Stripped of Blood and Title

Hector did not look inclined to let the matter slide.

His clenched tone carried open anger.

“I indulged you, and now you climb without knowing your place.”

Until that moment, Severian had still been gripping Chloe’s arm tightly.

Hector’s gaze, now tinged with killing intent, pierced the boy like the tip of a blade.

Count Rampierre seized the opening and stepped forward.

“Your Highness, please come out.”

He bowed repeatedly toward the Emperor, yet treated the Crown Prince with crude force.

He grabbed the back of Severian’s collar as though dragging him away rather than escorting him.

Chloe hurriedly seized Severian’s arm.

She wrapped an arm around his shoulder as well, unwilling to let him be taken.

“Count, just a moment.”

“Your Highness, come here.”

“I wish to speak with His Highness a little longer.”

“His Majesty is displeased!”

The Count shot Chloe only a brief glance and continued scolding Severian.

As they struggled, the Count’s narrowed eyes flicked toward Chloe’s neck.

His gaze lingered on the faint bruises there, filled with contempt.

No matter how much imperial favor she received, she was, in his eyes, merely a woman who sold her body.

It became a ridiculous tug-of-war, pulling Severian from both sides.

Unable to endure it, the Count abruptly shoved her.

Chloe’s head snapped sideways.

She fell to the floor, and the tiara perched precariously atop her tangled hair clattered down.

The gemstones caught the light against the tip of Hector’s shoe.

He watched the three of them without expression.

As if it were none of his concern.

But anyone who knew the Emperor understood that such indifference was the calm before a storm.

Count Rampierre realized it too.

His face drained of color as he understood the weight of what he had done.

His hand was still twisted in the Crown Prince’s collar like a fist.

“It was accidental… merely a coincidence. The fabric caught in my hand. Your Highness? Is that not so? Please, say something.”

Hector’s face did not change.

He simply gestured lightly to one of the knights.

The knight stepped forward and slowly drew his sword.

The long blade slid from its sheath with a sharp gleam.

Its honed tip pointed toward the Count’s throat.

“Speak for yourself, learned Count. What punishment is fitting for one who strikes the Emperor’s woman?”

Strangely, Hector showed no concern that Severian had been manhandled.

His focus was solely on Chloe being pushed.

The sword he held carried genuine anger.

This was no mere warning.

He intended to cut.

It was excessive.

To show not even the slightest concern for his own son.

Even a stranger would not treat a child so coldly.

Chloe bit her lip and looked at Severian with pity.

Then she noticed that his sleeve had slipped up.

The welt marks were exposed.

No one present could have failed to see them.

Hector included.

Something shifted in Hector’s gaze.

Still calm, yet his brow lifted faintly in displeasure.

Count Rampierre began stammering excuses.

“Y-Your Majesty, I can explain—ah!”

The blade flashed.

The Count’s words were cut short along with his arm.

He collapsed, clutching the severed limb.

The quiet library became a vision of hell.

Blood pooled across the floor.

A scream tore through the air.

Chloe turned her head away, unable to watch.

Severian trembled as though he himself had been cut.

More horrifying than the blood was Hector’s expression.

He flicked the blood from his blade and smiled.

Not forced.

Genuinely pleased.

To feel such emotion after cutting down a man—

He was mad.

Truly mad.

The metallic scent made Chloe gag.

She swallowed hard, refusing to disgrace herself.

Hector’s cold gaze shifted toward Severian.

“The weak are meant to be devoured.”

To say that to a beaten child—

Then came the pronouncement.

“From this moment, Severian Montparnasse is stripped of the title of Crown Prince.”

Chloe thought she had misheard.

Stripped of rank for failing to overcome abuse?

It was absurd.

The Count’s punishment had not been out of outrage for Severian’s injuries.

It was annoyance at weakness.

If Hector had cared, he would have acted sooner.

Severian bowed low, trembling.

He made no protest.

Chloe hesitated.

Should she intervene?

To speak now required the heart of a lion.

“With respect, that is excessive. It was not a situation he could resolve alone. And he is Your Majesty’s only blood.”

Severian answered in a voice no louder than a mosquito’s hum.

“I accept the command.”

He bowed again.

“I am grateful that you acknowledged me as a son at all.”

“At least you know your place.”

Hector sneered faintly.

Chloe stared, stunned.

She looked between father and son.

After bowing repeatedly, Severian lifted his head.

His pale face looked like dying embers.

“His Majesty never once shared a bed with my mother. Lady Larouge is the only one here who did not know.”

He spoke without tears.

Without drama.

Simply stating the truth.

He was not of Montparnasse blood.

Whatever affair the first Empress had committed, Severian had endured the consequences alone.

Chloe glanced around.

The chamberlain.

The attendants.

The knights.

All bowed their heads in silence.

She alone seemed shaken.

Her thoughts tangled like her hair.

She had to decide how to move within this chaos.

Steadying herself, she rose to her feet.

She clasped her hands before the Emperor.

The defiance she had shown earlier was gone.

She only wished to resolve this without further disaster.

“Though it is presumptuous, I ask a favor. Since Your Majesty wished for me to grow closer to His Highness, might I share tea with him from time to time?”

“Are your ears blocked? Did you not hear what was said?”

His sharp tone cut into her.

Even speaking calmly required effort.

“The chief tutor’s position is vacant. His Highness will require guidance. If I may serve in that role temporarily…”

She clenched her hands, forcing the most earnest expression she could muster.

There was no advantage in befriending a prince without imperial blood.

Yet she could not stop herself from asking.

Perhaps it was the sight of the cane marks.

Or the burdened maturity of the boy.

Hector’s gaze was winter cold.

Yet it was different from how he looked at the Count or Severian.

With them, there had been indifference.

With her, there was heat.

Predatory heat.

His eyes curved faintly.

A smile without warmth.

“What will you offer in return?”

There was nowhere left to retreat.