Chapter 68: The Poisoned Tongue

Chapter 68: The Poisoned Tongue [Emperor Cassius’s Pov] The door to the meeting room groaned as I pushed it open. The scent of old parchment and cold stone met me—familiar, irritating. Grand Duke Regis was already seated inside, wearing that insufferable look he always did. That smug, calculating calm. Like his mind was always turning, sowing some useless seeds no one else could see yet. But that wasn’t what mattered now. I didn’t waste my breath. "Did you catch the bastard?" My voice cut through the air like a drawn blade as Theon followed me in. Regis stood, bowed slightly, and answered with infuriating calm, "Maybe, yes, your majesty." My brow furrowed as I took my seat. Theon remained standing at my side, as confused as me. "Maybe?" I echoed. Regis nodded and sank back into his chair. "The web has been traced, your majesty. We followed every whisper, every courier, every bribed priest, and every backdoor conversation." His voice was steady. Measured. "It all leads to one man." "Who?" I snapped. "Baron Mortellius Vaun, of the Western Vale." That name. My jaw clenched. "That slippery rat..." I remembered him well. A greasy little opportunist who clung to court like mildew on stone. I’d already stripped him of trade power four winters ago. Apparently, that wasn’t enough. "He’s clever," Regis went on, rising to retrieve a scroll from the end of the table. "Never spoke directly. Used lesser nobles, traveling bards, and even temple acolytes to stir the water. But we pulled the pattern from the chaos." He unrolled the scroll and read aloud: "The child born under the Blood Moon bears not only imperial blood but also the taint of the forest. Elven blood—cunning and cold. The Empire, forged by the gods of war and order, cannot bend to ancient, selfish magic. Should such a creature claim the throne, divine favor shall fracture. The line will break. And ruin shall follow." A silence, sharp and heavy, settled between us. "JUST KILL THAT FUCKING BASTARD." My voice roared through the chamber, fury burning in my eyes. Theon’s voice rang out beside me, hot with rage. "I agree, Your Majesty. He’s challenging her legitimacy before she can even say her full name. This isn’t a rumor—it’s an assault." Regis gave a nod. "Not only that, your majesty. He’s baiting the nobles—especially those who lost influence when you dissolved the Western Trade Guild. They were already uneasy about your succession decree. Some don’t want a single heir. Others want a more... ’fitting’ one." "Meaning one of their own damn spawn," I muttered. Regis nodded. He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. It was clear. They dared to question Lavinia. My daughter. My blood. As if the gods who watched my rise would balk at a little elf blood in the veins of a Devereux. As if they didn’t already kneel to me, all of them—gods, nobles, and rats alike. "He’s not aiming for her. Not yet," Regis said. "He’s softening the court. Stirring fear. A few lords are listening. The same cowards who groaned when you took over the throne." Cowards. Leeches. Of course they’d come slithering back when they smelled vulnerability. And elf blood? That was the tool. That was the blade they thought they could drive between Lavinia and the throne. "Has he named her directly?" I asked. "No. Only referenced. But... clearly. ’Born in the palace during the Blood Moon’ and ’elf blood’—there’s only one child that fits." My hands curled into fists behind my back. I thought of Lavinia. Red-eyed and golden-haired. Running toward me with sticky jam on her fingers and a smile too smug for someone so small. She didn’t even understand the world yet—and already they were trying to tear it out from under her feet. Now the monsters had faces. Titles. Lands. And they dared whisper that she wasn’t worthy of the crown she was born to inherit? I exhaled slowly, forcing the fire down. Rage wouldn’t serve me. Not yet. "And the Temple?" "Watching. Waiting. If enough nobles push for a purity inquiry, they might convene." "Not without my order," I growled. Regis nodded. "Not yet. But Mortellius is playing the long game. Feeding fear. Feeding nationalism. The idea that only pure human blood can carry divine rule." "Idiocy." My voice dropped, cold and sharp. "The divine didn’t crown me. I seized the throne. If they blessed me, it was out of fear—or not at all." "Some of the old blood don’t see it that way." "Then kill them all." My eyes burned with fury. Regis sighed, weary but unsurprised, and then I turned to the window, looking down at the capital below. From this height, the Empire looked peaceful. Obedient. That was the illusion they clung to. Let them believe it—until the moment I remind them why they feared