Chương 108: 43-2. King, Chancellor, and Secret Council

High. Absolutely high-grade performance. So high I almost wanted to applaud his commitment to "I didn't hear a thing." Just as Varen III turned to go, I suddenly remembered something I truly could not leave unsaid.

"Your Majesty, one moment." He stopped and looked back at me. There was no trace left of the earlier amusement in his eyes.

"Speak." I placed the raven-marked token on the table.

"When I escorted the princess out of the monastery and headed north," I said, "we were ambushed in the snow mountains." Gilbert was the first to reach out and pick up the token. His fingers were long and precise, his movements clean, like he was handling a piece of crafted metal—not a clue that could tear open the edges of a border standoff. He barely glanced at it twice before his brow furrowed, almost imperceptibly. Then he handed it over to Galerus.

"It does not appear to be ours," he said, voice like ice.

"Look." Galerus took the token and looked down. This time, he finally stopped studying the lamp.

"Your Majesty," he said, "this is from the Yansha Empire." The air in the room changed in an instant. Whatever lightness had still been lingering on Varen III's face vanished. The shift was quick and quiet, but it chilled the spine more effectively than any fist slammed on a table. It was like watching a man who'd been comfortably lounging and eating melon seeds suddenly be swapped out, piece by piece, for the one who actually ruled the Empire.

"So the bastards on the East Coast finally couldn't sit still," Varen III said coldly.

"You'd think they'd spare a thought for who's holding the Northern Reaches right now. Without the border fortresses, no one sleeps easy." With that, he left without another word. The door shut behind him with a dull, heavy thud, like someone had just locked in an entirely different atmosphere. Gilbert paused on his way out to give me a look. Still cold. Cold as the flat of a winter-forged blade.

"Congratulations, Lord Rosa," he said evenly.

"You have rendered further service." There was no trace of joy in his tone. If anything, it made you wonder if, in his mind, "rendering service" and "bringing us yet another colossal mess" were fundamentally the same category of event. Galerus simply followed behind him. At the doorway, his steps hitched for a fraction of a second, as if he'd considered saying something—then decided that the best thing he could do was say nothing at all.

The commander of the Tideguards clearly understood that there were some things he hadn't seen earlier, and it was best for everyone if he continued not seeing them now. The door closed. The room finally held only me and Jessi. I stared at the door that had just swung shut and felt my chest hollow out. All day long, it had been emperor, bloodline, betrothal, princess, the Yansha Empire, the Northern Reaches—these things taking turns crashing down on my head.

Hard enough that I was starting to wonder if I'd come to the palace at all. Or if the Empire was just using me to test how much misfortune one person could absorb in a single day. I tried to take a deep breath—but it fell apart halfway down. So I turned to Jessi instead, and my voice came out hoarse enough that even I found it embarrassing.

"Jessi," I said.

"I want to go home." She looked at me. The bravado she'd had in front of the emperor—the fearless, cheerfully sadistic little act, shoving me straight into the flames with a smile—had finally withdrawn. She stepped in, lifted a hand, and patted my shoulder like she was soothing a half-drowned mutt that hadn't yet figured out whether it was alive or pickled.

"Young master," Jessi said at last, her voice a shade softer, "exactly which home do you want to go back to?" I blinked. She waited a moment, and when I didn't answer, she drew her hand back, leaned against the table, and tilted her head at me.

"Is it that draughty shack outside Hemlock Town," she asked, counting on her fingers with a seriousness that bordered on cruel, "the one where the wind comes in from three sides and the rats have more confidence than the owner at midnight? Or is it House Rosa's grand estate, which has finally decided you're one of theirs after all? Or—" She paused here on purpose, the curve of her lips growing just a little more obnoxious.

"Is it the room Her Highness locked herself in?" I shut my eyes again. Wonderful. I hadn't even finished processing the fact that the emperor seemed more invested in the state of my "household affairs" than I was, and you were already turning it into a multiple-choice question. Sometimes you're so "considerate" it hurts. You specialize in sticking the knife exactly where I least want it. Like a very competent, criminally underpaid interrogator.

