Chapter 29

“Did you fail to sleep again tonight, Your Highness?”

 

Early dawn. Derek was on his way to the West Palace after training. Seeing a light on in the prince’s study, he changed course.

 

Knock, knock—

 

“Your Highness. It’s Derek. I’m coming in.”

 

No response.

 

“Not here?”

 

Sometimes attendants forgot to turn off the lights. Derek entered cautiously.

 

“Someone cleaning?”

 

Inside the study stood someone in a butler’s uniform, amber hair neatly combed. Derek frowned.

 

‘Never have seen him.’

 

He had met countless servants while guarding the prince.

 

‘Maybe staff changed recently.’

 

He’d been accompanying the prince outside the palace a lot lately, so it was possible he missed it. But when he approached the man, Derek froze.

 

‘An assassin disguised as a butler?’

 

The prince sat in his chair, eyes closed. His liege was sensitive to even the smallest sound.

 

‘Poison… or a sleeping drug.’

 

“Who?”

 

The supposed assassin smiled playfully.

 

“What did you do to His Highness?!”

 

Derek shouted, reaching for his sword.

 

‘Gone… the sword is gone!’

 

He remembered leaving it beside a chair at the training grounds. His face drained of color.

 

‘Some guard I am… disastrous.’

 

He had to wake the prince. Rushing past the assassin, Derek shook the prince’s shoulders.

 

“Your Highness, wake up! We have an intruder!”

 

The assassin laughed wickedly and pulled something shiny from his sleeve—then placed it gently down, as if planning to kill both prince and guard at once.

 

“Your Highness! I’ll protect you!”

 

Derek squeezed his eyes shut and wrapped his arms around the prince’s body. He would do anything to protect him.

 

‘Didn’t expect to die like this.’

 

He still had many regrets, but dying to shield his liege was an honorable end.

 

‘Your Highness… please live happily. I wanted to be your support. Let it be so in the next life.’

 

“…?”

 

But there was no pain.

 

“Did I die without suffering?”

 

Strange. While Derek hesitated—

 

“Ahem.”

 

The prince, held tightly in his arms, cleared his throat. Derek opened his eyes.

 

“Sir Derek.”

 

The prince frowned slightly. Derek bolted back, checking him frantically.

 

“Are you hurt anywhere, Your Highness? Thank goodness—you’re alive!”

 

“Pfft—hahahahaha!”

 

Laughter exploded behind him. Derek turned sharply.

 

“That’s… a hand mirror, not a dagger?”

 

In the “assassin’s” hand were a silver mirror and a comb. What?

 

“I’d appreciate it if you let me go now.”

 

“…Yes.”

 

The prince’s tone was calm, almost too calm. Derek stepped back, bewildered.

 

“Oh gods, that was hilarious. He really thought my comb was a dagger.”

 

Jaybil wiped away a tear of laughter. Derek’s eyes trembled.

 

“Your Highness, who is… this person?”

 

“Introduce yourselves. This is my knight, Sir Derek Robero.”

 

“A pleasure.”

 

Jaybil barely acknowledged him, combing his own hair while admiring his reflection. Derek’s brow twitched.

 

“And this is Jaybil of Silvertone, the operations captain who’ll be helping us.”

 

“Silvertone?”

 

An information network. But why was their captain in a butler’s uniform… inside the palace?

 

‘He’s suspicious.’

 

“Don’t I look perfect as a butler?” Jaybil asked, adjusting his cuffs. His nonchalant attitude grated on Derek’s nerves.

 

“You. Why are you approaching us?”

 

Derek released killing intent. The prince shook his head.

 

“Sir Derek, do you lack subtlety?”

 

Jaybil looked at him like he was hopeless. At the word subtlety, a vein popped on Derek’s forehead.

 

“A knight’s duty is vigilance.”

 

“Why be vigilant?”

 

“How can I trust someone I’ve never met?”

 

Jaybil sighed and glanced at the prince.

 

“Is he always this stiff, Your Highness?”

 

“What—stiff?”

 

“Agh. Knights. I can’t stand them.”

 

Jaybil and Derek glared at each other like growling beasts. The prince pressed his fingers to his forehead.

 

“You two.”

 

Both men flinched at the low tone.

 

“Take the fight outside.”

