8 Years Later

  Thiago stepped out of the torture chamber.

  Leaving a bloodied, lifeless corpse behind. He gritted his teeth in frustration.

  Whoever his opponent was, he was a smart man. No matter how close Thiago got to the source of the intrigue, he always hit walls.

  In this case, the treasonous bastard had once again protected himself so thoroughly that even capturing a spymaster hadn’t revealed the man’s identity.

  It had to be ‘the prince’.

  The dragon-damned fiend who kept appearing in the prophecies. Despite all of Thiago’s efforts to destroy him!

  Of course, there was the possibility that it was not the prince. The part of his mind that was still logical whispered that it might have been a normal, unhappy subject. Someone who knew him well.

  Someone who predicted his movements and got in his way time and time again.

  He slammed a fist into the wall, startling his guards.

  Ignoring the knights, he glared at the stones as he leaned against them.

  If you wanted to make me Emperor so badly, why keep silent? Tell me where to find my enemies, don’t just protect me from them!

  The gods behind his prophecy didn’t answer. Of course they didn’t. Wretches! If he could dislodge them from their thrones of godhood, he would.

  Maybe that’s what he’d do next. After he found the prince capable of destroying him.

  With a sigh, he straightened and stretched his neck.

  Soon. He could taste it. So many years of effort could not go wasted. Not with all his other victories piling up.

  Soon.

  And when he found the author of his woes, he’d make them pay more dearly than he had the prisoner he just killed.

  Maybe he’d even let them live. Disfigured to the point they could neither see, move, hear, or speak.

  A cruel smile curled up his lips, and he returned to the upper Palace.

  ***

  Em sat on the edge of her bed, tiredly leaning on her knees as she looked out the window. Open next to her were her journals and notes. But she hadn’t tried writing yet today.

  Starting the first year with Eileen, she got into the habit of getting up before sunrise. Because it was literally the only time she had to herself until she came of age. During that morning time, she thought and schemed.

  She enjoyed the alone time, but she was certain she should get the award for fumbles in the scheming department. Was it worth the exhaustion she put herself through?

  Especially now, with ‘the problem’ on her mind?

  Not wanting to think about it, she distracted herself from the real issue by examining another question that was bothering her.

  With her first cut of the azuremere money, she bought an expensive item. She justified the purchase by saying she was now on a battlefield and needed all the help she could get.

  A journal only she could open. She and maybe a skilled sorcerer.

  She glanced at it, on top of all the other notes. A tired smile tugged at her lips. Who would bother paying a sorcerer to read a child’s journal?

  Not that they could read it even if they bothered. She wrote it in English, just like her other journals.

  And inside was everything she could remember about The Lost Prince.

  But… her notes were a mess.

  Many of them she first wrote in her other notebooks, then transcribed the information into the locked journal. And when she wrote it down in either journal, it was a matter of randomly remembering parts of the plot rather than putting it all in order.

  However, the more time that passed, the more she didn’t trust her memory and went back to her notes.

  According to her notes, the Emperor should have died of poisoning something like four years ago. About the time Em was sixteen. She remembered because the original Emmaline had been in Felix’s clutches. And soon after the Emperor died, the disgusting brother had eagerly pushed her forward as a concubine candidate.

  Instead, the Emperor died last year.

  By hunting accident. Not poison.

  That’s what had her puzzled.

  The only difference to the timeline was Em herself. But for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out the connection between her actions and the change. Unless maybe the Emperor had been poisoned the predicted year… and a fully functioning alchemy item saved him.

  “I guess that’s possible,” she muttered to herself. Rubbing her forehead.

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  None of that mattered, but it brought her back to the real issue by reminding her of the few things going right in her life.

  The issue?

  She wasn’t getting anywhere with her goals!

  Her whole purpose for studying with Eileen, and coming back year after year (even after her debut 3 years ago), was to create stable income streams for the March.

  The March itself was doing much better. But it was more because the lycan had been trickling back in and rebuilding. And because of the lycans’ black market dealings, which Em only got a small fraction of.

  Making very little of the growth due to Em’s efforts.

  And despite the slowly growing prosperity of the March as a whole, Flint’s finances were still stretched thin.

  Nearly every zen was going to defense and paying people. Very little to improvements.

  In fact, every time they were about to make a profit and start prospering as a noble family, war would break out. Then Flint would be forced to take half his people to war and leave the other half to struggle against rebels, monsters, and everyday work.

  It was maddening!

  There was a light knock on the door.

  Startled, she closed the top journal and magically locked it by pressing her thumb to the mana stone.

  “Hello?”

  “Good morning, miss. May I come in?”

  Em relaxed. It was just Annie.

  About six years ago, Tracy married Ralph. It was a hard decision for the maid, Em found out later. Because it meant she had to let Em go to the capital by herself. But, Em was so busy with everything, she barely noticed the change.

  Although, it did briefly surprise her. Aunt Eileen was rich enough to afford a personal maid, but she was so stingy with Em that it seemed an odd luxury.

  Em watched as Annie began fussing with Em’s clothes.

  “I’ll be going out today, Annie, so pick something suitable.”

  “Where to, miss?”

  Em smiled tightly. Annie treated her with respect, like everyone else in the house. But there was… something that ran undercurrent. Not dislike or secret disrespect. But a tenseness that Em couldn’t put her finger on.

  Maybe it was because of Sir Chez and Todd?

  The servants didn’t like her personal guards. One was a commoner from the Allgris kingdom, and the other was a lycan. Both came from conquered nations and should have been lower in status, yet they carried themselves as equals.

