Chapter 61
“Only when that child turns two.”
Ivan set the condition. Ian was barely five months old now. There was still about a year and a half left before he could be recognized as Crown Prince. Amelia had to accomplish what Ivan demanded of her within that time, or else Ian would not be granted that position.
“He’s not even a year old yet. If he were to die young, there’d be no meaning in having acknowledged him as Crown Prince.”
But Aaron, who was unaware of Ivan’s true intention, found the condition more than satisfactory. After all, it meant that Ivan had finally yielded to the temple, and to Duke Russell’s maneuvering.
“I’m sick of this.”
Ivan set down the wine glass he had been spinning in his hand with an irritable motion. The sharp clink—or rather, the snapping crack—stabbed at everyone’s ears. Amelia flinched in genuine fright, her shoulders jerking. Aaron’s hand, which held the knife, trembled slightly.
The sound made it seem as though Ivan was so furious he didn’t know what to do with himself—or that he was rationalizing his own defeat that way.
“So then, what’s your plan this time, to dry up the river or something?”
Amelia marveled at Ivan’s acting. She had once thought she had only fallen for it because she hadn’t known better, but now she realized that if he set his mind to it, anyone would have been fooled.
“If you were going to act on the oracle anyway, why wait half a month before doing anything? Do you know how maddening that uncertainty was?”
Ivan’s eyes flashed wildly, like a lunatic. He looked every bit the drunken man. His shirt strained tight against his chest as his ragged breaths expanded it.
“Damn it! How much more of the people’s faith do you intend for me to lose?”
His raised, impassioned voice startled everyone. They glanced at him uneasily, and then—perhaps thinking the situation needed calming—they summoned Rodan.
“Your Majesty, please compose yourself.”
Rodan, sweating profusely, tried to soothe Ivan, then half-carried him away when it seemed the man was too drunk even to walk.
“It seems His Majesty is quite drunk.”
Aaron murmured softly. Amelia didn’t reply, only turning her gaze on him. He was smiling faintly. Whatever Ivan’s true intent had been, Aaron clearly suspected he had already achieved it.
“Shall we take our leave as well?”
Aaron dabbed his lips with a cloth as he spoke.
“Since it’s been some time since we last met, I’d like to speak a little of the temple’s affairs.”
“…Very well.”
Amelia rose from her seat without protest, leaving the dining hall first. Aaron’s steps followed steadily behind her.
“Speak.”
Back in the west palace, Amelia and Aaron sat across from each other in the tea room. Servants quickly brought in evening tea. The moment they withdrew, Amelia opened her mouth. Her tone said plainly: whatever it is, finish it quickly and leave.
“Louis mentioned that something rather shocking happened to the Priestess recently.”
Aaron didn’t take offense at the disdain dripping from her words. He never had—Amelia’s coldness had never once dented him. If anything, he seemed to enjoy the way it affirmed his presence in her life. A cursedly twisted man.
“Yes. I was going to ask you about that myself.”
Aaron smiled benevolently, inviting her to speak.
“Someone tried to kill Ian. Threw him into a pond.”
If no one had noticed at the time, Ian might have drowned beneath the water and gone unseen until his corpse floated to the surface. The intent was vicious and merciless—clearly meant to ensure his death.
“Such a thing happened?”
“Was it you?”
Amelia asked bluntly. Aaron met her gaze calmly, smiling faintly.
“No.”
He denied it without hesitation.
“Have I ever lied to you about such matters?”
Threats and intimidation were Aaron’s forte. He knew it, and so did Amelia. Which meant he had no reason to deny involvement if he truly had been behind it.
It wasn’t hard to guess why he denied it, then—because the more Amelia trusted that he had nothing to do with it, the more exposed Ian would be. She would lean on Louis and temple spies instead of Ivan’s newly installed servants.
“So you’re saying the Emperor did it?”
“If the child died, the entire web of troubles tied to the oracle could have been swept away in one stroke.”
Aaron didn’t explicitly say Ivan was the culprit. But his roundabout answer was enough to make Amelia think yes.
