At the top floor of Caelore, Dorian and Tharen's chess match raged on fiercely. The sound of approaching footsteps made both young men pause their game and turn toward Cassian Greer, who slumped into a chair and poured himself a drink.
"How was the royal banquet?" Dorian teased. "I heard Princess Liliane publicly declared her admiration for someone."
Cassian didn't bother responding, downing his drink with an icy expression. Sensing his foul mood, Tharen warned Dorian to shut up.
"Princess Liliane isn't worth your attention," Tharen said placatingly.
Cassian set his cup down and lazily leaned back. "Since when do I have time to care about a few insects?"
Dorian nearly spat out his lapple. Everyone knew Princess Liliane was spoiled rotten—if Sevrine heard their beloved princess being called an insect by Cassian Greer, the king might cough up blood in outrage.
"A shameless princess isn't worth your time," Dorian prodded further.
"Did she think she could seduce you? Or that she could outshine your sister-in-law? Cousin, should we send someone to teach her a lesson?"
Cassian waved dismissively, prompting Tharen to kick Dorian under the table. The latter finally shut his mouth with a grumble. Their attention shifted when the door creaked open. Gaviel, Cassian's black-clad right-hand man and lifelong guard, entered.
"Sir, the Old General requests your presence."
Tharen smirked at the message. The relationship between grandfather and grandson was... unusual. They lived under the same roof, yet rarely met. Cassian had far too many 'agendas' unbeknownst to Old General Greer.
Cassian gave a slight nod, but before Gaviel could leave, he added in a low voice,
"Send someone to watch Caelan. Report every detail." Tharen and Dorian exchanged baffled glances.
"Why the sudden interest in Caelan?" Tharen asked.
Cassian merely sharpened his gaze. "Just keeping an eye on a stray fly."
Dorian's mind raced as he tried decoding Cassian's words. He mentally sifted through reports from their palace informants—then it clicked.
"Cousin… is Caelan interested in your sister-in-law?"
Cassian's expression turned glacial. Tharen and Dorian shared a look of dawning understanding. So that's why he's in such a mood. Dorian dramatically slammed the table, scattering chess pieces everywhere.
"He's courting death!" Dorian declared passionately. "How dare he set his sights on the sister-in-law you've looked after for years!"
Tharen pretended to clear his throat, amused. Cassian, now thoroughly irritated, stood and strode out without another word.
"Tharen, should we send a letter to the King of Calethra to prepare his son's funeral?"
"Idiot."
Tharen couldn't salvage Dorian's wild imagination and only shook his head in exasperation.
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Thalien Dareth stood at the end of the corridor, idly admiring the garden view, when he accidentally caught sight of two men exiting the study. Noticing he was being observed, Minister Dareth turned and met his son's lazy glance.
The minister exchanged a few more words with his guest before seeing them off. Then he turned and approached his son, standing beside him in silence.
"I've heard you've been busy handling trade disputes in court lately?"
"Hmm," Thalien replied indifferently. Minister Dareth nodded, making no effort to pry further. After all, he was well aware of the matters his son dealt with at court.
"We've received a dinner invitation from the Prime Minister's residence. You'll accompany me."
"Since when have I stood on your side?" Thalien retorted sarcastically, then let out a dry laugh. "Don't think I'm unaware of the schemes you're weaving."
"Watch your tongue!" Minister Dareth's face darkened at his eldest son's insolence. "Have I not warned you that even walls have ears?"
Thalien smirked, casting a dismissive glance forward—his expression practically screaming, "Oh, really?"—which only deepened his father's scowl.
"It doesn't matter whose side you're on now. But you must learn that, by instinct, people always flock to the strongest power."
"Then your judgment is truly pathetic," Thalien shot back, even more caustic. "Even if Anster offered a mountain of gold, I'd never stoop to being one of his lackeys."
"You—!"
Minister Dareth was speechless, his face cycling from red to blue before finally paling. Seeing his father's anger nearing its limit, Thalien finally eased his hostile aura with a faint smirk.
"Aren't you being too ambitious?" The sudden question made Dareth stiffen slightly.
"I don't care what methods you use—but Vallia's marriage to the Crown Prince shouldn't be a tool to consolidate power."
The Minister of Justice pretended not to hear the disappointment in his son's voice. Regaining his composure, he adopted an authoritative tone.
"Vallia will be the future queen and live in glory."
"How can you be so confident?" Thalien feigned awe, his voice laced with mockery.
