Chapter 38: Whispers of War

Chapter 38: Whispers of War [Emperor Cassius Pov] The wine tastes bitter tonight. Strange. It’s the same bottle I’ve had aged for fifteen years. Same grapes, same vineyard. And yet it grates on my tongue like ash. Sigh... I set the goblet aside. Damn it. My mind won’t calm down. No matter how I close my eyes or count the breaths, my thoughts claw their way to the surface like starving wolves. Maybe I should train. Maybe I should carve through the air with a sword until the rage burns out of me. Maybe I should kill something. Something that bleeds. "Uughhh..." I glance to my side. She shifts in her sleep—my daughter—curled like a kitten in the mountain of pillows. Her small hand stretches toward me, blindly, instinctively. And then she finds it—my fingers—and clings. Tight. I paused and smiled. It looks like she knows—even in dreams—that I’m the only shield she has in this damned world. "She’s sleeping peacefully," I murmur, more to myself than anyone else. Then she moved again and laid her cheek against my hand, breath soft, warm, even. As if there weren’t a trace of blood on my hands. As if I weren’t one step away from declaring war. I smile again. A rare thing these past years. She’s so small. So fragile. And yet... she grounds me more than any throne or crown ever could. Then, I lean back against the pillow, but my thoughts don’t rest. They drag me back—to the Everhart estate. Built like a fortress. Generations old. A symbol of unshakable loyalty and might. And it was attacked. Just like that...simply. As if it were nothing. I wonder, If Lavinia hadn’t seen that damned horse in the distance... if she hadn’t tugged my sleeve with those bright eyes and pointed it out— Would I have been too late? Would I have lost the entire Everhart household? No. No, this wasn’t some foolish insider plot. This wasn’t bandits looking to fatten their pockets. Someone planned this. This was deliberate. Precise. A message—sent straight to me. A declaration of war. Another kingdom, perhaps? One of those pathetic little courts thinking they’ve gone unnoticed. A gamble. A test. To see how far they could go. But whoever they are, they’re going to regret it. "Mm..." She shifts again, brows twitching, clutching my hand even tighter. A little drool escapes her lips, and a golden strand of hair clings there, stubbornly stuck. I wonder what she’s dreaming about. Maybe cakes and cookies. I brush a golden strand from her face, careful not to wake her. She’s too beautiful for this world. Too soft. Too precious. But what happened at Everhart... it can happen here too. I look at her again, and my fury deepens. She’s the only thing that keeps me moving forward. She may not understand the cruelty of this world yet, but I’d set the world on fire just to keep her safe. Just to keep this little warmth beside me. Then— Knock. Knock. A sharp knock splits the quiet. Lavinia stirs at the sound. She frowns in her sleep, then shifts closer—laying her cheek fully atop my hand. Her breath warms my skin. I smiled. It looks like my daughter can sleep peacefully... even through the storm. "Enter," I say, my voice low and cold. The door opens. Theon steps in, eyes immediately drawn to Lavinia. "She’s sleeping peacefully," he says quietly with a warm smile. I narrowed my eyes. "Stop staring at my daughter and speak." Theon sighs. "Seriously, I still can’t believe the princess is really your daughter, Your Majesty." Something snaps inside me. "It looks like you have a death wish." He sighs again, rubbing the back of his neck. "Alright, alright... We’ve received the investigation report... so far, at least." "It was reported faster than I expected," I murmured. "Well, no one wants to be hanged at the kingdom gates," he muttered. I smirked. "Fear is an excellent motivator." "But, Your Majesty... I think you should be gentler in front of the princess," Theon sighed and said. "I am gentle." "More gentle," he insisted, exasperated. "You can’t talk about blood and death so casually in front of her." I scoffed. "My daughter is not scared." "Ugh... Who am I even arguing with?" "Shut up and hand me the report," I said, extending my hand. He steps forward and hands me the report. I just unfold the report with one hand—my other still trapped under Lavinia’s warm cheek. Now, let’s see who dares to provoke me. I skim the first lines, eyes narrowing. A foreign drug used on Regis and the knights. Newly joined maids and guards—missing. Some wounded. Some dead. Tch. That alone tells me this wasn’t the work of an