Grant me Your Grace – Chapter 73

Author: Nikss

After finishing his martial arts training, Miftah returned to his room after showering.

Gulping down water, he suddenly lowered his head at an unfamiliar sight. On the desk lay a note he had never seen before.

“Sebak, did you bring this in?”

“What are you referring to?”

Sebak, who had jerked his head back, wore a completely clueless expression.

“No, there was nothing here just a moment ago…”

Miftah swiftly scanned the room.

There was no sign of an intruder. Who would dare enter his room while Sebak was guarding it during his training?

He lowered his gaze and unfolded the note.

〈To serve the true master of the Holy Grail, keep silent about the truth you know. The more honey drips, the more tangled it becomes—not bees, but flies will swarm.〉

‘The true master of the Holy Grail?’

The cryptic message made Miftah furrow his brow just as a voice called for him from outside the door.

“His Highness Prince Miftah Hayad, His Majesty the Emperor summons you.”

“Wait. I will come out once I am ready.”

Miftah folded the note back and hid it under the desk.

After changing clothes, he headed to the imperial palace.

‘If it speaks of the master of the Holy Grail, it usually refers to either the Emperor or the Crown Prince. What truth is it telling me to keep silent about?’

The only truth he would conceal before the Emperor or the Crown Prince was the secret of the Princess’s bloodline that he had uncovered…

Lost in thought, he soon arrived at the imperial palace.

After briefly observing the surroundings, Miftah entered the audience chamber where the Emperor awaited.

“I humbly greet Your Majesty, the Emperor.”

With a courteous bow, the Emperor, flanked by Mindhu and the altar, spoke in a solemn voice.

“Prince Miftah Hayad, I summoned you urgently because there is something I wish to ask.”

“Speak freely, Your Majesty.”

“You must have heard of the plague that has recently struck our land. The symptoms—white spots spreading across the body, rotting limbs, and a dreadful lung disease—must be familiar to you.”

As if recalling the turmoil that had swept the nation during the height of the epidemic, Khankundra clicked his tongue, his brow deeply furrowed.

To be summoned so abruptly only to discuss the plague—Miftah, still unable to discern the Emperor’s intent, remained silent and simply nodded in response.

“Yes, Your Majesty. The nation was under lockdown for some time, and Your Majesty was greatly distressed by it.”

“Indeed. But today, the plague investigator reported that the disease closely resembles an endemic illness from Mohron, a land that dwells in underground caverns.”

Khankundra leaned forward, scrutinizing Miftah as if pressing him for answers.

“Hayad, your country maintains close trade relations with Mohron, does it not?”

“…Your Majesty.”

“And you yourself have visited that gloomy underground realm, or so I’ve heard.”

Miftah’s eyebrows twitched slightly.

The implication was clear—was he being accused of bringing the dreadful plague to Baran?

Suppressing an irritated laugh that rose in his throat, Miftah forced his stiffening facial muscles to relax and shook his head as if dismissing the absurdity.

“Your Majesty, it has been well over a year since my visit to the land of Mohron. Moreover, I heard this plague has an incubation period so short it does not even last two full days. Had I been infected, I would have either died or been left scarred long before arriving in Baran.”

Khankundra, still unable to shake off his suspicion, asked, “Then, did you know this plague originated from Mohron?”

Miftah hesitated before answering. When he first heard of the symptoms, Mohron had indeed been the first place that came to mind.

However, acting on uncertain information would have left him solely responsible for the consequences, so he had chosen to remain silent and observe.

Beside him, Saltar, who had been quiet until then, suddenly wore a sorrowful expression and sighed.

“You are aware, are you not, that Baran has long strictly forbidden the reckless use of divine power, except for Maksru, as decreed by law?”

“Yes, Your Highness the Crown Prince. I remember your previous words on the matter.”

“Because of that, even as I watched our people suffer from the plague, I dared not freely offer my divine power.”

Miftah inwardly scoffed as he watched Saltar speak as if he would willingly give even his own life if he could.

As if he were the true master of divine power in the first place.

“…The true master of the Holy Grail.”

The thought surfaced unbidden, and a line from the note flashed through his mind.

A complex gleam flickered in Miftah’s eyes as he stared at Saltar’s detestable face.

