Grant me Your Grace Chapter 48

As the word ‘execution’ made her head spin, a strange sense of unease brushed against Dahlia’s heart.  

 

Right now, Saltar was speaking as if he were about to hold the imperial succession ceremony at any moment.  

 

But even if the Emperor was aged, he was still alive and well, and in the Kingdom of Baran, the next heir could not inherit the throne until the previous emperor either died or abdicated.  

 

Which meant Saltar was plotting something else.  

 

“Brother, what are you thinking…?”  

 

“Living like a frog in a well, yet you’ve sharpened your instincts quite well, haven’t you?”  

 

Saltar let out a low, chilling laugh. That eerie smile made Dahlia’s breath tremble.  

 

“Please, don’t do this. You’ll ascend the throne naturally in time anyway…!”  

 

“What use is holding onto a land already rotten to the core? Better to cut away what’s decayed and salvage what can still be saved before then.”  

 

“Then… surely what’s happening now isn’t…?”  

 

At Dahlia’s words, Saltar suddenly burst into laughter. He clutched his stomach, laughing loudly while looking at her with pity.  

 

“Ah, being locked up in this tiny place has only made your imagination flourish. If only I could control the laws of nature as I pleased—sadly, that’s beyond my power.”  

 

Wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes, Saltar smirked and brushed a hand through Dahlia’s dark hair.  

 

“But that’s precisely why the heavens are on my side.”  

 

“…”

  

“They’re clearing the way for me to overthrow this rotting kingdom.”  

 

“Stop this. If you don’t, I’ll—!”  

 

Horrified, Dahlia forgot her fear and slapped his hand away. But before she could even resist properly, Saltar grabbed her face and shoved her down onto the bed.  

 

“Ugh—!”  

 

“You—what?!”  

 

His crushing grip felt like it would shatter her jaw. Dahlia’s eyes quickly welled with terror and tears.  

 

“You really think a shut-in princess like you could ever stand in my way?”  

 

Saltar bared his teeth, tightening his grip on her face.  

 

“Even if you are the master of divine power, the moment you block my path, all your precious piety won’t mean a thing.”  

 

His grip on her jaw made it hard to breathe. 

 

Dahlia’s strained throat let out a choked gasp. As she struggled for air, Saltar stared down at her with the eyes of a predator.  

 

“So don’t waste your time scheming. Just sit quietly and prepare to leave for the Kingdom of Hayad.”  

 

His serpent-like eyes flashed.  

 

“Before I lock you up and turn you into a blood bag.”  

 

Dahlia’s body trembled like a leaf. She knew all too well—from countless nights in the dungeon—that his words were no empty threat.  

 

Satisfied by her terror, Saltar left the room. 

 

Bertha, who had been anxiously waiting outside, rushed in the moment he was gone and saw Dahlia sprawled on the bed.  

 

“Your Highness, are you alright? Are you hurt anywhere?”  

 

“Bertha, Bertha…”  

 

Dahlia clung to her, forcing down her panic. But no words came from her quivering lips.  

 

Even if she ran out now and shouted what Saltar had just told her, no one would listen.  

 

Worse, Saltar would claim she had gone mad and have her locked away. If he was truly angered, he’d kill her—divine power or not.  

 

‘How do I stop this? How can I stop my brother?’

 

No matter how much she thought, no solution came to mind. No—she wasn’t even sure if she could stop Saltar.  

 

In this kingdom where she had no allies, how could she oppose the Crown Prince, first in line for the throne? He could make her disappear without a trace.  

 

‘Hissin… Hissin. At least I have to save him.’

 

Dahlia hastily wiped her tears and spoke to Bertha.  

“Bertha, go and summon Priest Hovan for me. As discreetly as possible.”  

 

“Priest Hovan? Ah—yes, right away.”  

 

Confused but obedient, Bertha hurried out after drying Dahlia’s tears. Clenching her trembling hands, Dahlia tried to steady her frantic heart.  

 

It felt as if an invisible sandstorm was about to engulf the Kingdom of Baran.

 

✨

 

“You mean… His Highness the Crown Prince?”  

 

Hovan frowned and asked again. Dahlia kept glancing at the tightly shut door and nodded.  

