CHAPTER 215: CHAPTER 210: WHISPERS BEFORE THE BURIAL (2)

Delphina froze.

Rosaline’s words did not echo, but rather landed. Heavy. Final. Like a door quietly shut behind them.

The fan slipped slightly in Delphina’s grip, forgotten.

Rosaline didn’t elaborate. She didn’t cry or twist her face with remembered pain. She simply stood there, poised as always, with that eerie composure that was too smooth to be natural. It made the silence that followed feel... sacred. Or cursed.

Delphina turned, slowly, studying her companion with a gaze that sharpened rather than softened.

"You never told anyone," she said.

Rosaline’s smile was faint now, a trace of memory instead of calculation. "There was no sympathy left for a woman who bedded the Emperor because of a contract. Especially one he didn’t choose."

"You think that makes you better than Gabriel?"

"No," Rosaline said calmly. "It makes me wiser. "

Delphina inhaled sharply, the edge of her fan pressing into the soft flesh of her palm. "You planned for failure."

Rosaline’s eyes glittered. "I planned for survival."

She cocked her head, allowing the light from the chandelier to dance over her pinned curls, creating the perfect illusion of grace. "If the tea is traced, if someone bothers to test the cup, it will lead to Patricia’s merchant. Patricia’s signature. Patricia’s seal." Her lips curled into something amused and cutting. "She’s sloppy when she’s angry. Always has been."

"You used her name," Delphina repeated, low.

"For everything." Rosaline’s tone was light now, nearly amused. "The blend. The courier. The dried petals. Even the servant who will deliver it wears her house colors. All of it—hers."

"And the motive?" Delphina asked. "What if they ask why Patricia would do this?"

Rosaline’s eyes flashed, a slow burn behind their surface. "Please. Everyone knows she wanted to be Empress. That she believed she was before Gabriel replaced her." She stepped closer again, her voice silk-smooth and pitiless. "Who would question a bitter, cast-off mistress?"

Delphina blinked slowly, absorbing the weight of each name and fracture in the Empire’s spine.

"Hadeon..." she echoed, voice quiet but not soft. "You think he’ll stand by and let Patricia take the fall? That he won’t retaliate?"

Rosaline’s eyes glittered like oil beneath candlelight. "He’ll posture. Threaten. Maybe even send letters laced in rage." Her expression didn’t flinch. "But that man is already living on borrowed breath. He’s only safe because Crista hasn’t signed her name to his death warrant. Damian doesn’t need a reason to end him—only permission."

Delphina turned slightly, her gaze drifting to the frost-veined garden once more. "And you’re betting Crista would allow it."

"I’m betting she wants it," Rosaline replied, her voice a low purr now. "Patricia is his mistress. His weakness. And Crista? She adores Gabriel. If she smells even a whisper of danger near him, she’ll hand her husband’s head over in a gilded box."

"And Gabriel?" Delphina’s voice dropped. "Does he know he’s this... protected?"

Rosaline’s smile thinned. "No. That’s the beauty of it. He still thinks this court plays by rules. That affection is armor. That bearing Damian’s mark means the wolves will bow."

She leaned in, a shadow in silk and scent. "But this court doesn’t bow. It bites."

Delphina turned back to her, finally—eyes clear, cold, and resolved.

"If Patricia goes down, it will be loud. Dangerous. She won’t be the only one dragged through the mire."

"She is already as down as she can be," Rosaline said softly. "We are using her situation for... the greater good."

Delphina arched a brow. "The greater good?" she repeated, her tone laced with skepticism. "That’s what tyrants say before the fire starts."

Rosaline chuckled, a quiet, elegant sound—one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "It’s what mothers say when we have no more time to wait. When the future we’re promised is being written without us."

She stepped toward the center of the room, where the chandelier’s glow caught the icy sheen of her gown, casting her in a shimmer too pristine to be trusted. "Let Rafael meet the world, bring him to high society, and let him thrive. He deserves only the best. If he can’t get the Emperor, there will always be Prince Christian."

Delphina’s breath caught—not out of shock, but calculation.

"Prince Christian?" she repeated slowly, the name like silk sliding across a blade. "You think Crista would allow it?"

Rosaline’s smile was unreadable. "Crista wants strength at her son’s side—both sons. Christian is young, but his charm disarms. People mistake ease for weakness. They forget he’s Damian’s brother—until he reminds them."

Delphina moved forward now, matching Rosaline’s poise with a dancer’s precision. "Christian’s never shown interest in anyone."

"He will," Rosaline said, her voice a whisper of future inevitability. "If the right omega appears. One untouched by scandal, one unclaimed by power, one so poised and beautiful the court sees him and sighs in relief. Rafael has the look. The softness. But more importantly, you have the pedigree. And I... I have the stage."

Delphina’s lips pressed together, the line of her mouth tight but not closed. "That’s a dangerous game."

"This whole court is a dangerous game," Rosaline murmured, stepping close enough that her perfume—faintly floral, with the edge of something darker—wound between them like a secret. "You’re either the hand that moves the pieces or the one swept off the board."

"Now that Princess Anya is sent back to Pais with Elliot, Prince Christian is free, and if Damian can’t have children, he is the next in line to the throne."

Delphina’s eyes flicked toward Rosaline, sharp and suddenly still.

"You’ve thought this through," she said flatly, though the faintest tremor of unease curled at the edges of her voice. "You’re not just playing for Gabriel’s fall. You’re watching the throne."freeweɓnøvel~com

Rosaline didn’t deny it.

"Christian may smile like a schoolboy," she said, her tone velvet-smooth, "but make no mistake—he was raised beside a monster and didn’t break. That makes him dangerous. He knows patience. He knows charm. And unlike Damian, he has yet to choose a mate."

Delphina’s gaze hardened—sharp as a blade now, no longer just watchful, but calculating. "You’re not just removing Gabriel. You’re replacing him."

Rosaline’s smile was small, but it gleamed like polished obsidian. "Of course I am. The Empire doesn’t tolerate a void for long. Remove an Empress and the court panics—offer them a new one, and they cheer."

She stepped closer, the chill of her words softening only in tone, never in meaning. "Rafael was raised for court. He knows how to listen, how to bend without breaking. He’ll never challenge Damian the way Gabriel does, never draw blood in public with words dressed in velvet. And if Damian clings to pride and refuses another bond..."

She paused delicately. "Then Christian becomes more than a backup. He becomes our contingency. Young. Untied. Attractive. And unlike his brother, unmarked by rebellion."