The Rose and the Fang

Chapter 7: The Rose and the Fang

Rose Palace

Third Wife's Quarters

The room was quiet.

The kind of silence that stretched too long, pressed too tightly.

Outside, the garden shimmered with morning dew, and the soft chirping of distant birds filtered through the open balcony... but none of that sound touched the heavy stillness inside.

Mireth sat in silence, poised at the head of the tea table, her back straight, hands folded gently in her lap. The soft rustle of her silken gown was the only movement she allowed herself.

Across from her sat a young man, tall and composed.

The First Prince.

Aven Dragonblood.

He said nothing at first, crimson eyes fixed on the third wife like a hawk observing something far beneath its wings. At seventeen, he was already grown into a man's frame... broad-shouldered and tall, standing nearly 185 centimeters. Golden hair, like the sun dipped in fire, and blood-red eyes… the unmistakable mark of his father's lineage.

He was not a child.

Not anymore.

Behind him stood the blue-haired knight, her expression unreadable. Her sword remained sheathed at her side, but her stance was firm... attentive... like a blade waiting to be drawn. The high slit in her uniform revealed toned legs and her arms crossed lightly at her back, awaiting command.

And to the side of the room, the head maid stood quietly, her eyes cast down.

Her shoulders were stiff. Her breath, shallow.

Aven finally broke the silence.

"So, Mother," he said coolly, voice smooth as polished steel, "what were you discussing just now?"

The question cut through the air. His gaze did not leave Mireth. It pierced.

"I heard some rather loud voices from the corridor," he added, his eyes narrowing just slightly.

Then he turned.

And smiled at the head maid.

Mireth's lips curled into a faint smile. Forced. Polite.

"It was nothing," she replied gently. "I was simply feeling unwell. Nothing worth troubling the Crown Prince."

She lowered her eyes momentarily, then lifted them with grace.

"But tell me, Aven… what brings you here this morning?" Her voice softened further, like warm wind brushing past rose petals. "It's been quite some time since we've had the pleasure of speaking."

Her eyes... a gentle, amethyst hue... shone faintly in the morning light. Brown hair fell in smooth waves down her shoulders, her posture perfect, her presence composed.

Aven studied her for a moment, then offered a smile of his own.

One that did not reach his eyes.

He turned slightly to the side, lifted the bouquet in his hands, and placed it on the table before her.

"Congratulations, Mother," he said. "I heard you are carrying another child of the Royal Blood."

Mireth did not speak.

Her hands moved toward the bouquet, fingers brushing the petals lightly. She stared into the roses.

And said nothing.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

The rhythmic sound of his finger hitting the table echoed like a clock marking down toward something inevitable.

"No," Aven said. "This is not going to work."

He leaned back, turning slightly to the knight beside him.

"Juliet," he said.

The blue-haired knight bowed her head. "Yes, Your Highness."

He kept his voice calm, but the atmosphere around him began to change... as if something beneath the surface was stirring.

"What does Imperial Law state," he asked, "regarding a person who marries into the Royal Family and carries Royal Blood?"

Juliet didn't hesitate.

"Such a person," she said, "holds rank immediately below His Majesty the Emperor and Her Majesty the Empress."

The head maid shifted.

Her hands trembled. Sweat glistened at her temple.

The room began to feel heavier. The air grew dense... thick, like a veil of pressure wrapped around the skin and lungs. The light from the balcony dimmed, though the sun had not moved.

Something unseen was pressing in.

You could feel it, even without aura.

And if one could feel aura... they would have sensed the subtle, rising storm in the First Prince's presence.

Aven turned slightly, resting one elbow on the table.

"Tell me, Juliet," he said, tone still pleasant. "When a knight is on duty, what must they do?"

"They must remain aware of all things, Your Highness," she replied. "And enhance all of their senses."

He nodded slowly.

"So then… you would have enhanced your senses just now. Wouldn't you?"

"Yes, Your Highness," she said again.

Mireth leaned forward, her voice suddenly sharp.

"Aven," she said. "Stop it."

She knew what's coming.

Her eyes were no longer soft.

Anger burned behind the violet hue. Her smile had vanished. Her shoulders tensed, and one hand curled tightly in her lap.

But Aven ignored her.

He kept his eyes on Juliet.

"Then you must have heard what was said in this room," he said, his voice now lower. "Did you not?"

Juliet lowered her head, silent.

"I'm waiting, Juliet."

Still silence.

Then...

A blur.

The movement was too fast. Too sharp. Not even Mireth could follow it.

A flash of metal.

A cry.

"Aaahhhhhhhh...! AHHHHHHH!!"

The maid collapsed to her knees, blood gushing from her wrists. Her arms trembled violently, her mouth wide open in agony.

Her hands...

Gone.

Tears streamed down her face. Her body convulsed from the shock. She tried to scream again...

But she couldn't.

Juliet had moved behind her, tapping the back of her neck with two fingers.

A precise strike.

The maid's voice vanished. Her mouth still opened, breath still ragged, but no sound came. Just silence. And the soft thrashing of her body on the floor.

"It's noisy," Aven muttered, rubbing his temple.

"Juliet," he said. "Find out who she is. Execute her entire family."

"No!"

Mireth stood up, hands trembling at her sides.

