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Chapter 95: 14. The King's Silence (13)

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Krasilov's royal palace was also called the Amber Palace. It was not simply a palace decorated with amber, but a name meant to convey just how splendid it was.

At least until before the war, the Amber Palace had been one of the most extravagant royal residences in the Allied Kingdoms.

"You've come."

Elizaveta stood at the palace entrance with a drawn face. She studied the bloodstains on Ivan's body, then raised her gaze.

Ivan quietly dropped to one knee. Pavel and Dmitry prostrated themselves beside him.

"Are you injured?"

"No, Your Highness."

"Thank goodness."

Relief seeped through her even tone. The man before her had fought the strongest elf until he collapsed, all because of her order, then immediately swept away the subversive forces in the capital.

If he had suffered a fatal wound in the process, Elizaveta suppressed the sudden dizziness that rose within her and turned away.

"I will receive a detailed report later. Do not send Dmitry. Come to me yourself. Understood?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

"I have much to say, but I will not say it today... Vanka, raise your head."

Ivan lifted his bowed head. Elizaveta, who stood before him, leaned down slightly.

Her hand brushed his cheek. The warmth of her palm held his parched cheek for a long while.

Her pale fingertips trembled faintly.

"You have endured much. Thank you for indulging my obstinacy. From the moment we first met until now. Always."

"Yes, Your Highness."

"I will now give you your final task for today. Rise."

Elizaveta turned toward the palace.

Between the Amber Palace's imposing stone pillars, Elizaveta faced the palace corridor with cold eyes.

The guards stood at attention with their heads bowed. They were all her subordinates, so no one stood in their way.

"Follow me. We are going to the audience chamber."

At her words, Pavel's body stiffened.

Ivan saw Pavel's hand twitch unconsciously toward his waist and slowly lowered his own hand to grip his axe handle.

Perhaps noticing the movement, Elizaveta continued without turning her head.

"Do you still hate this country's king?"

"...Yes, Your Highness."

Pavel answered in a low voice through clenched teeth.

Even if he had sworn loyalty to Elizaveta once more, even if he had vowed to devote himself to this country's well-being.

Even so, Pavel's feelings could not be completely resolved. Naturally. His hatred was trapped in the past.

It was rage that could never be quenched. Everyone he cherished had died long ago.

Ivan was no different. Feeling Pavel's emotions surge wildly, he slowly moved closer to Elizaveta.

So that he could stop Pavel if he changed his mind at any moment.

"That is why I called you here today. Today, I will no longer give you orders. Do what you wish."

The strength left Ivan's hand around the axe handle.

How could he not have felt the same? Anger still remained vividly within him. His fury toward the current king, Kiril, still smoldered in his chest like dying embers.

But he had endured it. He had suppressed it, telling himself it was worthless. He had let it pass, believing it was meaningless.

After all, he was no more than an outsider in this world. He endured it because he believed he had no right to pass judgment.

Yet now, Elizaveta had affirmed what he felt.

If they wanted revenge, they could take it.

Even as he entered the audience chamber armed, Ivan turned the princess's words over in his mind.

'Why now?'

Elizaveta was already the true power in this country. From the moment the Crown Prince vanished, she had firmly seized control and shaken the entire capital.

She had successfully carried out a coup once before. As a result, the king had been confined, all authority to grant approval had passed to the princess, and the royal family had been placed beneath the constitution.

So why now?

When she had first succeeded in the coup, she could have removed the king and inherited the crown herself without any problem.

Yet now, she was suddenly saying it was fine to kill the king.

It was not some soft-hearted sentiment from a young daughter who could not bring herself to kill her own father. It could not be.

Ivan followed Elizaveta in silence, lost in thought.

* * *

-The Lord watches over you.

That sentence was woven beside a vast tapestry at the entrance to the long corridor leading to the king's audience chamber.

It was the final remnant that displayed the Amber Palace's former majesty. This palace had already lost all the glory of its old days.

Elizaveta remembered the huge sculptures and countless treasures that had once hung along these walls. Now only dusty empty spaces remained in the corridor.

"Does it look shabby?"

Elizaveta asked with a smile. She said it was rather funny that the old palace where this country's king lived contained no luxuries at all, yet was still called the Amber Palace.

Ivan briefly shook his head.

"It is glorious."

"Glorious? This decline?"

"It is not decline, Your Highness. It is sacrifice."

Ivan had belonged to the Royal Guard. Naturally, he remembered what the Amber Palace had been like during the war.

The Amber Palace had been at its most magnificent during the early reign of the previous king, when the wars of conquest were in full swing.

At the time, Ivan the Great had been called the Conqueror, the Thunder Emperor, and the Bear of Krasilov. Such epithets were never forged in peaceful times.

Before the Demon King unleashed the Great War, Krasilov had been the most warlike nation in the Allied Kingdoms. Under its young conquering monarch, it had spread fear across enormous theaters of war.

In those days, the Amber Palace had been the most splendid palace in the Allied Kingdoms, filled with treasures seized from every region. All who passed through this corridor had willingly shown respect for the Great King's authority.

Then the Demon King was born. Half the world burned.

Until the Hero appeared, war remained the means by which this country preserved itself. Yet it was nothing like the wars once fought against humanity, only an endless succession of defeats.

The authority built through victory crumbled beneath defeat. The Great King remained strong, but the royal family's authority did not. To preserve the nation in that situation, the Great King had to sell the royal treasures.

That was not a symbol of decline.

The empty stone pillars in this corridor were a chronicle in themselves.

