected
that Patricia and the Rimone family had actively worked to have Dian killed
during that mission. The close call Dian had experienced in the desert was seen
as nothing more than an unfortunate accident.
Patricia called for her
maid.
“Prepare for my departure.
I’m planning to visit my father’s grave, as I missed the recent anniversary.
Don’t make a fuss.”
“Yes, Red King.”
Patricia dressed in
mourning clothes and set out with a modest entourage.
The end of last month had
marked the first anniversary of the late Duke Rimone’s death. With the Rimone
Duchy in turmoil and Doug absent from the capital, the anniversary had passed
without much ceremony.
Now that Doug had briefly
returned to the capital, Patricia’s belated visit to the grave didn’t seem out
of place.
After paying her respects
at the late duke’s tomb, Patricia made her way to the Rimone estate. The
duchess and the household retainers came out to greet her as if they were
welcoming the head of the family.
As the carriage doors
opened and Patricia stepped out, they all bowed in unison.
“Welcome, Red King.”
“It’s been a while,”
Patricia responded.
When the late duke was
alive, Patricia had visited the Rimone estate several times a month. She had
always been treated as the most honored guest, and even after the duke’s death,
her status remained intact.
The retainers followed
Patricia into the reception room, while the duchess quietly disappeared with
the maids. The Duchess, chosen for her quiet nature and lack of influence, had
been handpicked by the late duke to ensure that no discord would come from her
family.
Since her marriage, the
duchess had been a silent, shadowy figure, focusing only on her duties. She had
no desire to engage in any power struggles with Patricia.
Once the retainers had been
reassured and left the room, Patricia called for the steward.
“I need to speak with your
foster father.”
The steward flinched. His
foster father had once overseen the household when the late duke was alive.
The man had retired a few
years before the late duke’s death, handing over the stewardship to his foster
son. After the duke’s death, the old steward had fully retreated into the
background.
Patricia, noticing the steward’s
hesitation, snapped, “What are you waiting for? Bring him to me at once!”
“...Yes, Red King.”
The steward bowed and left
the room after Patricia's command. Though she was merely a guest, in Doug’s
absence, no one at the Rimone estate could afford to ignore her orders.
The late Duke had always
found his daughter more reliable than his son. On several occasions, he had discreetly
summoned a few trusted retainers and told them:
“Doug will succeed me. You
must serve him with the same loyalty you’ve shown me. However... should an
urgent situation arise where Doug cannot be consulted, seek advice from the Red
King.”
The late Duke had ensured
that Doug never learned of this arrangement, fearing it might strain the
relationship between the siblings.
Patricia was halfway
through her tea when a knock came at the door. It opened quietly to reveal an
elderly man leaning on a cane. His steps were labored, but his eyes were sharp.
Patricia’s brow briefly furrowed at the sight before she smoothed it over.
This was the man her father
had trusted above all others—someone he confided in more than his own children.
It irked Patricia that the steward, a mere servant, had been privy to
discussions that even she and Doug had been excluded from.
Moreover, the man's past
was shrouded in mystery. No one knew where he had come from or what he had done
before entering the Rimone household.
“Father never told us, even
in the end.”
Patricia could only guess
that he had handled the dirty, unmentionable tasks her father needed to do.
Something about the man’s inscrutable, almost eerie gaze always made her
uncomfortable, like an unsettling presence lurking beneath his otherwise polite
demeanor.
The idea that she, the Red
King, could feel unsettled by a mere steward annoyed her to no end. It made her
dislike him all the more. Doug, her brother, despised the man even more than
she did.
“What brings the Red King
to seek out this old man?” he asked, his voice a rasp but with a hint of
amusement.
"I need your help,"
Patricia repeated.
The old man’s thin lips
stretched into a tight, almost eerie smile. The deep wrinkles around his mouth
smoothed out as he chuckled softly.
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