TPOSAWB 73

The Price of Saving A Wicked Beast

Translator: Rae

Entrust the Emperor’s guard to him. Roem’s proposal meant to set the stage so that Marquis Brundell—who must still resent the imperial family over his daughter’s death—would be given the chance to harm the Emperor.

The marquis was a simple man. Rather than thinking deeply, he acted first. If the Emperor’s protection were placed in his hands, then the Emperor would surely lose his life beneath Marquis Brundel’s blade.

Fabian moved his lips slightly several times, pretending to hesitate. As he lingered without answering, Roem spoke to him.

“What troubles you?”

“Must it truly go that far? I mean, Marquis Brundell is Katarina’s father. He was also a loyal retainer to my grandfather for many long years. To speak frankly, I am not very inclined toward it.”

“The conditions under which our house will cooperate with Your Highness include the death of Marquis Brundell as well. In any case, he is a tie that must be severed before you ascend the throne. Your Highness knows that too, don’t you?”

A note of urgency colored Roem’s voice as he tried to persuade him.

“Among the nobles who stood with the Crown Prince, there are many who think as I do. Lacking any proper alternative, they will in the end accept Lord Fabian’s succession to the throne, but unless Marquis Brundell is dealt with, the conflict between the two factions will continue.”

It was only natural. Though Fabian agreed with Roem’s words, he continued to feign deliberation. Inwardly, however, he was greatly pleased by the proposal. He had already been pondering how best to dispose of Marquis Brundell. Fabian had thought the man’s usefulness ended when he killed Killian, yet having him swing his sword once more for Fabian’s sake was not a bad idea. No—it was, rather, a perfect plan.

For Katarina’s revenge, the marquis had killed Killian and Adelaide.

And now House of Afort was sharpening its blade to kill both the Emperor and the marquis in revenge for Adelaide.

The thought that he only has to stand at a distance, watch them point their blades at one another in pursuit of revenge, and then gather the sweet spoils for himself was deeply satisfying. Having finished his calculations, Fabian nodded readily.

“It cannot be helped then. I have a close bond with Marquis Brundel, but thinking of the future, it seems right that it should be cut off.”

At Fabian’s answer, Roem smiled softly. As the cold and eerie expression from moments before vanished, he returned to his usual composed and dignified self.

“A splendid choice. Then I shall convey what transpired today to my father.”

After Roem departed, Fabian, wearing a face of complete satisfaction, ordered a servant to bring him wine. On a day like this, there was no refraining from a celebratory toast.

“Do you truly believe the Emperor will move according to Roem Afort’s prediction? I am somewhat concerned.”

“What does it matter? Even if he does not, this is in our hands in the end.”

As he tipped back his glass, Fabian drew a leather pouch from inside his coat. Within it lay a square, golden seal. It was the Emperor’s forged signet, brought from Milnyme’s residence.

It wouldn’t matter whether the Emperor acted as they wished. Even if they stamped a document with the forged seal, there would be no one to know the truth. The Emperor, the one man who knew it was false, would meet his death at Marquis Brundel’s hands, and then every matter would be buried in darkness.

“Submit a request for an audience. It seems I must visit my grief-stricken uncle together with the young count.”

Fabian raised the glass of amber liquor to his lips. Something hot slid down his throat. He winced at the harsh strength of the drink, but only for a moment. A satisfaction stronger than that drew a laugh from him.

The troubles that had been tormenting him had, so suddenly it seemed almost absurd, been resolved in an instant—drawing House of Afort to his side, and even getting rid of Marquis Brundell. It was, in truth, nothing less than a perfect day.

*** 

When Roem arrived at the Afort Family’s estate, a guest was there waiting for him. It was Marcella, who had visited him before. Roem led her to his study.

“How did it go?”

“For the moment, I think I managed to deceive him well enough.”

Marcella let out a sigh of relief. Having seen him up close, she knew well how exacting and difficult Fabian could be, and so she had no choice but to fret.

"That's a relief."

“The petition played a great part. He did not even suspect that it might be forged.”

“Might the young grand duke not try to verify it himself?”

At Marcella’s question, Roem shook his head.

“No. He won’t be able to do that. I wrote down the names of nobles of my own generation precisely so that verification would be difficult from the start.”

Unlike the family heads who held real power, there was no point of contact between Fabian and the young nobles of the imperial capital. With affairs of state so urgent, the chance that he would arrange separate meetings with those who were mere heirs just to confirm the petition’s authenticity was close to none.

“I see. You have truly worked hard. I shall inform Her Highness the Crown Princess of this at once.”

“You said she changed her residence?”

