117.

Hailot sat across from Adriene, silently observing her unusually distracted demeanor for a moment. Soon enough, however, his attention shifted entirely to the Emperor seated at the head of the table, as if Adriene’s fretful state was beneath his concern.

“Once again, I assure you, there is no need to worry. Every day, divine power is poured into ‘it,’ reducing it to nothing more than a frail, sickly old man past fifty,” Heirot remarked nonchalantly.

This was not the first time he had repeated these reassurances to the perpetually anxious Emperor and Empress. For a man like Heirot, who grew bored easily, it was an act of remarkable patience.

“Of course, that’s assuming no one is foolish enough to aid it,” he added, his irritation barely concealed.

Heirot’s disdain for the imperial couple’s endless concerns began to seep through his tone. The unique authority of the temple allowed him to speak without reserve, even in the Emperor’s presence.

The Emperor’s expression darkened at Heirot’s insolence, a luxury his rank afforded him as well. Adriene, on the other hand, stifled her irritation, cursing the Emperor inwardly for his perpetual power struggles and turning her focus to placating Heirot.

“I trust that the great High Priest will do everything in his power to prevent such an outcome,” Adriene said, offering a soft, practiced smile.

“The Crown Prince will remain within the temple in Baghdad for the duration of his coming-of-age ceremony,” Heirot replied. “As long as he follows the guidance of the officiating priests, there will be no issues.”

His sharp, snake-like gaze settled on Adriene. For a fleeting moment, she felt as though he was peeling away her layers, exposing every thought she tried to conceal. Summoning her composure, Adriene forced her features into a serene expression, the corners of her eyes tilting upward in a benevolent smile.

“There’s no need to act as though you’ve committed a sin,” Heirot added with a shrug, his words dripping with mockery.

Adriene barely managed to suppress the twitch threatening her lips. Behind her delicately unfurled fan, she bit out a response.

“You have such a… unique way with words, High Priest.”

Adriene’s outward grace masked her seething thoughts. ‘How dare a wretched temple dog insinuate such things about me?’ At the same time, a kernel of unease took root—what if Heirot knew something? What if his words weren’t baseless?

But Heirot gave her no time to probe further. Eager to conclude the tedious audience, he picked up the pace.

“Per tradition, I will accompany the Crown Prince from the capital to Baghdad. There is no need to concern yourselves with the journey. Now, I believe that addresses all your questions.”

The Emperor turned to Adriene, silently inquiring if there was anything left to add. Adriene, still hiding her mouth behind her fan, feigned a serene smile and nodded gracefully. Heirot’s expression brightened, albeit faintly, for the first time.

With that, the unusually brief audience drew to a close. The Emperor began to rise, but Heirot, who had spent the entire meeting eager to leave, suddenly stopped him.

“One moment, Your Majesty.”

“What is it, High Priest?” the Emperor asked, clearly displeased.

“Why was the Crown Prince not present today?”

Heirot tilted his head as if the thought had only just occurred to him. The truth was, Billinent’s presence—or lack thereof—was so inconsequential to Heirot that he had barely noticed his absence.

The Emperor’s face twisted in annoyance at the question, while Adriene let out a sigh that sounded more like a lament.

Their soon-to-be-adult son had been utterly unmanageable of late.

* * *

Adriene’s hurried steps echoed through the halls as she made her way to the Crown Prince’s quarters. As she approached, the sound of shattering glass and a piercing scream reached her ears.

“Of course, the Crown Prince must remain near ‘it’ for a few days. In a weakened physical and mental state, it’s easy to be swayed by its vile whispers. You must take extra care until the coming-of-age ceremony,” Heirot’s irritatingly blunt warning played in her mind. The High Priest’s audacity in speaking so candidly without deference grated on her nerves.

Grinding her teeth in frustration, Adriene was snapped back to the present by another distant scream. Quickening her pace, she soon reached her son’s chambers.

“Crown Prince!” she called out, stepping into the room. The metallic tang of blood immediately hit her, halting her in her tracks. Curtains drawn, the dark room framed the figure of Billinent, standing over a maid sprawled at his feet.

‘There’s far too much blood,’ Adriene thought.

Although she had often dealt harshly with servants herself, breaking objects or inflicting punishment without a second thought, this was different. She rarely intervened when Billinent lashed out at subordinates, considering them mere tools. But this—this was unsettling, even for her.

‘Is she dead?’

Adriene’s unease deepened. Her son turned slowly to face her, his features eerily reminiscent of both the Emperor in his youth and the late Calliphe. Adriene swallowed hard.

“No,” she whispered under her breath.

“Mother,” Billinent finally spoke, his voice cracking. Adriene moved toward him cautiously.

“What happened here, Crown Prince?”

