Chapter 75: A Letter To The Crown.

Chapter 75

The afternoon sun cast a warm, golden glow across the manicured rose gardens of the imperial palace, but Queen Evelyn felt not an ounce of comfort from the soothing light. She reclined in a gilded chair, fanning herself with slow, rhythmic motions as her sharp, critical eyes observed Maria’s awkward stumbles through a traditional court dance lesson.

The girl moved with all the grace of a newly born calf, her steps clumsy and lacking the inherent poise required of high nobility. Evelyn’s lips curled into a faint sneer behind her hand. To think that her son had cast aside highborn ladies for this common-born creature—the illegitimate spawn of that wretched Genevieve—infuriated her to her very core.

A young maid came sprinting down the marble colonnade, her breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps as her slippers skidded against the polished stone. "Your Majesty... Her Majesty!" the girl cried out, trembling violently as she dropped to her knees before the royal pavilion.

Evelyn’s brow furrowed in immediate distaste, her fan snapping shut with a sharp, wooden crack. "What is the meaning of this unseemly display, child?" the Queen demanded coldly, her voice laced with absolute authority. "Have you forgotten the basic decorum of the inner court?"

The maid kept her forehead pressed to the stone, extending a sealed envelope with shaking hands. "Forgive my insolence, Your Majesty, but this letter... it was delivered directly by a high-ranking ducal guard. It bears the crest of Duchess Sigrid Aethermor."

Evelyn froze, her disdain instantly sharpening into icy focus. "Hand it to me at once, you fool," she commanded, snatching the heavy parchment before the maid could even stand.

Without sparing another glance at the dancing instructors, Evelyn stood up, her velvet skirts rustling heavily as she cast a stern, unloving glare toward Maria. "Do not for a single second relax your posture simply because I step away," she barked sharply at the girl, who flinched and immediately straightened her spine. Evelyn turned on her heel and glided toward her private wing, her mind racing with dark possibilities.

Pausing near the courtyard archway, she summoned a standing guard with a subtle gesture. "Where is His Imperial Majesty presently occupied?"

The guard bowed deeply. "His Majesty is currently engaged in a private conference with the foreign envoys, Your Grace." Satisfied that her husband would not interrupt her, Evelyn retired to the quiet sanctuary of her inner bedchamber.

Sitting down at her ornate vanity table, Evelyn broke the red wax seal bearing the crest of House Aethermor and unfolded the letter. As her eyes scanned the elegant, sharp calligraphy, the blood in her veins turned to pure fire. The missive detailed the previous night’s disastrous encounter in excruciating detail—how Sigrid had been maliciously set up through false intelligence orchestrated by Maria, how Duke Soren had apprehended the true perpetrator, Count Varenne, and how Prince Ragnar had recklessly barged into the lower district to accuse the Duchess of treason without a single shred of proof. When confronted with his own folly, Ragnar had executed the bound prisoners in a desperate bid to destroy evidence, pointing his drawn blade directly at the Duchess’s throat and demanding her silence under threat of force.

What drove Evelyn to the absolute brink of fury, however, was the final passage of the letter. Sigrid had written with chilling, polite arrogance: ’Whatever shall become of the crown’s standing among the populace should word spread that the future king and his betrothed orchestrate false charges, subvert justice, and brandish steel against a reigning Duchess of the realm? I eagerly await Your Majesty’s wisdom on how House Aethermor ought to be compensated for such an appalling insult to my crest.’ It was an unquestionable, ironclad threat.

Evelyn squeezed the parchment until the thick paper crumpled beneath her rings, her breath coming in short, furious hitches. How had Ragnar managed to commit such an unspeakable act of stupidity without her knowledge? She had explicitly commanded his personal guard to report his every movement directly to her.

Rising from her chair, Evelyn swept out into the private corridor and commanded her chief lady-in-waiting, "Bring me one of the guards who escorted the Crown Prince during his outing last evening. Bring him to my chambers immediately, and ensure no one sees him enter."

Within ten minutes, a flustered royal guardsman was brought into her room, dropping to both knees as he felt the suffocating, hostile atmosphere radiating from the Queen. Evelyn stood over him like a vengeful specter, her expression terrifyingly calm. "Tell me precisely what transpired in the lower district last night," she commanded, her voice dropping into a deadly whisper.

The guard swallowed hard, his skin turning pale. "I... I am entirely uncertain of what Your Majesty refers to—"

Evelyn swung her ivory fan, striking the man hard across his cheek with a crack that echoed off the stone walls. "Do not dare play the fool with me!" she hissed, pacing around him like a predator. "My son foolishly cornered the Duchess of Aethermor, accused her of treason based upon the pathetic lies of his lover, and brandished his sword at her neck! He murdered the bound captives to cover his tracks and threatened a ruling Duchess! Tell me why this information was concealed from your Empress!"

The guard flinched violently, bowing his head until it touched the rug. "Forgive me, Your Majesty! His Highness explicitly ordered us under pain of death to keep the matter hidden! He insisted the matter was settled because he cut down the captives so there were no living witnesses left to speak! He warned the Duchess to drop it, and there was no one else in that alleyway!"

Evelyn’s eyes widened in horror, her fingers tightening around her fan until the delicate ivory creaked under the pressure. That utter fool, she thought, her stomach twisting in rage. He truly believes killing the prisoners erased the crime!