The traces left upon the dusty pillars did not signify lament for the lost treasures or past glory.

They were the chronicle of a man who had always been great, who had brought himself low in place of his country. They were praise for a man who did not surrender before defeat, but instead gathered everything he had and rushed back to the front lines.

So if this corridor were to be given a name, it could never be called decline.

"Thank you, Vanka."

Elizaveta murmured as she looked up at the ceiling with reddened eyes. Ivan followed behind her without a word.

The long corridor came to an end. At last, they reached the audience chamber.

Before the empty, chilly chamber, they walked along the path covered by an old carpet until they reached the throne.

An old man Ivan had never seen before sat there, blankly looking down at them.

* * *

"Do not kneel."

Elizaveta spoke briefly from the front. Her voice revealed no emotion, yet it was steady and free of tremor.

Refusing to prostrate oneself before the king was, in itself, an act of disrespect punishable by death. Yet everyone there remained standing straight, staring directly at the throne.

"No one in this country can dare force you to kneel before me. All the more so now. Raise your heads and look straight ahead. Look at the one standing before you. What do you see?"

Elizaveta continued walking as she spoke calmly.

She passed seat after seat bearing the old-fashioned titles of this country's officials.

Councillor, herald, scribe, inspector, attendant, captain of the royal guard, minister of state, master of ceremonies, attendant, lord chamberlain, master of the leaf, master of wine, master of ceremonies.

Court Minister, Minister of State Affairs, Minister of Public Affairs, Minister of Foreign Affairs.

Marshal, Chancellor, and finally the king.

"Your Majesty, I trust you have been well."

Elizaveta did not stop as she climbed toward the dais. No one could stop her. The military guards present merely lowered their heads as if this were an ordinary occurrence.

The king did not answer. He simply watched her.

"Do you see? Can you see this man?"

Standing beside the throne, Elizaveta playfully touched the crown resting atop the king's head.

"Can you see a man who has lost his speech, his thoughts, and his will? Can you see the majesty of the lord of all the people?"

"What happened to him?"

Pavel was the one who answered. He desperately gripped his waist with a trembling hand.

Fierce rage leaked from the corners of his mouth, as if he might draw his spear and throw it at any moment.

"My brother's work. Do not ask me when it began. I do not know either. But even when the previous king personally came to the front lines, this man was likely no different from how he is now."

"But I remember King Kiril's coronation."

"Yes. He walked properly and spoke without issue, did he not?"

"...Yes."

"My brother must have grown sick of playing king by then. Is that not why he left this country without a trace of regret?"

Pavel flinched.

Had the king already been nothing but a puppet in those days? Had he been manipulated by some scheme of the Crown Prince's?

Had the entire country already been in the Crown Prince's grasp?

"That is why calling this a succession struggle is absurd. This country had already belonged to Alexander, and it had likely been that way for well over ten years. So I was not fighting for succession, but to usurp the throne. Pavel, you may call me your senior. As a rebel, I have struggled for far longer than you."

"Why did you not tell anyone...?"

"Who was I supposed to tell? Who would have fought at my side? The military? The House of Nobles? The court? If they heard this story, who would have stood with me?"

The ambitious would want to overthrow a monarchy that had become like this, while the royal family's loyal subjects would not hesitate to stand with the Crown Prince.

Who could she tell? To control the king was no different from controlling the entire country itself.

Krasilov had belonged to Alexander in both name and fact. The fight to take it back had been the struggle of all those years.

"So, Vanka. When you said you were leaving, I felt both relieved and saddened. I was relieved because you had finally become safe, and saddened because you said you would leave at the most dangerous moment."

"Your Highness."

"Is it not fortunate that you have returned now? I do not mind at all."

Elizaveta smiled gently and turned around.

"So, will you do what you wish? Will you execute this country's king and quench your anger? Will you avenge the previous king and all the heroes, and raise the banner of justice once more?"

Pavel lowered his head without answering.

If every order given in those days had ultimately come from the Crown Prince, then executing that old man would be nothing more than venting his rage.

Elizaveta descended from the dais and spoke to Pavel, who stood silent with his teeth clenched.

"Do you still want revenge?"

"...Yes, Your Highness."

"So do I. I want revenge against that wicked man who held every part of this country in his hands, then cast it all away and left. I want revenge against the man who buried all the greatest people this country had, then abandoned the crown he gained in exchange as though it were worthless."

Elizaveta looked at Ivan.

"I want revenge against the man who swept away everyone I loved beneath the foreign soil of distant lands, and cast everyone who loved me into the jaws of the demonfolk. Will you stand with me?"

Ivan looked into Elizaveta's eyes. Longing, anger, self-reproach, fear, and perhaps... attachment.

As he read the emotions passing through her eyes, he quietly bowed his head.

"Do not ask. Simply command me."

Elizaveta looked up at the ceiling before the men who had bowed their heads.

Her eyes burned hot. Words that had been difficult to share with anyone, the shame of this country's royal family, poured forth.

That was no longer the case. Pritchenkaya had finally come under her rule, and the provincial nobles across the land would soon follow.

Alexander's influence had been completely driven out. Now, no one would be able to disregard her authority.

Krasilov would rise again. More magnificent than it had ever been.

She would make it so. She would do it. And she would demand payment from her brother, from that man whose whereabouts she did not know.

Without fail.

Under the king's silence, the royal family would bloom again. So brilliantly that no one could deny it.

Ep. 14. The King's Silence

Footnotes:

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