50. Assassination

The Military Police interrogation room in the royal capital.

Duke Welzley sat as a material witness undergoing questioning.

The accusation was straightforward: his interference with Reet’s exam.

The arrested Eastern Knight Order Commander had already confessed that the Duke had ordered the interference.

Yet not a single piece of evidence proving his involvement had surfaced.

The Military Police, for all their diligence, could hardly declare him guilty without proof.

King Richard despised judging anyone on mere suspicion—a man who valued justice above all else.

But the Military Police officers understood well enough. The man before them was guilty, no question about it.

Still, they investigated meticulously. Yet evidence remained elusive.

Of course it did. The Duke had been careful during his communications with the Eastern Knight Order Commander, ensuring that not a shred of evidence could trace back to his involvement.

“So you’re claiming outright that you had nothing to do with this?” the interrogator asked.

“Obviously. What would I gain from interfering with some mere knight’s exam?”

“But Reet Welzley is your son, and he was expelled from the family. You harbored ill will toward him. Wouldn’t you have obstructed his advancement?”

“Nonsense. Why would I concern myself with someone like him?”

The interrogations continued for several days but ultimately yielded nothing.

The Military Police had no choice but to conclude their case with a ruling of insufficient evidence.

The Duke was released.

He heaved a sigh of relief, grateful that the worst outcome had been averted.

But the gravity of the situation had not diminished.

The Duke had lost his influence over the Eastern Knight Order Commander. That was tantamount to losing his power base.

… Damn it. Is this where my life ends?

The Duke trembled with rage, seething with impotent fury.

Yet then—

Standing before the released Duke, someone beckoned him forward.

“What is this?” the Duke asked.

The one approaching him was one of the Second Princess Camilla’s knights.

“Her Highness, Princess Camilla, wishes to see you.”

The Duke was taken aback.

He had met Princess Camilla only once, long ago when they were children.

They had no particular friendship or acquaintance to speak of.

There was something sinister in the air. A whiff of conspiracy.

The Duke followed the knight as he was led onward.

Soon he was shown into a private chamber.

“Welcome, Duke Welzley,” a voice greeted him.

“Your Highness. You’ve grown so much. How long has it been?” the Duke replied, his tone courteous.

“Spare me the pleasantries, Duke. You’re hardly in a position to afford such niceties, are you?” she said coldly.

The Duke realized then that he had been summoned not for idle conversation.

“So… what business brings me here today?”

“A matter of negotiation. I have a proposition for you.”

“A negotiation, Your Highness?”

“Indeed. A reversal of fortune—a golden opportunity for you, Duke.”

“… What exactly do you mean?” the Duke ventured, a slight pause hanging between his words.

Camilla leaned close and whispered her answer.

“I want you to kill Iris for me.”

The Duke’s breath caught sharply.

The words of the Second Princess.

A request to murder her own sister, the First Princess.

That Iris and Camilla were half-sisters, Duke Welzley certainly knew. It was common knowledge throughout the court.

And that Camilla, the only daughter of the legitimate queen, harbored ambitions for the throne—that too was an open secret.

Yet never would he have imagined that someone barely into their late teens would utter such a direct, explicit command: kill.

“… Your Highness, surely you jest…” the Duke stammered.

Camilla laughed.

“I would hardly jest about such a matter. I am deadly serious.”

Looking into her eyes, the Duke saw the truth. Camilla meant every word.

How terrifying. Power corrupts utterly. She has already steeled herself for anything in its pursuit.

“Duke, this is no losing proposition for you. It is, in fact, an opportunity beyond your wildest dreams,” Camilla continued.

“… How so?” he asked.

“If you kill Iris for me, I will give you everything. For example—let your son Kait marry me.”

The Duke found himself speechless.

It was an offer beyond measure.

If Kait married Princess Camilla, they would become co-rulers.

As a relation through the queen, the Duke would seize control of the entire court.

He had climbed higher than most—to the rank of Duke, the highest station for a commoner-born subject. But what he desired now was power within the royal family itself.

And it was being handed to him on a silver platter.

A once-in-a-lifetime chance, indeed.

“Next month, Iris will travel to Crand and the border territories. A rare opportunity for her to leave the capital. The perfect moment. You still command hidden forces, do you not? They could be mobilized now.”

The Duke was right. True, he had lost his influence over the knight order. But if he marshaled all the resources he had accumulated over the years, it lay within the realm of possibility.

And more importantly—the Duke himself was still a warrior.

Though he had retired, the strength that had made him a national hero in his prime had not simply withered away.

Yet the Duke knew the risks.

If a plot against the royal family were discovered, execution would be certain.

He would, of course, take every precaution to leave no direct evidence, but nothing was guaranteed.

Assassinating a princess was an entirely different matter from the petty interference he had orchestrated before.

But…

If he proceeded down his current path, a dreary retirement awaited him.

Why not make one final, grand gamble? What did he have left to lose?

“I see. Your proposal is clear to me. I accept your terms, Your Highness.”

“Excellent, Duke. I have high expectations,” Camilla said, her smile spreading wide and sinister.

It was the grin of someone utterly without mercy.