Ascension Of The Villain

Prince Easton's voice broke the fragile stillness of the imperial court like a sword through silk.

"It is the truth, Your Imperial Majesty." His words rang clear, sharp enough to draw invisible blood. "Princess Althea had prior knowledge of the location of our hostage, Princess Maria. In fact…" He took a step forward, chin lifted, "she is the mage who helped Princess Maria escape in the first place."

A wave rippled through the hall. Gasps. Sharp inhalations. And then—whispers. Hushed, frantic, crawling from noble to noble like fire beneath dry leaves.

"Did he just—"

"Princess Althea? No, that can't be right…"

"She was often seen being friendly to that foreign princess, right?"

"Or maybe Prince Easton has gone mad."

"Or desperate."

"You can't deny that she does know magic."

"She has always been aiming for the crown, after all."

From her place before the court, Althea stood silently. Her lavender gown fluttered slightly in the faint breeze that crept through the towering windows, but her expression was carved from something far more unyielding than fabric.

Not a flicker of fear touched her eyes. She did not blink, did not flinch. She didn't need to defend herself—her very stillness dared the court to doubt her.

And from his throne—one that had felt emptier in the last month—Emperor Edgar watched. The man who had once ruled the court with a voice of iron now looked like a shadow draped in velvet robes.

He hadn't attended the imperial court since the explosion weeks ago, and time had not been kind in his absence.

Most nobles assumed it was because of his escalating sickness. But only Vyan and his associates knew the truth. It was because of losing the advantages of Aster's magical powers.

His skin, once bronzed and proud with age, now seemed stretched thin across the sharp bones of his face. Pale, almost gray beneath the faint rouge his attendants must've applied that morning. His lips were chapped. His eyes sunken. There was a tremor in his fingers he tried to hide beneath the weight of his rings. He sat upright—but only barely. His breath, shallow. His presence, diminished.

And yet, even so, when he spoke, the court still listened.

"Your evidence, Prince Easton?" he asked, his voice quiet—dangerously quiet. The kind of tone that could either calm the storm or command it.

Easton's jaw clenched. "I have none."

A second wave of murmurs—this time louder, bolder, some even laced with snickers.

"But that passage—" Easton cut through the whispers like a man clinging to control. "The passage in the western wall of the palace. The one hidden in the oldest schematics. Barely anyone even knows it exists. Without it, sneaking a hostage out of imperial custody would have been impossible. Especially when teleportations are prohibited within the palace grounds. It had to be someone from inside. Someone with knowledge... It had to be her."

Vyan crossed his arms loosely, a single brow lifting. He is not wrong, he thought. But there's no doubt he is shooting blind.

"And during the monster hunt," Easton went on, emboldened by his own persistence, "no one can testify that she was with us. No one."

Althea finally raised her voice. It wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. "I was with Commander Estelle for most of that day. She can confirm it." Her chin tilted slightly, her eyes meeting Easton's with quiet disdain. "And all other so-called evidence… is circumstantial. Built on sand, to be precise."

"Then let Princess Maria speak for herself," a noble called out, his golden sleeves marking him as a loyalist to Easton. "Bring her in. Let her tell us what happened!"

Another rose to echo him. "If she refuses, then perhaps she must be forced to speak the truth. We have been patient long enough."

Vyan's voice struck then, low but firm, carrying the weight of calm danger. He couldn't stay quiet any longer, not when he had promised Maria her safety.

"That would be unwise."

All eyes turned.

"Regardless of our feuds, Princess Maria is still of imperial blood. Mistreating a foreign royal—one whose family commands fleets and armies just as strong as ours—would be tantamount to declaring war. Unless, of course," his gaze swept toward the noble who spoke, "you are offering your house to be the first to burn?"

The noble flushed, mouth snapping shut.

The emperor's head tilted, a ghost of a smirk flickering beneath his beard. "The Grand Duke makes a valid point." He turned his gaze back to Easton. "And, Prince Easton? Do you have anything else to offer? Proof? Witnesses?"

Easton's voice didn't falter. It was like he had no fear and was confident that he was right. He almost appeared crazed.

"No one else could have orchestrated this, Your Imperial Majesty. That passage, that knowledge, the timing, the magical prowess wieded by her—everything lines up. I ask that you consider all of it."

But before Edgar could reply, Althea stepped forward. Graceful. Calm. Deadly.

"Your Imperial Majesty," she said, her voice holding no tremor. "It may be rude of me to say this outright, but I can't help but feel that Prince Easton is merely attempting to cover for his own negligence—and hoping that I will serve as the perfect scapegoat."

The court stilled.

Then, like a shifting tide, nobles loyal to her name began to murmur their agreement.

"She is right. It was Prince Easton's responsibility to guard the hostage."

"He is deflecting. He has no proof."

"This reeks of panic, not reason."

Easton's knuckles whitened where his fists curled at his sides. His mouth opened, but no words came. Vyan's eyes observed him like a hawk. It was so unlike Easton to let his emotions appear on his face. As far as he recalled, Easton was always honorable and calm. Had the loss of the crown shaken his foundation that much?

From the Vyan's right, a voice broke the pause.

Eryndor.

He had not spoken in months. He hadn't even attended court, feigning sickness and sending aides in his place, all in order to avoid coming face to face with his grandson who had newly ascended his position. And yet here he was now, returned like a shadow cast long and low over the room.

"...All that," he said, eyes narrowing as he looked at Easton, "for nothing."

A few chuckles followed. Others shifted uncomfortably. They had nothing to say in retaliation after such a senior member of the court spoke.

The Duke of Preaton used to be a neutral party in this cutthroat political strife, but now that his dear daughter and grandson had asked him personally, there was no doubt on which side he had to place his bets.

This obvious support made a few of Easton's supporters recoil. They could see it as clear as day that the most powerful houses of the empire were in support of Princess Althea. They perhaps had to start counting their losses already.

More conversations went on. The court proceeded with rulings on other criminal cases brought forward, brushing Easton's accusations under the rug as a waste of time merely.

But Vyan's gaze remained fixed on Easton—not with amusement, but understanding.

No. This was not for nothing.

A seed had been planted. Small. Insignificant, perhaps. But it would grow. And in politics, seeds were never harmless. They bred doubts. Divides. Sides.

And if Easton had chosen to point a finger at Althea this boldly…

Then maybe, just maybe, there was some truth buried beneath his flailing desperation. That's what the others would. Even the emperor.

But would such a small move result in anything significant, that too this late in the game?