She glared down at the kneeling guard with absolute disgust. "And who is it that pays your wage and commands your ultimate allegiance, soldier?"

The guard trembled. "His... His Imperial Majesty, and Your Grace."

Evelyn raised her chin, her eyes flashing with cold finality. "You are relieved of your duties. Get out of my sight."

The guard looked up in panic. "Your Grace, please—" Evelyn turned her back to him, her voice cutting through the air like a razor. "Vacate my presence instantly, or I shall have you dragged to the dungeons and executed for high treason against the crown." The man scrambled to his feet and fled the room in sheer terror.

Left alone once more, Evelyn paced the length of her bedchamber, her mind spinning in a whirlwind of panic and rage. She summoned her head maid, her voice tight with urgency. "Quietly contact every major newspaper and gazette house affiliated with the capital. Query whether any editor has received a scoop regarding the Crown Prince’s recent activities, or if anyone is preparing an exclusive story for print."

The maid bowed swiftly and departed. Thirty agonizing minutes passed before the maid returned, bowing anxiously. "Your Grace, I have made discreet inquiries. None of the gazettes possess any news regarding His Highness, nor have they received any anonymous submissions."

Evelyn let out a harsh, bitter breath, leaning against her vanity table. So the guard was truthful; there were no public witnesses in that alleyway, she realized, her mind racing to piece together the puzzle. Then what does that arrogant Duchess mean by her threat? How does she intend to publish anything if no press holds the story? Or is she bluffing?

Evelyn paused, the memory of Sigrid’s sharp, calculating crimson eyes flashing in her mind. No, the Duchess of Aethermor was no foolish bluffer. She would never dare send a letter containing such explicit blackmail to the Queen of the realm unless she held an absolute trump card in her hands.

A sudden scream of unbridled frustration burst from Evelyn’s lips, startling the maids who stood frozen near the doors. "That absolute idiot of a son!" Evelyn raged, slamming her palm onto the wooden surface. "I knew that common girl was poison! She is the daughter of that wretched, wanton Genevieve after all—a leech born to ruin everything my family has built!"

She gripped her fan tightly, her heart hammering as she contemplated her next move. Sigrid had not leaked the scandal yet, but she demanded a private audience. The sheer insolence of a Duchess summoning her Queen was staggering, yet Evelyn knew she had been cornered.

The heavy oak doors of the bedchamber suddenly swung open, and King Rudolf stepped inside, a tired sigh escaping his lips. Upon seeing his wife, his stern features softened into a gentle smile. "Ah, my love," the King murmured, stepping forward to embrace her.

Evelyn immediately masked her inner turmoil, melting into his arms with practiced ease and offering a sweet, comforting smile. "How did your negotiations fare with the foreign envoys, my lord?"

Rudolf shook his head weary, pressing a kiss to her brow. "Horrible. We could not reach terms that benefited our empire. I fear war with the neighboring territories is looming ever closer."

Evelyn feigned a heartbroken gasp. "How terrible... why must our kingdom be dragged into such senseless conflict?"

Rudolf sighed deeply, leaning against her shoulder. "The Engrosia Kingdom suffered devastating losses against the Noravelle Kingdom, who possess advanced technological weaponry. They came to us under the guise of peace, but their greed is insatiable. Because our northern lands possess vast gold mines, they demand an absurd division of our resources." He stroked her hair gently, attempting to reassure her. "Do not distress yourself, my dear. We have another summit scheduled, and I am certain we can reach an accord." As he spoke, he noticed the lingering shadow of stress written across Evelyn’s face and frowned softly. "Is something troubling you as well, Evelyn?"

The Empress let out a soft, delicate laugh, shaking her head. "It is nothing of import, my love. I was simply preparing to arrange a private meeting with the new Duchess of Aethermor."

At the mention of that title, Rudolf’s posture stiffened slightly, a subtle twitch passing through his jaw. "Soren’s wife..." he muttered, his voice dropping into a quiet, wistful tone. "...and her daughter." A flash of deep, distant sorrow crossed the Emperor’s eyes before he quickly forced a bright, cheerful expression back onto his face. "Well, I certainly hope your gathering proves pleasant, my dear."

Evelyn looked up at her husband, her heart aching with a dark, possessive jealousy as she recognized the phantom ghost that forever haunted his mind whenever Sigrid’s bloodline was mentioned. She reached up, cupping his face gently and kissing his lips with intense devotion. "You belong to me, Rudolf. Entirely to me."

The Emperor laughed softly, kissing her back. "Yes, my queen. Always."

As Rudolf turned away to shed his heavy formal robes, Evelyn’s loving expression instantly vanished, replaced by a mask of cold, ruthless determination. I shall not allow our foolish son or that wretched girl to ruin this kingdom, nor shall I permit ’her’ daughter to shake my standing, she swore inwardly.

Calling her trusted chief lady-in-waiting to her side, Evelyn whispered imperiously, "Draft an official imperial missive immediately. Address it to Duchess Sigrid Aethermor. Inform her that Her Imperial Majesty grants her request for a private audience at the royal palace."

The lady-in-waiting bowed low. "Right away, Your Majesty." Evelyn turned her gaze back toward the window, her hands folding neatly over her dress as she prepared herself for the coming clash.