Chapter 200: Implications Of The Ring
Lord Leville cleared his throat with a pompous flourish, holding the ring between thumb and forefinger as though it were a jewel plucked from the heavens.
"Your Majesty," he began in a booming voice, "you will never believe the ordeal I endured to bring this to your most exalted notice. It began at dawn, when I set out most piously to the temple... to pray, of course, for Your Majesty’s long reign, for the prosperity of the Empire... and for my wife’s cursed geese, who lay fewer eggs than stones in a riverbed."
A ripple of laughter passed through the hall. Leville beamed and carried on, arms waving like sails in a storm.
"As I ascended the temple steps, lo and behold! — A pigeon, fat as a minister at a royal feast, waddled before me. But this was no common pigeon, no, it was a creature touched by destiny, for clasped in its beak gleamed this very ring." He lifted it high, shaking it for effect. "Like dawn’s light caught in gold!"
Some ministers snorted. Leville, emboldened, reenacted a mad chase. "Through the square I pursued it! Past the baker’s stall...the baker cursed me, for I upended three loaves. Through the fishmonger’s barrels- my apologies, for I reeked of herring half the day!"
The court erupted in laughter, courtiers doubling over at Lord Leville’s antics; everyone except the Dowager, whose lips held still as stone, and Leroy, whose jaw clenched tighter with every embellished word. He studied Leville, not amused in the slightest. Why spin such a ridiculous tale? What was he planning?
Leville, oblivious or pretending to be, pressed on with gusto.
"The pigeon rose higher, circling like an omen above the temple bell, and then... by divine providence... it dropped the ring, striking me square upon my noble brow!"
He staggered back a step, clutching his forehead as though still dazed. The chamber roared with laughter again, ministers wiping tears from their eyes. But then, like a jester turning suddenly into a priest, Leville let his voice sink to a hush. The laughter ebbed, replaced by pricked ears leaning forward.
"And that, Your Majesty, might have been the end of my tale," he said, lowering his tone until the words slithered across the hall. "Yet fate is cleverer than I. For scarcely had I pocketed this token when a man approached me... a ragged fellow, eyes sharp as a rat’s. He claimed the ring was his..."
Leville’s voice deepened, solemn now. He shook his head as though wounded by the memory.
"But no... no, his face bore none of the dignity, none of the... hegemony of one worthy to bear such a seal. My heart trembled with dread. Could Your Majesty’s good name be sullied by this trickery? I feared so. Thus, I pressed him further. Not easily, I assure you. It took... persuasion."
A dramatic pause. The air tightened.
"At last," Leville whispered, "he confessed. This ring was no trinket plucked by chance. It belonged to one tied to the dark business of Hadrian’s end. A co-conspirator."
The words dropped like iron into still water. Murmurs surged through the hall, laughter vanishing as though it had never been. Ministers exchanged uneasy glances.
Leville, suddenly grave as a prophet, straightened his shoulders. The buffoonery was gone. He stepped forward, extending the ring with reverence.
"And so, I place it before Your Majesty," he declared, his voice carrying through the vaulted hall, "that truth may be revealed."
Leroy fisted his hands at his sides. So this was the game. All that clownish build-up, all the laughter, just to sharpen the blade for the real strike. Was it Gaston they meant to accuse? Or Kaltharion itself? What web was the Dowager spinning now?
Leville’s voice cut through his thoughts. "When I looked closely, Your Majesty, I discovered this was no ordinary ring. See here... the sigil of a crowned bear. The mark belonging to none other than the..." He turned with exaggerated slowness, his hand sweeping toward Leroy. "...Crown Prince of Kaltharion."
The hall buzzed, shock rippling like wind across tall grass.
Leroy’s stomach twisted. Yes, the ring bore that sigil. But everyone in this court knew who wore it. Gaston. Always Gaston.
"Wasn’t Prince Gaston the one wearing it?" A voice rang from among the ministers, uncertain, searching. Leroy couldn’t see who it was.
Leville dipped his head in solemn agreement, though his tone carried the flourish of a stage actor. "Indeed. We all saw it on his hand. But the truth, my lords, is more subtle. For we now know the King and Queen of Kaltharion arrived in our borders earlier than we were told; arrived, in secret, to place this very ring into the hand of its rightful owner."
He turned sharply, his arm rising like an executioner’s blade, and pointed straight at Leroy.
The air left Leroy’s chest. What? They were fabricating this? Spinning lies from whole cloth? Were they planning to brand him protector of a traitor or demand he prove his loyalty by condemning his own blood?
But Leville was not finished. His voice swelled with self-importance as he delivered the final blow.
"It was given, Your Majesty, to the Crown Prince Leroy." He savored the name like poison on his tongue. "The ambassador of Kaltharion himself confirmed to me that he was present when the Queen bestowed it upon her son. Prince Gaston, of course, yielded, for it was the King’s will. Even the Crown Princess stood witness. All this, in a tavern outside the city walls where the Kaltharion Royal family had decided to honor their traditions and as a family whole-hearatedly accepting Prince Leroy as the next in line."
The court erupted into shocked murmurs, voices clashing like steel. The emperor cleared his throat. He knew that was not true, but he liked that Leroy was getting implicated in something. He had long wanted to get rid of him. Now, heaven had given him a chance.
Leroy’s heart sank, heavy as stone. They weren’t just blaming Gaston. They were blaming him.
His mind raced. Lorraine had mentioned a letter from his mother, and she was cryptic and cautious. He had thought she only meant for him to shield Gaston. He hadn’t dreamed it was a snare, forged to frame him.
And it hurt. More than he wanted to admit. Because Lorraine had known something was wrong. He could see it in her eyes, the way she carried herself like she was already preparing for battle. She must have foreseen some of this, must have hidden countermeasures in her folds of strategy.
She must have.
Unless she hadn’t. Unless she had missed. Unless his family had indeed cast him and his wife both into the lion’s jaws. The same lion that was lying in wait to ensnarl him.