Five pages! My shortest chapter yet! And so far, the fastest one to write, too…if only my other chapters came out as easily as this one, hahaha.
Thank you all for the kind reviews on the previous chapter! Since I prefer to keep my inbox uncluttered, and because shoutouts seem nice, I'd rather answer them here, in the author's notes, from now on:
FallenRaindrops~they sure are! Chrom and Robin won't know what hit 'em!
Minnowkit~THIS IS SUPER HIGH PRAISE?! ily…
Tomovnikov~Gaius certainly feels suited to Shakespearian narratives, especially in the fool's role. And he does love putting pressure on people in various ways…ways that may or may not be particularly kind at times. Not to say he's a bad guy, but that we've been seeing his nicer side so far.
TheFreelancerSeal~I always look forward to your reviews! High time for me to kick myself in the butt and review your own works, too. But I would never abandon a work, even if if takes me years to finish, so don't worry. As for this fic: they're purely background characters, but they're not from Shakespeare's works. They're just here to serve as a backdrop to Olivia and the goings-on in the castle. But as wealthy and educated as they are, a lot of them are just really mean and pompous ladies. But now that Olivia's interested in the relationship between Chrom and Daraen…it means a pretty big wrench is going to be thrown into some pretty delicate plans! Sorry Robin!
AmeYuuki~don't think I didn't forget about the letters, I'm just choosing not to reveal what happened to them yet, hehehe
Jinx333~Touchy Chrom is just so much fun to write. Poor Robin is really deluding herself if she thinks she doesn't like it too ;)
And now we draw back the curtains to continue this tale…
He sat and stared incomprehensibly at the scene laid out before him.
There was absolutely nothing princely about the boy: his face was too young, too soft, and his womanly features did not inspire confidence the way Chrom's defined jawline and steely gaze did. His borrowed clothes merely emphasised how small and scrawny he was in comparison to Chrom's well-tailored garb and strapping physique. Everything about him was what a prince should not look like.
And yet, he was able to command the attention of the room; he was far more well-spoken than Chrom, and had a talent with languages evidenced by when he was overheard conversing in fluent Chon'sinese to an attendant of the Valmese delegation; his skills on the battlefield were hard to match; and his shrewd, strategic thinking netted him two important wins at the summit so far.
All was noted with dismay. Acknowledging the boy's talents was nothing short of tortuous, and the mere sight of him was enough to send his blood into a hard boil. Talented or not, that—that thing was a murderous, bloodthirsty savage, and no amount of education could ever change that.
Chrom and Lissa seemed not to care at all, and instead afforded the little bloodmouth a place of honour at the table. A place normally given to me, he thought. The food he was chewing on acquired a bitter taste as he watched the royal pair laugh over some nonsense the boy prattled on about, and then turned into a fibrous, flavourless lump in his mouth as that imbecilic lout Eschmann and Urquhart joined the conversation.
How had it come to this? How had that beastly creature managed to turn not one, but two meetings in his favour? Not only had every attempt to stop him from putting forth a proposal failed, but the filthy thing had somehow acquired an Ylissean ally—one of Chrom's former Shepherds, even—to execute a plan of moving grain to Ylisse. A tantalising total of 6,000 bushels of wheat were promised at least by the end of the year, with some 446 destined for western Themis in a month. As the most stricken, most ravaged of Ylisse's territories, those bushels would be enough to feed more than a few of the villages that made up the bulk of its territory. And with even more grain promised in the coming two years, not to mention any other products they were sure to demand of Plegia, many lives would be saved from starvation.
He should have been happy to hear that. But, due to the Plegian having been promised a reestablishment of commercial ties with his country in exchange, all he felt instead was a deep despair.
Worst still was the friendship the two had seemingly struck. It was completely incomprehensible—the heir to Naga's blood and the Falchion's bearer consorting with their sworn enemy. Chrom had greeted the Plegian with open arms, had given him a place in his castle, a seat at his table, and even the clothes off his back. What if that winning streak continued? It would mean that Chrom would practically be handing the Halidom away on a silver platter!
He needed Chrom and Lissa—he needed everyone—to open their eyes and see the truth: that their guest was not only an insult to Naga Herself, but a danger to them all.
After supper, he set off for his nightly walk. The weather maintained its mild disposition, so the gardens, while still cool, were not cold, and the chirping of insects hiding in the bushes filled the air. He greeted the others also out for a round. Yet, no matter how many times he circled the mausoleum, the ache in his breast only intensified.
Feeling very sorry for himself, he searched for a place where he could nurse his sorrows alone. The gardens were far too public a place for a person of his stature to be found moping. But where could he find privacy?
Ah, yes. There was a little grotto built under one of the staircase landings, an often overlooked space shaded by a small grove of trees and facing a small fountain. His thick robes, as he preferred to keep using his winter wardrobe in the early months of spring, protected his bottom from the icy bite of the stone seats as he settled in for another long night of lost sleep.
"Pleasant out here, isn't it?"
No sooner had he sat down had the familiar, sibilant voice echoed in the grotto. But how? He made sure to check that he was completely alone!
Those awful, knowing eyes glittered from the darkness, taking much pleasure at his startled reaction. He shrank back into the cold stone as a hand searched deep inside red robes, allowing himself to show his relief as it drew back with a small pouch of odd fruit.
"Care for a kumquat? They're not found in these parts."
He blinked, temporarily dazed. "I…n-no, thank you…"
"Suit yourself."
He swallowed. The sound of casual munching filled him with dread, and he wondered if escaping was possible. No, nevermind possible—was it even wise to contemplate such thoughts?
