SYMDF 26

Chapter 26

 

As befitted the Empire’s Crown Prince, Vernian bore a smile brimming with confidence as he strode toward Ion. Despite looking every bit the unruly libertine, clad now in polished uniform he carried himself passably dignified compared to their last meeting.

Ion’s own expression, however, twisted faintly.

Ion…

That grating familiarity again. Vernian seldom used his surname, always choosing his given name. It felt wrong in a way Ion could not shake, like mock intimacy.

So before the Prince could close the distance fully, Ion bent at the waist in deep formality.

“I greet Your Highness the Crown Prince. I thank you for granting me this luncheon.”

The deliberate formality made Vernian tilt his head.

“Why so stiff? Aren’t we friends?”

We’re not, Ion thought flatly, though aloud he only smiled politely. Vernian sighed theatrically, then came even closer.

Ion stiffened as the taller boy suddenly draped an arm over his shoulders, pulling him close like a long-lost companion. His body scent pressed in too close. Ion had to fight not to recoil.

Vernian, oblivious—or feigning—waved him toward the door he had entered by.

“Come on. I ordered them to prepare warm dishes for you, since you’ve been unwell. I hope it suits your appetite.”

“You honor me, Your Highness. But… are the other heirs not yet arrived?”

Ion dared not slap away the Prince’s hand—too many attendants stood by. He only turned his eyes aside as he asked.

Vernian chuckled softly, like a nobleman escorting a lady.

“Other heirs? What are you talking about? I only invited you.”

“…What?”

Ion’s face cracked.

The invitation letter had read clearly: “May the young heir grace this Prince’s luncheon.” The wording suggested formality, a group gathering.

But no. He had been tricked.

Vernian smirked at Ion’s frozen expression.

“Why so shocked? Is it such a problem for the Crown Prince to meet House Craiger’s heir alone?”

Etiquette said there was no issue at all. But Vernian Ferrendo Clodel was far too dangerous.

Ion longed to flee immediately. But Vernian held no intention of letting him. Instead, he guided the boy beyond the marble hall, into a sunlit garden.

Crunch. Crunch.

Their shoes pressed fine-trimmed grass. The fresh air was wasted, for Ion’s arm crawled with discomfort where Vernian’s hand brushed. Worse, he had left his knights and servants outside—as ordered. Here, surrounded by only palace attendants and imperial guards, he was utterly alone.

Fear tightened his lungs. He coughed. Vernian bent, eyes locking with feigned concern.

“Ion, are you all right?”

Ion seized the excuse to tug free, withdrawing with a handkerchief.

“I—I’m fine.”

“Shall I steady you?”

“No need. It’s not far.”

“If you insist.”

Ion coughed lightly as they walked, eyes darting quickly around, mind racing.

The only safeguard I left… was that note I smuggled through Sir Ernst. Will Camillus receive it? Will he come? Can he?

“…Sit here, Ion.”

His musings shattered. Lifting his head, he saw a table already waiting in the center of the garden. Vernian, seated, gestured to the other chair.

“Why so distracted?”

Ion forced a brittle smile and sat. The table was still bare.

“I apologize, Your Highness. The thought of dining alone with you overcame me with nervousness.”

The flimsy lie made Vernian’s expression twist into something strange—half a smile, yet eyes sharp and probing as they studied him. Ion resisted a shiver.

At last, courses arrived. Vernian lifted his spoon first.

“So. This is the first time we’ve shared a meal, just us, isn’t it?”

“…Yes, Your Highness.”

“Usually I dine alone. Or with elders, when His Majesty summons the nobles. Rarely our generation.”

“I see…”

Ion eyed him warily. Then why today? Why me?

He remembered vividly—when Vernian had once turned over his pendant necklace.

“This mana stone… made by Viscount Camillus, isn’t it?”

Could this meal’s purpose be the stone?

Ion’s chest tightened.

[Current probability of death: 34%]

The system window flickered forth on its own, mocking him.

Sometimes his odds dipped to the teens, but lately rarely below thirty. His condition wasn’t worsening in proportion. No—the danger factor must be external. Vernian.

The passive effect: [Hostility].

The more ill will in the air, the higher his death chance.

And Vernian surely harbored ill will.

If he chose treachery here, I could do nothing… Ion realized grimly. His weak body couldn’t resist a boy stronger in both position and health.

Meanwhile, beyond the palace walls—

At the Clodel viscount’s manor, soldiers loyal to the Emperor stormed inside. A knight reported the sigil sealing Camillus’s windows had vanished. At once, they rushed through corridor and stairs.

Reaching his chamber, the leading knight knocked curtly.

“Viscount, we’re coming in.”

It was not a request.

The door crashed open.

“…”

The room was vacant. The bed empty, save for the untouched breakfast tray—now cold.

The Viscount, Camillus Valderas Clodel, was gone.

The knight stamped the floor, expression iron.

“Search the grounds! At once!”
“Yes, commander!”

Armored feet thundered as they scattered, already too late.