CHAPTER 121: THE SUMMON FROM THE EMPEROR

Leroy slipped into the Arvand mansion, hoping for a trace of her. Instead, he found the halls restless, servants whispering. One whisper kept circling: Hadrian Arvand hadn’t returned all night.

Confusion tightened his chest. If Hadrian had taken Lorraine, he would have paraded her under his roof, feigning normalcy to avoid suspicion. But he hadn’t. So... where was Hadrian? And where was Lorraine?

On the road home, something snagged his eye. A stretch of forest path too clean. A freshly broken branch, but no fragment nearby. Twigs snapped, yet the ground swept over, as if someone had scrubbed away the struggle. His heart jolted. Something had happened here, and been buried.

At the mansion, Aldric waited. No servant had seen the princess. But one kitchen maid had heard a vendor mention the Arvand carriage passing this way, though it never arrived. Leroy’s instincts flared. Their estate was secluded. No one came down this road unless they intended to.

Hadrian missing. Lorraine gone. The carriage unaccounted for. That clue that snagged his eye. Someone could have snatched them.

Then Sylvia spoke. "The Princess met her brother yesterday."

Leroy’s head snapped toward her. "Why am I hearing this now?" His voice lashed out before he dragged in a breath. "What did they speak of?"

"At a tea shop. Alone," Sylvia admitted, trembling.

"She told you nothing?" His jaw clenched.

"No..."

"I thought she told you everything," he muttered, bitter.

He pressed his forehead into his hand. Between her brother, Zara’s cutting words, and his own silence about the antidote, every choice he made had driven her away. If he explained to her why he wanted the antidote...

He had thought her unshakable, strong enough to endure anything. She loved him so much, and he could do nothing that would shake her. But even steel breaks if struck too often. And even a strong woman like her was allowed to have a weak moment. And in her weakest moment, he had been the one to cut deepest.

Now she was gone. And he sat in the hollow she left, suffocating in it.

It was then a palace messenger arrived, bowing low but unyielding. He carried a sealed order, his voice formal and cold: the Emperor summoned Prince Leroy at once. He didn’t leave after delivering it; he stood there in the hall, waiting for Leroy to ready himself, as though Leroy were already under guard.

Leroy’s gaze slid to Aldric. Aldric’s lips pressed into a hard line, but his eyes spoke what they both knew. After the "accident"... after the chaos at the arena... the Emperor needed someone to bleed for it.

A scapegoat.

Leroy’s jaw tightened behind the mask. He had no choice but to go. Yet the timing sliced him open. Lorraine was missing, and he needed her disappearance buried in silence for as long as possible. With whispers already staining her name, if word spread she had vanished, they would tear her apart—his enemies, the court, even the people.

He could not allow that.

So he swallowed the rising panic and locked it behind his mask. Whatever the Emperor wanted, whatever trap was waiting, he could not think of it now. Not when all his mind clawed toward was her. He had scoured for her, burned through every hour of the night searching. And now, he was being dragged to the one place where he could not show a flicker of weakness.

The summons was unavoidable. But the fear that she was gone while he was forced to play courtier at another man’s mercy was unbearable.

The messenger escorted him straight to the palace. The corridors of gilded stone and high-arched ceilings felt colder than usual, as though each step echoed judgment before he even reached the throne hall.

When the doors opened, Leroy’s heart gave one tight, unwilling lurch. The great chamber was crowded. Courtiers lined the sides in hushed expectation, their jeweled sleeves brushing together as they leaned to whisper. Every eye followed him, some sharp with curiosity, others gleaming with resentment.

And yet, not all were hostile. He could feel it in the way a few nobles straightened their spines at his entrance, as though in silent allegiance. His deeds in the arena yesterday had spread faster than wildfire. Even those who hated him could not deny he had stepped forward when others quailed. A hostage prince, yes, but also the man who had won wars for Vaeloria, the man the people now hailed as a hero.

In fact, he had become a tyrant emperor’s worst enemy—someone beloved by the masses.

Leroy’s gaze swept the hall as he walked the long path toward the throne. He counted them, measured them—the hawk-eyed councilors, the simpering sycophants, the ones whose loyalty was always for sale. But one absence froze him more than all the stares.

Hadrian Arvand.

The lord who never missed a chance to circle close to power was nowhere to be seen. It confirmed what Leroy already suspected. Something had happened.

The Emperor sat at the dais, draped in crimson and gold, his crown glinting beneath the tall windows of morning light. His expression was as Leroy had expected: hard, prideful, carved in disdain. The Emperor loathed him, and Leroy had braced for the lash of it.

But when Leroy bowed, the silence stretched... until the Emperor finally spoke.

"You have... distinguished yourself, Prince Leroy."

The words were dragged out like bitter medicine. His tone did not warm, but neither could he retract them. "Your valor yesterday was witnessed by the court. Even those who doubt your loyalty saw you act with courage. The Empire has benefitted from your blade more than once."

Gasps rustled through the chamber. Some courtiers stared at the Emperor in open disbelief: Praise, here, for the hostage prince?

Leroy kept his head lowered, but inside, his blood beat fast with confusion. He had come expecting chains. Instead, he was being lauded.

Was this a trap?

It was then he noticed her.

In the shadowed corner near the throne, the Dowager Empress stood, her figure regal, her presence quiet but undeniable. She had not drawn attention to herself, but when his gaze brushed hers, she was already watching.

A faint smile curved her lips. She dipped her head in the barest of nods, subtle enough to escape the rest of the court.

Leroy’s breath caught.

So that was it.

This reversal... the Emperor forced to praise him, the nobles murmuring in acknowledgment... it bore her hand. The Dowager, the serpent behind the veil. She had cleared a path for him when he had expected only ruin.

Behind his mask, Leroy straightened. The world thought him a pawn, a scapegoat. But if the Dowager had set the board this way, then he still had room to move and perhaps, to protect what mattered most.

The Emperor’s mouth curled after the grudging praise, as though the words had tasted foul on his tongue. "And yet," he drawled, his voice carrying like a blade through the hall, "our gallant prince hides himself from us. How curious, that a hero dares not show his own face."

The court erupted in laughter, sharp and jeering. A few courtiers even leaned forward, delighted, their silken sleeves brushing as they whispered cruelly. The sound cut deeper than chains, but Leroy stood rigid, his gloved fists tightening at his sides.

His mask. Always his mask.

The Emperor let the mirth swell before continuing, his tone soaked in mockery. "Perhaps it is fear. Or perhaps shame. Tell me, Prince Leroy... are you so hideous that even victory cannot make you presentable?"

The laughter swelled again. This time, the Dowager herself let out a light chuckle, delicate as the clink of glass. Her eyes shimmered with amusement, and though Leroy knew it was a mask of its own, the sound burned. His knuckles whitened in his gloves.

Mockery... How long should he bear with it all?