The Price of Saving A Wicked Beast
Translator: Rae
Late in the d*ad of the night, the Emperor dismissed everyone around him. In the empty chamber, he held the petition before the lamp. As he moved it over the flickering light, letters began to appear in spaces that had seemed blank.
The Emperor let out a low murmur. The vague suspicion he had felt from Roem’s oddly phrased answer proved correct.
The most important thing is to hide it so that it cannot be seen. These were the words the Emperor had left when he gifted specially made ink to those departing as Clayton’s delegation. Given the delicate nature of their mission, it meant they must always act carefully so as not to create trouble between the two nations.
[His Highness the Crown Prince is alive.]
The petition, filled densely with nobles’ names, had few empty spaces. Among the tiny hidden lines, the first phrase that caught his eye made the Emperor doubt his own vision.
"God... Thank you."
Killian was alive.
If his son lived, then Adelaide, who had been in the accident with him, must also be safe. That alone was enough. He had thought he had long forgotten how to show grief, yet before he knew it, clear liquid flowed from the Emperor’s eyes.
That night when Marquis Brundel’s daughter died. Adelaide, refusing the Count and Countess Effort’s request to leave for Clayton, had proposed a simple plan: to reveal the truth of that day’s events to Marquis Brundel.
But for some reason, a few days later Adelaide took back her words and declared she would depart for Clayton. She said it was a decision Killian made to protect her.
Judging from the situation, the Emperor guessed the plan had failed and permitted it. If Adelaide were to die, Killian would surely break. As a father, he had to prevent that at least.
From the day of the accident until now, there had never been a moment he did not regret that decision. He should have protected them somehow. Even if he had to use force, even if it meant war with the North, he should never have allowed the two to be placed in danger.
And yet Adelaide and Killian were alive. The Emperor felt the fog clouding his mind begin to clear.
The two of them were safe. Though it was only a single line, the implications were anything but simple. It meant Adelaide’s plan had succeeded, and Marquis Brundel—who acted as Fabian’s most loyal vassal—was actually on their side. It also meant they were staying somewhere secure enough to communicate with Roem.
The Emperor hurriedly searched for and read the remaining hidden phrases.
[Reject the young grand duke’s proposal.]
[Hide the seal somewhere no one can find it.]
[Burn the petition.]
After reading every line crammed into the empty spaces, the Emperor pushed the petition into the lamp without hesitation. Leaving acrid smoke and soot behind, the paper soon vanished without a trace.
The next day, the Emperor summoned Fabian and Roem. As if already prepared and waiting, the two arrived at the audience chamber early in the morning.
“You reached a decision sooner than expected.”
The nephew’s attitude, as he spoke, had none of his former humility; he looked confident, as if he already knew the answer that would come.
“Yes. I have decided. I will never hand the throne over to you.”
The Emperor watched with satisfaction as Fabian’s expression changed moment by moment. Fabian glared at him, his lips trembling.
"What did you just say?"
“I said I will not hand the throne to you.”
The Emperor’s low voice revealed his firm resolve. Faced with the unexpected, violent fury burst across Fabian’s face.
“Even after seeing that petition, you still stubbornly refuse?”
“The petition? Ah. That useless paper—I burned it. It was nothing more than heirs putting forward their names. Did you intend to pressure me with something like that?”
At the mention of burning it, a flicker of relief crossed Roem’s face. Seeing this, the Emperor smiled faintly.
Misinterpreting his smile, Fabian clenched his fist tightly. At that moment, Roem placed a hand on Fabian’s shoulder and shook his head, signaling him not to fall for the provocation.
Roem spoke in place of the agitated Fabian.
“If this is merely stubbornness, please stop, Your Majesty. You do not wish to see the Empire turned into a sea of flames, do you?”
“Cease such petty threats, Young Count of Afort. Your sibling has died, so you must understand my heart. With my son dead, nothing else concerns me.”
Roem let out an exaggerated deep sigh, then shrugged his shoulders.
“For the one who rules the Empire to not fear plunging the nation into chaos—Your Majesty is indeed gravely ill.”
“Are you saying I am mad? Nonsense. I am not mad.”
“As you know, my father gained his high position through Your Majesty’s grace. A council of nobles will soon be convened. Since Your Majesty’s health has deteriorated and you cannot oversee affairs, we intend to propose that you depart for recuperation.”
Do you wish to leave the palace as though driven out in disgrace? At Roem’s chilling question, the Emperor snorted.
“Do as you wish, but I will never make Fabian my successor with my own hands. You will not accomplish it, and with the seal gone, how will you draft a decree appointing a successor?”
At the mention that the seal was gone, Roem’s complexion turned pale. His eyes widened in disbelief as he hurriedly spoke.
“The seal is gone? What do you—”
“After I depart, search the imperial palace well. Though I doubt you will find it.”
With those words, the Emperor left the audience chamber first. The flustered Roem bit his lip.
“My apologies. I did not anticipate the Emperor would respond like that.”
It was possible to appoint a regent by authority of the nobles’ council, but without the seal, becoming successor would remain distant. Yet unlike the flustered Roem, Fabian regained his composure and instead patted his shoulder.
“Don’t worry too much. It was not entirely unexpected.”
As he spoke, Fabian recalled the leather pouch hidden deep within his bedchamber. It did not matter if they never found the Emperor’s seal. In the end, he would be the victor.
***
In the nobles’ council, by Count Afort’s firm insistence, the Emperor’s recuperation was decided. As Roem had suggested, Marquis Brundell was appointed to guard the Emperor.
At Fabian’s words that they must not allow the Emperor to be taken by remnants of the Crown Prince’s faction, the marquis readily summoned his family’s entire forces from the North to the capital.
The escort thus assembled looked less like guards protecting someone of high rank and more like soldiers escorting a prisoner.
Watching from afar, Roem spoke to Fabian.
“Marquis Brundell is a foolish man. He does not even consider how much suspicion that display will raise among others.”
“Let us say his loyalty toward the grand ducal house is that strong.”
“Well… that is true. In this chaotic situation, the marquis house’s forces will be absorbed entirely into Your Highness’s side, so he will be remembered as a loyal vassal to the end.”
If the marquis fell into difficulty after the Emperor’s death and was not actively saved, distrust toward the grand ducal house would surely arise among northern nobles. The marquis’s remaining forces would also become a later headache—this was the advice Roem had given Fabian.
His words had merit. Fortunately, Marquis Brundell followed Fabian’s orders without the slightest suspicion. The result was the procession now before them.
The procession moved far away, and soon even the last soldier trailing behind became a tiny dot.
“Let us return to the palace now. We must find the Emperor’s seal as quickly as possible.”
Mocking Roem inwardly for his anxiety about failing to find the seal, Fabian outwardly nodded as though agreeing.
Several days passed after the Emperor left the capital. Contrary to Roem’s wishes, Fabian had no interest in searching the Emperor’s palace for the seal.
To begin with, Fabian was the only one who could freely enter the Emperor’s palace, and even then it was guarded by the chamberlain, the Emperor’s close attendant. He had no desire to evade him and search everywhere while bending like a lowly servant.
All Fabian had to do was reveal the forged seal made by Milneim when the proper moment came.
All things flow according to their course, and until that moment arrived, he intended simply to savor his fate—standing just before the highest seat in the world. Yes, in the end, everything would fall into place.
However, Fabian’s sweet days did not last long. About a week after he took the position of regent, the wheels of his fate began to creak and spin uselessly.
***
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