Frustrations of a Self-Proclaimed Villain Lord

Chapter 81: The Grand Duke Borrows a Prince (1)

Toward where Spiro was waiting.

I disliked that direction. Not because the Elysian Estate was unsafe, quite the opposite, it had Sonomian wards, Sonomian guards, my parents, William, Bernard, several highly competent staff members, and a Jinn who’d grown increasingly territorial about the people under our roof. The problem was that all of those things were now gathered in one place, a place the black lines beneath the Crown Prince’s skin had just decided to notice.

How hateful.

"Your Majesty," I said, turning toward the Empress, "we leave now."

She looked from her unconscious son to the eastern wall where the black lines had pointed. "You said Sonomi."

"I did."

"You cannot carry the Crown Prince across the continent while he’s in this condition."

"I don’t intend to throw him over my shoulder and walk through Lorillis."

Abi raised a brow. "I could carry him."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because the moment you hold a sick Crown Prince in the air, half the palace will assume you’re abducting him."

"I thought that was the plan."

"It’s a medical relocation."

The Empress stared at me, and the Crown Prince’s knight, still holding Adrien carefully enough not to disturb the dark mark on his chest, looked as though he’d stopped understanding the conversation several sentences ago. The palace physician cleared his throat.

"Your Excellency," he said cautiously, "where exactly do you intend to take His Highness?"

"The Elysian Estate."

He blinked. "The Konstantin residence?"

"Yes."

"That’s still within the Capital."

"Then it’s fortunate we’re not traveling across the continent."

Abi smiled brightly, and the physician looked at him, then at me. I ignored both of them.

"The estate is under Sonomian household jurisdiction," I continued. "No palace clerk, temple official, archive keeper, or inconvenient adviser enters without permission. Its wards have no connection to the lower vault, the eastern wing, or the ritual lines beneath this palace."

The Empress’s expression stayed guarded. "And you believe that’s enough?"

"No," I replied. "I believe it’s better than leaving him in a room where black salt is arranged in seven segments under his bed."

That silenced everyone. The physician looked down, the knight tightened his hold, and the Empress stared at the broken circle on the floor. For a moment she looked less like the Empress of Yarina and more like a mother who’d just been shown proof that the room she thought she’d made safe had never been safe at all. Then her face hardened again.

"Very well," she said. "We move him."

The knight looked at her. "Your Majesty?"

"You heard me."

"Should we notify His Majesty?"

Her eyes shifted toward the corridor. "No."

A simple answer. A dangerous one. I made a note of it. The Emperor either didn’t know enough to be trusted with the situation, or the Empress had decided that informing him would give the people behind this ritual too much time to react. Possibly both.

"How will we leave?" the physician asked.

"Through the eastern service route," I said. "A private medical carriage. You, the Crown Prince’s knight, and Her Majesty will accompany him."

His face tightened. "And the palace guards?"

"Two trusted ones."

"Trusted according to whom?"

"Her Majesty."

She didn’t hesitate. "Captain Ren and Captain Darius. Bring them here."

The young knight bowed and hurried away. Abi tilted his head toward the shattered salt circle. "What about this?"

"I won’t leave it."

"Good."

"You’ll remain in this room for five minutes."

His brows rose. "That sounds like punishment."

"It’s work. Separate the black salt from the residue without letting the lines crawl somewhere else."

"Gently?"

"Yes."

He looked at the dark circle, then at the Crown Prince, then at me. "Still gently?"

"There are people tied to this."

His expression changed, the humor draining out of it. "Of course," he said.

The Empress watched him carefully. She’d seen enough of his power to know he wasn’t an ordinary man, yet she didn’t ask what he was. Sensible of her. People who survived long enough around House Konstantin often learned that not every question needed an answer.

The physician and the knight carried Adrien out first. The palace attendants had already been dismissed, though I caught sight of one frightened maid peeking from the far end of the corridor, young, her hands shaking so badly the tray she held trembled against her apron.

I walked toward her, and she flinched. "Your Excellency," she whispered.

"Your name?"

"Maribel, Your Excellency."

"Maribel, did you hear the bells?"

Her eyes widened. "I heard singing."

"What did it say?"

She swallowed. "My mother’s voice."

The answer sat between us, heavy. She must have known it was false, her mother had been dead for years, judging by the way her expression twisted as she spoke, and yet that hadn’t stopped the voice from reaching for her.

"Did you answer?"

"No." Her fingers clenched around the tray. "Her Majesty told us not to."

