Chapter 48: Omen (3)
Chapter 48: Omen (3)
He nearly spat out his tea.
He'd let his guard down and they came at him hard. Saying 'I'm only telling you this because it's you'—suddenly, what on earth was this about....
While he stood frozen, unable to adjust to the conversation that had suddenly turned so heavy, the Crown Prince continued speaking.
"Due to my position, I have no choice but to sit in the Crown Prince's seat, but those who know, know. That the age difference between His Majesty and myself is a mere eight years. By the time His Majesty reaches retirement age, I too will be at an age where I must prepare for retirement."
An eight-year difference.
Crown Prince Elpidius Desert was twenty years old. The Emperor, twenty-eight, was eight years older than him.
Occasionally, envoys from other kingdoms who hadn't done proper research would tilt their heads and whisper to those around them, asking if he was truly His Majesty's biological son,
But as if that could be the case.
The Crown Prince was the Emperor's nephew.
'No, but why is he telling me this...'
He wasn't suited for this kind of heavy personal history.
There was no way the Crown Prince couldn't see his expression, thick with discomfort, but the damn Crown Prince paid it no mind and kept talking.
"If the day ever comes when I ascend to the throne, that would mean something has gone wrong with His Majesty's safety. I do not wish for that."
"......."
"And above all else, after seeing His Majesty work, I realized it clearly. I cannot do what he does."
The Crown Prince's eyes held an unreadable mixture of emotions as he spoke.
The only thing he could be certain of was that they were not, by any means, negative emotions.
'.......'
Considering the Emperor had killed all his siblings and even slaughtered their children to leave no lingering threats, the existence of a nephew was incomprehensible—and the fact that the nephew did not hate his uncle was stranger still. But there was a reason for it.
There had been one sibling who was not killed by the Emperor's hand.
The one brother who was already dead when the Emperor, then the 9th Prince, drew his blade: the 1st Prince.
He didn't know the details, but given the whispers that 'if the 1st Prince had been alive, the 9th Prince would never have drawn his sword,' one could only conclude that the two had been exceptionally close.
And beyond that, there were many rumors about the 1st Prince.
A royal unlike any other, a pushover of a prince. The sole blood relative who treated the 9th Prince—a loose thread, a drifting kite—with kindness.
It was even said that after marrying and having a child, the 1st Prince had visited daily to care for both the 9th Prince and his own child together, so it was no surprise that the current Emperor treated the 1st Prince's children—his nephew the Crown Prince and his niece the Princess—so well.
He must have grown that attached to them. He probably thought of them as his own children, or as full siblings.
Which was surely why he had formally recognized them as 'Crown Prince' and 'Princess.'
"So I ask you to take good care of His Majesty."
"Yes.... Pardon?"
Startled, he lifted his head.
In the Crown Prince's eyes, which he dared to meet, there was an inexplicable trust.
'I've been wanting to say this for a while now... what is this baseless, unfounded trust? Isn't suspicion a virtue for royalty?'
And on top of that, the person he was being asked to 'take care of' was none other than the Emperor. The very Emperor who had personally drawn a sword and rampaged across the battlefield, seizing territory, during the Eight-Year War!
He was, honestly, dumbfounded.
"Brother, why must you burden the Count by saying such things!"
"Your Highness the Princess...."
"Even without saying it, the Count will do well!"
That was absolutely not the case. So please, don't look at him with those eyes that say 'I did well, right?'
And Crown Prince—why the hell are you nodding!
"I was rude."
"No, not at all."
He made up his mind. He had to escape. At this rate, only more burdensome topics would come up.
He couldn't just bolt without a word, so it would be best to excuse himself with a suitable pretext, get away for a bit, and then return. That would at least change the mood.
Conveniently, he'd drunk so much tea that he needed the restroom. He could use that as an excuse to step away.
Gauging the Crown Prince and Princess's reactions, he carefully opened his mouth.
"Um, may I excuse myself for a moment to the restroom?"
"Now that I think of it, you did drink a lot of tea. Go ahead."
