Chapter 206: Failed Trap
Osric’s gaze shifted toward Lysander. "This key and this pass..." He plucked them neatly from the young man’s hand, holding them high for the court to see. "Do they not bear the mark of Magnolia House? Look closely...there! The magnolia tree wrought in gold. Isabella, what madness moved you to let loose killers upon the Arvands?"
The Dowager’s composure cracked. She lurched to her feet, her face draining of color. Her lips parted, but nothing came. Her eyes blinked too quickly, like a child caught red-handed in mischief far beyond excuse. She was never blamed so openly for what she did. She expected nothing less from her uncle, but still...
Osric’s voice cut through her silence. "Then let us test it. We shall see which door this key unlocks, if it unlocks your house. A charge lies at your feet, Isabella. Prove your innocence. How did the murderers hold your house key? Who placed it in their hands? Have you no curiosity to learn, or does guilt still your tongue?"
A ripple of unease moved through the chamber.
The Emperor’s voice broke in, sharp but measured. "Enough! This is clearly the work of those who wish to frame my mother. Who would dare suggest that the mother of the Emperor, the protector of this realm, should consort with murderers and disgrace herself in controversies unfit for the palace?"
The Emperor rose, his robes trailing over the steps. "The court shall not descend into chaos by chasing every whisper. I will see to this matter myself."
He forced his eyes toward the ministers, daring them to contradict him. "I shall investigate further, and if there is guilt, it shall be unearthed by my own hand. But until then, I forbid rash judgments. We adjourn."
The ministers exchanged wary looks. Some nodded reluctantly, others avoided his gaze altogether. The murmur of voices swelled as courtiers filed from the hall, leaving a silence that felt heavier than before.
The Emperor sank back onto the throne, his jaw rigid. He knew the truth already. His mother had overreached, seeking to wipe out the Arvands and perhaps rid herself of Prince Leroy in one stroke. Yet the trap had sprung back upon her. Even without Osric’s intrusion, that cursed key alone would have turned suspicion against her. And now, before his entire court, she had stood like a guilty child and failed to answer.
He clenched his fist against the armrest. He could not pursue this further today, not with so many eyes doubting him. He would have to let Leroy’s findings stand as truth, release them to the ministers, and close every case swiftly. Otherwise, he risked losing what support remained.
The Emperor’s gaze swept the chamber, catching the sidelong looks of men who once bowed too readily. Already, many had grown restless with his mother’s meddling in politics, whispering of her influence over him. He had tried to keep her aside, but with Hadrian gone, he had needed someone at his back.
Now, even that alliance soured.
As much as his blood burned to see Leroy struck down, he could not do it, not now. After today’s disaster, the hostage prince had gained sympathy, while his own mother’s carelessness had turned allies into skeptics.
And for the first time, the Emperor felt the court slipping from his grasp.
And he could do nothing about it. Except wait.
"So..." Osric turned his gaze upon Leroy, cane tapping lightly against the marble. "Might your manor lend me a corner to rest in? I hear it sits well away from the city’s madness. I’d lodge in the red-light quarter, but too much revel there bends a man’s back before his years."
Leroy’s brows lifted. Odd. The first thing this old man had done was to stare into his face and feign ignorance, yet it was clear he knew more about him than anyone else in the room. And now he wanted to stay in their manor?
The thought made Leroy’s jaw tighten. He had only just found a fragile peace with Lorraine, and already his home seemed less a refuge than a tavern for troublesome guests. That odd woman haunted his halls enough. Now this old man too?
But he also knew what his heart already decided: Osric was dangerous, but useful. He knew far more than he said, and, like Aldric, Leroy suspected he leaned toward Lorraine’s side.
Before he could answer, the Dowager swept forward, skirts whispering as she descended the dais. "Why stay elsewhere when you have me, Uncle?" she said, smiling with practiced sweetness. "My palace is your palace."
Leroy stiffened. No. That woman would as soon poison her uncle as pour him wine. He opened his mouth to protest, but Osric only regarded her with that long, unblinking stare.
"You sound... enthusiastic," he said at last, and took her arm. "Do you mean to season my wine with death?"
The Dowager laughed, tinkling and bright. "Uncle, why would I?"
"Better a cautious old fox than a roasted fool, no?" Osric chuckled, patting her shoulder as if he had settled the matter himself.
Leroy watched them walk together, the Dowager transformed into a girl again beside her uncle, all lightness and charm. It unsettled him. Osric clearly chose to go with her.
A quiet step at his side drew his attention. Lysander leaned close. "What just happened?"
"Is my wife still in your manor?" Leroy asked instead, voice flat.
"To my knowledge," Lysander replied carefully.
Leroy said nothing more. He turned, cloak brushing the floor as he strode out. Lysander fell into step behind him, both men lost in the storm of unanswered questions Osric had left in his wake.
-----
Emma was in the garden, scattering seed for the doves as she always did. But today, something gnawed at her chest. The peony she received without fail each morning had not arrived. The absence seemed small, almost trivial, and yet it hollowed her heart with a dread she couldn’t name.
Her hands moved mechanically, tossing grain onto the gravel path, when a maid came tearing across the lawn, breathless and pale.
"Emma—Elias has returned. He’s hurt—badly. He’s bleeding."
The birdfeed slipped from her grasp, spilling across the ground. The doves cooed and flocked greedily to the bag, but Emma was already gone, skirts whipping around her as she sprinted toward the mansion.
Inside, chaos met her. Sylvia stood frozen, eyes wide as the physician and two servants carried Elias toward the medical room. His clothes were dark with blood, his face ashen.
"Elias!" Emma cried, her voice cracking in a way she hadn’t thought possible. She lunged forward, but the door slammed shut before she could reach him. She pressed her palms to the wood, her broken voice muffled against it. "Elias—!"
Sylvia’s throat tightened. Watching Emma unravel like this made her eyes sting with tears, but her thoughts were already darting elsewhere.
Princess Lorraine... Is she safe?
Without waiting another moment, Sylvia turned and hurried down the corridor, her steps quickening as she made for Aldric’s chambers.