"Good." My gaze shifted toward the covered mirrors lining the hallway. "Go with the other staff. Don’t return to this wing today. If anyone calls you by name, you don’t follow. If they use your mother’s voice again, you don’t answer. You aren’t rude for refusing the dead."

She stared at me, then her eyes filled, and she bowed so quickly I had to step back before she dropped the tray. "Thank you, Your Excellency."

I watched her leave. The Empress had heard every word and didn’t comment. Neither did I. There were occasions when silence did more work than conversation.

Unfortunately, the moment didn’t last. A guard appeared from the western corridor. "Your Majesty," he said. "Lord Vesren is demanding an audience."

Of course he was. Marcellus’s very efficient deputy had already tried to force his way into the Crown Prince’s room shortly before the ward opened, a man who knew exactly when to appear and exactly where the weak points were. How professional.

"Bring him," I said.

The guard looked at the Empress. She looked at me, then nodded. "Bring him here."

Vesren arrived between two palace guards, younger than Marcellus, perhaps forty, pale hair brushed neatly behind his ears, his dark archive robe so clean he looked like he’d stepped out of an administrative portrait. I disliked him immediately, and not because he was arrogant, arrogance was manageable, and not because he was calm, calm could be useful. I disliked him because he looked at the Crown Prince’s blood on the floor before he looked at the Crown Prince himself. A tiny thing. But telling.

"Your Majesty," he greeted with a bow. "I’m relieved that His Highness has been removed from immediate danger."

"You attempted to enter his room," the Empress replied.

"I attempted to stabilize the ward."

"You attempted to force open a containment seal after I ordered the eastern wing closed."

His eyes lowered. "I acted out of concern for His Highness."

"Do not insult me," she said. Her voice stayed soft, though not in a gentle way, and the guards beside Vesren stiffened at it. He looked up, and for the first time the calm on his face went slightly strained.

"I’ve served the imperial archive faithfully for nineteen years," he said.

"And perhaps you should have learned that loyalty doesn’t excuse disobedience."

His jaw tightened. I watched him while, behind me, the black salt circle had begun to dissolve, thin violet threads separating the dark grains from the ward lines and drawing them into a small silver dish on the floor. Abi worked with the concentration of someone handling a venomous insect.

Vesren noticed him, then his gaze moved toward the broken salt circle, and something flickered in his eyes. Not concern. Recognition.

There.

"Lord Vesren," I said. He turned toward me. "Your Excellency."

"You told the eastern guards the ward couldn’t be opened."

"I repeated Her Majesty’s earlier instruction."

"That wasn’t my question."

His mouth tightened, the Empress and the guards both watching him now, and for a moment he seemed to consider lying. Then he said, "The ward shouldn’t have been opened."

"Why?"

"It contained the resonance."

"It contained the Crown Prince."

"The two were linked."

"That’s a terrible reason."

"It was necessary."

There it was. Necessary. People always had that word ready when they wanted cruelty to sound practical. Necessary, for the greater good, for stability, for peace. I’d heard enough of those excuses to know they usually arrived right before someone decided a child had to suffer for an adult’s calculation.

"You knew the bells would reach him," I said.

He stared at me. "I knew the old mark was unstable."

"You knew the second hymn had begun."

His silence answered for him. The Empress’s face changed, not dramatically, just her hand tightening around the edge of her sleeve, the blood from her ritual cuts darkening the fabric further.

"You knew," she said.

"Your Majesty," Vesren said, his voice lowering, "the ritual cannot be stopped by denial."

"Do not call it a ritual."

"It is what it is."

"No," she said. "It’s what you made it."

He inhaled, his eyes flickering toward the black salt circle, and that was his mistake. His right hand moved beneath his sleeve, not fast enough. Abi didn’t even look up. A violet thread snapped through the room, Vesren cried out, and something fell from his hand, a small metal ring striking the floor. A thin black line crawled from its surface toward the salt circle, but it never reached it, Abi’s violet thread wrapped around the ring first and crushed it into a dark, powdery lump.

Vesren staggered backward, blood running from his nose. The Empress looked at the remains on the floor.

"Take him," she said.

The guards moved, and Vesren fought then, not like a scholar, like a man who’d expected the room to help him. Black lines appeared beneath the cuffs of his sleeves, winding over his hands and toward his throat, his mouth opening on the start of a chant.

I stepped forward and drove the heel of my sword into his stomach. Not elegant. Not especially refined. But effective. He folded with a startled sound, and the words died in his mouth before the guards caught him.