Chapter 26: The Princess and the Prince with the Plague (Part 1)
The heavy, suffocating silence in the room was almost palpable.
Seated comfortably upon a high-backed, crimson-stitched velvet chair, Leornars let out a long, weary sigh that echoed softly against the cold stone walls of the candle-lit study. He shifted his cold, analytical gaze toward the dark-winged woman seated across from him, her crimson eyes lazily half-lidded as she casually flipped through thick pages of an intelligence dossier.
"Wait," Leornars suddenly interjected, his voice sharp yet deceptively casual. "I just realized something we completely forgot about... about two months ago."
Stacian, without bothering to look up from the report, tilted her head slightly. "And what might that be, my Lord?"
"The elven princess," he said, his crimson eyes narrowing into thin slits. "The one who gave us a ride through the eastern glades during our retreat."
That caught her full attention. She paused, setting the parchment down.
"I've been wondering where she vanished to," Leornars continued, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "If she's still breathing, she could have proven exceptionally useful... Her political influence alone could have been the exact catalyst I needed to spark total chaotic conflict between the Theocracy of Lurtra and the high elven kingdom of Seralyndra."
He tapped his pale fingers together rhythmically, his mind already weaving dark, intricate web-works of strategic possibilities.
"If she were to be killed... or even injured severely on Lurtra's soil, that would instantly stir the entire continent into an uproar. National outrage. Perhaps even a full-scale regional war," Leornars muttered, a cold smirk curling the corner of his lips. "And that exact war would directly benefit me—especially with the vast royal funds I've been quietly 'redirecting' within this human kingdom, alongside the growing underground influence I'm planting. She could be an invaluable political asset."
Stacian offered a faint, knowing smile. "I was thinking the exact same thing, actually. In fact, I've already made the necessary arrangements for us to meet Lurtra's First Princess—Princess Alisha Montgomery."
Leornars arched a single, amused dark eyebrow. "Efficient as always, Stacian. Did you manage to bring the specific dossier I requested?"
Without uttering another word, Stacian produced a neatly folded piece of dark parchment from beneath the folds of her cloak and passed it across the polished mahogany table.
Leornars opened it with a swift flick of his wrist and scanned the detailed royal lineage records. As his eyes traversed the ink, his lips curled into a wide, menacing grin.
Then, he began to laugh.
It started low and quiet in his chest... then grew louder, darker—a deeply maniacal, echoing laughter that filled the chamber.
"Perfect. Absolutely perfect... Just as I expected," he said through his lingering chuckles. "So... the 'crowned prince' is nothing more than a bastard child. The illegitimate son of a hidden mistress. The true, rightful heir to the throne is actually the princess."
He leaned back into the crimson velvet chair, a spark of pure strategic delight dancing in his six-colored heterochromatic eyes.
"I'll turn the prince directly against his own father," he whispered, his tone dropping an octave into pure poison. "And then... I'll handle the princess accordingly. Hm... I wonder which of the two I should ultimately crown as my puppet in the aftermath?"
"We could just... directly overtake the country," Stacian suggested lightly, resting her chin on her hand.
Leornars shook his head firmly. "Far too risky at this stage. For all we know, there could be ancient international treaties or defensive magic pacts hidden deep within the royal vaults. If the Kingdom of Durmount hears even a faint whisper of our direct takeover, their high-tier hero platoons will be stationed at our gates before dawn. I'd much rather build an absolute empire from the ashes of dust than steal a throne crawling with bureaucratic rules and external eyes."
As the flickering candlelight dimmed low, the two shared the large master bed—as was their usual routine—their backs turned to one another, their minds wide awake and calculating the chess moves of tomorrow.
The following morning, Leornars stood before a full-length, gold-framed mirror, meticulously adjusting the collar of his pristine black silk suit. Its fine, dark threads had been refined to match the strict standards of high nobility.
"Fix my hair," he said lazily, staring at his reflection.
Stacian, dressed in a sweeping, regal crimson gown that beautifully contrasted her dark wings, picked up a pair of polished shears. She stepped behind him and combed through his jet-black locks with expert precision. A few clean snips later, he looked refined, strikingly regal, and deeply dangerous—exactly the persona he intended to project.
"You clean up remarkably well, my Lord," she noted softly, tying her own snowy-white hair into a formal, intricate royal loop behind her head.
A short while later, their lavish black carriage pulled out of the grand castle gates, its iron-rimmed wheels clattering against the cobblestones.
"Huh?" Leornars blinked, looking out the carriage window. "Weren't we supposed to meet the princess inside the main castle grounds?"
"She resides elsewhere," Stacian answered, adjusting her sleeves. "She maintains a private estate located in the upper districts of the high streets. Odd for a royal heir, isn't it?"
Leornars leaned back against the leather cushions, his eyes narrowing. *Why would a direct royal deliberately isolate herself far away from the throne's physical shadow? What is she hiding?*
When the carriage finally came to a halt, the scale of the estate was undeniable. The manor was overwhelmingly grand. Hand-carved marble statues lined the expansive botanical gardens, and dozens of noble maids stood in perfect, synchronized lines, bowing deeply as the carriage door opened.