 

 

***

 

 

Bilion’s face appeared in the communication orb.

 

— Greetings, Your Highness.

 

The prince nodded.

 

— I heard from Jaybil that he arrived safely. Though he’s already complaining that he dislikes someone there.

 

“Derek and Jaybil clash. They’re already at each other’s throats.”

 

The prince sighed.

 

— He’s thick-skinned but he’ll still be useful at your side.

 

No one questioned the new servant too much—the West Palace often changes staff. Jaybil adapted quickly as a “butler.”

 

“Is it safe to keep Jaybil near me? Won’t it hinder Silvertone?”

 

— Not at all. I can handle the information network alone.

 

“Good.”

 

The prince nodded.

 

— And as you ordered, I contacted Master Ricardo.

 

“He must’ve been wary.”

 

— He settled quickly once I showed your pendant and letter.

 

Border nobles and the empire’s intelligence group working together for him—an odd pairing. Then Bilion continued.

 

— There’s something urgent regarding Lady Lilithia Baimery.

 

The prince remembered how hard it had been to find her.

 

“It was unfortunate the information came late, but mistakes happen.”

 

He finally met her, and only needed to confirm whether she could halt his nightmares.

 

— That’s not it.

 

“…?”

 

— We received a commission.

 

“A commission?”

 

The prince’s brow furrowed. Bilion spoke carefully.

 

— A commission from the Crown Prince, ordering us not to deliver any information about Lady Lilithia to the Second Prince.

 

“……”

 

All his stress flashed through his mind at once. The reason he couldn’t find her—because the Crown Prince blocked him.

 

The prince clenched his fist.

 

“He played tricks.”

 

— It was the first time Your Highness ever sought something.

 

“Were there previous commissions about me?”

 

— Yes.

 

— Reporting all your movements.

 

Bilion lowered his head in apology. Everything made sense now—even the Crown Prince’s polished, perfect persona he flaunted before Lilithia.

 

“He fears me.”

 

Feared losing the throne to the only one who could threaten him. Bilion’s next question was quiet and weighty.

 

— *Your Highness… how far do you intend to go?*

 

For those he cherished—for those who stood at his side—he needed power.

 

‘At this rate, I can’t protect anything.’

 

His chest tightened. He finally understood the Crown Prince’s mind.

 

To protect what was his, he needed the highest seat.

 

‘The throne.’

 

“Can you stay with me, even if I walk a difficult path?”

 

“If it is the path my benefactor takes, I will jump into a pit of fire.”

 

“I must ascend to the throne.”

 

The prince declared it. Bilion smirked faintly.

 

— A message came in: the territories of Count Conde and Viscount Notario are on the brink of war.

 

“They’re both Imperial-faction nobles.”

 

— Yes. Loyal to the Empress and Crown Prince. The Crown Prince is trying to suppress the news, but Silvertone already knows everything.

 

“What’s the cause?”

 

— A dispute over the Empress’s opera house project.

 

The prince’s brow knitted.

 

“A territorial war over that?”

 

He tapped his desk, thinking.

 

The Empress and Crown Prince wouldn’t want this—loss of reputation, weakened influence.

 

— Only their closest circle knows. They’re scrambling to contain it.

 

“In that case… we can shake them.”

 

 

***

 

 

Ivailo swung his sword, breath rough.

 

Swoosh—

 

Wind split around the blade.

 

Then, clap clap clap—

 

“Freyer?”

 

Hearing the source, Ivailo frowned. An unwelcome guest.

 

“Brother, your skills improve every day.”

 

Freyer approached with a grin.

 

“You know this is my allotted training hour.”

 

“I do.”

 

A vein pulsed on Ivailo’s forehead.

 

“And you still came?”

 

“Our last spar stuck with me.”

 

Freyer rested his hand on his hilt.

 

“How about another match?”

 

“Not interested.”

 

Ivailo looked away.

 

“One-sided games bore me. Leave.”

 

He wiped sweat from his brow. The looming territorial war had him irritated.

 

‘Uncle treats it like someone else’s problem.’

 

The Alstein Duchy, heavily tied to the Imperial faction, simply stood by.

 

‘Too many things testing my patience.’

 

Training was the only outlet he had. But Freyer’s next line hit exactly where it hurt.

 

“Are you afraid of losing to me?”