  She felt the same tenseness from Todd, which is why she illogically connected the feeling to him.

  “Just to town. I got my allowance the other day and I want to visit my favorite cafe. And a few shops. So I need something discreet.”

  Annie finally pulled out a checkered brown and gray dress and paused in her movement. Frowning. The fine lines around her forehead deepened, showing her middle age more effectively than the rest of her face and figure.

  “You mean you wish to visit a bookstore.”

  Em smiled but didn’t answer.

  Annie sighed and laid the dress out on Em’s bed.

  “I’ll let the coachman and your guards know you’ll be going out.”

  At least that had changed. Before, Annie would have argued with her. “Bookstores are not for noble ladies!”

  Em was glad to see the woman had finally learned that she was talking to a brick wall.

  Two hours later, Todd plopped into a seat in a boutique’s waiting room. Slouching, he folded his arms and leaned back his head.

  The perfect posture to tell everyone in the room he was protesting.

  “Why do I have to?” he grumbled.

  Em bit back a smile as she looked around the boutique. It wasn’t a high end one, but still…

  Part of her was excited to use a regular boutique this year. Instead of whatever arrangement Aunt Eileen had made. Which was usually a seamstress using an old pattern or adjusting someone’s castoffs rather than a professional designer.

  In other words, cheap and out of fashion.

  “Because I need a man’s opinion.”

  “Can’t you ask your aunt? Why does it have to be a man’s opinion? Or why can’t Sir Chez tell you?”

  “Because, Aunt Eileen’s taste is about fifty years out of fashion. And men are more practical, so I won’t end up with more bows than skirt.” Em tossed a laughing look at Sir Chez.The man was unwilling to relax his vigil, so he stood at attention behind the sofa. “And Sir Chez is already working too hard.”

  Todd grunted.

  “You know what you like. Why do I have to be here?”

  Todd had developed a habit of whining. It made her feel like she was dragging around a little brother.

  But it was worth it.

  Both as entertainment and because he was actually very good with the sword. It made her feel safe.

  Sir Chez smacked him on the back of the head as soon as Em ducked into the dressing room.

  This year, Flint surprised her by sending her nearly three times what she expected for clothes. But that didn’t mean she intended to splurge too much. Or dress up like a peacock who could barely walk.

  Or breathe.

  She felt breathing was essential.

  Despite his complaints, Todd was the perfect candidate for getting a practical opinion. Whenever she came out with something that was too tight for free movement or had a bow in the way of her sword arm, he told her so.

  It stressed out the poor saleswoman and her helpers. But they eventually figured out what she wanted and resigned themselves to it.

  After a whispered conference, they started bringing out clothes that were not on display or in the catalog.

  This line of clothing was surprisingly perfect!

  They were all in boring colors, though.

  “Could I get this in brighter blues?”

  “Miss Emmaline.”

  Em looked over at Sir Chez.

  He was about a decade older than Flint. And probably would have been Flint’s second aide if he were willing. She suspected his firm standing on not taking any leadership position (unless it had a short deadline) was why Flint sent him to play bodyguard.

  The man was happier serving than leading. And he was a good bodyguard.

  As well as an excellent advisor.

  “Yes, Sir Chez?”

  “If I may.” He stepped over to a display of discarded dresses. “I know your tastes are similar to his lordship’s and you prefer free movement. But you are representing the house of Grimshaw and your brother’s interests.”

  Her heart sank.

  Todd could complain and grumble all he wanted, making him more like an immature little brother she didn’t have to listen to. Sir Chez was someone she respected. And if he disapproved, it would be hard for her to push back.

  “You want me to do more frills?” she asked weakly.

  He smiled at her pleading expression.

  “I’m suggesting you pick at least two dresses that are splendid rather than practical. One for the Imperial ball and one for Duke Waghorn’s ball.”

  “Why?”

  “The Imperial ball you will have to meet with the Emperor and Empress. You want to give them the best impression. Duke Waghorn’s ball because your brother has to deal with him directly…”

  He trailed off. Letting her infer his meaning.

  It was the same advise he’d given her for her debut three years ago. It was also why she wore dresses the entire season now. Instead of, say, following the Empress’s example and wearing pants half the time.

  Em let out a long sigh.

  The exhaustion she felt in the background suddenly came to the fore as she grudgingly went to change out of the current dress. Coming back out a few minutes later, she plopped onto the sofa next to Todd and start flipping through the catalog.

  To be honest, it was as though Sir Chez gave her some sort of permission.

  If Eileen had suggested it in that haughty ‘I know what’s best for you!’ tone, then Em would have felt a rebellious need to disagree. On principle.

  But Sir Chez’s suggestion was gentle, with no push behind it. Making it felt as though he would accept whatever she decided. Her need to defend herself vanished. Along with her insistence on only being practical.

  She flipped through the catalog, spoke to the saleswoman about price and colors, and finally chose two pretty dresses. As well as three others that were not necessarily practical but were still comfortable.

  Breathing was still a priority, but she secretly was looking forward to wearing something pretty, too.

  With a dozen dresses ordered, and Em’s funds severely depleted, they left the boutique.

  “What’s sad is I didn’t spend even half as much as another noble lady.”

  Todd patted her head, and she jerked back to glare at him.

  He was taller than her now. Tall and able to hide his lycan features, but still he acted like a child.

  “Poor Em. Didn’t get to buy a lot of useless trinkets.”

  She sent him a glare and shoved her shoulder into his side. Which did nothing to his stride and only made him smirk.

  “It actually is a problem.”