me in the first place. "Send word to Mortellius. I want him in front of me within a day." "And if he doesn’t come, your majesty?" Theon asked. I let out a short laugh, bitter and cold. "Then I’ll drag him by the tongue he used to poison my daughter’s name." Regis bowed. "As you command." Silence followed—a thick, heavy sort, like the kind before a thunderstorm or an execution. I sighed and noticed he wasn’t moving out. He was still there. Sitting. Staring. Smirking. My eyes narrowed. "Do you have something else to speak about? Speak up fast; I don’t have the whole day for you." He tilted his head slightly, that damned knowing glint in his eyes. The kind that always meant trouble."Actually... yes. But it’s not business, Cassius." The use of my name made my stomach twist. Not Your Majesty. Not Emperor. Cassius. That meant he was about to step out of line. "It’s a personal matter," he continued smoothly, folding his hands like he wasn’t about to toss a dagger onto the table. I didn’t like that tone. I didn’t like that smile either. "Say it," I warned. "It’s about the princess." My spine straightened. Every breath I took became razor-thin. He kept going, like he couldn’t see the fire starting to rise behind my eyes—or maybe he could, and he was still going. "Osric is growing into a fine young man," Regis begins, his voice casual like we were discussing wine instead of my daughter. "He’s only eleven, but already handles a sword better than half the knights in my garrison. Strong bloodline. Sharp mind. In time, he’ll inherit my position as Grand Duke. And most importantly..." He paused, that smirk deepening. "...he’ll be fiercely loyal to the princess." My eye twitched. "Get to your point, Regis," I said, already feeling the pressure behind my temples build. He leaned forward just slightly, as if offering a gift."How about—in the coming years—we declare my son and your daughter... engaged—" Something snapped in me. The sound of steel rang through the chamber before he could finish. My sword was halfway drawn before I even realized I moved. "Say her name in the same breath as marriage again, Regis, and I will gut you on this floor."My voice dropped to a guttural snarl, low, deadly, shaking with rage. He didn’t move. Because the bastard knew I wouldn’t. And Theon? He was standing there casually, arms crossed, a faint, unbothered smile playing on his lips like this was all part of afternoon tea. "C’mon, Cassius," Regis said with a strained chuckle, trying to shake the air loose. "It’s a chance to turn our friendship into—" "You’re not my friend," I cut in coldly, not lowering the blade just yet."You’re a man I occasionally tolerate over wine because you’re Lord Gregor’s son." He winced. "Ouch. That actually hurt." "Good." Still, he had the audacity to keep going, flicking imaginary dust from his sleeve like I hadn’t nearly ended his bloodline two seconds ago. "So... as your loyal companion," he said with a sly grin, "why not turn our alliance into something deeper? Stronger. Say—family?" "I said no." "You didn’t really say no. You just drew a sword and threatened to kill me." "That’s how I say no." Regis sighed, long-suffering. Like I was the irrational one for not marrying off my four-year-old. "Think about it, Cassius. Lavinia would be safe. She would gain more influence in the noble court and a stronger claim to popular support. With Osric beside her, she’d have not just the imperial name—but the loyalty of the western lords and the old military families. Our bloodline has deep roots, you know that." He leaned forward slightly, speaking like a man pitching war strategy, not the hand of my daughter. "A marriage alliance between the Devereux line and the House of Everhart would solidify the throne for generations. My family would stand beside her through every political storm. No faction would dare move against her—not with both our banners flying above her head." I didn’t answer. Not right away. Because what he said wasn’t wrong. Strategically, it made sense. But logic doesn’t apply to my daughter. So I slowly turned my head toward him, my gaze cold enough to freeze over hell. "Do I look like a man who gives a damn about politics when it comes to Lavinia?" Regis leaned back in his chair, exhaling like he expected that. "I knew you’d say something like this." He gave me a look—equal parts amusement and exasperation. "I know politics doesn’t matter to you. You have a sword. You use it. We all get it." I narrowed my eyes. He didn’t stop. "But that doesn’t apply to your daughter’s life, Cassius." "What the hell does that mean?" The room fell silent again, but this time, it was the kind that came before a storm—one I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop.