"While some unravel in fury, others weave ever tighter schemes."
Neril guided Sissair through a narrow, deserted passage that wound past the back streets of the administrative palace.
They traversed dimly lit corridors illuminated by a single torch before stopping at a small wooden door. Saya opened it for them.
"Her Highness awaits you inside."
When Sissair entered the modest chamber, his eyes widened slightly at the sight of Medea.
"Sir Sissair, please forgive me for summoning you at such a late hour. I needed to meet with you privately to discuss a matter of importance."
Her pale cheeks appeared fuller in the soft glow, and shadows fell delicately across her refined features.
The young princess—whom he'd thought of as merely a girl—seemed to have matured further beneath the lantern's gentle light.
A space where only the two of them remained. Soft illumination. A young woman waiting for him.
"Of course, Your Highness. Please proceed."
Sissair bit the inside of his cheek, forcing his thoughts back into proper order.
"I need to review information about Peleus's personal guards—their origins, backgrounds, and even their families."
"You're referring to the King's Guard?"
Medea nodded.
"Yes. That's not difficult to obtain, but why this sudden interest?"
"Sir Sissair, are you taking the antidote regularly?"
Sissair paused—then comprehended her meaning.
"Are you suggesting the Regent has planted a spy within the King's Guard itself?"
Medea smiled faintly.
Sissair shook his head in disbelief.
"That—that cannot be... These are men who have served His Majesty since their knighthood. They are not the type to betray—"
"You sound very confident. Just as confident as you were about that maid."
Medea's gentle observation left Sissair momentarily speechless.
Within her resided an uncanny mastery of human nature—and a sharpness that could not be dismissed.
"Peleus's victory against the Rasai will soon become public knowledge. My uncle will act when that happens. We must move first."
Medea continued speaking calmly.
'There was an incident before Peleus returned in my previous life.'
At that time, the plains tribes—led by the formidable Rasai—had united and ambushed Peleus.
Rather than requesting reinforcements, the traitorous guard had fled, abandoning Peleus to encirclement.
Peleus had barely escaped thanks to his knights sacrificing themselves to carve a path of retreat.
However, he'd suffered a grievous injury to his right leg—one that later resulted in permanent disability.
Most of his knights had perished attempting to save him. Of two hundred elite warriors, only twelve returned alive.
With the disintegration of the King's valiant and loyal guard, royal authority had weakened catastrophically.
"Deliver this to Peleus."
Medea extended a sealed letter.
"I will ensure he receives it. I shall also keep close watch on the Regent."
Medea nodded rather than voicing acknowledgment.
"But Your Highness—"
As he prepared to depart, Sissair stopped and turned back.
"Please reconsider maintaining Facade at your side. That mercenary may be skilled, but he is excessively ruthless. His blade is too sharp for Your Highness to safely wield."
"..."
Medea studied Sissair silently before posing a question.
"Can you be certain that a person is purely good and not partially evil?"
Jason had been a warrior who saved the continent—yet countless innocents had been sacrificed for his renown.
Rachel had been a saint—yet she'd poisoned her own son.
"Your Highness—"
"I appreciate your concern, but that is all."
This was the boundary Medea clearly established for Sissair.
Their relationship was defined: cooperation for Valdina's survival.
Anything beyond that constituted overreach.
Because Medea's field of vision extended far wider—and cut far deeper—than Sissair's.
"I won't be employing Facade indefinitely. It is, as you say, a blade that cuts its wielder. When it's no longer useful, I'll send them beyond Valdina's borders. Please don't trouble yourself further."
"...Yes. Please understand—I merely offered the counsel God granted me."
Sissair swallowed a sigh and withdrew.
The same answer. The same composed expression.
Was it because he'd finally recognized there existed a bond between the princess and Cesare of which he was utterly ignorant?
On his journey back, his mouth tasted exceedingly bitter.
The Katzen delegation's quarters.