“However, if it turns out you knew the cure yet chose to remain silent, neither my father, the King, nor I could let such an act go unpunished.”

Saltar pressed him sharply, as if to interrogate him again. Miftah sealed his lips without a change in expression.

“The more honey you spill, the more tangled you get—not by bees, but by flies,” as the saying goes.

In that brief moment, Miftah quickly turned his thoughts and, after some deliberation, made a decision.

“…I humbly beg your forgiveness, Your Majesty. I know nothing whatsoever about the endemic disease in Mohron.”

“Is that the truth?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Miftah’s green eyes flickered faintly.

“I swear it upon the name of Hayad.”

After all, unless one digs deep, the truth remains hidden—what’s so hard about a mere verbal oath?

Fortunately, Khankundra soon withdrew his suspicion and nodded.

“Very well. If you say so, I have no choice but to believe you.”

To the people of Hayad, the nation is like a shield that can conceal anything. It seemed that foolish emperor had no idea that an oath sworn upon one’s country was lighter than a feather.

“I am deeply grateful that you recognize my innocence.”

Hiding a sly smile, Miftah respectfully took his leave from the emperor.

Returning to his room, he took out the note and read it again. At first, he thought the owner of the Holy Grail referred to the crown prince.

But upon rereading, it was not so.

The true owner of the Holy Grail. It pointed to none other than Dahlia Baran.

“I thought you were merely naive, but it seems you’re quite the clever woman.”

Miftah let out a faint chuckle. Though it was unclear why the princess had ordered silence regarding Mohron’s endemic disease, one thing was certain—she was a step ahead in the battle against Saltar.

Battles were often decided by who held more information and could anticipate the opponent’s moves.

Seems quite a breeze blows through that narrow palace after all.

Just then, the awaited news arrived.

“Your Highness, Her Majesty the Princess requests your presence.”

At Sebak’s message, Miftah curled the corner of his lips. It was time to hear what clever scheme the princess had devised.

💫

Teacups were placed before Dahlia and Miftah.

The princess, who usually served fig tea, had unexpectedly prepared molokhia tea, a staple of the Hayad Kingdom.

The long-unfamiliar scent of his homeland drew a quiet, amused exhale from Miftah.

“Is this a reward for my obedience?”

Though his tone bordered on sarcasm, his expression seemed oddly pleased. Dahlia watched him sip the tea, her brow faintly furrowed in curiosity.

‘Tsk…’

As Miftah briefly held the tea in his mouth, a strange light flickered in his eyes.

The unique taste lingering on his tongue made his breath tremble faintly.

“Does it bring back memories?”

At the loaded question, Miftah finally dropped his smile and glared at Dahlia. The subtle hint of tomato in the tea—it was the secret recipe of Saloa Arianne, his hidden lover.

Dahlia met his gaze steadily, her voice calm and unwavering.

“Your beloved is being kept safe. Even if Baran faces chaos, the place where she is will remain secure.”

“You damned…!”

Miftah clenched the teacup so tightly it seemed it might shatter. Despite seeing his agitation, Dahlia continued speaking in an unshaken voice.

“If you join hands with me, I promise that no matter what happens, I will ensure that the woman returns safely to your side.”

With the cold demeanor of a negotiator, Dahlia pressed Miftah.

“But if these talks fail, I can no longer guarantee her safety.”

“If you so much as lay a finger on her, I won’t spare you—even if you are the princess of Baran!”

Miftah lunged at Dahlia like a furious beast. The raised dagger flickered wildly in the candlelight, casting chaotic reflections, yet Dahlia’s hazel eyes remained utterly steady.

“You dared to cut my people’s hair—did you really think I wouldn’t be prepared for this?”

Those who have something to protect with their lives fear nothing.

“Shut your mouth. Before I kill you.”

“Decide now, Prince.”

Her unwavering gaze fixed calmly on Miftah.

“Will you take my hand?”

“…”

“Or will you stay loyal to a crumbling Baran?”

Miftah could only feel bewildered by her transformation—she was nothing like the timid, fragile princess he remembered.

What could have happened to her in such a short time?

His dagger-holding hand trembled violently. As the image of Arianne flickered in his mind, he had no choice but to release Dahlia.

“And if the plan fails?”