“Yes. You may rest easy. It is a place His Highness the Crown Prince once provided when I had to remain in hiding, and during the time I stayed there, even the North could not find so much as a strand of my hair.”

Reading Roem’s concern, Marcella answered on purpose in a light voice. At her words, Roem smiled gently.

“Is there anything you would like me to convey separately to Her Highness the Crown Princess?”

“Tell Adelaide this: this time, her elder brother will surely save her.”

*** 

The doors of the audience chamber opened. Roem followed a step behind Fabian, who strode forward with imposing confidence. The Emperor sat upon a golden chair above the steps, looking down at the two men.

The black hair that closely resembled Killian’s had faded to gray from the shock of the carriage accident, and the violet eyes, devoid of any bright emotion such as hope, were dull as though dust had settled upon them.

“I pay my respects to Your Majesty the Emperor.”

“The young grand duke. And Young Count Effort… an unexpected combination. I am not sure how I should interpret this.”

A hoarse voice leaked from the dry, cracked lips. At the Emperor’s words, Fabian smiled faintly and gently curved his eyes.

“I merely requested an audience out of concern for Your Majesty’s health. Please do not misunderstand.”

“You are concerned for my health… how very noble of you.”

The Emperor looked down at Fabian with eyes devoid of emotion. After staring silently for a long while, he spoke again.

“When I look at you, I am reminded of my older brother.”

The late emperor, his half-brother, closely resembled the northern grand ducal house in appearance, just like Fabian. The blond hair, the result of repeated political marriages over long years, was also the symbol of the imperial family.

The Emperor gave a bitter smile. His mother had been a foreign woman whom the previous emperor brought back as trophy from an expedition.

Resembling his mother, the Emperor was born with black hair. Because of an appearance far removed from other royals, everyone looked down on him, and the discrimination engraved into him from childhood remained shackles that weighed upon him even into adulthood.

His older brother, of noble grand ducal blood, had been like an unreachable star to him. And yet that very man lost his mind to madness and became a tyrant.

Fate made the insignificant prince the final winner, yet even after more than a decade upon the throne, the black-haired emperor still had to watch the reactions of those around him.

“I regret it—leaving you alive.”

Though he had needed the North’s support, the greatest reason was that he lacked the courage to kill his brother’s son.

From childhood, Killian had reproached his indecisiveness. He ignored his son’s words and instead urged him not to act harshly, to become someone acknowledged by all. And this was the result.

“You always pretended to be a good man, and only now do you reveal your true feelings. But it seems it is already far too late for such words, Uncle.”

Fabian signaled to Roem. Roem, who had been standing behind, stepped forward, took the petition from his coat, and handed it over.

Fabian glanced over the petition once more. As expected, there was nothing suspicious. Wearing a triumphant smile, he strode toward the Emperor.

“While my uncle was lost in grief, the nobles concerned for the Empire’s future gathered their will like this.”

The Emperor’s gaze trembled violently as he checked the petition.

“Young Count Afort. Is this truly your will?”

"Yes.”

Roem raised his bowed head and spoke with a firm gaze.

“Your Majesty told me, when you sent me to Clayton, what I must be cautious about while acting as a foreign envoy. The most important thing is to hide so that it cannot be seen. That is why I am the one heading this petition. I am someone no one would suspect.”

It was exactly as he said. The smile at the corner of Fabian’s lips deepened. Who would ever imagine that Roem Afort, the Crown Princess’s elder brother, would stand on his side?

The Emperor’s face twisted at Roem’s words. Reading the petition again and again as if unable to believe it, he finally squeezed his eyes shut.

“That will be enough. Withdraw.”

“Your Majesty has already lost the ability to rule the Empire. You must appoint the young grand duke as successor. Otherwise, you will witness the Empire you sought to protect turn into a sea of flames. This is my final counsel as your subject.”

After the death of Killian, Fabian was the only one left to inherit the throne. With the final words urging that needless blood not be spilled, Roem fell silent.

The Emperor, who had kept silent, spoke only after a long time.

“…Give me time to think.”

“Of course, Uncle. It would be difficult to decide such an important matter immediately. However, we cannot wait long.”

With the words that he would return again, Fabian rose from the knee he had bent. Suddenly, he remembered the rainy day—how he had knelt before the Emperor in humiliation. The disgrace of that day was as vivid as if it were yesterday. But now he could recall it with a smile. In the end, he had become the final victor.

Just before the doors closed, Fabian looked back at the Emperor. The sight of him sitting stiffly in his chair as if nailed in place while staring at the petition, looked so pitiful that Fabian felt a fleeting moment of sympathy.

Soon, the doors of the audience chamber closed.

***

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