"Jessi," I said weakly, "if you'd just shut up right now, I might still manage to think of you as human."

"That's asking a bit much," she replied with a shrug, perfectly at ease.

"You've just been publicly recognized by the emperor, regained your title, had your betrothal drag its chains into the open, picked up a princess-related disaster tab, and we still haven't talked about the foreign assassins and the border crisis. If on top of all that you expect me to suddenly become gentle and considerate, that's what we call overreaching." I stared at her, then looked around the little room again.

She was right about one thing—this room really was ideal for dealing with things that couldn't see the light of day. For instance, I very much wanted to strangle her here and now, then tell everyone outside it was an imperial secret. Jessi must've seen something in my face, because she gave a small cough and finally reeled her sadistic streak back in—just a little.

"But," she said, "if the young master just wants somewhere to lie down, sleep until noon tomorrow, and pretend none of this ever happened, I'm all for it."

"What good does your support do?" I slumped against the wall, feeling like half my bones had gone missing.

"With just one line in the hall, you've pre-written three years' worth of gossip for me. By tomorrow, the capital will have thirty different versions in circulation, complete with timing, positions, and locations."

"Isn't that great?" Jessi blinked.

"At least it means people are very interested in you."

"I'd rather they were interested in my obituary."

"Obituaries don't have much replay value," she said.

"Scandal is a better investment." I nearly laughed out loud, but the breath fled halfway. That was what infuriated me most. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. I knew I should be angry. I knew I should be thinking, planning: whether to go see Erina first, or drag myself through a court dinner I absolutely couldn't force down, or just find a nice beam to hang myself from to save everyone the trouble of embellishing later. But then you're just…

standing there. Eyes bright. That annoyingly familiar, wicked expression on your face. As if nothing had quite tipped over yet. As if this entire imperial-scale absurd farce still had at least one other person up here on stage with me, rather than down in the seats applauding. Jessi watched me, then stepped in a little closer, lowering her voice.

"Young master."

"What."

"If you really want to go home," she said, finally tucking away nearly all of the flippancy, "then make it through tonight first." Her tone was level. No attempt at sounding pitiful. None of her usual twisty innuendo. It was precisely because it was so plain that I could hear the bit of seriousness she wasn't quite willing to let show.

"Go eat His Majesty's meal and don't embarrass yourself over the dishes." As she spoke, she reached up and smoothed out the wrinkles I'd clawed into my own sleeve earlier.

"Then go see the princess and say what you need to say. After that, if you still want to go home—" She hesitated, then lifted her eyes to mine, the corner of her mouth curling up.

"Then I'll go back with you." The room went quiet for a beat. The thick door kept out the footsteps from outside, kept the emperor's, the chancellor's, the commander's and the whole Empire's pressure firmly on the far side of the wall. Which made her words sound even clearer. Clear enough that for a moment, I didn't know whether I should scold her for being meddlesome first, or thank her for not throwing me in here to rot alone.

In the end, I just looked at her and, after a long moment, managed to squeeze out a single line.

"You'd better keep your word." Jessi's smile lightened.

"Young master," she said, "if I already belong to you, it wouldn't do not to offer at least this much after-sales service." I stared at Jessi's perfectly serious face for the space of two breaths. After-sales service. Wonderful. I'd lived this long and only now discovered my life had fallen far enough to be summarized in commercial contract terms. A royal certificate in front, a locked princess's room behind, an enemy empire's token on the table, and an entire city's worth of bedroom jokes on the way.

And now even you were tacking a warranty onto yourself. At this rate, I half expected Gilbert to show up tomorrow with a parchment and ask if I wanted to purchase extended coverage.

"You really need to talk less," I muttered, rubbing my brow.

"These days, every time you open your mouth, I feel like my remaining lifespan shrinks." Jessi stepped back and leaned on the table, head tilted.

