It was a dark, windy night. Atop a lonely, ruined tower, Ninth Royal Uncle Nolan and Prince Titus of Lyndaria each stood apart, silently gazing into the distance. The wind howled, whipping their robes and hair back like blades slashing across their faces—painful, but also shockingly sobering.
Prince Titus looked calm and mature on the surface, but at this moment he could barely hold it together. He fought the urge to curse, gritting his teeth as he glared at Ninth Royal Uncle.
He had spent half the day picking out a spot in the Eastlyn Imperial Capital—this abandoned tower that nobody paid attention to—hoping to play a little trick on Ninth Royal Uncle. Instead, he ended up trapping himself.
This tower had been left to decay for years, but its main feature was its height. Standing up here, the cold wind cut straight through you—it was enough to make anyone shiver. Titus himself was almost at his limit, his teeth chattering, while the man he’d tried to mess with stood completely unaffected, upright like a pine tree in the winter wind, unbending and unbroken.
Damn, whose bright idea was it to pick this ruined tower? I didn’t manage to rattle Ninth Royal Uncle, but I’m about to catch a cold myself. Titus couldn’t take it anymore. He forced down his shivering, put on his best princely demeanor, and looked at Ninth Royal Uncle: “So, your trip to Lyndaria—did you get much out of it?”
“Not bad.” Even without looking at Titus, Ninth Royal Uncle knew exactly how he looked right now. A flicker of amusement flashed in his dark eyes, his lips curving up ever so slightly.
Trying to mess with me—does he even know whose turf this is? Does he really think I’m some pampered prince who can’t handle anything? Forget this bit of cold wind; even on Northlyn’s snowy peaks, I could stand in a single thin robe and not flinch.
“About that matter…” Titus paused, took a breath, then continued, “How did the investigation go?”
It wasn’t that his body was too cold to speak—it was that his heart was too cold to find the words.
“All the evidence points to Crown Prince Terrence’s mother, not your own. The imperial physician who treated you died soon after your accident, and the cause of death couldn’t be determined.” Ninth Royal Uncle recited the investigation results with complete detachment.
“Is the evidence solid?” Ninth Royal Uncle’s words gave Titus a bit of comfort, but deep down he was still uncertain. After all, it’s not easy to investigate something that happened more than ten years ago.
“Not solid. Just going by those accusations against Consort Yu isn’t enough. All the real evidence was carefully wiped clean, and none of the people from back then can be found. After so many years, it’s not easy to dig anything up.” Ninth Royal Uncle knew Titus’s crippled legs were his heart-demon. Titus’s first suspect was his own mother, and he’d even gone to confront her.
After talking it out, Titus also investigated privately and confirmed that his mother, the Lyndarian Empress, wasn’t involved. Everything pointed to Consort Yu. Titus chose to believe his mother—after all, even a tiger doesn’t eat its own cubs.
But clearly, that belief hadn’t sunk into his bones. Titus still had a knot in his heart. After all, to plot against a prince right under the Empress’s nose was no ordinary feat—how could his mother have known nothing all along?
With that lingering doubt, Titus came to Eastlyn. When he heard that Ninth Royal Uncle planned to visit Lyndaria, he asked him to investigate—sometimes an outsider sees things more clearly.
Ninth Royal Uncle’s investigation matched exactly what Titus already knew. By rights, he should have been able to let go, but... Maybe it was his first instinct—when Serena Feng said his legs were crippled by a doctor, his first suspicion was his own mother. Even if all the evidence pointed elsewhere, he couldn’t truly be at peace.
“I just feel like there’s something off about all this.” Logically, Titus should have been glad the case had nothing to do with his birth mother, but he just couldn’t be happy.
Back then, both Terrence and his mother were out of favor, with no outside support. How could Consort Yu have managed to cripple Titus’s legs so perfectly, without leaving a single trace? The most suspicious thing was, his mother hadn’t found anything at the time, yet now he was able to pick up faint clues.
“What exactly are you doubting?” Ninth Royal Uncle frowned slightly. Was Titus falling into the same heart-demon as that Eighth Young Lady, obsessed with blaming his own mother? Even though Titus’s doubts made Nolan uneasy too, without evidence, he still didn’t want Titus to suspect the Lyndarian Empress.
If Titus fell out with his mother, it would do him no good. The Mother of a nation isn’t just a figurehead.
Titus knew he was just being ridiculous. He gave a helpless laugh: “I don’t even know what I’m doubting. I just feel really uneasy.” He was afraid—afraid that someone close to him might harm him again, make him lose his legs, or take something else away. Maybe, like the Sutton Eighth Young Lady, he really was going mad.
“What you see isn’t always the truth. If you can’t trust, then just be more guarded—just don’t let it show on your face. The case back then was handled too cleanly. All signs show that your father, the Emperor, also had people investigate, but in the end nothing was found. Compared to your father, our roots in Lyndaria are shallow.” In other words, no matter how much Titus suspects, they can’t uncover anything now—just like when the Lu pirate clan was wiped out.
Part of it was the passage of time, but mostly it was the ruthlessness of those behind it. Nearly everyone who knew anything back then was wiped out—they couldn’t find a single usable clue.
“You actually believe my suspicions?” Terrence was taken aback. He’d expected Ninth Royal Uncle to urge him to let go of his heart-demon, not to be wary of his own mother.
“I didn’t believe before, but now I do. Women are unfathomable creatures—you never know what’s going on in their heads. Think about the Shunning Marquis Manor case; you’ll realize there are all kinds of monsters and demons in this world.” Yes, the Sutton Eighth Young Lady’s case had taught Ninth Royal Uncle a crucial lesson: never use normal reasoning to understand a madperson’s actions.
The Sutton Eighth Young Lady was absolutely brilliant—at such a young age, she could read people’s minds and toy with a group of adults. Her mental acuity surpassed most grown-ups, but her obsessive, deranged methods were far beyond what any normal person could imagine.
Titus didn’t understand at first, but once he did, he couldn’t hold back anymore. He shot Ninth Royal Uncle a furious glare and snapped, “Are you calling my mother crazy?”
“If she really did target you, what else could she be but crazy? Don’t forget, you’re her only son—destroying you would mean destroying her own future, her family’s future. Sure, if Terrence ascends the throne, she’ll still be honored as Empress Dowager, but that’s nothing compared to seeing your own son crowned.” In other words, it was Titus himself who first implied the Empress was mad.
Uh... Titus couldn’t refute that. He grunted, “You’ve got a vicious tongue.”
“Not as vicious as your heart.” Ninth Royal Uncle retorted coolly, a flash of impatience in his eyes...