 

“My brother is waiting for the country to fall into even greater chaos. When public sentiment reaches its worst and the people turn their backs on the royal family, my brother might…”  

 

Her tightly pressed lips whispered in a hushed voice.  

 

“…start a rebellion.”  

 

At Dahlia’s words, Hovan’s eyebrows twitched. But contrary to the expected reaction of gasping in fear, his response was surprisingly calm. 

 

Only his amber eyes deepened, as if lost in thought.  

 

Was he simply shocked? Or perhaps he didn’t believe her.  

 

Unsettled by Hovan’s unreadable expression, Dahlia grew impatient and urged him.  

 

“Priest Hovan, we must take action. If we don’t, my brother might truly raise his sword.”  

 

“Indeed… the Crown Prince’s recent movements have been unusual.”  

 

Dahlia’s eyes widened at his words.  

 

“Unusual? How?”  

 

“Though His Highness was entrusted with all relief efforts regarding the plague and famine, the number of healing priests dispatched to each region was fewer than expected.”  

 

“Even though there’s no shortage of personnel?”  

 

“Yes. I raised the issue, but the only response I received was that priests were being kept in the capital in case the plague spread here.”  

 

Though healing priests were scarce and valuable, a minimum reserve force had always been maintained for emergencies.  

 

Yet, Saltar was using the possibility of an outbreak as an excuse to show reluctance in relief efforts—almost as if he were deliberately letting the situation worsen.  

 

Dahlia grabbed Hovan’s hand and pleaded.  

 

“Priest Hovan, help me find a way. You know you’re the only one I can ask for this.”  

 

Hovan was currently managing the temple in place of the High Priest, who was imprisoned in the underground dungeon. Even if he couldn’t oppose the Crown Prince’s military force, he could at least gather enough power to resist him.  

 

But Hovan only looked at Dahlia’s hand with troubled eyes, hesitating to give a clear answer. His hesitation was understandable. 

 

Standing against the Crown Prince in this situation was no different from throwing oneself into a pit of fire.  

 

“Priest Hovan, please…”  

 

Dahlia called out to him again, her voice desperate. Finally, Hovan let out a low sigh.  

 

“Very well. I’ll do my best to gather information.”  

 

“Thank you. Thank you, Priest Hovan. If there’s anything you need, just tell me. I’ll spare no resources from the princess’s palace.”  

 

Dahlia steeled herself. From now on, she had to stay sharp. Even if there seemed to be nothing she could do, she had to keep searching for a way—until the very end.  

 

If she didn’t want to lose everything to Saltar…  

 

If she didn’t want to lose Hissin to his hands.

 

✨

 

A gloomy sound echoed faintly from somewhere.  

 

Was it the scream of someone unable to endure torture? Or the weeping of a lost wind deep within the underground caves?  

 

He couldn’t tell, but thanks to that sound, Hissin knew he hadn’t yet fallen asleep.  

 

The moment he became aware of reality, sharp pains erupted throughout his body. 

 

Suppressing a groan, he peeled his back from the wall and opened his eyes. But even when he lifted his eyelids, all he saw was pitch-black darkness.  

 

The soldiers had taken away the torches, leaving this place shrouded in absolute blackness. 

 

Not a single ray of sunlight—not even the faintest starlight—could seep in, making it impossible to distinguish night from day.  

 

How much time had passed? No—had even a single day gone by? It was the kind of space that could drive a person mad.  

 

No wonder the prisoners here called the arrival of a handful of dried sorghum ‘morning’ and the end of brutal torture ‘dawn.’ 

 

But even that was news Hissin, isolated in the deepest part of the underground prison, couldn’t hear.  

 

Then, someone stepped into the depths of this abyss, bringing with them a dim light.  

 

“My lord.”  

 

It was Shadow.  

 

Hearing the voice, Hissin quietly rose from his spot. He crossed through the darkness and stood before the prison bars. Then, gripping one of the many iron bars, he pulled. 

 

A rusty creak sounded, followed by a clang as the bar came loose—the very same one he had first checked when he arrived in the underground prison.  

 

Hissin slipped out of the cell with practiced ease. 

 

After downing the painkillers Shadow handed him, he set off without hesitation.