"What is this?" Nolan's voice cut through the air, sharp with suspicion. Serena's plan was unfolding perfectly—each move calculated to force the court's hand, to make even the unshakable Prince Nolan confront the consequences. She wanted everyone to see: this was no accident, but a deliberate challenge.
Prince Nolan stared at the scrap of cloth in Spring and Autumn’s hands, his gaze like ice. The tension in the room was palpable—he didn’t need to raise his voice for everyone to feel the chill crawling down their spines.
Spring and Autumn might have been trained at Ninth Prince Manor, but that didn't mean they could withstand Nolan's cold fury. Under his oppressive aura, Spring trembled, her heart pounding as she forced the words out: "R–Replying to Your Highness, this is the Ninth Prince’s Princess Consort formal regalia." Every syllable was a struggle against fear.
“The Princess Consort formal regalia? How did it end up like this?” The air around Prince Nolan dropped a few degrees colder.
Of course he recognized the Princess Consort formal regalia—he’d personally chosen it. There was no way he wouldn’t know.
"Y–Yesterday, when the Bloodcloak Guard came, F–Feng Manor was…" Spring felt frozen to her bones, every word sticking in her throat. Before she could finish, Prince Nolan cut in, his voice slicing through her panic: "Feng Manor was smashed, and this gown was destroyed by the Bloodcloak Guard, is that it?" The accusation landed like a verdict.
“Y–Yes.” Spring and Autumn nodded repeatedly, secretly relieved—since Prince Nolan had said it himself, they wouldn’t have to explain further.
"Hmph..." Prince Nolan sneered, "Do you take me for a fool? You think I’d believe a story like that? You’re bold—lying right in front of me. Tell me, what’s the real story?"
Even if you gave the Bloodcloak Guard a hundred lives, none of them would dare vent their anger on the Princess Consort formal regalia. No—Serena was too clever for that. She’d ruined the dress herself, then pinned it on Adrian Dongling, turning the empire’s obsession with ritual against him. She played the game better than anyone.
She really doesn’t hold back!
“We wouldn’t dare deceive Your Highness. We truly don’t know what happened. Yesterday, when the Bloodcloak Guard stormed Feng Manor, they smashed everything except the ancestral hall and the Small Cabin. When we went to tidy up the ruined courtyards, we found the Princess Consort formal regalia lying on the ground.” Startled by Prince Nolan, Spring and Autumn ended up blurting the whole thing out in one breath.
Prince Nolan knew full well these two maids were lying through their teeth, but he couldn’t lose his temper at them—after all, they’d come here on Serena’s orders.
Serena was becoming a master at shaping loyalty. The dark-guards and maids she sent—every last one would risk anything for her. Even Prince Nolan could only watch as her influence grew, quietly reshaping the balance of power in his own household.
Prince Nolan couldn’t decide whether to be pleased or annoyed. Not bothering to argue with two servants, he told them to put the gown down and get out—“the farther, the better”—so they wouldn’t get in his way.
“We beg leave to withdraw.” Spring and Autumn scrambled out of the side hall, only realizing after a few words that they’d been so frightened, they’d broken out in a cold sweat.
“Autumn, do you think His Highness believed us?” Spring was still shaken, her face pale with worry as she looked at Autumn.
If they botched this, they’d be in deep trouble. Everything had been carefully prepared at Feng Manor, but once Spring saw Prince Nolan, her nerves failed—she didn’t even dare look up at him.
Autumn tried to smile and comfort herself, and Spring too, but found her lips stiff, unable to force a smile. She could only shake her head woodenly. “There’s no way His Highness would believe us. But whether he does or not isn’t our concern. Our job is just to carry out Miss Serena’s orders.”
“You’re right. As long as we followed Miss Serena’s instructions, we did our part.” Spring patted her chest, waited for her heartbeat to calm, then she and Autumn composed themselves and walked out of Ninth Prince Manor with perfect poise, as if nothing had happened.
