Chapter 93: One must understand thy enemies.



Under the dim candlelight, Gerald clenched his jaw as his aunt led him to the shadowed edge of the banquet hall. The laughter and murmurs from the hall faded as they stepped away from the crowds, leaving him alone with her simmering silence.

Then, with a sudden snap, her palm met his cheek. The slap left a sting that throbbed, each heartbeat fueling his fury as he glared at her, refusing to look away.

"What were you thinking?" she seethed, her voice low, fierce, full of barely contained rage.

"Do you realize the gravity of what you did? Disrespecting the prince... do you know what they call that?" Her gaze was a blade, cutting into him with each word. "Lèse-majesté. Are you so eager to throw away your life, Gerald?"

Holding his cheek, Gerald narrowed his eyes.

"The fourth prince was goading me. I could see it in his face, feel it in his words." He shook his head, voice thick with defiance. "I told you, I won’t kneel to him. Not to him."

A thin, cold frown twisted her lips. "But you just did," she said, voice dripping venom.

Her words cut deeper than any slap, and he had no response, no quick retort. She continued, pressing her advantage.

"What you’ve done is worse than any insult. You’ve made yourself a fool in front of the entire court—apologizing publicly, bowing like a whipped dog. You’ve put us in a corner, one I now have to claw us out of." Her stare pinned him, disappointment radiating from her in waves. "I gave you one simple task, Gerald. Just one. But it seems the only thing you’re capable of is cavorting with women."

He wanted to argue, to spit words back at her, but there was a truth in her words he couldn’t ignore. Shame prickled at him, mingling with anger.

"I... I apologize," he muttered, the words rough as gravel.

She scoffed, dismissing his apology with a flick of her wrist.

"What good is that to me now? You’ve created a mess, and now I’m left to clean it." Without waiting for his response, she spun on her heel, leaving him standing there, cheeks still flushed, fists clenched in anger.

Her gaze swept the hall until she found Aric, standing apart with a glass of wine in hand, the fourth prince exuding a calm, distant presence even amidst the predatory gazes.

He was speaking with a handful of low standing nobles who, with a mere wave from her, quickly excused themselves, leaving Aric alone as she approached.

Aric looked at her, one eyebrow lifting in wry amusement.

She held his gaze, unflinching, though her heart quickened under his scrutiny.

"We simply wonder," she said, leaning closer, her voice a soft purr, "if those dreams will lead you to greatness... or perhaps put you at odds with those who hold power now."

There was a beat of silence as Aric took a slow sip of his wine, his gaze never leaving hers.

"Perhaps it’s not my dreams you should worry about," he murmured, lowering his glass. "But rather, your own. Tell me, what is House Vane’s end game? You seem... unusually interested in me, Lady Vane. Are you so uncertain of Darius?"

Her smile froze for a fraction of a second, but she recovered swiftly, letting out a light, musical laugh. "Uncertain? My prince, we are committed to Darius’s vision. But as with any endeavor of great importance, it pays to understand all players."

Aric’s eyes narrowed, his smile fading into a look of faint amusement.

"So you’re telling me," he said quietly, "that all this"—his hand gestured vaguely to the space between them, her flirtation, her probing questions—"is just a courtesy?"

"A courtesy to a man we acknowledge," she replied smoothly, raising her chin slightly. "Surely, you understand our position. House Vane seeks stability, progress... and yes, we wish to know where you stand. Not in opposition, but perhaps... as an ally."

Aric regarded her for a long, silent moment, and her heart pounded as his gaze bored into hers, as if peeling away each word, each nuance, leaving only raw intent beneath.

"I think you and your nephew misunderstand me, Lady Vane," he said at last, his tone calm but laced with an edge of steel. "I am not a pawn to be moved, nor a prize to be won. If you’re looking for an ally, it would do you well to be forthright in your dealings. And if not..." His gaze hardened, his voice dropping to a cold murmur.

"I’d suggest you keep a closer eye on your nephew’s conduct, lest he forget himself again."

Lady Vane swallowed, the heat of Aric’s words chilling her resolve. Yet she offered a graceful, shallow bow.

"Of course, Your Highness. We only wish to avoid misunderstandings... and to remain... friends."

Aric’s smile returned, but his eyes remained cold.

"Then I suggest we leave it at that, Lady Vane. I might have a proposition for you soon, however, if your plans are to subdue me under the canopy of Darius, then you all might aswell hang yourselves before I do it for you."

The Prince, with nothing but a cold nod—walked away.