Minister Dareth didn't respond, merely stroking his thin beard. He could never fully grasp the mind of his brilliantly cunning son. Since entering court life and its intrigues, Thalien had always opposed his views; their relationship was more like oil and water.
"One day, you'll realize that Anster holds absolute power in Estharen. You won't regret standing with him."
Suddenly, Thalien burst into laughter, wiping the corner of his eye with a look of pure derision.
"Then I'm certain you will be the one who regrets it the most."
With that loaded remark, Thalien offered a faint smile. He wasted no more time entertaining his father, turning on his heel and strolling away without another glance.
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Under the moonlight, Althea Lysithe wandered deep in thought after hearing Neris's report. Occasionally, her brow would furrow, making Tyra and Noma exchange uneasy glances.
"My Lady, it's late at night. You should rest," Noma urged with concern.
Althea snapped out of her thoughts and refocused on the papers before her. She waved a hand at the two maids behind her.
"You two go ahead and rest. I'll read a little longer."
Noma opened her mouth to protest but clamped it shut when Tyra subtly elbowed her. Given Althea's stubborn temperament, pushing further would only irritate her. Noma and Tyra obeyed reluctantly, slipping out of the room and closing the door with the softest click.
Flipping through page after page, Althea didn't realize the midnight bell had chimed until her eyes stung from exhaustion. She yawned widely—there were still notes left to review, but her eyelids felt unbearably heavy. With a tired sigh, she folded her arms on the desk and rested her head. Within seconds, she was lost in deep slumber.
The candlelight flickered gently as footsteps entered the room without a sound. Cassian stopped beside Althea, who had dozed off face-down on the desk. Feeling a chilly night breeze, he immediately shut the window.
His gaze skimmed the worn-out papers scattered across the desk—notes on the kingdom's affairs from twenty years ago. With a lazy motion, he pushed them aside and sat on the edge of the desk, silently watching her.
"Peanut… cake…" Althea mumbled in her sleep.
Cassian's brow twitched, and an exasperated smile tugged at his lips. He reached out, tucking back a stray lock of hair that was tickling her face.
"Fine, peanut cake," he muttered under his breath.
Pushing off the desk, he removed his wolf-fur cloak and draped it over Althea's shoulders. He blew out the candle with a soft exhale, plunging the room into darkness. After ensuring she was warm enough, he strode out and vanished into the night.
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When Althea opened her eyes, sunlight streamed through the window cracks. The sound of Tyra and Noma entering the room fully roused her. The two maids exchanged resigned glances—their mistress had fallen asleep at her desk again.
"My Lady, sleeping while sitting isn't good for you," Noma fretted. "Your back will ache."
Althea stifled a small yawn. "It's fine. I was too lazy to return to my room last night."
She stretched—then froze. A cloak was draped over her shoulders. Althea bolted upright, swiftly grabbing the white fur garment, which left Tyra and Noma bewildered as they tidied the room.
"Did you come in last night?" The maids exchanged confused looks before shaking their heads in unison.
"After leaving, we didn't return, afraid of disturbing you," Tyra answered honestly. "My Lady, is something wrong?"
Althea didn't reply. Instead, she walked to the window. "Neris!"
In an instant, the black-clad guard leaped into the room. "Yes, My Lady?"
"Did you see anyone enter the study last night?"
Neris—a man of few expressions—answered flatly, "No."
Althea narrowed her eyes briefly before waving him off. Neris disappeared as swiftly as he came. It was impossible for a guard of his skill to miss any suspicious movement.
Rubbing her temples, Althea wondered if exhaustion had made her sleepwalk to fetch the cloak without realizing it. Yet, holding the white fur in her hands left her unsettled.
"My Lady, what is it?" Tyra repeated.
Althea shook her head lightly and handed the cloak over. "Look closely. Do I own anything like this?"
Tyra and Noma immediately crowded around, inspecting the garment. After a thorough examination, their eyes widened in awe.
"My Lady, this is genuine wolf fur—exceptionally fine quality. I've never seen a cloak this luxurious. It must be worth hundreds of gold coins and nearly impossible to obtain," Noma explained. "Where did you get it?"
Althea tilted her head without answering. She returned the mysterious cloak, tracing the intricate gold-thread embroidery along its edges. The patterns felt hauntingly familiar. One name flashed in her mind: Cassian Greer.
But why would he come here? And how had he slipped past Neris' watch? Althea shook her head, dismissing the thought. She ordered the maids to store the cloak safely—something this valuable couldn't be ignored.
…