The Prince in Question Is Not Stable

"How did you know it was me?" Winifred asked.

He thought of countless slips he could’ve possibly made. But none pointed in the right direction.

If he were to be in Ymir’s position, he wouldn’t be able to find himself.

"Let me piece my memory..." Ymir hummed and reached out for the drawer beside his sofa.

He took out a candle from new set, leaned forward to and placed it on the table.

*Snap*

He snapped once, and the candle burned alive with a bright flame as the old one snuffed out.

"Vael, was it...A hound of yours sent for Violet," Ymir leaned back and rested his hand on the armrest.

"I did a number on him, I was able to decipher that the one who sent me was from the capital. However the locations of castles are never mapped, so I recited names, wondered if he’ll show a reaction but he didn’t."

"That was odd," he said. "I thought maybe it’s a work of a commoner or an organization that is in slums or stores, it was quite misleading."

"But then I got to know that castles given to members of courts who were born as commoners are still named after their former lords. So there was never a Castle of Winifred. The Castle belonged to a branch family of D’Arterri to begin with. From this point onward...everything was mere suspicion," Ymir said.

"A man who has inherited a castle is bound to nothing."

"So I chose a different approach. Cymbal. You taught him the way of politics, you listened and did the work for him. It was evident, a man like yours would protect his asset in ways he can, so instead of targeting Cymbal’s reputation, I drew you out,"

"As the wise strategists of war say, attack where least expected."

"Cymbal wants what isn’t his. Eisi, specifically. Not love, I’d insult the word using it here."

"Lust dressed up as feeling, the way appetite always is when a man needs it to mean something more."

He tilted his head slightly.

"You knew that better than anyone. A prince building a claim to the throne cannot afford to be caught wanting his brother’s wife. So you watched him. Corrected him. Stood close enough to stop him the moment his eyes wandered somewhere they shouldn’t."

"Which begged a question worth asking. Why would a neutral, retired strategist — a man with no house, no stake, no reason to care where the Second Prince’s eyes land trouble himself with something so small, so beneath him, unless the thing he was actually protecting wasn’t Cymbal’s virtue at all, but his own investment?"

"And then...Everything clicked. When I met you during the hearing years ago, you noted that I was suspicious of a scheme. The only person I discussed it was you, believing a mind like yours could a great ally. But when I began questioning the situation. The only person who gained my suspicion was you, old man."

"My plan was to never use Eisi and put allegations on Cymbal. That...was just a distraction."

Winifred did not answer immediately.

He listened to the sound of rain drops hitting the window, he stared the flame as if was a piece of art.

"A hound," he said finally, "And a registry. That’s all it took, huh."

"A strategist who cannot see his own board," Winifred murmured, mostly to himself, "was never a strategist at all. Only a man who got lucky long enough to believe otherwise."

There was silence for a moment. Winifred’s past surfaced in his mind. He pondered upon the work he’d done, upon the orders he had followed, the schemes he had pulled, the people he had murdered, butchered, men, women, and children alike.

"Men chase desire and protect their interests," Winifred said, and looked into Ymir’s red eyes.

"I chased mine, I wanted to witness the fall of this kingdom before my death," he said.

"What about you?" he asked.

"What do you want, Ymir?" Winifred called him with his name, not title.

"One thing, before you finish this. You’ve spent tonight telling me what I wanted, what do you want, Ymir? Not the throne. Not the woman I suppose. I don’t think either of those is really it."

"What is it?"

"Hmm..." Ymir leaned forward, placing his elbow on his knees, and thought for a moment.

"Everything," he said finally.

Winifred’s brow drew, the first genuine confusion he’d shown all night.

"I expected better." Winifred said.

"You’ve built your whole philosophy on the idea that every man is chasing some single, hidden thing, and if you find it, you understand him completely." Ymir said.

"I don’t chase any single desire, because I refuse to let go of any of them."

"Don’t mistake it for virtue. It’s greed with better manners than yours."

"Greed with manners," he repeated softly. "I spent thirty years believing men like that didn’t exist. That everyone eventually chose. A throne, or a woman, or a legacy. Never all of it."

Winifred scoffed, and gave a slight satisfying nod.

"Then let me be wrong about one more," Winifred said, and straightened, the last of his composure gathering itself.

"Marcus Rile."

"A man who stands equal to Princes. Whom even the crown would think twice before summoning. Who, by every reason I managed to chase down, has deep hatred for you."

"I offered him your head. Through countless channels, yet..."

"Why would a man decline the one thing that should have defined the rest of his life? Why salvage the honour of a family he should be avenging. Why is someone like him leaving their killer breathing?"

"Someone like him can end you in moments, and make it seem like a suicide, or an assassination, or even an accident."

"But he chose to work along with your interests, as if the gruesome past never existed," he said.

For a moment Ymir only stared at him.

"Hha..." Then the laugh began.

"...Ha...HaHaHa," It started low in his chest, before it rose and broke loud into the open. This was one genuine laugh.

"HaHaHaHa," He leaned back against the sofa, one hand briefly covering his eyes as the laughter shook his shoulders. It lasted until, finally softened into a lingering, breathless chuckle.

"Ah... that question." He exhaled in amusement.

He raised his hand, pointing his index finger at Winifred’s head.

The sound of rain vanished.

The soft crackle of the candle disappeared.

Even the distant thunder was swallowed whole, as though the room had been sealed inside a vacuum.

Pressure clamped down on Winifred’s eardrums. The light itself seemed to retreat as the edges of the chamber darkened until only the narrow space between the two men remained visible.

The red in Ymir’s eyes gleamed of the intent.

"!" Winifred’s breath caught. His body refused to move.

In the center of his skull, something absolute took shape, it felt as if it burned of cold.

A black katana, its blade draped in flames that gave no light materialized through his head. The edge rested perfectly still.

Ymir’s voice came quietly through the silence, still carrying the tone of his gentle laugh.

"Die in suspense."