Grant me Your Grace – Chapter 47

Author: Nikss

Even after capturing the Divine Gift, public unrest refused to settle.

Beyond the capital, nameless plagues ravaged countless regions, while barren lands grew too desolate to sustain even weeds—let alone crops.

With famine compounding the epidemics, the people wept—first from hunger, then from the nobles’ tyranny.

Belatedly recognizing the crisis, the Emperor dispatched relief grain and priests to afflicted areas. But trying to extinguish a wildfire with a cup of water was futile.

The pitiful aid drew only sighs from the starving masses.

Sacks containing more sand than barley gradually eroded even their last hopes for the imperial family.

“Your Highness, do you truly intend to send relief teams as they are?”

Khalfani, the Crown Prince’s right hand, frowned at the documents. The relief teams Saltar had assembled under imperial decree were woefully inadequate to quell the chaos.

Yet Saltar merely nodded.

“Proceed as planned. I’ll personally explain to His Majesty.”

“I trust Your Highness has a greater scheme, but… this humble mind struggles to comprehend.”

Khalfani hesitated. The designated relief areas included his parents’ village and his younger sister, who’d just given birth last month.

Though spared the worst of the plague, their barley-dependent village wouldn’t survive a month on these meager rations.

“Baran must plunge deeper into chaos.”

“…Pardon?”

Saltar sipped heavily concentrated wine, lips curling.

“I intend to overturn this nation.”

“Your Highness—”

“Father has long forgotten his duties as Emperor, becoming Mindhu’s puppet.”

The wineglass reflected Saltar’s ambition-filled face.

Time would naturally place him on the throne after Khankundra’s death—but his patience had run out. He couldn’t bear watching Baran rot from his father’s incompetence while waiting.

Already, Mindhu’s schemes festered through the kingdom like cancer.

“Sometimes, burning everything down makes for a cleaner rebirth.”

The worse the crisis, the brighter a nation’s savior would shine.

Khalfani fell silent, jaw tightening. Saltar smirked and pushed the wineglass toward him.

“Don’t fret. I’ll have your family relocated somewhere safe.”

The rippling wine made Khalfani’s pupils tremble. After a pause, he accepted the glass and drained it.

“I’ll deliver the orders.”

As Khalfani bowed out, Saltar poured another drink.

‘I’ll drag down my useless father and claim this kingdom.’

His wine-stained lips twisted in a bitter smile.

“But first… I should polish my crown.”

Saltar’s gleaming eyes turned toward the princess’s quarters.

✨

Dahlia hadn’t left her chambers for days, refusing even Hovan’s visits. Like an invalid, she lay listlessly in bed.

Though noon sunlight blazed outside, the curtained windows admitted only faint streaks.

Staring blankly at them, Dahlia buried her face in the pillow at the knock.

“Your Highness. Your meal is ready.”

Bertha set down potato soup and bread, but Dahlia barely glanced at her before turning away.

“Not hungry. Please take it back.”

“You’ve eaten nothing since yesterday evening! If your strength fails—”

Bertha’s pleading voice wavered. The princess had always been a light eater, but skipping three meals straight? She feared Dahlia might collapse.

“At least an illness would heal…”

Dahlia’s bitter laugh held no mirth.

The Blood Price’s heir couldn’t fall ill. Though she’d pretended the occasional red marks were rashes, she’d never truly been sick.

‘If only a fever could burn away these thoughts.’

Her last words to Hissin haunted her like guilt-made specters.

Tears welled in Bertha’s eyes as she grasped Dahlia’s hand.

“With the plague raging outside… If you contracted that horror, I’d—I’d be devastated!”

Quarantines had sealed off infected villages.

Bertha couldn’t even visit her family, nor receive letters confirming their safety—her worry was beyond words.

Realizing her thoughtlessness, Dahlia sat up.

“Forgive me. You’re suffering too, and I—”

“No, Your Highness. Your safety is all that matters. Please, just a few bites?”

Dahlia had no choice but to pick up her spoon at Bertha’s pleading. The soup scraped unpleasantly down her dry throat as she forced down a single sip.

Just as she hesitated over the next bite—

“Your Highness, the Crown Prince has arrived.”

Dread froze Dahlia’s expression. Claiming illness wouldn’t deter him.

‘I mustn’t run. I need to learn what he plans for Hissin.’

Swallowing hard, she clasped her trembling hands. With a glance telling Bertha to withdraw, she admitted Saltar.

“My little sister’s grown quite lazy, I see. Keeping it so dark at midday?”

Saltar yanked open the curtains without permission. Dahlia shielded her eyes from the sudden glare as he eyed her meager lunch with disdain.

“Fasting due to the famine? How noble of our princess to share the people’s suffering.”

He stirred the thin soup, took one taste, and grimaced. To a man who dined on meat thrice daily, this might as well be gruel.

Dahlia kept her gaze lowered, straining to steady her voice.

“Why… have you come to the princess’s quarters?”

“So eager to hear my business and be rid of me?”

His mocking tone slithered down her spine. When she stayed silent, Saltar chuckled.

“The plague has blocked all routes to Hayad. Your wedding preparations are postponed—but will resume once roads reopen.”

This much Dahlia already knew. The villages along the Hayad border had suffered worst from the plague, trapping Miftah indefinitely.

“But there’s a condition.”

“A… condition?”

“Indeed.”

Saltar perched on the table, tilting her chin up with one finger.

“You’ll return to the empire whenever I demand it—not just for the Blood Rites—to offer your blood.”

Shadows pooled in the hollows of his sunken cheeks.

“Break this promise, and Hayad’s safety vanishes. Your cozy nest would revert to those deep, deep dungeons.”

“…Is this a threat?”

“Threats are for suppressing superiors.”

Leaning down, his icy breath brushed her ear.

“This, dear sister, is an ‘order’.”

Dahlia’s pupils shook with terror.

Refusal would only make Saltar destroy the marriage and chain her here—her sacred blood being precisely what he needed for the throne.

The bloodletting itself meant nothing. Twelve years of practice had inured her to that.

But now, something mattered more.

“I… have a question.”

She clenched her fists.

“What will you do… with the Divine Gift?”

Saltar had orchestrated Aaron and Hissin’s imprisonment—no secret given the temple’s refusal to support him. But his plans for them in this chaos remained unclear.

“Divine Gift? That title was stripped ages ago.”

Saltar’s sneer curled like a scorpion’s tail.

“What? Still a believer?”

“Answer me. What will you do to Hissin?”

“Tsk.”

Amused by her defiance despite her trembling, Saltar graciously indulged her.

“Execution, naturally. For blasphemy and deceiving the empire.”

His head tilted at a cruel angle.

“On my coronation day, I’ll offer him to Nuit as sacrifice.”

“What…?”

“Slaying the demon’s offering to appease the Goddess…”

His lips twisted into something vile.