Chapter 77

Leon’s smile widened, as if the sight of Elwin’s bloodless complexion were a source of profound delight rather than concern.

“Her Majesty possesses ears everywhere, so it is no surprise she caught wind of the commotion at the Northern Magistrates’ Court,” Leon said, his tone light. “I was tending to you in the infirmary when a royal messenger arrived, demanding I present myself to the palace immediately.”

At the mention of a royal summons, Elwin’s face drained of what little color remained. Because he had yet to fully internalize the reality of Leon’s status as a prince, this journey did not feel like a homecoming. It felt like a descent into the very catastrophe he had long dreaded.

Impersonation. The weight of the crime pressed down on him. Was it impersonation? If Leon were truly royalty, then the fault lay elsewhere. Had he, Elwin, brought this upon himself?

I claimed to be his betrothed, even when I am not.

He lacked the finer details of courtly life, but surely an engagement between a prince and his partner required complex, binding rituals. Yet, here he was, an Omega marked as the third prince’s future consort without a single contract to his name. He was the impostor.

Elwin’s complexion shifted from a pallid white to an alarming shade of blue. His voice, thick with the lingering haze of sleep, emerged as a faint tremor.

“D-does this mean I am to be taken to the dungeon?”

He meant the question with lethal seriousness, but Leon erupted into laughter—a reaction strikingly similar to his amusement when Elwin had first pledged his support. Stung by the implication that he was being played for a fool, Elwin narrowed his eyes against his mounting terror. Leon cleared his throat, forcing his expression into something approaching gravity.

“Ahem. We have nearly arrived, Elwin. You must explain the fascinating logic that led you to such a conclusion later. I confess, I am curious.”

Elwin attempted a glare, but the effort withered. The carriage jolted to a halt before the castle gate.

Before the grand outer entrance, guards stood at attention with long spears. Their eyes were sharp, predatory, but what truly unsettled Elwin was the sight of these stoic men saluting Leon with unwavering, perfect deference. The surreal nature of the world around him was beginning to solidify into a terrifying reality.

Inside, the courtyard was paved with smooth gravel. A marble fountain depicting the goddess of water stood at the center, though Elwin found himself incapable of appreciating the artistry. By the time the carriage arrived at the palace’s grand entrance, he felt his very breath stalling in his chest. The man who had dragged him into this ordeal extended a calm, steady hand.

“Let us step out.”

Had Elwin fully grasped the reality of being escorted by a prince into the heart of the capital, he would have recoiled from that hand. Yet, to Elwin, Leon remained merely Leon—not the third prince—and in his confusion, he reached out and took it.

As they alighted, an elderly man in a dark tailcoat—the chief chamberlain—approached, followed by a phalanx of maids and footmen.

“Your Royal Highness. You have returned. Have you fared well?”

“Mm. You remain unchanged, I see,” Leon replied with a familiar, curt nod. The chamberlain turned, bowing deeply to Elwin. “Sir Elwin. You must be exhausted from your journey. Welcome to the palace.”

The atmosphere was devoid of the hostility one would expect from a dungeon escort. Elwin returned the bow with practiced politeness, though he could not banish the tension from his shoulders, preferring to remain sheltered in Leon’s shadow. Then, the chamberlain spoke again.

“Your Royal Highness, Her Majesty has commanded your immediate presence in the drawing room. As for Sir Elwin, he must be weary; we shall escort him to a guest chamber.”

The separation hit Elwin like a blow. Because this was a royal command, he had no room to protest. Reluctantly, he followed the attendants. To an outside observer, his gait might have appeared elegant, even cautious; to Leon, who knew the nuances of Elwin’s fear, his rigidity was heartbreakingly clear.

Honestly. He is so precious I could expire.

If his heart were his only master, Leon would have trailed him to the guest quarters, intent on kissing those pale, trembling cheeks into submission. More truthfully, his ambitions extended far beyond the cheeks, but his mother’s decree took precedence.

“Well then, shall we proceed?” Leon said, tilting his chin with his characteristic flippancy. The chief chamberlain’s gaze flicked over Leon’s attire, his expression curdling with displeasure. He was clearly restrained from scolding a prince of the blood, but his disapproval was palpable.

Leon had long adopted a veneer of vulgar, ostentatious dress to obscure his identity, but since entering the capital, he had opted for his shabbiest, most plain garments to avoid drawing eyes to Elwin. To the chamberlain, who had watched Leon grow since childhood, the sight of a prince returning to the palace dressed like a beggar was clearly an affront.

“Mm. I suppose there is no time to change.”

Leon slapped his dusty clothes with vigorous, performative intent. He flashed the chamberlain a grin that screamed, Is this adequate? The chamberlain’s face tightened into the mask of a man suppressing a pained sigh.

“Your Highness has not changed in temperament, though your skin has darkened slightly in your absence.”

“Does a man ever truly change? Tell me, did Her Majesty request my presence in the audience chamber or the east wing drawing room?”

“She has been waiting in the drawing room for some time, Your Highness.”

“Mother’s patience is as brittle as ever.”