When I returned to the palace, the atmosphere had already shifted.

  Whispers moved faster than blades in the imperial court.

  News of the assassination attempt spread through the corridors like wildfire, stirring tension among servants and officials alike.

  By the time I stepped through the inner gates, Captain Ronan of the Imperial Guard was already waiting. His normally stoic face betrayed a flicker of unease.

  “Your Highness,” he said stiffly, bowing. “We received word that you were attacked.”

  His eyes avoided mine.

  Interesting.

  “I was,” I replied calmly. “The assassins are dead.”

  A ripple went through the gathered guards.

  “Dead?” Ronan repeated carefully. “May I ask… how?”

  I looked at him in silence.

  The pause stretched just long enough to make several men uncomfortable.

  “That is not important,” I said finally.

  Ronan’s jaw tightened slightly, but he did not press further. He knew better.

  Unfortunately, Daphne was detained behind me to provide a full report. An attempt on a prince’s life was no trivial matter, and the palace bureaucracy would not allow it to pass without exhausting every detail.

  I left her in their hands and walked deeper into the inner palace.

  There was someone I needed to see.

  Marielle Valemont had not attended the Aurelian Imperial Academy that day. I had already heard she claimed illness.

  Convenient timing.

  I stopped before her chambers and knocked.

  “Sister.”

  A servant quickly opened the door and ushered me inside.

  Marielle sat upright on her bed, wrapped in a silk robe, surprise flashing across her features.

  “Edric? What are you doing here?”

  Her expression changed the moment she saw my face.

  It was not playful.

  It was serious.

  “We need to speak,” I said quietly. “Alone.”

  She dismissed her servant without hesitation.

  The door closed.

  “What happened?” she asked, tension creeping into her voice.

  “Someone tried to kill me.”

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  The color drained from her face instantly.

  She was on her feet before I could finish the sentence.

  “Are you hurt?!” she demanded, gripping my arms. “Edric, answer me!”

  “I’m fine,” I said, steadying her shoulders. “Look at me.”

  Her eyes scanned me frantically, searching for wounds that did not exist.

  “I’m unharmed,” I repeated.

  Only then did she pull me into a tight embrace.

  Her heart was racing.

  I let her hold me until her breathing slowed.

  Then I told her everything—leaving out only certain… details.

  When she heard that one of the attackers had been an eighth-layer warrior, her fingers tightened against my clothing.

  “That level…” she whispered. “Edric, do you understand what that means?”

  “I do.”

  “…How did they die?” she asked cautiously.

  I gave her a faint smile.

  “I killed them.”

  She blinked.

  Then she rolled her eyes.

  “Do not joke at a time like this. I know your strength.”

  I almost laughed.

  Part of me wanted to reveal everything—to see the shock on her face.

  But not yet.

  Instead, my expression hardened.

  “I know who ordered it.”

  Her eyes sharpened immediately.

  “Who?”

  “Cedric Ravelle.”

  The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

  A nearby wooden table cracked under the pressure of her rising mana.

  “Ravelle,” she spat. “They truly want us dead.”

  Her sixth-layer aura flared instinctively, heat distorting the air.

  “Let’s go to Father,” she said through clenched teeth. “Even if he favors them, he cannot ignore this.”

  “Calm down,” I said sharply.

  She froze.

  “We cannot tell him.”

  Her brows furrowed in disbelief. “What?”

  “The assassins belonged to the Ravelle Family’s secret force. We have no evidence tying them directly to Cedric. If I had died, or been gravely wounded, the Emperor would have no choice but to respond harshly.”

  I paused.

  “But since I stand here unharmed, they will simply claim ignorance. The Empress is a Ravelle. She will shield them. At most, Cedric will receive a private reprimand.”

  Marielle’s fists trembled.

  “And we will have exposed ourselves,” I continued. “They will know we are aware.”

  Silence filled the room.

  Finally, she laughed bitterly.

  “How amusing,” she murmured. “Someone attempts to murder a prince of the Eldoria Imperium… and we dare not accuse the culprit.”

  Her voice grew quieter.

  “Are we truly imperial blood? Or merely decorations?”

  “You already know the answer,” I said softly.

  Her composure cracked slightly then. She leaned into me, resting her forehead against my chest.

  For a moment, she was not a princess.

  Just a sister.

  I guided her to sit beside me on the bed.

  “We cannot continue like this,” I said. “We must strike back.”

  She lifted her head slightly.

  “Do you have a plan?”

  “Yes.”

  I met her gaze directly.

  “I want you to become Emperor.”

  Her breath caught.

  “Emperor?”

  “Yes.”

  “In the entire history of the Eldoria Imperium,” she said slowly, “there has never been a woman ruler.”

  “Then you will be the first.”

  The words hung in the air.

  She stared at me as though seeing me anew.

  “You are more intelligent than Lucan,” I continued evenly. “More decisive. More capable. The nobles respect strength and vision. You possess both.”

  Her cheeks flushed faintly—not from embarrassment, but from the intensity of the moment.

  “But Lucan is Crown Prince,” she argued weakly. “He has the majority of noble houses supporting him.”

  “For now.”

  I leaned slightly closer.

  “The Empress is wary of me. If I make a move, she will react immediately. But you… you are overlooked. Underestimated. That is your advantage.”

  I did not add the final reason.

  I did not want the throne.

  I had worn crowns in other lifetimes. They were heavy things, forged from duty and endless compromise.

  Marielle closed her eyes.

  For several seconds, she said nothing.

  I reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face.

  “You will not stand alone,” I said quietly. “No matter what happens, I will stand beside you.”

  Her eyes opened again.

  This time, hesitation was gone.

  In its place—

  Resolve.

  “If I succeed,” she said slowly, “the Ravelle Family falls.”

  “Yes.”

  “And Father?”

  I held her gaze steadily.

  “The throne belongs to the strongest.”

  A long silence passed.

  Then—

  She nodded.

  “I will do it.”

  A small smile formed on my lips.

  The first domino had been tipped.

  Before the atmosphere could grow heavier, I leaned forward and pressed a brief kiss against her forehead in reassurance.

  Her face turned red instantly.

  And the next second—

  I found myself unceremoniously pushed toward the door.

  “Out!” she snapped, flustered. “I need to think!”

  The door slammed shut behind me.

  I stared at it for a moment.

  Then I chuckled softly.

  Yes.

  This would be interesting.