CHAPTER 243: FINALLY, A WEAPON

The fire of retribution... what had it truly given her in the end?

Once, she had stood like a queen above queens, commanding armies with whispers, moving men like pieces on a board, weaving fates with the certainty of one who knew she would win. She had plotted and schemed for decades, stacking the stones of her vengeance so high that even the gods might have paused to look.

She had believed herself untouchable.

But now, in the cold hush of her chambers, with the night pressing against the windows like a waiting beast, she asked herself: Where was she now?

Her sons were gone.

The one she had loved most was buried.

And the one she had hated most was rising higher than she had ever dreamed.

Her remaining son, the Emperor, sat upon the throne, but she could see the truth clearer than anyone. He was not clever. Not cunning enough to keep his crown, not gracious enough to bind allies through loyalty or love. She had spoiled him, made him depend on her for every decision, every threat, every shadow move. She had shaped him into a prince who could inherit power, but not hold it. And now, that failure returned to her like a ghost, laying its cold hands upon her shoulders.

If she died... he would not survive.

Hadrian had been their strategist. She had been their will. But Hadrian was gone, and she... she was old, and tired.

And the storm was already here.

Lorraine, no, The Oracle, had risen from the shadows she had been dismissed into. The girl no one had looked at twice had become the queen in the dark, the weaver of the hive. The prophecies she had doubted in her youth now pressed down upon her with merciless precision.

She had tried to destroy Lorraine. Again and again, she had tried. But every strike missed its mark. Every trap fell apart. And when even she, who had crushed rivals and bent nobles to her will, failed to bring her down, she understood something terrifying:

If Lorraine could not be broken, then neither could Leroy.

For decades, she had lived with the cold, hard certainty that she could not lose. But now, she stood before the quiet, devastating truth. She had lost.

And worse, she did not want to die like this, crumbling beneath the weight of her own schemes.

If her uncle’s words had held any truth... if redemption was still possible, even at the end of a bloody road... perhaps kneeling was not defeat. Perhaps it was the only way to keep her line alive.

She reached for her son’s hand, her fingers thin and cold. He turned toward her, startled by the gravity in her eyes.

"Son," she began, her voice low, fragile. "I’ve told you before that your father never wanted you to succeed him, haven’t I?"

He stared at her. "Mother... why are you saying this now?" And then his eyes sharpened. "Did you find the heir? The one with the mark?"

She said nothing. Only held his hand tighter.

"We’ve played all the games, Son," she whispered. "It’s time to do what’s right."

His gaze hardened. "It’s Leroy, isn’t it?"

Her breath caught. He had seen through it.

"He has the mark," the Emperor said, his voice trembling. "That’s why you’ve kept his face hidden, even from me."

The quiet in his voice was worse than shouting.

"Really, Mother?" His hands shook. "You want me to bow? To him? You want me to give everything up to the man you raised me to despise?"

She closed her eyes. The tears came swiftly this time, hot against her weathered skin. His words cut through her like a sword.

"All this time," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I always thought... I had you, Mother."

"You do have me," she said, looking at him through the blur of her tears.

"Do I?" His voice cracked, and the pain in it shattered something inside her. "Do I, Mother? You’re asking me to give up the only thing I’ll have left when you’re gone. My throne. My legacy. My name."

"It’s for your best," she pleaded softly. "Please, trust me... It’s for your best."

Silence fell between them, deep and suffocating.

The Emperor lowered his head. She reached out instinctively, stroking his hand like she did when he was small and afraid of thunder.

"I’ve always trusted you, Mother," he said finally, lifting his gaze. His eyes were clear now, eerily calm. "I’ll do what you say. Tomorrow."

"Thank you," she whispered, though the words felt like shards in her mouth.

She watched him leave through a haze of tears. His figure blurred against the flickering torchlight, and for the first time in decades, she felt... small.

This is right, she told herself. This is the right thing to do.