"Welcome to the Lurtra Sovereign Family Manor," the head attendant announced.
"Scripted perfection. Great," Leornars muttered dryly under his breath.
They were given a brief, formal tour through the opulent corridors until they were escorted into a lavish, sunlit audience chamber.
Seated upon a velvet sofa inside sat Princess Alisha—strikingly blonde, remarkably beautiful, and quite young. Standing stoically by the window beside her was the crowned prince, his posture rigid and tense.
Leornars tilted his head, observing the young royal with an analytical glare. "She seems..."
"Uncontrollable," Stacian whispered softly from his side, finishing his thought before he could even vocalize it.
"She'll have to die the moment the prince officially seizes power," Leornars said under his breath, his voice barely a murmur. "An uncontrollable variable like her will completely ruin the macro-plan."
"She must be swiftly eradicated before she can rally the factions," Stacian agreed calmly, her expression unreadable.
"Poison? A blade in the dark? Hm..." he pondered aloud, running through options.
"No... I'll let the prince execute her himself," Leornars decided coldly, a dark trace of malice lacing his tone. "It will cement his fall and bind him to my influence completely."
They stepped forward across the polished floorboards.
"It is a pleasure to meet you," Princess Alisha said, rising slightly and offering a flawless, practiced polite smile.
"The pleasure is ours," Stacian replied with equal, courteous grace.
"I heard you recently acquired another retainer," Alisha noted, her sharp eyes locking onto Leornars with intense scrutiny.
"I do," Leornars answered, meeting her sharp gaze directly without bowing his head—a deliberate, unmistakable royal insult. "He is currently... busy digging up something important for me."
The head butler, standing rigidly near the princess's chair, stepped forward instantly, his face flushed with sudden fury. "How dare a common mercenary speak to Her Royal Highness with such utter insolence!" he barked, lunging forward and grabbing Leornars firmly by his silk collar.
*A fatal mistake.*
Leornars' heterochromatic eyes flared with instant, terrifying bloodlust. "You have precisely one second. Move your hand... or die."
The butler, believing the young man was offering a pathetic bluff, merely smirked and tightened his grip.
*SHNK—!*
In a fraction of a millisecond, Leornars drew his masterwork dagger and drove the blade cleanly through the center of the butler's throat.
"I don't recall ever giving a dog permission to touch me," Leornars said coldly, stepping back casually as the butler gasped for air, clutching his neck before collapsing onto the marble floor in a pool of dark blood.
The prince and princess recoiled in sheer horror, their breath catching in their throats.
"I did explicitly give him one second to move," Leornars added nonchalantly, lifting his right hand as dense, pitch-black dark mist began flowing rapidly from his open palm.
The butler's fresh corpse twitched violently on the ground—and then slowly pulled itself up, its eyes completely hollow and glowing with dark magic.
"You'll no longer possess a name. No title. Just a mindless foot soldier in my shadow army," Leornars addressed the newly risen undead soldier flatly.
Clearing his throat casually as if he had merely wiped a smudge off his shoe, he turned his full attention back to the silent room.
"Now then... why exactly did you request to meet with me?" the princess managed to ask, her voice trembling slightly as she fought to maintain her royal composure.
"I'm not here for you," Leornars stated coldly.
Alisha narrowed her blue eyes, her shock instantly twisting into indignation. "Excuse me?"
"I don't care about you in the slightest," Leornars said flatly, his tone devoid of any emotion. "I came here exclusively to speak with the prince."
Her lips parted in genuine, speech-deprived shock. "You dare insult me in my own estate—?!"
"You are significantly less important to my goals than a single grain of sand in a vast desert," he cut her off ruthlessly, turning his back on her entirely and walking directly toward the prince, who stood near the wine table, completely stunned and white-faced.
*Perfect,* Leornars calculated silently as he approached the terrified heir. *Show me your unbridled rage, your deepest weaknesses. When consumed by anger, humans always reveal their rawest truths.*
Behind him, Princess Alisha stood trembling where she was, her intense fury boiling dangerously beneath her trembling mask of royal etiquette.
Outside on the grand balcony, Stacian entertained the princess's guards idly, watching the indoor exchange unfold through the tall glass windows.
From where she stood, she could see the prince had reached out in a panic, grabbing Leornars by his collar, his voice raised in an angry, desperate shouting match while his eyes burned with volatile emotion.
"Oh?" Princess Alisha asked from inside, stepping toward the balcony doors as she noticed the commotion. "What on earth is going on out there?"
Stacian turned around and smiled sweetly, her dark wings shifting behind her back. "Ah... nothing too serious, Your Highness."
*She is so absurdly irritating,* Stacian thought to herself with a quiet, inner laugh.
*But everything is unfolding precisely according to plan. The prince is reacting exactly as Lord Leornars predicted he would... Absolute perfection.*