The Prince in Question Is Not Stable

Rain still came down against the windows. The storm had settled for a moment, and the winds were clashing against the frame that creaked every minute.

"I," Ymir shifted his weight, and rested his hand on right armrest.

"I still remember the time we met during Violet’s hearing," he said.

Winifred listened carefully, with his hands still rested on the ledger, back hunched and neck cranked forward with age.

The candle between them had burned low enough that half his face sat in shadow.

"You were one of the judges, remember?" Ymir scoffed, but he didn’t wait for an answer.

"Ferrey was a judge, too." He said. "I fear people might think that I’m taking revenge for the hearing if I choose to murder the Duchess of D’Arterri, who was acting as third judge, but that is not the case."

"Still...after this night, she’ll be on edge," he said.

"But its...surprising," Ymir began, he placed his index finger on his lower lip.

"How such a feeble, old man; someone who is not even awakened as a mage or a knight, was able to run schemes that could eat the kingdom away from within...all while staying undetected," he said.

"I’m impressed."

*Ghrumble*

Thunder rolled again, and the frame of window made a clacketing sound of wood crashing into wood.

Winifred said nothing for a moment.

He stayed there in silence.

Then...he parted his lips.

"Why?" Winifred asked. "No, how did you come to suspect me, Your Highness?"

"For I am just an old man. I hold no powers I hold no official authority, yet, out of all the individuals who could turn the Kingdom into utter chaos, you chose to suspect the man who even if were to cry and plead to the queen, will not be heard," Winifred said.

"Hmm..." Ymir smiled lightly and hummed, as he closed his eyes.

"An old man you say," he murmured.

"Let me tell you a story," he said looking in Winifred’s eyes.

"This is actually an interesting one. I think you’re going to love it."

"There used to be a charming young man."

Ymir raised his fingers loosely as if remembering the memory.

"Every weekend, after dragging himself through another week of work, he went to the same bar. Same seat. Same drink. He would sit there watching couples laugh, flirting half-heartedly with the bartender, exhaustion written into every line of his body."

"For weeks, the same routine repeated. Nothing in particular changed until, one day,"

"A woman sat alone at a corner table. She was striking...dressed in an elegant, revealing gown, as though she had come straight from some formal gathering. The young man, already half-lost in the haze of liquor and music, found his eyes drifting toward her. He stared without meaning to."

"She noticed. Definitely, because women are sensitive to their environment. She stood, approached him, and sat down beside him. She called him a creep for staring. He didn’t react. She snapped her fingers in front of his face, irritated by his silence. Still there was no particular reaction.

"She snapped her fingers again in front of his face. Finally driving his attention to her, and he followed, and looked at her."

"She repeated, and he said nothing. She was furious, because the man showed no reaction at all. Then suddenly,"

"Finally, the man took out a small notebook and wrote: I am sorry. I am mute and deaf."

"Those words were like guilt seeping in her heart, she regretted bashing out on someone who had disability, someone who couldn’t speak, couldn’t hear, and visibly looked exhausted."

"From there, their conversation escalated, she’d write on note, he’ll reply on note, she’d write again, and he’ll reply again on the note. Hours went by in the silly exchange of notes, the woman found the man fascinating,"

"As if in the heat of the moment, they left together. They took a room. The night was turned into one of the most... memorable moments."

"The next morning...when the man was all ready to leave, and had reached out for the door, he said... ’I had a wonderful night.’"

"The revelation shocked her. He wasn’t mute. He wasn’t deaf. She felt betrayed, and showed as such when he left through the door."

"But...do you know, what fascinates me wasn’t the fact that the man deceived her, it was the fact she let him deceive her. For the man had a habit of flirting with bartender. And she’d been there at the table for long before he had noticed. She saw him converse with bartender, she had seen him vibe to the music of bar, but just because she let him act his way, doesn’t mean she didn’t knew who he really was."

"You can be deaf, can be mute, can be paralyzed, can be old, can be young...Your appearance, your physical factors, are not something that define how you act, and how you think. Your actions do not subside with your physical appearance."

"The most pathetic kind of man is not the one who lacks strength or influence. It is the one who takes pleasure in crushing the weak while hiding behind the mask of helplessness. The one who believes the world owes him. The one who thinks he is superior. The one who needs to prove his worth every moment. The one who poisons everything he touches and then pretends he was never strong enough to do harm."

*Ghrumble*

Ymir sighed and looked at the flame of candle that was about to die.

"You call it poisoning the world. I called it a personal bliss." Winifred spoke.

"The kingdom has always belonged to the loud, the strong, the beautiful...Men like me? We were never part of a structure to begin with. Strategists are tools, Your Highness. Mere tools."

A soft breath left him, a laugh of an old man.

"You are impressed that an old man without title or without any powers could weave such threads. You should be. It took a lifetime of being invisible to learn how to pull strings no one could see."

"But...that still does not answer my question, Your Highness."

"In your story, the woman saw the man speaking to the bartender, she saw him react to music, she had evidence, yet she chose to ignore it to solicit into her pleasure."

Winifred picked his ledger and tossed it on table, the flame of candle riffed violently.

"I never gave anyone evidence. I made certain of it. Every word I spoke, every bent back, every action I took, there was nothing for anyone to notice. How? How did you know it was me?" he asked.