But her heart knew the truth. She had spent a lifetime building a throne from fire and vengeance, only to kneel before the child she had dismissed.

And that was the cruelest tragedy of all.

But perhaps... she might feel the warmth of love once more, after all.

-----

"How dare you disobey my orders!" the Emperor roared, his voice echoing through the courtyard like a lash.

The general knelt before him, head bowed, yet his back remained stubbornly straight. His silence was answer enough.

"Off with his head!" the Emperor barked.

The advisor beside him flinched, his mouth opening to object. Executing a general in wartime—especially one so loyal—was folly. But when he caught the Emperor’s wild eyes, he closed his mouth and silently signaled the guards.

The general was dragged away, not to the executioner’s block but to the dungeons below the palace—a quiet alteration the Emperor didn’t notice in his fury.

Left alone with his advisor and guards, the Emperor paced the moonlit garden like a caged wolf, his fingers gnawing at his nails. One by one, he had tried to turn his generals against Leroy. And one by one, they had refused. Some gave excuses, others simply defied him outright. This last one had been his final hope, and now even he was gone.

Why? Why is everyone so loyal to him?

The thought burned in his chest. He had been searching for months, rummaged through records, bribed informants, planted spies, looking for anything that could tarnish Leroy’s name. A scandal. A weakness. Something.

But Leroy’s record was maddeningly clean. Honorable to a fault, loyal, brilliant on the battlefield. Every attempt to find a chink in his armor had failed.

He stopped pacing, breathing hard, his eyes flicking toward the night sky. "There must be another way," he muttered. "There has to be."

A sudden rustle came from the hedges nearby.

The guards instantly drew their blades and rushed forward. After a brief scuffle, they dragged out a man cloaked in a dark hood, his arms pinned.

"An intruder!" one of the guards shouted.

The man struggled briefly, then stilled. He raised his hands slowly, palms open. "I come with no ill intent toward His Majesty," he said, his voice calm, almost cold. "I carry information that can bring down the Crown Prince of Kaltharion."

The guards sneered and moved to cut him down, spies and false informants were nothing new. But the Emperor lifted a hand sharply. "Wait."

He stepped closer, eyeing the stranger. "Take off your hood," the Emperor commanded. "And state your name."

The man dropped to one knee. His hands reached up slowly, deliberately, and peeled back the hood.

Pale moonlight illuminated a lean, sharp-featured face framed by disheveled brown hair. His blue eyes caught the light like shards of ice.

"I am Cedric Thaloryn," he said, bowing low. "Former squire to Prince Leroy."

The Emperor’s brows twitched. "Thaloryn? Your family is practically in ruin. I heard you sold off your battlehorses like a common trader."

Cedric’s jaw tightened. This Emperor had no sense of tact. But Cedric swallowed the insult; vengeance burned hotter than pride tonight.

"You’ve come a long way, Thaloryn," the Emperor said, studying him with faint suspicion. "Why should I believe a word you say?"

Cedric’s lips curled, a humorless smile spreading slowly across his face. "Because I know something no one else dares to speak. Something that will make the mighty Prince Leroy fall from grace."

The Emperor stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "Speak, then."

Cedric leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering into a venomous whisper that still carried in the night air.

"You’ve heard of Lazira, haven’t you, Your Majesty?"

The Emperor stiffened. Of course he had. That name had slithered through every corridor of the palace, an invisible specter pulling strings in the capital’s underbelly.

Cedric’s smile widened, a bitter edge in it. "Then let me give you the truth you seek..."

He paused, savoring the moment.

"Lazira," he said slowly, his blue eyes glinting with cruel satisfaction, "is none other than Prince Leroy’s wife."

The Emperor froze. The night seemed to hold its breath.

For a heartbeat, nothing moved, only the rustle of leaves and the soft hiss of torches breaking the silence. Then, slowly, a sharp smile crept across the Emperor’s face.

Finally. A weapon.