Chapter 462: The Little Accusations

The central dining hall of the imperial palace in Auzelian was vast, solemn, and suffocatingly grand. Tall arched windows looked out over the darkened lower city, while crystal chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceilings, bathing the long table in a harsh golden light. Silver platters piled high with roasted meats, steamed root vegetables, and crusty breads stretched down the center, flanked by crystal carafes of deep crimson wine. Yet, despite the lavish spread, the air in the room was as cold and stiff as a tomb.

Alderon sat at the head of the long table, dressed in a sharp, high-collared velvet tunic with polished silver buttons that looked entirely too stiff for his frail frame. His hair was combed back with rigid precision, but the dark, heavy hollows beneath his eyes betrayed a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. Across the table from each other sat the remaining guests, Yerel, effortlessly composed in a tailored dark blue coat, and the royal siblings from Solaric, Gillian and Iryna.

"I trust everything have been to your satisfaction, Princess Iryna?" Yerel broke the heavy silence, his voice carrying a warm, attentive tone as he raised his silver wine glass. "The evening air in Auzelian can be quite harsh this time of year, particularly for someone still recovering from such a tragic, delicate illness."

Iryna paused, her polished silver fork hovering inches above her plate before she laid it down with a faint, deliberate clink. Her face showed no trace of the weakness that had nearly claimed her life days ago, though her eyes grew cold at the mention of the poisoned wine. Talking about the poison incident definitely not a so great, but guess the topic will last a bit longer.

Talking about the poison incident was certainly not pleasant, but it seemed they weren’t done with the subject just yet.

"Everything are impeccably secure, Your Highness," Iryna replied. "Though I find the air in this palace rather heavy. It has a habit of making one feel choked if one isn’t careful about what they consume."

Sitting beside her, Gillian took a slow sip from his crystal glass, his eyes remaining fixed on Yerel over the rim. "My sister speaks the truth. When a princess of Solaric is targeted by poison inside an allied court’s walls, one can’t help but become more watchful."

Yerel didn’t flinch. He merely smiled, a mild, perfectly practiced expression of sympathetic concern, and took a small sip of his wine. "An utterly horrific ordeal," Yerel murmured softly. "The crown deeply regrets that a corrupt domestic maid managed to breach the inner estate before the watchmen caught her. Rest assured, His Majesty’s guards are leaving no stone unturned in ensuring the lower trade routes are thoroughly cleared of forbidden goods."

"Cleared?" Gillian let out a low, dry chuckle that held zero humor. "That’s an interesting choice of words, given that the maid was found dead in her cell before she could utter a single name, and not a single guard has been able to produce or identify this supposed merchant."

He set his crystal glass down with a soft clink, his eyes locking directly onto Yerel across the table. "For a city with such tight perimeter checks, it’s impressive how completely a key suspect can evaporate into thin air before your men even get a lead."

At the head of the table, Alderon let out a dry, raspy cough, his long, thin fingers tightening around his linen napkin until his knuckles turned white. He placed both hands flat on the mahogany wood, staring down at his untouched plate with an expression of sharp, administrative annoyance.

He paused, his pale, tired eyes lifting to scrutinize the two Solaric royals sitting side-by-side. "Speaking of the city... my outer watch reported seeing both of you returning through the side courtyard less than an hour ago. I was under the impression Princess Iryna was confined to her room for her recovery."

Iryna’s expression didn’t shift by a single hair. She simply tilted her head, resting her chin delicately against her knuckles as a faint, inscrutable smile touched her lips.

"A temporary arrangement, Your Majesty," Iryna replied, her tone deceptively light, like a thread of silk hiding a coiled wire. "My brother and I merely went out to collect a few scattered pieces."

Alderon frowned, his heavy brow furrowing. "Pieces? Of what?"

"Just satisfying a local curiosity, Your Majesty," Iryna murmured, her eyes glittering under the chandelier light. "Auzelian’s streets has a lot of old shops and forgotten corners. Gillian was kind enough to tag along so I wouldn’t get turned around in the backstreets."

Across the table, Yerel’s hand paused over his crystal glass, his dark eyes sharpening by a fraction of a degree.

Gillian took a slow breath, shifting his weight back against his chair. He cast a brief, warning glance at his sister before turning his cold, level gaze directly toward the King.

"My sister enjoys her local folklore, Your Majesty," Gillian chimed in shortly, his voice flat, heavy, and completely unreadable. "It was merely an evening walk to clear our heads before nightfall."

"A walk," Alderon grumbled, clearly unsatisfied with the cryptic answer but far too exhausted to press further. He waved a dismissive hand over his plate. "Well, see to it that you stay within the guarded perimeter. The Capital is no place for foreign royalty to wander aimlessly without protection."

"Of course," Iryna murmured softly, picking up her wine glass and taking a light, measured sip. "We are being exceptionally careful about what we search for."

Beneath the heavy tablecloth, Gillian’s fingers pressed firmly against his inner coat pocket, feeling the stiff, folded edge of the orphanage register resting against his ribs. He knew Iryna’s deliberate double-talk was playing a dangerous game, dangling just enough bait to test the waters without giving away anything.

Across the table, Yerel sat perfectly still. His gentle, charming smile remained unchanged, though his gaze lingered upon the royal siblings for a moment longer.

He didn’t speak another word. He simply watched the way Gillian’s hand rested near his chest and the way Iryna’s eyes held no fear, slowly piecing together the silent, lethal game unfolding right beneath his father’s nose.