Chapter 88: Anxiety and Anger
Knock, knock, knock.
“What is it?” Yveste lifted her head from the documents she was reviewing.
“Your Highness, Prince Felit is here to see you.”
At these words, Yveste frowned deeply.
When news came out that the Second Prince was preparing to depart for Orne City, she had been carrying out a mission in the underground ruins. It was only after her return that Lynn had informed her of the matter.
“Let him come to my study,” she said calmly after a moment of thought.
She knew very well why he had come. It was nothing more than to demand an explanation for the death of the Mosgra family heir.
To Yveste, the so-called death of an heir was a complete joke, no different from a stray dog dying on the roadside.
A short while later, accompanied by a steady, unhurried rhythm of footsteps, a silver-haired young man appeared before Yveste under the escort of guards.“Second Brother.”
Yveste didn’t rise from her seat, merely offering a brief greeting as she looked at her half-brother.
In response, the Second Prince replied indifferently, then walked over to the sofa as if he owned the place, sitting down without waiting for an invitation.
“I came today for two matters,” he began, his tone direct. “First, where is Lynn Bartleon? Have him come to see me.”
“What do you need him for?”
Yveste narrowed her eyes, staring at her illustrious elder brother.
“Nothing much.” Felit slowly removed his gloves and tidied his silver hair. “I simply plan to escort him back for trial en route.”
With that, he took a finely crafted envelope sealed with red wax from his pocket. The wax seal bore the image of a sharp sword piercing through a set of scales.
“This is a summons from the Glostein Court,” he said, placing the envelope on the coffee table with an air of finality.
“The charge?” Yveste asked without looking up.
“Murder, of course,” Felit replied, glancing at her. “After all, he did publicly execute a marquis’s son with his own hands. Surely, Yveste, you wouldn’t pretend to be unaware of this?”
“How amusing. A disgraced exile sent to the frontier—a failure forgotten by the entire Imperial Capital over the past year—suddenly stirs up such a spectacle near year’s end. He’s certainly given many families in the capital something to talk about.”
“But sadly, it seems he lacks a proper respect for authority.” Felit tapped his finger lightly on the table. “And for such insolent fools, we must teach them the meaning of respect.”
“That’s enough, Yveste. I’ll be visiting the Divine Order Church shortly, so let’s not waste time playing games here.”
Yveste said nothing, her gaze fixed on the envelope on the table.
After a moment of silence, she suddenly pushed a newspaper across the desk toward Felit.
“If the charge is just murder, I’m afraid you won’t be able to take him away,” she said, a strange smile curling her lips. “You should take a look at this first.”
Felit frowned subtly at the sight of her smile. In his memory, his younger sister had always been cold and unfeeling. He couldn’t imagine what could provoke her to smile now.
Puzzled, he picked up the newspaper from the desk.
“‘Lynn Bartleon, the arsonist who set the Divine Order Church ablaze, was apprehended by Baile Tyrius’s private guards last evening. His current whereabouts are unknown. Both the city council and the security bureau have lodged formal protests with the Duke’s estate over this overreach of authority.’”
The moment Felit read the headline, his usually composed mind blanked for a few seconds.
The Divine Order Church?
Set ablaze?
Lynn Bartleon?
He understood each word individually, but together, they made no sense.
Having spent the past few days isolated on a private train, he was completely out of touch with recent events in Orne City. Upon disembarking, he had headed straight for the Augusta Estate without stopping to gather any information.
It seemed something unexpected had transpired in Orne City.
Though confused, Felit maintained his outward composure.
However, as he flipped through page after page of the newspaper, his pupils gradually dilated.
“Heretic Mozel,” “public protests,” “Elector Counts forming alliances,” “two million gold coins in military expenses,” “disabled soldiers’ charity drive,” and “city-wide feverish competition”...
As various headlines flashed through his mind, a single name repeatedly stood out to Felit:
Lynn Bartleon.
Him again?
Felit felt a surge of disbelief. But the contents of the newspaper lay plainly before him, leaving him in silence.
How could it be possible?
Could this man alone have caused such a storm in this city?
And even more astonishing, could he have turned the fortunes of Yveste, a princess all but severed from any claim to the throne, giving her the faint momentum of a dark horse rising to prominence?
After all, there were only seven Elector Counts, but nine royal offspring. To this day, most princes and princesses had yet to secure the backing of even one Elector Count.
This is truly...
An amused smile tugged at the corners of Felit’s lips.
“Upon my return, make sure to execute every intelligence officer responsible for monitoring Orne City,” he said abruptly to the guard by his side. “For such an intelligent, cunning, and resourceful man to be dismissed as a ‘spineless stray dog’ for over half a year... This is a disgrace and a failure beyond forgiveness.”
“Understood, Your Highness,” the guard replied stoically.
“Now, Yveste,” Felit turned back to the woman sitting across the desk, “what are you trying to convey by showing me this newspaper? Are you suggesting that, under Duke Tyrius’s protection, I’m powerless to act against him?”
“Not at all.” Yveste’s tone remained calm. “I simply wanted to remind you that I now have the support of an Elector Count.”
“The Third Princess you all left behind is gradually catching up. If you don’t want the throne to slip from your grasp, you’d best stop underestimating me as you did before.”
Felit fell silent for a moment, then suddenly laughed.
“Yveste, you’ve really changed. Compared to the hysterical troublemaker who stormed out of the Imperial Capital, you’re almost unrecognizable.”
“Let me guess—this transformation... Is it Lynn Bartleon’s doing?”
“How fascinating, truly fascinating!” Felit laughed heartily.
He wasn’t indifferent by nature; he just found most people too dull to warrant his attention. But when something or someone sparked his curiosity, Felit would transform entirely—just like now.
“Let’s strike a deal,” he said, leaning back into the sofa with a relaxed expression. “I’m very interested in this Lynn Bartleon.”
“Hand him over to me, and you can name your price.”
“For sealed artifacts ranked below Level 0, as long as I have the authority, you may pick up to five of them freely.”
“If you’d rather trade for money or wish to place personnel within the empire’s administrative system, anything within my power to grant is yours.”
Yveste’s gaze turned ice-cold.
Noticing her shift in mood, Felit chuckled and added, “Rest assured, I’ll do everything within my means to guarantee his safety.”
“As for those idiots from the Mosgra family... Ha! If not for the need to maintain appearances and placate them, I wouldn’t have bothered making this trip at all.”
“They’re nothing but conniving fools who once betrayed others. I never planned to truly rely on them; it’s all just mutual exploitation.”
“I refuse,” Yveste said firmly, taking a deep breath to suppress the irritation and anger simmering within her.
“Let me meet him,” Felit pressed on, his eyes locking with hers. “He’s not a commodity but a living person. He should have the right to choose whom to follow.”
“Once I’ve spoken with him, if he still refuses to serve me, then so be it.”
“Two hundred thousand gold coins in exchange for the chance to meet him,” he offered, lacing his fingers together and resting them on his knees.
Looking at Felit’s composed demeanor, Yveste finally realized the source of her inner turmoil and fury.
If she allowed that man to choose freely...
Would he still choose her?
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