“But in the end, the child didn’t die…”
Aaron tapped the side of his teacup with his finger, lightly.
“Even tournaments and horse races couldn’t completely divert attention from the oracle. So His Majesty had no choice but to accept it.”
For the Emperor to bow to a false oracle was surprising—but not disadvantageous for them. Aaron seemed quite unbothered as he judged Ivan’s decision.
“Which means he could always try again, doesn’t it?”
Amelia’s sharp words made Aaron pause briefly.
“He pretends to accept it publicly, but if the chance comes, he could just as easily attempt it again.”
Her worry wasn’t impossible. Aaron himself would have done the same, if he had been emperor.
“Can’t we just kill him first?”
“Mind your tongue.”
“There must be a way to stop him.”
Amelia suddenly leapt to her feet, pacing near the table and chewing her nails in apparent agitation.
It was an act—but the anxiety was real. She was terrified Aaron might see through her performance. Her ankle, long since healed, throbbed as if in phantom pain, making her steps falter awkwardly.
“……”
Aaron stared at her silently. Unconsciously, Amelia licked her lips, moistening them. She shouldn’t let anything slip, but there was no time to think.
“Do not move on your own.”
At that, Aaron finally spoke. Amelia’s eyes flicked to him. His face was expressionless now.
“This is as far as your freedom goes. From now on, you will do only as instructed.”
The liberties Amelia had enjoyed until now had already exceeded what had been granted her. She had borne a child not by her designated partner but by another man, then come to the palace and issued a false oracle—forcing Duke Russell and Aaron to follow her lead.
“We will allow your child to live. Beyond that, obey.”
She had done nothing yet to warrant punishment, nor had she presented any solutions worth destroying—but they would not allow her to remain uncontrollable any longer. Amelia Esklif was their tool, their puppet. She was not permitted independent thought.
“Do you understand?”
Aaron pressed. His expression made it clear he would not leave without an answer. Amelia reluctantly nodded. As long as Duke Russell and Aaron had no trust in her whatsoever, she had no choice.
“If it’s for Ian’s safety, I’ll do anything. Even climb back into the Emperor’s bed, if I must.”
Aaron let out a short, derisive laugh. So belatedly willing, when she hadn’t been before—that was amusing enough to mock.
“It won’t come to that now, but I take your meaning.”
At least he understood her intent: she would do anything for Ian.
“I’ll be going, then.”
“When I need to… may I ask you?”
Aaron had just risen when Amelia’s desperate voice halted him.
“I’m afraid. I can’t leave Ian alone, but I’m terrified of losing him before my eyes.”
“……”
“I won’t act on my own. I’ll ask first. That will do, won’t it?”
Her small hand, trembling, gripped the wide sleeve of his robe. Aaron looked down at the desperation clinging to her touch.
“…Do that.”
He answered at last. As though even he couldn’t bring himself to ignore that raw fear.
Pathetic thing—so blind she didn’t even realize she’d been deceived.
“Your Majesty.”
Ivan sagged limply as though unconscious halfway down the corridor. Rodan managed to guide him into his bedchamber, shut the doors and windows firmly, and approached the bed.
“Are you all right?”
At the sound of the covers shifting, Ivan sat up, perfectly clear-headed.
“Of course.”
He replied as if nothing were amiss. Even under the soft lamp light, not a trace of drunkenness colored his face.
“For a moment, I thought you were truly drunk.”
“As if.”
Ivan shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto the bed, then rose, his gait steady and unhurried as ever.
“Why pretend?” Rodan asked.
“If I acknowledged Ian as Crown Prince while completely sober, wouldn’t that seem suspicious?”
Indeed, Rodan had never once seen Ivan drink to the point of intoxication. Ivan knew his own limits too well. He would never have downed liquor carelessly before his rivals.
“If I feign reluctance, if I look like a man nursing his pride with alcohol, then perhaps they’ll believe it.”
Ivan explained with calm ease. He was every inch the actor—but behind that thin veil, the Emperor remained.
And so Rodan understood: no matter how long it took, this man would see his will fulfilled. Until then, he would not—could not—die, not even of grief.
