CHAPTER 98: THE REVEAL

Aldric paused at the doorframe, one hand braced there as if weighing whether to step inside. The tone in Leroy’s voice wasn’t anger; it was something colder, calculated.

"Master?" Aldric turned his head, eyes narrowing in faint amusement.

"You taught me everything I know," Leroy said, his posture loose but his gaze sharp. "Aren’t you my master? Who else calls you "Master"?"

Aldric chuckled, the edge in the air thinning into mirth. "You’re the prince I serve. And I don’t like to be called master. I never allowed you to call me that." His mouth smiled, but his eyes were shadowed, as if the title carried an insult.

"Didn’t say you allowed it," Leroy replied, chin resting on folded hands. "I asked if it was true."

"Truth," Aldric said, glancing toward the nearest chair, "is often a matter of timing. May I sit?"

Leroy pointed at the only empty chair in the room. Empty of people, at least. It was buried in books.

Aldric picked them up, scanning the room for a clear surface. There wasn’t one. Not a table, not a windowsill, not even the floor. Finally, he eyed a precarious tower of books in the corner and stacked his armload on top.

The tower swayed once, twice, and then surrendered to gravity with a muffled thud.

"Leave it," Leroy said without looking, his voice clipped.

Aldric studied him—the unwashed hair, the dull birthmark on his cheek that usually caught the light like an ember. Maybe it was the day’s grime dimming it... or maybe the fire itself was waning.

"You’ve been avoiding your wife. Now you’re speaking about what she might inherit. Should I be concerned?"

"Are you?" Leroy asked, his eyes not leaving Aldric’s face.

"I’ve learned to worry only when it’s useful," Aldric said evenly.

A faint smile tugged at Leroy’s mouth. "Then this should be useful. You know who’s planning to kill me."

Aldric didn’t flinch, didn’t answer. He simply sighed.

"You sigh a lot. Not good for your health," Leroy said, leaning back and crossing his ankles on the table. "It makes you look older."

"You look tired," Aldric returned. "You should bathe before you start seeing enemies in every shadow."

"Are there fewer in the light?" Leroy asked softly.

"That depends on where you’re standing." Aldric rose, brushing a speck of dust from his sleeve.

"You asked me what I was planning to do," Leroy said. "You told me you’d stand by her side. What exactly did you expect to happen?"

"It’s for you to decide," Aldric replied smoothly. "I’m simply here to observe."

Leroy’s eyes narrowed. "And do you want to be my... whatever Hadrian Arvand was to that tyrant emperor?"

Aldric’s mouth pressed into a thin line. Then he leaned forward, a sly smile curling at the edges. "Do you want to rebel, Prince of Kaltharion?"

Leroy’s lips trembled, not from fear, but from barely contained anger. "Is it that simple?"

"It’s truly tempting, isn’t it?" Aldric asked.

Silence stretched between them, taut as a drawn bowstring. One was a hostage prince without an army, the other a knight turned steward; two men who had no business discussing the overthrow of an empire. And yet, their eyes guarded things they had no intention of saying aloud.

"As I said," Aldric straightened, "I’ll side with the Princess."

He turned to leave. "If you believe your life is in danger, you should be avoiding it—not wasting time staring at maps and blueprints."

"I want to side with her, too. But... Don’t you think someone would have done that for me by now?" Leroy asked, his posture sharpening.

Aldric’s hand stilled on the latch, brows drawing together. "To protect you?"

Leroy was silent, his lips curved to a smirk. He knew it. If he had figured that something was not the same the day he returned, someone like Aldric, who had lived here for years, would have noticed it too. There was just no way he didn’t know.

"And who might that be?" Aldric asked.

"Certainly not you," Leroy said with deliberate lightness. "You’re too busy scribbling on parchments these days."

"Then who?"

"You know who." Leroy hid his smirk behind his hand. Now, Aldric was interested, wasn’t he?

Aldric sighed, again, and opened the latch.

"Is she in her chambers?" Leroy asked suddenly.

"If you’re asking about the princess... Where else would she be?"

Leroy leaned back, shrugging with infuriating leisure. "She could be anywhere."

Neither of them blinked.

Aldric’s hand tightened on the door latch, his knuckles pale. Leroy could see the struggle flicker across Aldric’s entire being, the war between leaving and demanding answers. That was exactly what Leroy wanted.

The latch clicked back into place as Aldric slammed the door shut and turned, his voice low and dangerous. "What is this?" His jaw was rigid. "What do you want, Leroy? If this is you doubting the princess again, I~"

"Who is she to you, Aldric?" Leroy cut in, his tone sharp as steel. "So many people orbit her, yet you... You’re the one I can’t read."

Aldric’s brows knit as he strode back toward him, nearly tripping over the pile of toppled books. He righted himself without looking down. "Tell me what you know," he said flatly. "I’m not in the mood for your games."

"Why don’t you start first?" Leroy’s voice was quiet, deliberate.

Aldric exhaled through his nose, leaning back in his chair as though the weight of something unseen pressed him down. "I’m here to protect you both," he said. "How hard is that for you to comprehend? You two could be executed for what she~" He broke off, jaw locking. He had revealed enough, in his opinion.

Leroy’s chuckle was low, not without bitterness. "So you do know who she is... and what she does."

A faint shift passed over Aldric’s face—relief tangled with warning. "And what does she do, exactly?"

Leroy’s smile unfurled slowly, like a blade sliding free of its sheath. His gaze never wavered, locking onto Aldric with the certainty of a man who had finally found the last piece of a puzzle.

"She moves in the shadows," he began, his voice smooth, almost indulgent. "Wields a kind of power most men wouldn’t dare name. A puppet master who can topple a noble’s house without spilling a single drop of blood."

He leaned forward, elbows resting lightly on his knees, the faintest curve of his lips deepening as if each word was a victory in itself.

"The kind of woman who can whisper a prophecy... and make the kingdom bend to it." His tone dropped, deliberate, almost reverent.

"Lazira... Swan Divina... But to me..." He smiled.

"A goddess."

The word hovered in the air, thick and ominous, not just as an accusation but as a proclamation that only he had the courage to voice.