He bowed once to the Crown Prince and Princess, who waved him off, and hurriedly left the garden where the tea time had been taking place.
'I'm saved! I thought I was going to suffocate to death.'
Though thinking about having to go back there made his future look pitch-black, he'd at least gotten out for now!
Deciding he'd take care of business first and then walk back a bit slowly, he strode with light steps down the palace corridor.
And to his embarrassment, after walking so boldly,
'......Where am I?'
He got lost.
Don't think it's pathetic that he got lost despite frequently coming and going from the Imperial Palace.
He always went straight to meet the Emperor and came straight home without ever straying onto other paths.
So how could he possibly know another route?
'It'll be a problem if I keep the imperial family waiting too long...'
His life would be in trouble.
If, by any chance, they thought he'd stood them up, that would truly be a disaster, wouldn't it?
In his bewilderment, he hurriedly looked around.
Fortunately, it wasn't long before he spotted an attendant standing in the corner of one corridor.
"You there!"
"......!"
Ah, he'd been so relieved that he'd practically shouted.
The attendant startled, eyes going round as he looked this way, so Deon smiled slightly in apology—and for some reason, the man flinched, body trembling.
...Well, it was probably his imagination.
In case the attendant ran, Deon kept his smile in place and lengthened his stride, walking briskly over.
The guy's expression, full of anxiety probably because of Deon's infamous reputation, bothered him a little, but right now he was the one in more of a hurry.
He was about to burst. At this rate, he really was going to let loose.
He would politely decline to specify what.
"Here—"
"Uwaaaaaah!!"
...Where the bathroom is, you crazy bastard.
He stared at the guy who suddenly drew a sword and charged at him—not with shock, but with a face full of sheer disbelief.
* * *
"He's gone."
"Indeed."
He must have fled. The conversation seemed to have been quite burdensome to him.
'To be honest, it was a bit sudden.'
But knowing that an opportunity to talk like this wouldn't come easily, he'd had no choice.
Quietly lifting his teacup, Crown Prince Elpidius wore a faint smile.
He was sorry for burdening him, but he had no intention of taking back the words he'd spoken.
Unlike the peaceful surface, sinister movements were busily stirring beneath the water, and their blade was clearly aimed at his uncle, the Emperor.
Movements that had been ongoing from the very moment his uncle became Emperor.
[We will seat you on the supreme throne.]
[At this rate, you may never sit upon the Emperor's seat, not in your whole life.]
[The nobles' opposition is growing fierce.]
[Please, punish the tyrant.]
Even in the midst of the Eight-Year War, they had persistently sought him out.
Not that he'd ever been swayed by such nonsensical words, but even he couldn't guarantee how long he could maintain this resolve.
They might someday grasp a weakness he himself didn't know and come to shake him.
What else were weaknesses for? If that moment came, he would probably....
'.......'
It had been ten years since the throne changed hands. Even if they had lacked the leisure to scheme during the war, once they set their minds to it, it was more than enough time to dig up a weakness or two.
Until now, the Crown Prince had served as a sturdy shield for the Emperor.
To overthrow the Emperor, they needed not only a plausible justification but also a 'royal' to sit upon the empty throne. So in the end, if the Crown Prince did not agree, their actions would end as mere rebellion.
They could substitute the Princess, but the Crown Prince wielded greater power to convince others, and she too would never agree.
The 'actions' of the subversive elements had no choice but to be continuously pushed back.
However, this had now reached its limit. No—the limit had been reached long ago.
It had already been two years since their actions shifted from 'persuasion' to 'persuasion disguised as coercion.'
As the Crown Prince, never knowing when a weakness might be seized and force him into unwanted actions, he had to hurry and prepare countermeasures.
So it was only natural that he would take note of Deon Hart, the hero the Emperor uniquely trusted.
'Still, it's fortunate I didn't say that part.'
If he, who had already fled unable to handle the burden of mere words like those, had heard this—he would surely have fled clear out of the Imperial Palace. And probably would have tried to avoid facing him for the rest of his life.
