CHAPTER 450: PRELUDE

"Surprised?"

Hearing Lucas’s unfinished words at the tip of his tongue, Amalia curved her lips, her slender and upright lashes fluttering slightly, covering blue watery eyes.

Those heterochromatic eyes, one blue, one red, reflected the light spots on the wall, as if the white-haired little girl standing before him was meant to exist just like this.

"Brother seems a bit forgetful, unable to remember he still has a younger sister."

As Amalia spoke, she gently pulled her lotus-root-like hands from the trumpet-shaped white silk sleeves, pinched the hem of her princess dress, and slightly bent her legs, covered in delicate white silk, into a bow.

This was the Valeria Empire’s noble greeting ritual, usually performed by lower nobles toward higher-ranking ones, or younger peers toward elders of similar status.

Amalia doing this now clearly held no respect, only blatant sarcasm.

Staring at the painfully conspicuous royal features before him, and combining Amalia’s previous words, even if Lucas were dull, he now understood the identity of the person outside the prison cell.

Amalia Valeria, the illegitimate daughter most unloved by their father.

How could she appear here... and so openly, too...

"You dare show yourself here?"

The man gripped the iron bars of the prison cell, as if his voice alone caused the metal to tremble.

"You filthy daughter of a criminal, the stain the Valeria royal family least wishes to acknowledge, aren’t you afraid Father will kill you?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Lucas caught sight of Astrid standing beside Amalia, arms crossed, calmly observing everything. Instantly, millions of thoughts spun through Lucas’s mind.

Why did Astrid seem... as if she’d expected this all along...

An ominous premonition crept across Lucas’s heart, like swarms of ants waving their limbs, crawling inch by inch toward his heart, gnawing at his blood vessels and barriers.

Without assistance from someone else, the frail and delicate Amalia could never have escaped the castle alone, nor evaded everyone’s sight to assume the identity of Livia Ovisia.

In other words, Astrid must have been colluding with Amalia all along.

But what could she possibly gain from allying with a discarded illegitimate daughter, other than bad luck? If there was any value to exploit, it would only be one thing.

The blood flowing in Amalia’s veins, though unrecognized by Father, was undeniably direct royal lineage of the Valeria Empire, granting her a faint possibility of succession.

That explained why Astrid always appears so composed, often defying him at will, out of sync with his plans, as if she’d leave a hidden countermeasure somewhere.

Lucas suddenly understood everything, he realized he’d been thoroughly tricked by Astrid’s scheme, used like a pawn, and even the political resources he’d painstakingly built over the years might now fall entirely into her hands.

"Brother, you seem a bit too naive."

Amalia quietly gazed at the blood relative just a wall away, her blue eyes flashing a hint of pity that drove Lucas mad.

As if what stood before she wasn’t a person, but a failed defective product.

Before Amalia could speak again, Lucas suddenly thought of something, gritting his teeth.

"You must’ve used some despicable method to sneak in here..."

Lucas knew perfectly well how deeply Hibbort loathed Amalia, as a stain on his life. As a prince who once kidnapped her, the reason Lucas had never considered Amalia a threat to the throne was precisely because of this.

In his heart, he believed Hibbort could never hand the succession to Amalia, his most detested illegitimate daughter.

Absolutely impossible.

Astrid appearing here now must surely be to assassinate and silence him, thereby forcing Hibbort into submission. After all, according to her, Alistair was already executed, and the only one left eligible to inherit the throne was him. Once he died, she’d have grounds to pressure the old emperor into naming Amalia his successor.

"Where are the guards?! Someone’s trying to assassinate the prince!"

"Where are you?! Come protect me!"

The hoarse male voice echoed through the prison cell, like a rasping orchestral drone.

Amalia stared expressionlessly at the man before her, casually brushing dust from her skirt, then straightening her two slender, smooth white-silk-covered legs.

"Need me to help deliver your message, Brother?"

Having spoken, Amalia lightly stamped her foot. The silver princess shoes, with their side cutouts, struck the floor tiles, producing a crisp, clear sound.

Within moments, several guards clad in pitch-black armor approached and bowed respectfully.

"What are your orders, Your Highness Amalia?"

