Chapter 498 --498
Heena remained curled up against the plush velvet cushions, her breathing shallow and ragged. She continually popped the aggressively spicy and sour candies into her mouth, using the sharp sensory overload to anchor her deteriorating consciousness.
Hovering in the corner, the System watched her with uncharacteristic silence. It didn’t offer any sarcastic remarks or complain about her attitude. It simply monitored her rapidly fluctuating vitals, its digital mane glowing a soft, anxious blue.
By the time the heavy carriage finally rolled through the fortified iron gates of the Vanguard estate and came to a smooth halt, the worst of the pain had receded into a dull, manageable throb.
Heena spat the remnant of the candy into a silk handkerchief, took a deep breath, and ruthlessly locked her vulnerability away. She smoothed out the wrinkles in her wine-colored robe, adjusted her posture, and wiped the cold sweat from the back of her neck.
When the shadow guards pulled the wooden door open, the woman who stepped out was not a dying, fragile girl. She was the untouchable, lethal heir of the Marcuset family.
But as her boots hit the cobblestone of the inner courtyard, she immediately froze.
Standing right at the base of the carriage steps, leaning casually against a stone pillar with his arms crossed, was Samuel.
He was dressed in a simple, dark tunic that hugged his broad shoulders, looking entirely too relaxed for someone who was technically a hostage of a political marriage. His dark eyes swept over her instantly, missing absolutely nothing. He tracked the slight stiffness in her shoulders, the microscopic pale tint to her lips, and the way her left hand was hovering just an inch too close to the carriage door for support.
"Welcome back, Wife," Samuel said, pushing off the pillar and walking toward her. His voice was light, but his gaze was sharp and intense. "You survived the snake pit. Did you accidentally burn the palace down, or did you leave some of it standing for tomorrow?"
Heena forced a cold, dismissive smirk. "I left the walls intact. The same cannot be said for the Ninth Prince’s ego. What are you doing out here? Did you miss being insulted by me that badly?"
Samuel didn’t take the bait. Instead, he stepped directly into her personal space. Before she could react or slap him away, he smoothly wrapped a strong arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his side.
"What the heck are you doing?!" Heena hissed, her eyes darting toward the shadow guards who were pretending very hard not to look at them.
"Supporting my beloved wife," Samuel murmured, his voice dropping so low only she could hear it. He easily took most of her body weight against his own side, acting as a physical crutch while making it look to the outside world like a simple, overly affectionate embrace. "Your legs are trembling, Heena. If you try to walk up those main stairs by yourself right now, you are going to collapse."
Heena opened her mouth to snap at him, to tell him to let go, but the sheer, exhausting truth of his words stopped her. Her knees actually were shaking. The backlash of the painkillers was making her muscles twitch violently.
She gritted her teeth and leaned into his side, letting him guide her up the grand stone steps of the estate.
"If you tell anyone about this," Heena whispered venomously as they walked, "I will personally poison your tea."
Samuel chuckled softly, his grip on her waist remaining firm and incredibly warm. "I would expect nothing less. But you really should give yourself a moment to breathe. The Vanguard can afford to have its young Madam rest for an afternoon."
They entered the main hall, where the heavy, comforting scent of sandalwood and polished steel immediately enveloped them. Samuel discreetly guided her to a plush armchair near the grand fireplace before stepping back, perfectly maintaining the illusion that he was just a doting husband offering her a seat.
A moment later, heavy, rhythmic footsteps echoed from the corridor. Grandpa Marcuset strode into the room, still in his light armor, with Grandma Marcuset following closely behind, holding a ledger.
"Look who is back!" the old general boomed, his eyes crinkling with pride. "The shadow guards already sent a runner ahead. I heard you completely humiliated the Empress on her own terrace and then beat the Ninth Prince into the dirt! Haha! That’s my girl!"
Heena offered a genuine, exhausted smile. "It was remarkably easy, Grandpa. The boy is a paper tiger. The Empress has raised him to be completely useless. I made him swing a wooden sword and try to do push-ups, and he collapsed crying in less than an hour."
Grandma Marcuset sat down gracefully on a nearby sofa, snapping her ledger shut. Her sharp eyes gleamed with wicked satisfaction. "Excellent. The Empress thought she was handing you a political trap. If you punish the boy, she cries to the Emperor that you are abusing imperial blood. If you fail to teach him, she claims the Vanguard is incompetent. She did not expect you to just brutally break him on the very first day and dare them to do something about it."
"They won’t do anything," Heena stated smoothly, leaning her head back against the chair. "The Emperor gave me the jade token of the Royal Tutor. I used his own absolute authority to silence the Prince’s guards. If the Empress complains now, she is actively challenging the Emperor’s decree."
"A perfect checkmate," Samuel commented from the sidelines, pouring a cup of warm water from a nearby table and silently pressing it into Heena’s hand.
Heena took a sip, the warm liquid soothing her raw throat. She looked at her grandparents, her expression slowly shifting from arrogant triumph to calculating seriousness.
"There is something else we need to discuss," Heena said, her voice turning heavy. "Something far more important than a spoiled prince."
Both grandparents immediately sensed the shift in the room’s atmosphere. Grandpa Marcuset stopped laughing, and his terrifying, battle-hardened aura returned in an instant.
"Speak," he commanded softly.
Heena set the cup down. "We are in a highly precarious position. If something were to happen to me... if I were to fall ill, or be assassinated, or simply die..." She ignored the way Samuel’s jaw tightened in the periphery of her vision. "...The Marcuset family has no other heir. The title of Marquis Vanguard would revert to the Crown. The Emperor would hand our military power to one of his lapdogs."
The silence in the room was absolute. It was the one unspoken, terrifying truth of their family tree.
"My biological father is going to a monastery, and he is never coming back. We cannot risk his tainted bloodline ruining this family," Heena continued ruthlessly. "We need a backup plan. We need a capable, young successor that I can personally groom and adopt into the main Vanguard line."
Grandma Marcuset frowned, her wrinkled hands folding neatly in her lap. "The Marcuset branch is completely dead, Seera. Your grandfather’s brothers perished in the border wars decades ago."
"I know," Heena nodded. She looked directly into her grandmother’s eyes. "That is why I want to look into your maternal family. The House of Vane. You have several nephews and grand-nephews, do you not?"