The Prince in Question Is Not Stable-Chapter 36: Ash & Silk

Winifred’s castle was simple and aesthetic. It did not compare to the state of the art castles of Dukes and Princes.

Nonetheless, it still had that touch of royalty in the dead of the night.

His office was lit by numerous candles set along the wooden ornaments lining the walls. There was no chandelier or a mana stone to light the room. Winifred wasn’t fond of light.

Standing by Winifred’s desk was a man wearing a black coat, a black vest, and a black shirt.

The gold brooch on the pocket and vest of his coat was oddly similar in texture to his blonde hair.

Red eyes that gleamed in the dimly lit room, with his one hand resting on the wooden slab of the desk, and the other holding an open file as he read its contents.

He was Cymbal Celestie of Lunar. The Second Prince of the Lunar Kingdom.

"Marcus Rile," Cymbal spoke in a ruffed, calm tone.

Winifred sat opposite him, relaxed posture, hands playing with the hilt of the cane that supported him in his old age.

He looked tired, but not strained.

"The Academy Professor," Winifred replied. "Yes."

"You know," Cymbal said. "It’s remarkable how little ink it takes to justify a man’s existence,"

"It usually takes more to explain it," Winifred added.

Cymbal glanced at Winifred in amusement and then stared back at the file in his hand.

"No deaths, not a single cadet missing, and not even a name worth missing," he said.

"Impressive, isn’t it?" Winifred spoke. "The Academy exists to encounter danger before the realm does. Last night, it fulfilled its purpose."

"This man," Cymbal said. "He didn’t act like a professor."

"He acted to protect the cadets," Winifred replied.

"His presence on the expedition was unexpected, but his conduct was consistent with his record," He continued.

"No, it isn’t," Cymbal let a quiet breath out.

He closed the file and tapped it against the table.

"He reminds me of the youngest...he’s different from what others perceive him as,"

There was silence in the room for a while, broken by the silent crackles of candle whips.

"Men like that are rare," Winifred spoke.

"But rarity does not make them uncontrollable,"

"You know something about him?" Cymbal asked, sensing the sense of authority in Winifred’s tone.

"A few years ago, your youngest massacred a count family. Marcus is the survivor of that tragedy, and..."

"A few weeks ago," Winifred said, thinking for a while.

"Marcus Rile was invited by Mordrak Krell...now a Count, having a significant presence in the world of trade, meeting with a duke who has lots of assets waiting for conversion is an obvious signal." Winifred spoke.

"A man desperate for cash, just happens to meet one who’s desperate for revenge, quite a coincidence." He said.

"There’s no such thing as coincidence, Winifred. You know that better than me," Cymbal replied. "I don’t like variables. And he’s not a weak one either,"

"If the Sommelier had succeeded, Regory would have become an estate with several houses preying for blood and flesh."

"I invested my time in creating a perfect ...scenario to weaken the central power of Lunar, and now it’s all disrupted because a self-righteous professor chose to protect his cadets and put his life on the line?"

"This is not a tale of heroism; it’s a fucking jeopardy to my plans. Needless to say, I’ll make sure to burn the bastard alive if I have to, but I’d appreciate it if you can do something about him."

"What do you suggest, Prince?" Winifred asked.

"Regory is planning a banquet to honour the ’Heroes of Cerevisia.’ He’s the biggest investor in the academy, and he wants to show other kingdoms what Lunar is capable of. Marcus Rile will be a guest of honour there..."

"The best way to hide a blade is to keep it in a broken scabbard. Make sure his focus is more on his revenge rather than the rebellion," Cymbal suggested, smiling, as he looked outside the window, observing the dark land of Kingdom’s night.

"Invite the youngest as well. I want to see how Marcus reacts when he sees the blade that broke him..."

.-.-.-.-.-.

I stirred from the haze of my unconsciousness.

Slowly opening my eyes with a soft grunt, staring at the chandelier that hung above the bed I lay on.

Its warm lights lit the room, and a burning furnace kept the temperature warm.

My body screamed in the echoes of pain, which I couldn’t just ignore. I still remember my standoff with the sommelier.

I squinted my eyes as my senses returned to reality.

Warmth of a body. A soft, inconsistent weight pinning me down to the bed. Someone was lying on top of me.

I looked down, and she was sprawled full across my chest.

Limbs tangled, body clutching me in the intimacy she shouldn’t offer. Her soft white robe was slipping off her one shoulder, baring the elegant slope of her collarbone, fabric riding high on her thighs, and pale, smooth skin pressed against my abdomen.

She was the Saintess. Violet of Lunar.

But I’m not Ymir Celestie right now. She shouldn’t be lying on a professor, or any other random person, whom she healed?

I shifted slightly, and she sighed in her slumber. Opening her violet eyelids, revealing a bright purple hue in her iris.

Grumbling, she dug her nails into my bandages that covered the wound on my chest, and supported herself up.

"kh..." Fuck that still hurts. I thought it wouldn’t hurt once the saintess heals a wound.

She slid her hips up to my chest, sitting just close to my face. I could feel the heat of her bare hips resting on my chest. Strands of hair were falling all over my face as she stared into my eyes.

"Uh...it’s an honour to meet you, Saintess, but-"

She ignored me and shifted her weight to the bedside, picking up a small, circular, handmirror, and pointing it at me.

I looked into the mirror, and what I saw wasn’t Marcus Rile. It was a man with striking black hair, fair skin, and eyes red like vampires.

The disguise had worn off because I had drained all my aura to keep myself alive.

The man in the mirror was Ymir.

"..." "..."