insider, as I first suspected. But even outsiders can’t breach the kingdom’s walls without slipping through the cracks. And those cracks don’t form on their own. Someone must have helped them. Someone with access. Someone with knowledge. Someone who knew exactly when to strike and where to disappear. My eyes flick back to the report, scanning for overlooked details—names, patterns, unfamiliar faces. "Timing was precise," Theon murmurs, cautious not to wake Lavinia. "They struck right after the knights and the Grand Duke consumed the drug. Almost like they knew the estate would be at its weakest." My jaw tightens. This wasn’t a coincidence. It was collaboration. Inside and out. Which means someone under my roof—under my rule—chose to betray the empire. "They were well-informed," I mutter. "Too well. They even knew the escape routes. The guard rotations. Timing down to the minute." Theon nods grimly. "And importantly... it was executed the day ex-Lord Gregor left to inspect the western province." I flick to the next page. The handwriting changes—different scout, different region. Hm. My eyes pause on a name. Tavroth. A small village near the border. Trade route hub. Usually quiet, but recently active. Too active. I tap the parchment with my finger. "This." Theon leans over. "Tavroth?" "There were sightings," I say slowly. "Unknown shipments crossing into our borders. Caravans guarded by mercenaries. Merchants claiming they were ’invited’ by nobles I’ve never sanctioned." Theon’s brows draw together. "That sounds like—" "Don’t say it." My voice cuts through the air, sharp as a blade. I don’t want rumors. Not yet. Not until I know who has a death wish. But my instincts twist in my gut. Tavroth lies dangerously close to Myre—the Eastern Kingdom. A nation of cowards dressed in silk and courtesy. They’d never bloody their own hands. No, they hire others. Whisper from the shadows. Smile as they plant daggers in your back. Let someone else spill the blood. Let someone else take the fall. And all the while, they sit behind their polished tables, sipping wine and pretending their hands are clean. Lavinia stirs beside me, her fingers tightening around mine. Still asleep. Still trusting. I smooth her hair back from her brow, the fire in my chest raging louder, hotter, beneath the stillness of my face. "I want surveillance on Tavroth increased," I say, voice low and final. "No one passes that border without a name, a purpose, and a full report. Triple the patrols. Search every wagon. Question every merchant. I don’t care if it’s a child selling apples—ask who planted the tree." "Yes, Your Majesty," Theon says without hesitation. "And send a letter to the Eastern envoy," I continue. "Something warm. Cordial. Ask how their spring harvest fares. Compliment their last diplomatic gift." Theon raises a brow. "Nothing about the attack?" "Not a word." "Understood," Theon nodded. "Oh," I add, eyes cold, "include a bottle of our northern wine." Theon exhales, catching the meaning. "That one tastes like blood..." "Exactly." My smile doesn’t reach my eyes. "Let it stain their tongues with unease." I glance down again at the small weight resting against my hand—warm, fragile, mine. I know it will make them nervous, and they should be. Ever since Lavinia came into my life, I haven’t seized a single kingdom. Haven’t drawn new borders in blood. It looks like they’ve mistaken restraint for weakness. They think I’ve gone soft, and I think...it’s time to remind them who I am. "And..." I pause, letting the silence coil for just a moment, "...summon Ravick back." Theon straightens. "From the southern front? But what about those rebels, Your Majesty?" "Tell him to end that war in two days." My voice hardens like steel drawn from the sheath. "What!" His brows twitch. "Two days? That’s impossible, Your Majesty." "Just do what I say. Ravick has grown too soft," I mutter. "Playing with rebels. Tell him to finish it. Burn it down if he must. I want his sword ready—clean and sharp. Looks like he’ll be preparing for another war." Theon hesitates. "...So, you won’t even give him a break?" I turn my head slowly, eyes narrowing. "Did I ask for your opinion?" He sighs and glances at Lavinia, still curled beside me, her breath soft against my wrist. "...Understood," he says, quieter now. "I’ll have the messenger ride by dawn." "Make sure the message is clear," I add, my voice low. "This isn’t a request. It’s an order. He ends the war in two days—or I find someone who will." Theon bows, posture stiff. "Understood, Your Majesty."