They were Feng Manor’s face to the outside world, and the crowd was watching. They couldn’t afford to be objects of ridicule. Every step had to show confidence, every gesture a promise: Prince Nolan would not let their mistress be humiliated. Their pride was a shield—Serena’s reputation depended on it.
It didn’t matter who had actually ruined the Princess Consort formal regalia—Serena sent it openly to Ninth Prince Manor, so it had to be the Bloodcloak Guard’s doing. The Bloodcloak Guard would have to take responsibility.
So, on the last morning court session of the year, Prince Nolan brought the tattered gown into the palace, dumping the problem on the Emperor.
Of course, Prince Nolan wouldn’t humiliate himself by waving it around at court. The moment he entered the palace, he worried a young eunuch might present the item to the Emperor too early, giving the Emperor time to prepare his response.
Usually, unless there’s a major rebellion, ministers avoid submitting memorials at today’s court session. Even if disasters happen, local officials try to suppress the news to keep from souring the Emperor’s mood. But this year, things would be different.
Never mind the Princess Consort regalia delivered to the Emperor before court—even just what happened yesterday was enough to make the Emperor furious enough to kill.
This year’s final morning court—there was no way the Emperor could hide behind a façade of harmony, or stride in brimming with imperial confidence. The world was watching, and the cracks in his power were about to show.
That chess match in the Imperial Garden seemed to settle the Walker affair. The Emperor lost—he lost face, and substance.
Last night, when the Emperor saw Prince Rowan and his brothers return in disgrace, he was so enraged he hurled an inkstone at Adrian Dongling, splitting his head open and barring him from tonight’s New Year’s Eve banquet.
At this year’s banquet, the ministers definitely wouldn’t see the Prince Rowan who’d once been favored almost as much as the Crown Prince. For a long time, Prince Rowan would be stuck at home “recuperating.”
Even if the Emperor was on the verge of losing his mind with rage, as a sovereign he’d never show it in public. He rose at dawn with his usual confident smile, ready to appear before his ministers as always. But the shredded gown Prince Nolan presented nearly cracked his composure.
“Good for nothing but ruining things.” That was the Emperor’s verdict on Adrian Dongling. For the Emperor’s chief eunuch, hearing those words meant the Emperor was ready to give up on Prince Rowan.
The chief eunuch knew the Emperor was in a foul mood. He braced himself, standing behind the throne, not daring to take his eyes off the Emperor for a second, silently praying the morning court would go smoothly—otherwise, none of them would survive.
No one could see the Emperor’s anger. When he entered the grand hall, all that showed was imperial majesty. His aging face revealed nothing but authority.
“Long live the Emperor!” As the dragon throne settled, everyone except Prince Nolan knelt, shouting the ritual praise—which only made Prince Nolan, standing before the royal clan, seem all the more extraordinary, all the more exalted.
As always, the Emperor’s gaze passed over Prince Nolan, focusing only on the ministers and generals kneeling at his feet.
“Rise, all of you.” The Emperor’s eyes were fathomless, containing everyone—except Prince Nolan, who stood closest. When his gaze did flicker over Nolan, it was full of murderous intent.
For any emperor, Prince Nolan’s very existence was a challenge to royal authority. If there were any way around it, no sovereign would tolerate someone like Prince Nolan.
Prince Nolan stood quietly, his expression calm. No matter how low he stood, he had no interest in looking up to others. As for the Emperor’s hidden malice, Nolan never cared—no matter how much their relationship had thawed, it didn’t mean they could coexist peacefully.
Every grand court session, the Emperor put on the same display. After so many years, Prince Nolan was used to it.
No matter how much the Emperor loathed him, no matter how desperately he wanted Nolan dead, he couldn’t succeed. All he could do was watch Nolan stand in that spot day after day—a living reminder that Eastlyn’s Ninth Prince was only a single step away from the Dragon Throne. The threat was constant, silent, and impossible to ignore.