Frustrations of a Self-Proclaimed Villain Lord

By noon, the Elysian Estate had become the quietest center of chaos in the Capital.

Outside our gates, the city devoured the evening special like starving wolves with literacy. The official version spread faster than even Fate predicted. Palace guards repeated the warning phrase at district posts. Temple attendants denied knowing anything with faces so stiff they might crack. Noble houses sent polite inquiries, impolite spies, and several gifts so inappropriate that William had them returned without showing me.

A sensible decision. Apparently, one baroness sent an ivory cradle. For Spiro.

I nearly invaded her estate. Mother told me not to. I obeyed.

Reluctantly.

Inside the Elysian Estate, order held. That was because everyone who might disrupt it was either under guard, under medical care, under parental supervision, or under my direct displeasure.

Marielle remained unconscious through most of the morning. When she woke, she spoke no names, answered no questions, and smiled at the ceiling as though hearing music no one else could hear. Abi inspected her and concluded that the shadow had left something behind but taken a portion of memory with it.

Not all. Enough to make interrogation troublesome.

Of course.

Father Lorian remained hollow eyed. Caldus shook every time Marielle’s name was mentioned. Vesren tried to bargain, failed, then vomited black salt after Abi placed the soundless bell three rooms away from him.

That had been informative. Disgusting, but informative.

Marcellus, perhaps realizing that everyone worse than him had been dragged into the same household, became increasingly cooperative. He produced old archive references, hidden ceremonial office seals, and three names linked to the seasonal Office of Ceremonial Continuity. Two were dead. One had entered a monastery twelve years ago and hadn’t been seen since.

Naturally.

The conductor from the Conservatory woke long enough to demand a priest, saw Arthur, and decided unconsciousness was preferable.

Wise man.

Bell, Toma, Eron, and the two younger rescued children remained in the west medical wing. Toma could whisper now, though each word clearly hurt. Bell refused to leave his bedside. Eron hadn’t asked for the soundless bell again. He did, however, ask whether writing his sister’s name would let the Choir hear it.

A terrible question. The answer was possibly. That made it worse.

We gave him a cipher name to use until we knew better. He hated it. He used it anyway.

The younger child who had bitten Arthur continued following him with the solemn devotion of a small duckling that had chosen an armored pond. Arthur did not know what to do with this. I chose not to rescue him. A knight must learn resilience.

Spiro was allowed one short visit to the medical wing after breakfast. Under supervision. With rules. Many rules. He followed all of them, which was suspicious but appreciated.

He brought paper. Not questions. He and Bell sat at a low table while Toma slept, drawing maps of the estate garden and the route Mil’s convoy might have taken. Eron watched from the corner, silent at first, then asked whether Sonomi had rain.

Spiro answered very seriously that it did, but not often, and that when it rained in the desert, everyone remembered.

Eron had looked at him strangely after that. Children were odd. Or perhaps adults merely forgot how to be honest with questions.

At noon, the Crown Prince requested a private audience.

Private, apparently, now meant myself, Adrien, the Empress, my parents, Abi, William, Bernard, a physician hovering outside the door, and one knight waiting close enough to burst in should his prince decide to become dramatic again.

Reasonable.

The west guest suite had been converted into a temporary council room because Adrien remained banned from my study after attempting to stand too quickly before breakfast. His physician had looked seconds away from sedating him out of professional spite.

I understood the impulse.

The Crown Prince sat near the window with Spiro’s garden map on the small table beside him. He looked better than yesterday. Not fully recovered, but better. Color had returned to his face, his eyes no longer carrying the old fever shadow, the faint scar beneath his sternum visible where his collar opened slightly, pale against the skin.

Proof. Annoying proof. My supposed poison had worked so well that even the physician had stopped trying to pretend medicine alone deserved credit.

I stood near the mantel. Abi took the chair closest to the tea tray.

Opportunist.

Adrien looked at the printed evening special resting on his lap. "You changed the city."

"I bought ink."

"That isn’t the same thing."

"It often is."

His mouth twitched. The Empress stood behind him, one hand resting on the back of his chair. She’d returned to imperial dress today, though without jewels. Her composure had recovered enough to frighten several palace messengers into speaking truth faster than planned.

I approved. Guilt was most useful when it became work.

Adrien folded the paper. "The phrase is spreading."

"Yes."

"No borrowed voice shall be recognized."

"Bernard wrote it."

The Crown Prince looked toward Bernard, who immediately stiffened.

"A useful line," Adrien said.

"Thank you, Your Highness."

"Do not look so startled. I know how to appreciate competence."

Abi smiled. "That makes two of us."

