He had lost.
His flawless, meticulously planned assassination attempt—a plot that had taken six months of bribery, blackmail, and careful maneuvering to place the exact right poison in the Head Royal Physician's hands—had been shattered in a single second by a freak accident. The Emperor was still alive. The Vanguard had not been framed for treason. The Marcuset family was not being dragged out of the Great Hall in iron chains to be executed.
Instead, the Vanguard Madam was currently sitting mere feet away, sipping imperial wine and basking in the absolute glory of the Emperor's praise.
'How did this happen?' the Prime Minister screamed internally, his mind frantically analyzing every single variable. 'Was it truly just a draft of wind? Did the Emperor know? Did that military bitch know?'
