Chapter 204: The Brother’s Arrival
Leroy knew the birthmark on his face might draw attention. Its mystery had always gnawed at him, and if anyone could explain its meaning as to why the dowager had insisted it remain hidden, it would be someone old and wise like Osric.
He revealed his face fully, meeting the old man’s unwavering gaze.
Leroy expected a reaction. Something, anything.
Others in the hall tried to glance, but when their eyes fell on the dowager’s unreadable expression, they quickly looked away. The Emperor, however, could not restrain himself; his curiosity burned visibly.
Osric’s eyes studied Leroy intently, yet his face betrayed nothing. Then, almost imperceptibly, his lips murmured something. Leroy leaned closer, straining to hear, only to realize the words were in High-Veyrani.
"...he shall come when no one dares to hope."
Leroy’s eyes widened. The phrase, cryptic and heavy, echoed in his mind. The one who returns... the one whispered about in fearful tones... Could it be? Was he truly the heir, the one his wife had spoken of?
Without another word, Osric removed his cane from Leroy’s chin and stepped back. There was something strange in his posture. There was an almost imperceptible tremor in his hand, the way it gripped the cane for support. He could see the way Osric saw him had changed. If he was brazen, he thought Osric adored him. Leroy, unnerved, slipped the mask back over his face.
The Emperor let out a frustrated sigh. His plan to see Leroy disfigured, or at least marked face had failed. He looked disappointed, thwarted.
Osric, in contrast, appeared shaken, fragile, as if the revelation had nearly toppled him. His knuckles whitened on the cane, his body trembling ever so slightly. For a moment, the hall seemed suspended in tension, time stretched thin between revelation and judgment.
Then, the silence was shattered.
A loud, panicked voice pierced the chamber, echoing off the marble walls. Guards tried to intercept the intruder, but he pushed past them with desperate speed. Covered in blood, a figure charged forward.
Lysander Arvand.
"Save us, Your Majesty!" Lysander’s cry rang out as he stumbled across the carpet, fear and urgency breaking through every syllable. "Someone’s trying to kill us all—me... my sister... Lorraine and I..."
"Lorraine?" Leroy’s voice roared, blocking Lysander with his stance. Only then did he notice the blood, the terror, the chaos etched on his brother-in-law’s face. "What happened? Where is she? Is she safe?"
The audience hall erupted anew. Ministers shouted, guards drew their weapons, and the Emperor’s composure cracked for the first time. Chaos engulfed the chamber once more, louder and more immediate than before.
Leroy’s fists clenched. Everything had escalated, and now the answers—or the disasters—were racing toward them at full speed. Instinctively, his gaze cut to the dowager. If anyone was behind this, it would be her. But to his surprise, she looked... shaken. Her composure wavered, her eyes darting as though something unforeseen had slipped through her careful game.
"What happened?" Leroy seized Lysander’s shoulders. The young man was trembling, his tunic soaked crimson where the wound still bled. It wasn’t mortal, but it was messy, and Leroy’s heart tightened. And then there was the name—Lorraine. Why had he shouted her name?
"Lorraine came to our mansion to... to play with my son and—" Lysander’s breath came in shallow gasps, panic shaking through him. His gaze wandered and froze.
His eyes locked on the severed head at the center of the chamber.
He went pale. His hand rose, shaking as though he couldn’t keep it steady. "I–is that..." His voice broke. "...is that Father?"
The weight of recognition collapsed him. His knees buckled, and before Leroy could steady him, the boy’s world went black. He crumpled against the carpet.
The hall broke into pandemonium. Ministers muttered, some recoiling in horror, others spitting accusations. Guards surged forward, torn between protecting the Emperor and aiding the fallen man.
"Fetch a physician!" someone cried. "Water, now!"
Hands scrambled at Lysander’s collar, fanning, shaking, calling his name. For a breathless moment, it seemed he would not stir... until, with a violent shudder, his eyes snapped open again.
He was awake. And the hall, already in chaos, turned on the brink of collapse.
"Someone’s acting against our family, Your Majesty!" Lysander cried, forcing himself upright though his knees nearly buckled. He knelt, clutching his wound, voice breaking with both fear and urgency. "Someone came to our mansion and tried to kill my sister Elyse’s sons. When we tried to interfere, we... I..." His throat tightened. He gulped down the terror that clawed at him.
Then, with shaking hands, he thrust into his pocket and drew out a key, a wooden pass dangling from its loop. The same Lorraine had pressed into his hand. His eyes sharpened with sudden purpose.
"I have proof. This belongs to the one who wants us dead. I tore it from the one who tried to kill us."
A hush rippled through the chamber. His panic was obvious, but so was the weight of what he held.
Leroy stepped forward and received the token, his heart hammering. His lips parted, only one word escaping.
"Lorraine?"
The thought of her struck like steel through his chest. She had gone to the Arvand mansion, but he would never have allowed it if danger prowled those halls. Where was Aldric? Where was she? Was she safe? Or had she—?
A thousand questions clawed at his mind, but Lysander’s words dragged him back.
"She fainted. She’s resting. They killed our guards and..." His gaze wandered toward the severed head, and he recoiled, his voice shattering. "Who killed Father? Could it be the same person?"
The weight of the realization struck him belatedly, crushing his chest. Lorraine had said nothing. Who could kill him so mercilessly? Was it the ones Lorraine hired? Or someone else?
Before the shock could settle, a sharp voice cut through.
"Hadrian conspired against the Throne with his son-in-law, and now his son comes to stage another farce," Lord Leville barked, desperate to regain the current of the Dowager’s will. The more this spiraled, the worse his footing grew.
He cast a glance at the Dowager for approval, but instead of the expected nod, her glare burned into him like frost. His stomach tightened. Something was wrong.
The chamber descended once more into cacophony. Ministers shouted, some demanding Leroy’s punishment, others jeering at Lysander’s plea, most utterly bewildered. Those who did not recognize the old man at the center thought it was still their turn to direct the storm.
Others, stayed silent.
Then came the sound.
A single strike of cane against stone.
Thoom.
The sound cracked across the hall like thunder. Every voice faltered, then stilled. Even the air seemed to hesitate.
Osric Vaelith’s eyes, pale and glacial, swept across the room. He stood unmoved, his silver cane pressed firmly against the marble floor. The silence that followed was not mere quiet, but command.
"Come then—" His voice was not loud, yet it carried, heavy and unstoppable. "Who among you has the courage to tell me what devilry I behold?"
No one answered. Not a minister. Not a guard. Not even the Dowager herself.