Tomorrow was the day Hibbort would officially announce Amalia’s existence to the court, naturally, the Emperor’s personal guards had already been informed.

Their authority belongs to the reigning Emperor, the silver-haired princess before them, and the next Emperor about to ascend.

"He seems to have something he needs you for."

Amalia turned her head slightly, her gaze fell on Lucas, who had completely frozen.

"Amalia... Princess..."

The man asserted, his voice filled with disbelief.

If Astrid and Amalia had seized command of the imperial guards through political manipulation and were now attempting to assassinate him, Lucas might still have a one-in-a-thousand chance of survival.

But the moment the imperial guards addressed Amalia by name, Lucas’s vision darkened. His previously injured knee was throbbed with pain, and he collapsed directly onto the floor.

As a prince, he knew the purpose of this defensive force all too well, the imperial guards obeyed only the Emperor, created to ensure royal power never fell into outsiders’ hands.

If even the imperial guards acknowledged Amalia’s existence, it meant Hibbort had already given his approval, silently endorsing Astrid’s every future move.

Including killing him.

"How is this possible..."

Even if he wanted to deceive himself again, faced with this ironclad reality, he was powerless.

"A bastard born from a slut, how can she lay hands on the throne..."

Lucas’s voice trembled, bloodshot veins across his pupils, his bulging eyes seeming ready to burst from their sockets.

Amalia showed no reaction upon these words, she’d heard long grown grown to such slanders. But Astrid frowned slightly upon hearing it, feeling uncomfortable deep down.

Just as she was about to intervene, Amalia, driven by the intention to kill the spirit, spoke first.

"You’re absolutely right, Brother."

"Perhaps the only difference between you and me... is just a bit of luck."

There was no need to explain the art of kingship to Lucas in detail. For a man who dreamed day and night of becoming Emperor, believing he’d merely lost by one move rather than having been utterly defeated from the start would make the reality even harder to accept, the torment in his heart even more severe.

The psychological gap between "almost" and "hopelessly behind" was entirely different.

Just as expected, upon hearing this, Lucas’s heart went numb. Piercing pain radiated from within, spreading outward. He clutched his left chest, glaring furiously at the white-haired little girl before him.

"Blood far filthier than trash, I should’ve killed you long ago."

"A nobody, unraised and untaught, your mother was a whore who knew nothing but pleasing men, and you’re no better..."

Faced with Lucas’s barrage of insults, Astrid gently stroked Amalia’s head. The girl’s previously sharp aura instantly softened, and she obediently nuzzled her hair against Astrid’s palm.

"Unraised and untaught? I think you’re mistaken."

"Amalia has been by my side all these years."

She was her sister, and half her guardian, she might as well be called an elder sister as a mother.

Hearing Astrid speak, Lucas shifted his gaze to the silver-haired beauty beside him, his eyes now unable to contain the hunger and hatred within.

"If it wasn’t for that old fool still on the throne, I’d have already taken you, my precious imperial sister, to bed..."

Before the words fully left his mouth, lightning flashed in Amalia’s eyes. A blinding white lightning spear pierced Lucas’s back leg, causing his voice to tremble in pain.

Staring at the golden-haired man clutching his bleeding leg, Amalia spoke again.

"Ah, speaking of that, I should thank Brother for your cooperation."

The black-haired little girl curved her lips into a faint smile, yet her words sounded like demonic whispers.

"If you hadn’t pointed out all the noble ladies who might bear other princes, we’d have had to go through so much more trouble."

"With your fertility gone, even any possible offspring will be wiped out completely."

Amalia deliberately emphasized the first half, ruthlessly stabbing at Lucas’s greatest wound, then said the latter half as lightly as a feather, as if merely describing some trivial chore.

Hearing Amalia’s words, Lucas’s eyes bulged, feeling as though his teeth had shattered. A bitter, rusty taste fills his mouth.

"You..."

He opened his mouth but couldn’t utter a single word. Amalia promptly delivered the final blow.

"It seems Brother has lost farther than just the throne."

Having spoken, Amalia leaned closer to Astrid, delightfully pressing against her dress, and softly said:

"Given Brother’s restraint and efforts over the years, as well as his sincere cooperation in these final moments, let me sincerely say, thank you."

