CHAPTER 76: CONSPIRACY AND DREAM

Cedric and Emma were mid-bicker, utterly ignoring the third person present.

"You’re seriously defending him?" Cedric growled.

"I’m defending myself," Emma snapped back. "From your inexplicable tantrum!"

"Inexplicable?! He’s been stalking you with flowers!"

"I like flowers, Cedric!"

"Oh, well then, my mistake!" Cedric threw his hands dramatically. "Next time a masked assassin shows up with a daisy, I’ll let him right in."

Elias, who had been silent as a statue through their exchange, finally turned to her. "I’m not a creep," he said solemnly.

Emma blinked, caught off guard. "Oh. Well. That’s... good."

"Cedric said I am," Elias added, like he was reporting enemy movement on a battlefield.

Emma glanced at Cedric and then at Elias. "I think you might be a little... odd," she said carefully.

Elias took a moment to process that. "...Is that better than creep?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

Cedric made an inhuman noise of frustration and stormed off, muttering about "flower-throwing lunatics" and "romantic sabotage" like a man personally betrayed by a bouquet.

Emma was left standing there, wondering if she’d accidentally walked into a farce. Or a dream. Or a fever vision starring a pigeon, a peony, and two emotionally unavailable idiots.

Elias looked at her again, very seriously.

"Do you like white peonies?"

"I—I don’t dislike them," she said, still blinking.

He nodded once, satisfied. Like a man who had completed a sacred mission.

Then, without a goodbye or backward glance, he turned and walked off. Silent. Mysterious. Purposeful, like he had just handed over state secrets, not confessed a flower crush.

Emma stared after him. The breeze stirred the hem of her dress. The doves fluttered.

She looked down at the soft white bloom in her hand. And for the first time in days, she smiled, from somewhere deep and secret inside her heart.

-----

The guest house creaked with neglect. Vines curled around the cracked stone railings like weeds on a forgotten grave, and the scent of damp moss hung in the air. Lucia pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders and grimaced.

"This is disgraceful," she muttered, eyeing the peeling fresco on the ceiling. "An intentional humiliation. That emperor must be laughing in his silk robes right now."

Gaston gave a scoff from where he leaned against the pillar, arms crossed. "If anyone should complain, it’s me. You’re the one who tried to give Leroy a choice. Are you hoping to make him king?"

Lucia turned away from the sight of the rusted lantern hanging askew from the beam and gave her brother a look, calm, poised, but edged with frost.

"Brother dear," she said, voice laced with sugar and steel. "This is a double-edged sword. If Leroy insists on keeping his marriage, we can denounce him for disobeying our father’s will. If he lets go of the mute, Duke Arvand will shove his widowed daughter and her Dravenholt bastards into his lap. Either way, we can discredit him. Remove him from the line of succession. Cleanly."

Gaston narrowed his eyes. "It sounds so black and white, doesn’t it? But that filthy Lion won’t allow it. He’s grooming Leroy for something. He always has."

Lucia stilled. There was something in Gaston’s tone she didn’t like. Something unhinged was simmering beneath his polished exterior.

"What are you planning?" she asked, already knowing she wouldn’t like the answer.

Gaston’s lips curved into a thin smile.

"I’m saying... if he dies, this all gets easier."

Lucia stared at him. "Our people love him. Our nobles adore him. He’s their golden prince. You think they’ll follow you if he dies under suspicious circumstances?"

"They’ll mourn him," Gaston said lightly. "And then they’ll look for someone to blame. We’ll nudge them toward the emperor and call him deluded for thinking Leroy would turn against him. We’ll wrap Leroy in martyrdom and use the sympathy to crown me. It’s clean. Efficient."

"It’s not," she snapped. "It’s chaos. Unpredictable. And it could blow up in your face."

He gave a shrug. "Perhaps you’re right."

But his eyes said otherwise.

He offered her a hollow smile and turned to leave, boots crunching on the cracked stone. As he disappeared into the shadows of the corridor, Lucia remained behind, eyes drifting to the garden outside where the sun had begun to rise.

A memory stirred. Leroy, standing before the council at fifteen, offered to take her place as hostage. Let them take me, he’d said. They wanted a princess. I’m the crown prince. I’ll do.

She hadn’t cried then. But she had wanted to.

And now, she shoved the guilt back where it belonged. Leroy had chosen his path. She had chosen hers.

She loved Gaston. He was her brother. And she would stand by him.

Even if a small, aching part of her still looked for the boy who once volunteered to carry her burden.

-----

That night, Lorraine tossed in restless sleep.

She often dreamed, though most were mindless images that slipped away with the morning sun. But this dream was different. Vivid. Heavy. Lingering like the scent of smoke on silk.

She found herself seated on a smooth river rock, her bare feet dipped into the crystal-clear water. The river flowed gently, sunlight skipping across its surface like gold dust. Birds chirped lazily from the trees. Around her, mountains stood like silent guardians, and the air tasted of fresh moss and wildflowers. The breeze ruffled her hair as she swirled her feet in the water, laughing softly at the little ripples she made.

Peace. That’s what it was. A kind of fragile, aching peace.

But then...

A shadow crossed the water. The wind died. The sky turned a sickly gray, clouds coiling like snakes overhead. The cheerful birdsong fell silent. And from somewhere beyond the mountains, far, yet unmistakable, came the metallic clash of swords.

Lorraine’s smile faltered.

She stood, the water reaching her knees, cold now, as if the river itself had turned against her. She bent forward, peering down, searching for her reflection in the rippling surface, desperate to make sense of the world shifting around her.

She froze. Her hand moved slowly... trembling... to her belly.

Rounded. Full. Alive. She could feel the flutter inside her.

She gasped.

I’m pregnant?

The dream held its breath. Even the wind seemed to vanish. The sky darkened further, the mountains watching in dreadful silence as the sound of battle grew louder—metal shrieking against metal, war drums thundering like a heartbeat cracking open.

Then... something terrible happened.

She felt warmth... Wet and slow against her legs.

She looked down.

The river was red.

Blood. Thick and dark, blooming from nowhere. From her. Around her.

She tried to scream. But her voice didn’t come out.

Help!!! Someone help me!!!