"You can't blame me, young master," she said, with the guileless sincerity of a murderer who's just pushed someone down the stairs and then kindly picked up their shoes.

"I'm not even the one who wrecked you the most today." I looked up at her. She blinked, then began counting on her fingers again, very solemnly.

"First is His Majesty, because he clearly enjoys you most when you're having a horrible day. Second is Her Highness, because she kissed you and ran, and you're the one mopping up afterwards. Third is Miss Olivia, because she's probably already drafted three plans in her head—two to bury you and one to drag you out if necessary. As for me—" She paused, fully aware of what she was doing, and gave me that familiar smile that made my stomach tighten.

"I'm at best fourth."

"At best?" I almost laughed from sheer irritation.

"With one sentence in front of the throne, you turned me from House Rosa's miraculously restored heir into the newest bedside punchline for high society. That's 'at best' to you?"

"Well, they'd need actual beds first to qualify as bedside," Jessi said, shrugging.

"Half the people on the second floor look like they apologize to themselves in the mirror before they sleep. Losing to them isn't that shameful, young master." I stared at her. And suddenly realized I didn't really want to go home. I wanted to go back in the grave. At least the dead don't have to hear gossip. The room went quiet for a moment.

Outside, faint footsteps passed by—light and distant, as if the entire palace knew that certain doors concealed conversations unfit for public consumption, and even the soles of shoes had learned proper etiquette. The thick walls filtered out every trace of noise with immaculate thoroughness, leaving only the certificate in my hands to remind me that today had actually happened and wasn't just some elaborate fever dream. I glanced down at the document, and Varen III's parting words echoed in my head. Go see Erina.

Just thinking those words made my head start throbbing all over again. Being used as the emperor's personal comedy act back in the audience hall—I could grit my teeth and reframe that as some twisted form of imperial favor bestowed upon promising young talent. But actually going to see her in person? That was an entirely different beast altogether. That kiss had very much happened. That door had very much been locked. And now the emperor himself was personally shoving me in her direction.

This wasn't a casual "drop by and say hello." This was more like: We are placing this lit bundle of dynamite in your hands. Please select whatever posture you find least embarrassing when you detonate. Jessi must have caught the color draining from my face, because the smirk tugging at her lips finally dialed back a notch.

"Young master," she asked, "are you really going?" I looked up at her.

"What do you think?"

"I think if you don't go, you won't be sleeping tonight anyway," Jessi said.

"If I go, I might never need to sleep again."

"Isn't that more or less the same thing?"

"There's a massive difference," I said coldly.

"One is called insomnia. The other is called an execution." Jessi actually paused to consider this seriously.

"Fair point," she nodded.

"The former sounds more befitting a nobleman. The latter sounds more like you." I closed my eyes, drew a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Perfect. At least you still had the energy to be venomous. That meant things probably hadn't rotted past the point of absolute no return. Or, looking at it from another angle, you were the type of person who could stand on burning city walls at the end of the world and casually critique the color of the flames.

It wasn't exactly a noble quality, but as far as constants in my life went, it was remarkably reliable.

"I don't have a choice," I said finally.

"When His Majesty brings something up himself, it's not a multiple-choice question." Jessi didn't answer right away. She just watched me quietly. I knew exactly what she was thinking. She could clown around all she wanted, but when push came to shove, her mind worked faster than anyone's. Erina had locked herself in her room. The emperor had personally ordered me to go. Galerus had pretended to be blind and deaf. Gilbert had undoubtedly filed the entire incident away in that cold ledger of his.

This whole situation had long since stopped being a simple matter between a man and a woman. It was about who was cleaning up whose mess, and who was vouching for whom when the dust settled. After a moment, Jessi spoke quietly.

"Then go." I stared at her.

"You agreed to that awfully fast."

"What else am I supposed to say?" Jessi spread her hands.

