CHAPTER 20: SHAMELESSNESS IN IMPERIAL INK

[Leif’s POV — Thorenvald Estate, Office]

We all gathered in my office, the tension thick. Baron Sigurd stepped forward, placing a folded letter on my desk with utmost care.

"This is the letter, my lord," he said, bowing his head.

I leaned to look at the letter before glancing at Alvar. He stood beside me, tall and steady, the eternal wall of calm in this hurricane of politics. He scanned the parchment and said quietly, "It indeed bears your seal, Crown Prince."

Crown Prince Arden frowned and strode forward, his cloak flaring slightly. "Let me see it."

Sirella leaned in, her eyes narrowing as both siblings inspected the paper. Their brows furrowed in unison.

"When did you receive this letter?" Arden asked Baron Sigurd.

"It has been six months, my lord," Sigurd replied firmly.

Sirella’s gaze flickered toward me, sharp like a hawk. "That was exactly the time you had your... disagreement with us, Leif."

Oh!

"Hmm," I muttered, "which means someone forged this letter... and stamped your seal on it."

The room fell silent for a moment, then Alvar spoke, his voice calm but edged. "But who would do that? Stealing the Crown Prince’s seal isn’t just audacity—it’s treason against the empire. Who would be reckless enough to dare such a thing?"

Sirella crossed her arms, pacing in thought. "Someone who would benefit from deepening the rift between Thorenvald and the imperial family..."

"But...who could it be?" Alvar mumbled.

We all thought a lot about it and then a conclusion came unbidden, like poison on the tongue. Arden, Sirella, and I said it together:

"Elowen."

The name hung heavy in the air.

But then—

"I don’t think it’s her," Alvar said.

My head snapped toward him.

THIS IDIOTIC MALE LEAD OF THE NOVEL!!!

I glared. Hard. If looks could kill, Alvar would already be six feet under, with me giving his eulogy while sipping wine.

"Are you," I asked coldly, "trying to protect her, Grand Duke Alvar?"

He met my gaze without flinching. "That’s not what I meant."

I folded my arms, still glaring hard enough to burn holes through him. "Then what did you mean?"

He exhaled, slow and steady. "I mean... she could benefit, yes. But Elowen is merely a commoner aspiring to become a saintess. Without powerful help, she cannot so much as step into the Imperial household, let alone forge the Crown Prince’s seal. Attempting treason like this would crush her before she ever rose."

Damn it. Logic. The bane of every satisfying accusation.

Sirella frowned, voice sharp. "Then it means... someone is backing her. Someone else is pulling the strings."

Arden’s jaw tightened. "Hard to tell who that is and we cannot accuse someone without evidence... but we must find out."

I leaned forward. "Is there a way?"

Alvar, of course, stepped in. "I have a trustworthy informant, Your Highness. If you permit me, I will investigate."

Oh? Was he talking about Lenz? Of course—Lenz, the infamous guildmaster who always popped up when Alvar needed juicy secrets. Basically a plot device with legs.

Arden gave a solemn nod. "Do it, Grand Duke."

Alvar inclined his head respectfully.

Well, since it’s Lenz, I suppose I don’t need to lift a finger. He’s the best informant according to the novel.

Then Arden turned to me, his expression softening, his voice measured. "I apologize for this inconvenience, Lord Leif. It seems someone sought to exploit our conflict. And I was reckless enough not to notice."

I stared at him. Flat. Blank. The kind of deadpan stare that said: your apology means nothing to my wallet.

Then, slowly, deliberately, I clapped my hand like a greedy tax collector who had just spotted a debtor.

"If you want to apologize..." I drawled, stretching each word like taffy, "...then GIVE. ME. MONEY.

"

The room froze. The silence was so sharp you could hear my dignity packing its bags and leaving.

Arden blinked. Once. Twice. Then the corner of his mouth twitched. Finally, he chuckled. "Pfft!!! I...I see. Then how much do you want for an apology lord Lief?"

I smirked, smug as a cat caught red-pawed in the cream jar but daring anyone to scold it. "Oh, I am not muchgreedy... simply supply me with Trivium Core Stones. For free. A lifetime supply will do. Then—and only then—shall I forgive you."

Sirella’s jaw nearly hit the floor. "I... I have never—never in my life—seen someone this shamelessly greedy!"

I whipped my head toward her and snapped, "Greedy? If feeding my starving people is greedy, then yes! Write it in history! Carve it into stone! Leif Thorenvald—the Greedy Saint of the Frozen North! Future generations will thank me for my avarice!"

Sirella sputtered, her face twisting between outrage and disbelief, while Arden just laughed. Not the polite kind of laugh either—the full-bodied, shoulders-shaking, I-can’t-believe-this-man kind of laugh.