"W-what are you doing here?" he finally managed to grind out.
A heavily pencilled brow lifted, amused. "Why, commiserating of course. It's just such a shame, seeing you skulk about in the shadows…when your position demands that you serve as the light to your people." A slow smile exposed very white square teeth. "Truly a shame!"
He was thankful for the sound of the fountain's gurgling masking the slight echo of the grotto; having him be discovered like this at night, in the company of a character of more than questionable provenance and very murky intentions, would surely ruin him. Anxiety gripped him as he prayed to all the gods that no one would suddenly be struck with a desire to cross this way.
"My offer still stands, you know."
He sprang up immediately. "I—no! I-I cannot—I must not—there is no telling what could happen should I accept!"
"Other than finally getting rid of the Plegian that is such a thorn in your side? The one responsible for your sorry state?"
"You—you do not understand. That boy possesses dark magic unparalleled by any other mage. I have heard that his power is so great that he can not only see out of the back of his head, but that he can split his body and be found in two places simultaneously. Should he get wind of this—"
"Oh please, as if he would, and even if he did—"
"A-a-and furthermore!" He was babbling now, full of fear and panic and an overwhelming desire to escape the ambush he walked into. "I am not going to risk my position—my life!—over some scheme whose effectiveness carries no guarantee of success. I am not going to even consider such an offer, not when the Halidom is still so fragile after such a deep loss—"
"Now see here—"
"S-so you are simply wasting your time here and any further attempts on your part will still be refused! My principles will not waver! I shall not commit treason against the Exalt!" He began to flee the scene as fast as his robes would permit.
"Why? Because you were so loyal and principled towards Emmeryn?"
The abrupt transition—from a silky smooth almost purr to a guttural snarl—halted him in his tracks. A terrible, cold sweat broke out against his skin and chilled him to the very bone.
How did…?
"I…I don't know what you are talking about…" he gasped.
"Oh yes you do." Those glittering eyes apparated right before his face, and whereas their previous look was a smirking, secretive smugness, the light in them was now of deep, contemptuous anger. He quailed in place at the darkness before him. "You talk of loyalty and principles now? Don't make me laugh!" And yet the sentence was punctuated with a throaty cackle that disturbed the fairies lighting up a distant bush so much that he feared someone would be attracted by the commotion. "Everyone with at least half a brain in the underworld still talks about that slimy, rat-faced traitor who sold his Exalt out to the Plegians, hoping he'd get a nice reward for it, only to fail miserably and get that idiot brother of hers placed on the throne!"
"T-that's not what happened—"
"Keep telling yourself that, dear."
"A-and Chrom—Chrom is not an idiot, how could you say that—"
Long, lacquered nails shone briefly in the dim light of the fairy bushes as they were thrown back with a flourish. "Please! As if the court loved Emmeryn soooo much when she was still alive…oh yes, you fawned, and you simpered, and you smiled to her face and sung her praises like the rest of the country bumpkins who could only dream of kissing her rear end as though the damned sun shone out from there—ha! But I have ears in places you couldn't even begin to imagine. And I heard plenty: about how you all hated those reforms of hers; how you were all just itching to ditch that silly preaching for peace and love and finish what her father started. And what luck for you all when it turns out that the middle son, the most recent of the Falchion's wielders, is next in line for the throne!"
"But Chrom is—"
"A jackass who was barely educated in statecraft and politics, and who now has to manage a country in crisis while his dearly beloved sister had years of preparation? I heard that too." That painted face grinned nastily at him. "You'd think that such a pea-brain would be easier to mould and manipulate to your wishes, but imagine my surprise when I learned of such complaints—" a powdered hand opened and closed in a mocking, talking motion—"that your precious male heir was not as stupid as you all hoped for, and that him inheriting that fancy toothpick somehow didn't mean that he would turn out just like his father. To the contrary…even the lowliest Valmese dung sweeper has heard of just how much he hates daddy dearest. How he would never, ever, ever want to be like him, even if his life depended on it."
Silence descended upon the pair. In retrospect, it felt far worse than when he was being held captive by that barrage of damning words; the quiet now meant that he had to absorb the brunt of their weight as they sunk deep into the recesses of his very soul. His most well-kept secrets had spilled out of that rouged mouth as easily as pouring milk out of a jug. His hidden shame was hidden no longer.
If this person knew, then it was a step closer to having it revealed to the rest of the world when he had worked so hard to bury it with Emmeryn's corpse. And there was nothing he could do about it.
He hung his head in defeat.
"So!" Hands clapped together in evident satisfaction. "You have two options: you can continue to stew in your self pity and whine about that Plegian succeeding in this summit, or you can actually help me to get rid of him instead. Even if you're so put out by my methods, I'm not so cruel as to not consider how this might be of benefit to you as well."
"Do I even have a choice?" he moaned in anguish.
"Of course not! Don't think for a second that I would have allowed you to even pick the first option—I have physical proof of your betrayal, and absolutely no reason not to blackmail you."
The abyss yawned before him, dark, endless. His sins stared him in the face along with the memory of Emmeryn's mutilated body, and of her siblings sobbing openly at her funeral. He remembered helping to bring her into this world as a screaming, red-skinned infant, and then seeing her out of it as she was interred in the mausoleum.
With tears clouding his vision and stinging his skin as they ran down his cheeks, he bowed deeply.
"Come on. You can do so much better than that."
He bowed down further until he was grovelling, and kissed his blackmailer's slippered foot.
Red lips stretched impossibly wide. "Oh, I love making deals."
"An open enemy is better than a false friend." - Greek proverb