'If there is anything that obstructs assisting the Emperor,'
Even if it were a member of the imperial family.
'...I told him to kill them.'
He smiled affectionately as he packed cookies for the Princess.
The Princess met his eyes, then knowingly folded her eyes into crescent moons and nodded. His matching nod in return made him look, to any onlooker, like a doting older brother.
As always, the Crown Prince's day was passing peacefully again today.
* * *
Just a few minutes ago, the spy from Ireon had been, in his own way, celebrating to himself.
While the Emperor had been away attending to a visitor, he had succeeded in sneaking into the office, copying key documents, and smuggling them out.
In the 'Empire,' of all places! A mere spy from a small kingdom! He had succeeded in that monumental task!
Naturally, it hadn't been easy.
He couldn't even dream of the Emperor's office, and even after targeting the Chancellor's office, security had been tight.
It was even more tricky because, fearing the tyrant Emperor might launch a war without even weighing the pros and cons against Ireon Kingdom's brazen demands, he'd set a one-week limit on pre-investigation time.
'I'm going back to my motherland now, you bastards!'
Now that he'd achieved his purpose here, all he had to do was go back, but matters of the world apparently didn't flow so smoothly.
"You there!"
"......!"
A loud voice that was unmistakably calling out to him.
Had he been caught?
Having a guilty conscience, the spy flinched violently before belatedly putting on a startled expression.
An attendant who jumps in surprise just from being called. It looked suspicious no matter who saw it.
'What do I do?'
The important documents were still in his chest. If he got caught now, there would be no way out.
Should he run? But that was practically screaming 'Hey, I'm a suspicious person!'
'No, stay calm. He might be surprisingly dense.'
First, he checked the opponent... and decided, nope, this wasn't going to work. He had to run.
He struggled to compose his rapidly paling face.
Red eyes, white hair. What rotten luck. Of all people to run into, it had to be that 'Deon Hart.'
A figure notorious as a blood-crazed existence. There was historical evidence that madmen have keen instincts; the one before him was surely no exception. On top of that, having spent eight years on the battlefield, his animalistic senses would be unparalleled.
Still, he'd tried to hold onto the sliver of hope....
'That... he's smiling right now, isn't he?'
A smile that clearly seemed to say he'd figured out his identity.
Under that leisurely smile that seemed to say, no matter what you do, you're in the palm of my hand, the spy pressed his lips tightly together and chewed the inside of his cheek.
He must not engage. The moment he did, he'd surely become that bastard's toy.
'I can't just run, either.'
Deon Hart was one of the very few people with the right to carry a weapon in the Emperor's presence. He was certainly armed even now.
Known to be skilled not only in wielding daggers but also in throwing them to hit his mark, there was no way he'd simply let someone who turned their back to flee get away.
A dagger would likely fly the moment his back was shown.
As if sensing his complicated feelings, Deon Hart kept smiling as he strode over.
Did that mean he wasn't giving him any more time to think?
The spy's mind raced to somehow reach the best possible conclusion.
Engaging with him while pretending to be an attendant would mean dancing to that bastard's tune, and just fleeing would be the same.
Then the only remaining option was 'to attack him.'
'I can't possibly be a match for him, so let's aim to fluster him.'
The complacent assumption that a foolish spy, clearly showing signs of panic, would never dare attack him. He had to exploit that assumption.
Even someone like him would be startled by a sudden attack. That would create a momentary opening. He would seize that opening to flee.
Once the plan was set, there was no need to agonize any further.
'I'll hear what he has to say first, and if the first words seem off, I'll attack immediately.'
Because when you're talking, your guard naturally slackens without you even realizing it.
Having thought that far, the spy lifted his head and faced Deon Hart.
A subtle tension hung in the air, and then Deon Hart slowly opened his mouth.
"Here—"
"Uwaaaaaah!!"
There was no need to hear him out to the end.
Drawing his sword at once, the spy charged without hesitation.
'How dare you, in a place like this.'
Better to exploit the opening while he was speaking, off guard, than to listen to those words to the very end.