The goals the man pursued his entire life, all ultimately became her wedding gown.

After Amalia’s Soul-piercing strike, Lucas’s blood surged upward, his tongue tinged with sweetness, and he collapsed unconscious.

Looking at Lucas lying unconscious on the floor, Amalia found it boring, waved her hand, and more thunderstorms gathered in her palm.

They’d played long enough, it was time to send him on his way.

The next second, explosive lightning called Lucas’s life, along with the resentment and rage in his chest, fading away together in the electric light.

...................

Alistair, having been stripped of his prince status by Hibbort, was unworthy of burial in the royal tombs. Thus, Astrid could prevent his resurrection by grinding his bones to dust and scattering them. But Lucas was still nominally a prince, despite being disposed of, at the very least he had to be laid to rest like a proper person.

Back in the palace, after thoroughly handling the affairs of the two heirs, Astrid first comforted Amalia for a while, then recalled something and gently parted her pink lips.

"Amalia, you seem particularly hateful toward Lucas?"

That speech felt capable of reviving him through sheer rage. When they dealt with Alistair before, they hadn’t spoken so long.

Hearing this, Amalia buried her head against Astrid’s chest and spoke softly.

"Mm, I really hate him."

Even among the extremely despicable Valeria lineage, Lucas stands as a weighty figure.

Especially the fact that he’d cast his gaze upon his most beloved sister, driven solely by primal lust, this sin was unforgivable.

"Does... Sister, don’t want me to do this?"

Recalling her behavior in the prison, Amalia suddenly realized she might have gone too far, nothing like the wise ruler her sister envisioned, and her voice became timid.

Astrid, hearing this, looked at the cool little girl in her arms. Besides her long black hair cascading down to her waist, even her two delicate, smooth white-silk feet obediently rested on Astrid’s thighs.

"That’s not it," Astrid said.

"I understand your hatred for him. Releasing it this way isn’t a bad thing."

Amalia was a living person, not a mechanical NPC in a novel. Having such emotions wasn’t strange.

"Just, next time, try to handle similar matters as cleanly and quickly as possible, so he doesn’t affect your mood."

Once the interrogation is completed, it should end there. Strictly speaking, Amalia’s approach, driven by self-assured victory, was no different in essence from Alistair’s sky-high taunting.

Besides... listening to those vulgar words wasn’t supportive to Amalia’s growth...

Hearing Astrid’s words, Amalia nodded, her heart warmed.

Was Sister...sorry for her?

Although she herself had grown used to the mockery and ridicule, Astrid didn’t want her to be addressed with such disgusting words.

"Mm, I understand."

But she didn’t regret it at all. Surely, in Lucas’s final moments, his mind was filled only with regret, remorse, and unwillingness.

Her goal had been achieved.

Hearing this, Astrid patted Amalia’s back. The girl obediently adjusted her sitting posture, her delicate white-silk instep pressing against Astrid’s legs, covered in sheer black stockings, her tender toes leaning diagonally against the thigh flesh, causing the surface silk fabric to slightly indent.

Holding Amalia like this for a while, Astrid slowly spoke.

"Now, the prelude work to publicly announce Amalia’s identity is more or less complete."

"Later, I’ll accompany you to pick out more clothes, so you can attend tomorrow’s morning assembly in full regalia."

The news that Hibbort had important matters to announce had already spread throughout the capital City. Countless capital nobles were secretly speculating, could this moment mark the announcement of the next Emperor?

Truthfully, by now, everyone basically guessed that after Alistair lost his eligibility, the next Emperor could only be Lucas Valeria. But even if it was just ceremonial, witnessing it was worthwhile.

After all, this was a momentous event that would be recorded in the empire’s history, no one would refuse to testify history.

Hearing this, Amalia slightly nodded, softly uttering "Mm," then after a pause, opened her lips.

"Sister..."

"Mmm?" Astrid stopped combing her hair, listening attentively.

"If it’s possible..." Amalia hesitated, then continued.

"I hope... you’ll be by my side when it’s announced."

Not because she felt timid under the crowd’s gaze.

Only because, in such a crucial moment, she wished Sister could stand with her beneath the eyes of thousands.