"Unfortunately," he managed between chuckles, "I cannot grant you the Trivium stone for free. It is the most valuable stone in the empire. But..." He grinned like he was indulging a spoiled child. "...I can offer you a chest of gold coins instead."

Tch. What’s the point then? But still... there’s an old saying, right? "When someone offers you money, don’t be polite with your hands. Be formal only with your mouth. and grab the money."

So I folded my arms, gave the most serious nod I could muster, and said with mock solemnity: "Alright... I can adjust to that."

Arden’s lips curved, relief flickering in his princely mask. "Then you have my word."

Good. My wallet was already humming the imperial anthem.

But before I could drift into fantasies of swimming in gold like some noble duck...

"Now..." Alvar’s voice dropped—cold, sharp, and commanding. "...shall we discuss the greenhouse project?"

The room froze.It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. But somehow that voice sliced the mood cleaner than a guillotine.

We all blinked and I coughed into my fist, muttering, "...buzzkill."

Alvar’s glacier eyes slid to me, and I swore even the candle flames in the room shivered."I heard that," he said flatly.

"Good," I shot back with a grin. "At least you’re not deaf and

cold."

Alvar sighed, "Let’s settle the deal."

Arden agreed with him. "Indeed. That’s why we came here."

Then Sirella stepped forward. Her lips curved in that poisonous little smile as a villainess (which she is).

"There’s no need for endless debates, Grand Duke," she purred, voice dripping like honey laced with venom. "We’ve seen your greenhouse project. And we find it... impressive." Her gaze slid over the plans like a cat eyeing prey. "This project won’t just feed Frojnholm. Its legitimacy will ripple across the empire. Merchants will flock. Nobles will invest. Even foreign envoys will come sniffing for a piece of it. Trade routes will flourish. Gold will flow. You’re not just feeding people, Grand Duke. You’re creating an empire-wide phenomenon."

For a moment—even I—almost bought into her dreamlike tone. Almost.

"But—" her smile sharpened, slicing like a knife, "such a venture cannot simply remain... provincial. We propose this: allow us to lend our name. Our seal. Our Core Stones. With our backing, this won’t be remembered as a mere Thorenvald family venture—it will also be recorded as an imperial achievement."

I stared at her. Blinked once. Twice. And then folded my arms, leaning back with the slowest smirk I could muster.

"Bravo," I drawled, voice dripping with mock applause. "Truly. If shamelessness were an art form, Your Highness, you’d already be hanging in the imperial gallery as its crowning masterpiece."

Her composure cracked; I saw the twitch in her cheek, the flash of temper in her eyes."You—!"

But before her voice could rise into a shriek, Crown Prince Arden calmed her. His words rolled smooth, practiced, and deadly persuasive.

"Leif," he said, tone steady, almost kind, "I understand how this may sound. Yes, perhaps shameless at a glance. But think carefully. Without the empire’s shield, your project is glass and wood. Fragile. Local. Vulnerable. With us, it becomes something more—the pride of an empire. Something untouchable." His gaze locked with mine, steady as stone. "With us, your greenhouses will not only stand—they will spread. To every province. To every border. And in doing so, countless lives will find hope where now there is only famine."

. . .

Damn him. I hated it. But he wasn’t wrong.

In this cursed empire, nothing survived without the weight of imperial ink. Not a guild charter, not a trade agreement, not even a family’s survival. Without their seal, our greenhouses would remain just that: greenhouses.

With it... we could actually save people.

I let out a long sigh, raking my fingers through my hair, frustrated but already cornered.

"Fine," I muttered. "Let’s not waste any more breath. Draft the damn contract."

Sirella’s lips curled into a victorious smirk.

But then—Alvar’s voice cut in, calm, steady, and cold as steel. "But it still doesn’t solve the problem of the stones."

The room stilled. All eyes shifted to him.

He continued, "If we’re to make this project truly work, we need Trivium Core Stones. And Your Highness knows better than anyone... your reserves are not enough."

He wasn’t wrong. I clenched my jaw. The Trivium was the beating heart of this entire plan, and we all knew the empire hoarded every shard of it like a dragon with gold. Without it, they were nothing but sketches on parchment.

Arden nodded thoughtfully. "True. Which is why, for now, we focus here—on this territory, Grand Duke. One step at a time. I will speak with the Archmages about a permanent solution to the Trivium shortage. Until then, we proceed."

Arden’s words settled over the chamber like finality.We all nodded.

And me? I just wanted to scream.

FUCK—I WAS HERE TO CHILL AROUND! WHY IS EVERYTHING SO COMPLICATED?!