I looked at him. He smiled wider. I ignored him.

Adrien’s fingers moved over the folded paper. "The city believes House Konstantin protected witnesses and children."

"The city believes many things. This one happens to be useful."

"And true."

"An inconvenient overlap."

His gaze lifted to mine. There was less hesitation now.

Dangerous. Gratitude could make men foolish. Recovery could make them bold. A prince with both and a debt besides required careful handling.

"I owe you my life," Adrien said.

The room quieted. I frowned. "Yes."

Abi choked on his tea. The Empress closed her eyes briefly.

Adrien stared at me, then laughed under his breath. "You don’t even pretend otherwise."

"Would you prefer that I insult your intelligence?"

"No."

"Then yes. You do."

He leaned back, still smiling faintly. "Most men would tell me it was their honor."

"Most men enjoy wasting breath."

My father looked amused. Mother did not. She watched Adrien carefully.

Good. She understood what I was doing. A life debt from a Crown Prince was not a decorative ribbon. It was a chain. Chains needed to be measured before being accepted. Too tight, and they strangled. Too loose, and they dragged.

Adrien looked down at the paper again. "My mother tells me you were the one who decided to move me from the palace."

"Yes."

"And to use Vita’s Tears."

"Yes."

"Knowing you bought it as poison."

"That detail has become very popular."

"It’s difficult to ignore."

"I have been trying."

Abi whispered, "Poorly."

I didn’t dignify him with a response.

Adrien’s expression sobered. "I remember some of it."

The Empress’s hand tightened on the chair. I noticed.

"The bells," Adrien continued. "The room. You arguing with Mother outside the door. The pain when the ward opened. Then the carriage. I remember thinking the children were outside."

"They weren’t."

"I know." His throat moved. "And then I remember the poison."

"Do not call it that in front of your physician. He becomes emotional."

"He called it a miracle."

"That’s worse."

Adrien gave a quiet laugh, then stopped, pressing a hand to his chest. The physician outside the door made an offended sound, as though laughter had been specifically banned.

The prince ignored him. "I also remember the moment it left."

The room stilled. My smile remained pleasant. "What left?"

"The thing inside me."

The Empress went pale.

Adrien looked down. "It had been there so long I thought the weight was part of me. I didn’t know there was a difference until it was gone."

No one spoke. Even Abi. Especially Abi.

I looked toward the window. The garden beyond it was bright with afternoon sun. No rain. No bells. No strange tapping against glass.

Good.

"It’s gone," I said.

"For now?"

I looked back at him. "According to Abi, the contamination was expelled. The tether has been severed. Your body is recovering. The old mark is gone."

Adrien’s hand pressed lightly against the scar. "But the Choir remains."

"Yes."

"And the lower voice remains."

"Yes."

"And something called you wish-bearer."

The room froze. I turned slowly toward Abi. He raised both hands. "I did not tell him."

Adrien’s gaze didn’t move from me. "Marielle murmured it when she was brought into the estate. I heard the guards repeat it as a detail."

Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. I needed to pay guards more. And then threaten them better.

"It’s nonsense," I said.

Adrien studied me. The Empress studied me. My parents studied me. Abi studied me. Even Bernard, traitorous little recorder that he was, looked up.

How rude.

"Ancient entities like theatrics," I added.

Abi’s mouth twitched. He’d heard that line before. He didn’t expose me.

Wise.

Adrien leaned back. "I see."

He did not. He was lying politely. That, I could tolerate.

"For now," he added.

Less tolerable. The imperial puppy was becoming bold. Useful, perhaps. Annoying, definitely.

"You requested an audience," I said. "I assume it wasn’t to discuss vocabulary."

"No."

Adrien reached toward the table. His knight, who’d been waiting by the door, stepped inside and placed a small lacquered box before him. The box bore the imperial sun, but beneath it was a smaller seal, one used only by the Crown Prince.

Adrien opened it. Inside lay a ring. Not the imperial signet. A smaller one, white gold, set with a pale amber stone. The design was simple. Practical, almost.

He lifted it carefully. "This is the Crown Prince’s private debt token," he said. "There are only three. One is held by my mother. One by the Commander of the Imperial Guard. The third was meant to remain unused until I ascended."

I looked at the ring. "A dramatic gift."

"It grants direct audience rights, sealed message priority, and emergency command recognition among my personal guard."

"Very dramatic."

"I am giving it to you."

The Empress said nothing. Which meant she knew. My mother’s expression didn’t change. Which meant she approved conditionally. My father looked quietly entertained. Abi was practically glowing with interest.

I didn’t touch the ring. "Do you understand what you are doing?" I asked.