Chapter 112

There was no other way. He had to protect the continent, even if it meant…

Count Bourbon understood the Emperor’s dilemma.

He spoke of annihilation, of wiping Parman off the map, yet his conscience, shaped by years of training as a just and righteous ruler, rebelled against the idea of senseless slaughter.

Heineken dominated the continent. Yet, Glenn still felt responsible for the citizens of Parman, a nation he’d barely acknowledged, treating them as his own.

“According to Viscount Drambuie, stationed in Lindbergh, Prince Carl Lindbergh is still troubled.”

“That’s to be expected. He’s too soft-hearted.”

Glenn sighed, picturing Carl agonizing over how to eliminate the King of Parman without harming innocent civilians.

Count Bourbon, seeing him rub his forehead, smiled faintly. The Emperor, despite his words, wasn’t known for his ruthlessness either.

“No, Your Majesty. His concerns are different.”

“Different?”

Glenn’s eyes widened.

He was receiving constant, unfiltered reports about Carl Lindbergh.

The number of soldiers injured and killed at the border; the civilian casualties caught in the crossfire…

The prince had even deciphered Parman’s large-scale formula, the one utilizing a different language.

All they had to do was break it. Yet, he hesitated, worried about the people living above the tunnels. What else could be troubling him?

“The prince said… ‘An eye for an eye.’”

“What does that even mean?”

Glenn, unfamiliar with the expression, frowned, sitting up straight.

“It means retaliation in kind, Your Majesty. Repaying a wrong with an equal measure of violence.”

“What?”

So, that’s what…

Glenn’s jaw dropped.

Count Bourbon had last seen such a stunned expression on the Emperor’s face about a decade ago.

Witnessing the most powerful man on the continent speechless and bewildered filled him with a strange sense of satisfaction.

Perhaps this was why the High Priest enjoyed teasing the Emperor so much.

The Count cleared his throat.

“He wishes to retaliate against Parman’s use of dark magic with dark magic. The problem is he’s unsure of his own capabilities.”

“…Does he even understand those formulas? I can appreciate his enthusiasm, but dark magic?”

“Marquis Macallan is encouraging him, Your Majesty. She’s like… a saint sent to corrupt the innocent.”

Belfry had apparently been complaining, insisting they keep the Marquis away from the prince.

“I knew I shouldn’t have sent her to Lindbergh.”

Glenn glared at Count Bourbon, who had insisted on sending the Marquis to Lindbergh, arguing that it was the most vulnerable location, now that Kitchener and Parman had joined forces.

“I should also mention that the defensive barriers erected around the Mibari Forest, with the prince’s assistance, are proving quite effective. However, His Highness expressed concern about the potency of his magic.”

What now?

Glenn’s anxiety intensified.

Every word from the Count filled him with dread.

“He finds it strange that the King of Parman remains in his capital, despite the imminent threat of war. He believes the king intends to complete the dark magic ritual himself. Apparently, the Parman Royal Palace is located at the focal point of the ‘govern’ formula.”

“And his conclusion?”

The Emperor slammed his fist against the table.

It was a threatening gesture, but Count Bourbon remained impassive.

“He suggested that he, being knowledgeable about the secrets of magic, should infiltrate Parman himself.”

“Tell him that’s absurd. Absolutely not.”

The Emperor stood up abruptly, cutting him off.

He’d known this would happen.

He’d been uneasy ever since Carl had started using dark magic for the barriers.

He turned to Count Bourbon, his voice sharp and commanding.

“Once the holy knights arrive, the King of Parman is as good as dead. We’ll find a way to disrupt the formula from within. The prince’s role is to stay in Lindbergh, analyze the situation, and determine the most effective points to disrupt the magic flow.”

“But Your Majesty…”

Glenn’s glare silenced him.

“I sent him there as bait, not as a sacrificial lamb! What kind of bait walks into the lion’s den? Do you find that logical?”

Count Bourbon, seeing the fury in the Emperor’s eyes, lowered his head.

“Inform the High Priest that I approve of the holy knights’ participation. Tell him he can unleash his divine judgment, or whatever he calls it.”

Count Bourbon’s lips twitched, a subtle, almost imperceptible upturn.

“As you command, Your Majesty.”

“Oh, and that… Brewster? Brutus? Whatever his name is… apprehend him alive, if possible. The Lindbergh siblings have a personal score to settle with him. Give them the opportunity to enact their revenge.”

The Emperor’s jaw tightened.

“Understood.”

Count Bourbon, unable to hide his amusement, covered his face with his sleeve.

Years of peace had made him restless. He missed the thrill of battle, the clang of swords.

This war, though unwelcome, was a welcome distraction.

Parman, like a persistent speck of dust on his blade, irritated him. But he would soon wipe it clean.

He was also pleased by the prince’s newfound resolve.