Several days had elapsed since the banquet, yet Angelique still could not shake off the aftermath of that humiliating evening.
"Ahhhhh!"
*Crash!*
Ornaments Kensington had painstakingly transported from Katzen shattered and scattered across the floor at the Fourth Princess's slightest gesture.
"What am I supposed to do? The Emperor will hold me responsible! Not only will I fail to withhold relief—we'll have to ship *double* the amount to this godforsaken country! What am I going to do?"
Her eyes darkened as she envisioned her father's fury. She trembled violently, biting her fingernails.
*Crunch. Crunch.*
The sound was unsettling.
"Your Highness, please compose yourself."
Her dark eyes suddenly glittered with malevolent inspiration.
"Kensington, why don't we simply eliminate that wretched princess? If there's no one to enforce the oath, how can it be binding?"
Kensington very nearly sighed aloud.
"What would you do about the hundreds of witnesses present in the banquet hall that day? Continental law states that anything formalized in writing must be honored. You'd be handing every kingdom an excuse to condemn Katzen. His Majesty would be even more enraged."
"Then what am I supposed to do?!"
"That is precisely why, Your Highness, I warned you not to affix your seal so carelessly at the time—"
*Smash!*
A heavy object hurtled past Kensington's ear.
The enraged princess had hurled a vase at him.
"You should have tried harder! That's what you're here for! If you were just going to sit idle, you should have acted regardless of what I said!"
She had no compunction whatsoever about shifting blame onto Kensington.
This, despite the fact that scars still marred Kensington's cheek—visible evidence of his efforts on her behalf.
Witnessing the princess throw yet another tantrum while desperately avoiding accountability, Kensington couldn't help but think of someone else.
'Princess Medea.'
They were both princesses of prominent nations—yet how could they be so vastly different?
One sacrificed herself for her country's sake. The other exploited her country for personal gain.
What good were brilliant lineage and impeccable breeding? The foundation itself was rotten.
"Get out! Leave! I don't want to see your face!"
Kensington departed and wiped his weary features. Profound exhaustion settled over him.
When they returned to Katzen, the Emperor's wrath would fall upon him directly.
Of course, it would reach the princess as well—but it was obvious the ultimate scapegoat would be himself.
"...I've grown too old for this."
When he'd once served loyally and silently without expecting anything in return, why did he now find himself feeling so pathetically dejected?
"It seems Her Highness is in an exceedingly uncomfortable mood."
Footsteps clattered beside the disheartened Kensington.
Kensington's mood soured further upon seeing Count Raju with his oily, calculating eyes.
'This man is like a hyena—incapable of hunting, perpetually scavenging for carrion to devour.'
Kensington vividly recalled Count Raju's incompetence—constantly fawning over the princess at the banquet to curry favor, yet refusing to even smile once when she'd fallen into difficulty.
However, befitting the head of an intelligence agency, not a trace of his disdain showed outwardly.
"Indeed. Keep your distance, and ensure the servants stay away as well."
He departed with only that curt warning.
It was none of his concern whether Raju would vent the Fourth Princess's anger by provoking her further.
As Kensington left, Count Raju glanced around and whistled softly.
Samon, who had been concealed in the dark shadows behind a pillar, emerged.
A heavy scent of incense wafted from the princess's bedchamber.
"If all of you have agreed to this arrangement, then do your jobs properly!"
The princess erupted with renewed fury.
*Crash!*
A glass flew through the air and shattered.
"That bastard Jason too—he should have stood firm to the end... No... Why didn't anyone anticipate things would turn out like this? Why?!"
Samon appeared before her while she was heavily intoxicated.
"Your Highness, I understand you are deeply distressed. Allow me to apologize on Medea's behalf."
Samon's lips curved upward as he recalled his earlier conversation with Count Raju.
"The Fourth Princess is likely inebriated. When she's feeling vulnerable, she tends to drink heavily and seek... companionship. If you're targeting her favor, now would be your opportunity."
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