"Were you expecting me to volunteer, Don't go, I'll go in your place? I mean, I could, but if Her Highness decides to throw me out a window, I probably won't manage it with much dignity."

"There are no windows in this room."

"That's even worse," she said with absolute seriousness.

"That means I can only be thrown out through the front door. Far less graceful." I finally let out a short laugh. Very short. More like a crack that had slipped through my defenses by accident. Seeing me laugh, something in Jessi's expression eased. She straightened up from the table and reached over, smoothing my collar back into place, then brushing away a speck of dust from my shoulder that had apparently materialized during the evening's disasters.

Her movements were practiced—so practiced you'd think she hadn't grown up picking pockets for a living, but had been specifically raised to tidy up the aftermath of spectacularly unlucky young masters.

"At least make yourself look human before you go," she said.

"Right now you look like a package that's been rejected by the customs of three different kingdoms."

"You have some nerve talking about after-sales service."

"What do you think I'm providing right now? This is premium service." I couldn't be bothered arguing. I just looked down, retightened my cuffs, and reached out of habit toward my hip—only to find nothing. My weapons had been surrendered before the audience, of course. The absence felt wrong. Going unarmed was uncomfortable at the best of times, and this definitely wasn't the best of times.

This was the part where I had to go visit a princess who'd locked herself in a tower, who had recently kissed me in front of half the Empire, and who had thereby fed the rest of my life into the capital's rumor meat grinder.

"When we get there," I said, adjusting my lapels, "keep your mouth shut."

"Me?"

"Yes, specifically you."

"Young master, that's hardly fair," Jessi protested immediately.

"Usually someone else starts the nonsense and I just make things more festive."

"I don't need festive." I met her eyes.

"I need you to act like a normal human being for once in your life." Jessi went quiet for a beat, then replied with brutal honesty:"That might be harder than making me a noble."

"..."

"But," she added, tucking away the obnoxious edge, "I know where the line is." I looked at her for two seconds and didn't call her bluff. I know where the line is. That sentence was its own kind of blunt instrument—it sounded safe enough, but anyone who grabbed hold of it was going to bleed. Still, this was the hand I'd been dealt. At this point, the only person I could drag into whatever was waiting ahead was her. Two measured knocks came from outside the door. A low voice filtered through: "Lord Rosa.

His Majesty has instructed that when you are ready, you may proceed to the East Tower." Jessi and I exchanged a look. The East Tower. Of course. Even the location had been selected with perfect dramatic flair. The princess locks herself in a room, the room is in a tower, and I have to go visit her in the dead of night. This didn't sound like a formal palace audience. It sounded like the opening scene of exactly the kind of disaster that would keep traveling bards fed and drunk for the next century.

I tucked the royal certificate into my inner pocket and pushed the door open.

"Let's go," I said. Jessi fell into step beside me, glancing up with that familiar curve at the corner of her mouth. This time it wasn't quite as sharp—more like a quiet reminder: You've survived this far. A few more steps probably won't kill you instantly.

"Young master," she said unhurriedly, "if the atmosphere turns out to be absolutely terrible, shall I die first to warm up the crowd?" I stepped over the threshold without looking back.

"No," I said flatly.

"You're much more useful as a disturbance while you're alive."

"That's a relief," Jessi replied, her tone entirely too cheerful for the occasion.

"I wasn't really planning on dying anyway." And so we walked down the corridor carpeted in deep, shadow-colored fabric toward the East Tower. One spectacularly unlucky heir, freshly recognized by the emperor and promptly aimed at a princess's emotional minefield like a very reluctant projectile. One walking catastrophe generator who had personally shoved me into the abyss of high-society gossip and was now strolling alongside me as if none of it had been her fault. Night pressed heavy against the windows.

Palace lamps stretched ahead of us one by one, quiet and steady, as if someone had arranged the lighting for this second act long in advance. And all I could do was walk forward, running a single prayer through the back of my mind— Please, when that door opens, let Erina not be holding a knife.