“How dare they lock me in my chambers like a rat! Do they think me a fool? A moron?” he shouted, his voice trembling with rage. His hands, stained with blood, were clenched into fists, and his face was smeared with crimson.

Adriene gently placed a trembling hand on his broad back, stroking it soothingly.

“Shh… calm yourself. You must learn to control your emotions. Remember, the confinement was by His Majesty’s decree.”

“The Emperor… He plans to cast me aside, just as he did to Merkechi. He’ll summon that madwoman back and name her his heir instead! How could he, Mother? How could he do this to me?”

“Silence, Crown Prince.” Adriene’s voice dropped to a whisper, sharp as a blade, cutting through his outburst. Billinent clenched his fists tighter before letting them fall limply at his sides.

Adriene’s eyes darted to the motionless maid at his feet. Meeting her lifeless, unfocused gaze, Adriene was reminded of the bodies that were regularly carried out of Calliphe’s chambers in her heyday.

“Why are you all standing there? Clean this up immediately,” Adriene barked at the maids waiting outside the door. Turning back to her son, she softened her tone, her voice dripping with honeyed reassurance.

“His Majesty only meant to give you time to rest, to clear your mind. The throne is yours, my son. Merkeis insane; she can never be Emperor. She will never set foot in the empire again. She is nothing to concern yourself with.”

Billinent’s recent instability stemmed largely from his fractured relationship with the Emperor. Whispers of a conspiracy against the McFoys had begun circulating in the capital, rumors that Billinent sought to eliminate them. These rumors, fueled by Lady Tibey’s ball, had grown into a scandal, earning ridicule from influential nobles who deemed Billinent politically inept. In stark contrast, the McFoy family’s reputation soared, thanks to Aisa McFoy’s heroic return from Tartaros, her crackdown on zealots, and her marriage to Norma Diazi.

For the Emperor, it was a disaster. He had hoped to forge a stronger alliance with the wealthy McFoys for his son’s—and his own—future. Billinent’s blunders had jeopardized that plan, leading the Emperor to lash out in anger, even going so far as to compare his son unfavorably to the infamous Merke Rodensi.

The tension had culminated in a public clash between father and son, ending with Billinent being placed under strict supervision and confined to his chambers.

“Relax your mind, my son. You must,” Adriene whispered earnestly, pulling Billinent into an embrace.

With the trip to Baghdad and the coming-of-age ceremony fast approaching, there was no room for further delays. Heirot’s detached warnings echoed in Adriene’s thoughts, mingling with haunting memories of Calliphe’s final days. Her heart pounded with unease.

* * *

Before the rainy season began, McFoy was enjoying an uncharacteristically sunny stretch of weather. Archie McFoy had taken full advantage, spreading out a blanket on the well-maintained lawn to lounge in peaceful contentment.

Today, however, he had a special guest: his aunt, Aisa McFoy.

“I’ve never seen Auntie sleep like this before,” Archie whispered to Norma, careful not to wake her.

“Really?” Norma replied, his smile softening as he turned to the boy.

“Yeah. I mean, she’s actually taking a nap in broad daylight!” Archie gestured toward his aunt, who was lying on the grass with an unusually serene expression. On her stomach, Antoinette had curled into a proud little ball, snoozing away. The sight of Aisa resting so peacefully, cradling the small feline predator that somehow resembled her, was a rare and endearing one.

Archie couldn’t recall ever seeing his aunt asleep. According to Mrs. Seymour, Aisa had often held Archie as a baby while she slept, but he had no memory of those days. Lying next to her now, he felt a strange sense of warmth and excitement.

Archie leaned against his aunt’s side, marveling at how simply being near her could be so comforting. Watching his uncle deftly braid a few strands of Aisa’s hair, Archie couldn’t help but feel a swell of satisfaction.

The twelve-year-old had long worried about his aunt. She had no friends, no family apart from him, and countless enemies. Her life, from his perspective, had always seemed lonely. Archie had even resolved to live with her forever, vowing to keep her company after the debacle with her unspeakably vile former fiancé.

But then Norma and Antoinette had come along, and Archie’s lifelong concern evaporated. His aunt’s life was finally full of love and companionship.

With a cheeky grin, Archie teased his uncle. “You enjoy doing that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Norma replied, his face flushing slightly as he answered earnestly.

Archie chuckled, delighted. He hadn’t been asking about Norma’s feelings for his aunt, but rather his enjoyment of braiding her hair.

Nearby, the household staff watched the heartwarming scene with fond smiles. Their quiet delight mirrored Archie’s own as Norma turned to him and asked, “Would you like me to teach you how to braid her hair, Archie? She’d be thrilled if you did.”

After a moment’s thought, Archie nodded enthusiastically, imagining Aisa proudly keeping his clumsy handiwork intact until bedtime.

“Sure! Teach me!” he declared, springing to his feet with newfound energy.