“Count Bourbon.”

The Emperor, who’d been heading towards the door, stopped and turned.

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“I thought you’d be more useful in Heineken. It seems I was mistaken.”

“What?”

Surely not…

Count Bourbon’s heart pounded in his chest.

“Would you like to lead the charge?”

Count Bourbon dropped to one knee.

His knee, which hadn’t touched the ground since his knighting ceremony, bent willingly before the command he’d been longing for.

“Perhaps I’ve kept you caged for too long. Go. Unleash your fury. And while you’re at it, keep those holy knights in check.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

The Emperor grimaced at the Count’s overly enthusiastic expression, his eagerness bordering on obsequiousness.

“While I find Marquis Macallan irritating, you’re not much better. Why are all my most valuable assets so unruly?”

He was beginning to understand Duke Hendrick and Belfry’s complaints about Alphas.

“Grand Duke Balvenie was a visionary. When he relinquished his claim to the throne, proposing marriage to the Duke, I thought it was simply love. Tsk. Ruling an empire full of ravenous beasts is no easy task.”

Glenn clicked his tongue and exited the room, leaving Count Bourbon kneeling, a wide grin spreading across his face.

 

❖ ❖ ❖

 

Ayla Leva, watching Lindbergh Castle grow larger as their carriage approached, gritted her teeth.

Her father seemed to view the unrest in Leva, the looming threat of war, as an opportunity.

He’d been fixated on the Lindbergh prince, who’d fled to the Heineken Empire during the riots and become the Crown Prince’s fiancé.

He was now pushing Ayla to become Adrian’s concubine, at the very least.

He knew, everyone knew, that the Heineken Imperial family only recognized one spouse, one imprinted bond, a tradition unbroken for generations.

While the previous Emperor had taken a consort, it had been to fill the vacant Empress’ position, not to establish a true marital bond.

‘What is he hoping to gain?’

Even if she were fortunate enough to become Adrian’s concubine, she wouldn’t capture his heart. She’d simply be another possession, a bargaining chip, no different from how she’d been treated her entire life. A loveless marriage, a gilded cage…

She’d finally snapped, slapping her father across the face when he’d tried to force her to leave. Seeing his shock at the mark she’d left on his cheek had brought her a strange sense of clarity.

So, this was her purpose, her only value – marriage.

That was when she’d remembered someone.

The Alpha princess of Lindbergh, the future monarch, who’d offered her a refuge.

Her father, of course, had readily agreed to send her to Lindbergh after learning that the Crown Prince was there.

Ayla leaned her forehead against the carriage window, sighing.

While others fought to protect their kingdoms, she was running away. Seeking shelter under the wing of an Alpha she’d met only once.

She felt trapped, unable to break free from her father’s control, despite her resentment.

“It’s strangely peaceful here, considering the chaos outside.”

Her nanny, sitting opposite her, commented, her gaze fixed on the whitewashed buildings with their orange tiled roofs.

“This is my first time in Lindbergh’s capital. I’ve heard stories, terrible stories about crime and poverty. But it seems like a thriving city, a prosperous kingdom. As expected, securing the position of Empress of Heineken has its perks. Even the kingdom itself looks different.”

Her nanny’s pointed remark was met with silence. Ayla pretended not to hear.

The roads were still under repair, dilapidated buildings stood between the newly renovated ones. The empty stalls in the marketplace, a clear sign of the previous regime’s tyranny, seemed invisible to her nanny.

“That prince must have worked his magic. I hear the Empire has invested a fortune in Lindbergh.”

Her nanny, despite the long and tiring journey, continued to chatter incessantly.

“Even a dominant Omega struggles to conceive outside of their heat cycle. And once the second prince is born, the line of succession will change. What’s the point? Our princess, however, is fertile. A well-placed seed, and we’ll have an heir, securing your position. Some people simply can’t see the bigger picture.”

Ayla bit her lip.

So, that was the reason. Her father, who’d initially been urging her to secure a marriage alliance with any eligible dominant Alpha in Heineken, had suddenly changed his tune, pushing her towards the Crown Prince’s bed.

He’d probably heard some gossip about male Omega pregnancies being difficult and whispered it into her father’s ear, who was easily swayed.

“He might seem enamored now, but once the novelty wears off, and he understands the political landscape, he’ll change his mind. You just have to make a good impression.”

Ayla, annoyed by her nanny’s shortsightedness, her inability to see the bigger picture, remained silent.

Duke Hendrick, a male Omega, had three sons. And the Heineken Imperial family didn’t prioritize childbirth in their selection of a spouse.

It was obvious, wasn’t it?

Both her nanny and her father seemed to be wearing blinders, unable to see what was right in front of them.

And she, Ayla, felt like a buoy adrift at sea, tossed about by the waves, with no anchor to hold her steady.