Autumn's youngest sister, Winter Myles, dressed in mourning white, suddenly rushed forward from behind the hall. She threw herself halfway onto the Late King’s casket, wailing in grief.

  The ceremonial reading of the imperial edict came to an abrupt halt. A wave of shock rippled through the grand hall. Everyone exchanged uneasy glances, even Alaric, who froze in place.

  For a long moment, no one dared to move. Then, a palace maid stepped forward, intending to pull her away.

  But Winter Myles gasped for air between her sobs, forcing herself upright. Suddenly, she shoved away the hands holding her, pointed directly at Alaric, and in a hoarse, furious voice, cried:

  "You still dare to claim the throne? Ha! It was you! You—"you poisoned the king! You murdered the Late King!"

  One hand gripped the casket, while the other remained fixed on Alaric. She collapsed to her knees, shouting:

  "Duke Rowan! Honored members of the royal family! Can a murderer who slayed his own father, a traitor who betrayed his blood, truly be worthy of ruling this kingdom?"

  The entire hall fell deathly silent. No one even dared to breathe too loudly.

  Alaric wavered slightly on his feet, his face flushing red with rage. He took two steps forward, his hands clenched into fists.

  "You... you’ve lost your mind! What poison? I never did such a thing!"

  Winter Myles leaned against the casket, her body slumping to the ground, her voice ice-cold.

  "If that’s the case, would you dare allow the royal physicians to examine the Late King’s body?"

  Alaric stared at her, his gaze murderous. His voice dropped to a dark growl.

  "You really have gone mad… Who put you up to this?"

  He turned to the assembled nobles, his voice ringing with authority.

  "That night, after the royal banquet, all those seated at the front rows remained in the palace under guard. Each person was searched, recorded, and accounted for. Did anyone claim they were poisoned? No! The king’s body is sacred! If suspicions arise, then we shall first complete the mourning rites—then launch a formal investigation!"

  No one dared respond.

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  After all, everyone present that night had been documented—including myself and Elias.

  At last, Alaric swung his arm and commanded:

  "Drag her out!"

  But Winter Myles braced herself against the Late King’s casket and slowly stood up. Her voice rang out, sharp and unyielding:

  "I dare you to try!"

  Her piercing gaze swept across the gathered nobles. Then, tilting her chin up, she placed a hand on her stomach. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk curved her lips.

  "I am carrying the Late King’s child. Who among you dares lay a hand on me?"

  Her gaze locked onto Alaric’s, and she let out a low, chilling laugh.

  "I dare you to try."

  For a moment, Alaric stood motionless, staring in disbelief at her stomach. His chest heaved violently with suppressed fury.

  "Posthumous heir…"

  The words of the Blood Crimson Parrot had finally come true.

  Winter Myles turned to face the casket and raised her voice:

  "Lords and ministers of the court! Alaric’s crime is unforgivable—he cannot ascend the throne! In accordance with the Late King’s will, I propose that my child be crowned as the rightful heir, with Duke Rowan serving as regent. I shall act as guardian until the young emperor comes of age, after which I will relinquish all power!"

  Whispers of uncertainty swept through the court.

  "For nearly ten years, no one in the royal harem has conceived. How can we believe that this child is truly the king’s heir?"

  "Without concrete evidence, disturbing the king’s remains for an autopsy would be an unprecedented disgrace!"

  Some turned to Duke Rowan, seeking confirmation.

  He hesitated, then slowly turned his head toward me, his expression unreadable.

  I met his gaze and subtly signaled for patience—there was no need to act hastily.

  At that moment, Alaric’s patience finally snapped.

  "ENOUGH!" he bellowed.

  From both sides of the grand hall, two squads of Imperial Guards marched in, swiftly surrounding the assembly.

  The entrances were sealed.

  The sound of swords being drawn echoed in unison—sharp, deliberate, and chilling.

  For the first time, Winter Myles’ composure wavered. Her face turned pale as she instinctively backed away, clutching the casket for support.

  "You… you wouldn’t dare!" Her voice trembled. "You would kill me here? In front of everyone? I am carrying the Late King’s child!"

  Alaric’s lips curled into a cold smile.

  "What do you think?"

  The gathered nobles and officials were paralyzed with fear.

  One by one, they fell to their knees, trembling, heads lowered.

  Only a handful of us remained standing—myself, Duke Rowan, and a few others.

  Alaric raised his sword, preparing to strike.

  But at that precise moment—

  A guard stumbled into the hall, breathless, his voice shaking with urgency:

  "Your Highness! Darius, Duke of Braedon, has entered the palace!"

  Alaric’s arm halted mid-air. His eyes narrowed.

  "What?" His voice was dangerously low. "He’s inside the palace?"

  Even as he spoke, the unmistakable sound of marching boots thundered from outside.

  Closer.

  Louder.

  An army’s weight pressing upon the heart of the kingdom.

  A vast sea of soldiers flooded the capital, their presence drowning out all other noise.

  A slow, eerie smile spread across Winter Myles’ lips.

  "It’s Darius."

  She whispered first, then let out a triumphant laugh.

  "He’s already here. He’s inside the palace."

  She turned to Alaric, eyes blazing with triumph, voice dripping with mockery.

  "Your days are numbered, Alaric. Once Darius arrives, you are finished! My child is the only true heir to the throne!"

  I sighed inwardly.

  Darius was the man I had been waiting for.

  But I couldn’t understand why she was so delighted about it.