CHAPTER 429: ’ROGUES, NOBLES, AND POLITICS.’

"Your Majesty, several nobles are requesting an audience," Lucius began, his voice calm but tight, as he held out a crisp bundle of parchment filled with wax-sealed letters. "They claim the rogues are becoming increasingly bold in their attacks."

Heinz let out a long, tired sigh as he took the stack of papers, scanning the requests with a flicker of annoyance passing through his crimson eyes. The dim golden sunlight filtering through the tall windows did nothing to ease the weight that had been pressing on his shoulders for days.

"My men have already captured two rogue groups," Lancelot added, standing tall and rigid with his arms clasped behind his back. His tone was clipped, military. "But most of them took their own lives before interrogation. Some sort of fast-acting poison. We were too late to stop it."

Heinz’s hand stilled on the paper. His eyes narrowed.

"There’s also news that black markets are flourishing again. Strange spells are being sold—unregistered magic. And they somehow have large quantities of mana stones... selling them cheap." Lancelot’s jaw tensed. "It’s suspiciously well-funded."

’Is this... because of Alexandria’s death?’ Heinz’s gaze turned distant, cold. ’It can’t be a coincidence. Not when everything seems to be unraveling.’

Alexandria was gone.

And yet the chaos she left behind was just beginning to boil over.

There were still two unknown enemies targeting Florian—at least one of whom had powerful magic, enough to slip into secured areas and always appear before Florian without a trace. A shadow who left no footprints.

Cashew might’ve known something about the mysterious intruder, but even under Heinz’s scrutiny, the boy remained meek and cooperative. If he did know anything, he wasn’t a threat. At least... not yet.

And if Heinz’s suspicions were correct, Alexandria had orchestrated most—if not all—of Florian’s suffering. Her execution may have severed the head of the snake, but the body was still moving. And now, with the chains of secrecy broken, the rogues were lashing out.

"They’re moving faster now because she’s dead," Heinz said slowly, fingers tightening slightly around the edges of the parchment. "She may have been the glue that held them together."

"And with her gone, they’re either scrambling... or taking revenge," Lucius murmured.

"That, and news of the village project has likely spread," Heinz added.

Lancelot frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. "But what’s their endgame? You were already planning to aid the outer villages. If that was their goal, shouldn’t they be celebrating instead of escalating?"

"They’re not after charity," Lucius said darkly. "They want control. The throne, or at least, to tear His Majesty from it."

Lancelot’s orange eyes narrowed. "But they haven’t made any moves against the royal family directly. If they truly aimed for rebellion, why all the skirting around? Who would they even crown in your place, Your Majesty?"

Heinz’s expression remained unreadable, but his silence was heavy.

Lancelot continued, "As vile as they are, this doesn’t quite fit a rebellion. These raids, the kidnappings, even the suicides—it’s chaos, but not a coup. Not yet."

That was true.

At first, Heinz had assumed it was all due to his own oversight—his failure to act fast enough. Florian had even said as much.

But now, the puzzle pieces didn’t quite fit. If it was rebellion, it was a strange one. One that chose fear over force, and confusion over clarity.

The rogues weren’t making political statements. They were attacking villages, not courts. And they weren’t fighting to win.

They were dying. Quietly, violently, without cause or demand.

’This isn’t a movement. It’s a mass suicide. But why?’

"Continue to monitor all suspicious activity," Heinz said finally, his voice low but firm as he set the papers down. He pinched the bridge of his nose, weariness briefly flickering across his face. "As for the nobles... schedule their audiences for next week. Prioritize those closest to the capital."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Lucius said immediately.

"Also," Heinz added, opening his eyes again, sharp and commanding, "look into any possible noble or ducal involvement. If someone besides Alexandria supported the rogues—or is trying to replace her as their figurehead—we need to know before they grow bold enough to strike."

Lucius bowed his head slightly. "Understood."

Lancelot gave a brisk nod. "Of course."

Heinz leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly beneath him as he exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

The dim light of his study cast heavy shadows across the room, pooling in the hollows beneath his eyes. He was tired—tired of the rogues, the nobles, the politics... the uncertainty.

All he wanted to do was go back to his room and see Florian again.

His fingers drummed against the wood of his desk.

"Anything else?" he asked, though his voice lacked the strength it usually carried. There was a subtle edge of dread in his tone, as if he already knew the answer would only add to his burden.

Lucius and Lancelot exchanged a glance—quick, yet loaded. That alone made Heinz’s brow furrow.

"Well?" he said, a bit sharper now. "Spit it out."

Lucius hesitated before stepping forward, just a little. His fingers were still holding the stack of missives from earlier, but now his grip on them had loosened slightly.

"Well, uh... In a few weeks, it’s Prince Florian’s birthday. We were wondering if—"

"His birthday?" Heinz interrupted, eyes narrowing.

Lucius nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty. His Highness’ birthday falls on the 2nd day of Aurorafall.1 He’ll be turning nineteen."

Heinz’s eyes widened slightly, the words hitting him harder than expected. Nineteen.

He hadn’t realized.

Or maybe... he never bothered to ask.

’Fuck.’

A sharp pang of guilt clawed its way into his chest.

"We were wondering if we could throw a small celebration for him," Lucius continued carefully, as though measuring every word. "Princess Scarlett and Princess Athena were the ones who first suggested it. After finding out what happened to him... they thought it might help. To cheer him up. Even a little."

Lancelot stepped in, his tone unusually gentle. "I understand there are more pressing matters, Your Majesty. But I do believe this could be good for him—"

"No."

The word cut through the room like a blade, sharp and absolute.

He didn’t look at them as he said it, his eyes fixed instead on the grain of the wood beneath his hands. His voice was low, but it carried enough weight to still the air.

"No, we will not be doing that," he repeated, more quietly this time, as though saying it again might somehow convince himself as well.

The silence that followed was thick. Lucius lowered his gaze slightly, his fingers twitching against the edge of the letters. Lancelot’s lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw clenched.

"Instead..." Heinz looks at them both. "We will be hosting a ball."

August 2