Her voice rose, sharper than it had ever been.

"Aven! That's enough!"

Her eyes flared. Her presence shifted, suddenly firm, no longer just a gentle flower. She stepped forward, placing herself between the maid and the knight.

Aven glanced at her.

Then looked away.

"Looks like we'll need to do this another way," he said casually. "Execute her now. I don't want a single breath left in this lowlife. Not her, not her children, not her blood."

Juliet stepped forward, drawing her blade once more.

The steel glinted cold in the morning sun.

But before it could descend...

"STOP!"

Mireth's voice cut the air like lightning.

She stepped forward, blocking the knight with her own body.

"Juliet," she said, her voice shaking now with fury, "don't you dare take another step."

She turned her head, glaring at Aven.

"Enough, Aven. This is my palace. And I will not permit this."

Her eyes... purple fire.

The command in her voice was not soft. It was not pleading.

Ha! Ha!

The young prince laughed.

It was not a boyish laugh... no trace of youthful innocence lingered in it... but rather a sound laced with something darker, heavier.

Then he stepped forward, closing the distance between himself and the third wife.

"This is what I've been waiting for, Mother," he said, voice dipped in silk yet sharpened like a blade. "You are no longer who you used to be. You are now the wife of the Emperor. So behave like it."

His red eyes flared as they fixed on her, wide with restrained intensity.

Mireth lowered her gaze to the floor, unable to return his stare. Her lips trembled faintly. She bit the lower one hard, almost drawing blood.

She did not speak.

Aven turned his eyes back toward the head maid, still slumped to the side, her severed hands resting lifelessly beside her.

"Now then... what should we do with this maid?" he said coldly, not really seeking an answer.

Juliet, still standing in solemn stillness, raised one arm... her voice soft but clear.

"Your Highness," she said, eyes cast downward, "perhaps we should... continue this matter elsewhere."

The prince glanced at her, pausing only a moment before his smirk returned.

"You're right. But for now..."

He turned again to the head maid, then waved a hand.

"Juliet. Take her to the physician. Tell him I ordered her arms to be reattached. She will be useful... in my palace."

"Yes, Your Highness," Juliet said, her tone unreadable. Without another word, she moved swiftly, kneeling to lift the maid with careful efficiency. The blood-soaked woman whimpered faintly, half-conscious, her body twitching from the pain.

The third wife said nothing. Her hands rested in her lap, clenched tightly. She still had not looked up.

Aven turned toward her once more. "Come, Mother. This place reeks of blood. Hardly fitting for conversation."

He smiled politely, as if they had merely finished afternoon tea.

She rose without protest, letting him guide her through the corridor and out into the gardens of the Rose Palace. The silence between them was long and heavy, broken only by the distant flutter of banners in the wind.

They sat beneath a lattice of blooming white roses. A small marble table stood between them, its surface still glistening with dew.

Mireth kept her gaze low. Her eyes, usually shining violet, had dulled with weariness. Ten years within these walls had dulled more than just her smile.

Aven reclined slightly, resting his arm over the back of his chair. The golden light of afternoon filtered through the leaves above, dappling his face with fleeting shadows.

"So, Mother," he said gently, "how is Father? I find myself missing him often these days."

"He is... the same as always," she replied softly.

But even as she spoke, her voice betrayed her. The rhythm was off. The words sounded like someone else's, not her own.

Aven tilted his head, studying her as he would a figure in a painting. Every twitch of her fingers, every slight shift in posture, painted volumes.

Still, he pressed on.

"I heard my sister visited Father recently," he said, casually swirling the air with his fingertip across the table's surface. "While you were there, no less."

Mireth stilled. Her eyes blinked once, slow... then rose to meet his.

"She..." Mireth began, then stopped. Her mouth trembled before she drew a steadying breath.

"She must have been missing her father. That is all."

Aven held her gaze for several seconds.

She's lying.

He didn't say it aloud... but it was written across his eyes as clearly as any decree.

Still, his lips curved upward.

"I see," he said, standing. The motion sent his royal robe trailing behind him like a red shadow.

"Then I shall visit her as well."

He turned his back to her, already walking across the garden path.

His voice drifted behind him as he moved.

"And if Juliet comes looking for me... do spend some time with her, won't you?"

The rustling of his robe faded with his steps, and the garden returned to silence.

Mireth remained seated. Her hands trembled faintly over her lap.

And the roses swayed softly in the wind... their petals white as snow, untouched by blood.

___________

King Palace

Asharic's POV

The heavy stone gate creaked as it closed behind me. I stepped out from the lair into the quiet corridor, my boots echoing faintly against the floor. The lights flickered dimly on the walls, but my mind was somewhere else entirely.

My expression must've been unreadable. Even to myself.

I kept walking, up through the ancient palace until I reached the open ground... a silent courtyard shrouded in shadows and morning mist. The cool air brushed against my face as I stepped outside.

There was a stone bench nearby. I walked over and sat down, resting my arms on my sides.

Then I looked up.

The sky was so clear today. Almost mocking.

So… I know now.

I'm inside the novel.

And I know the future that lies ahead.

But what I need to confirm...

Is this the first timeline?

Or the second?

A sharp pain shot through my head.

"Tch...!" I gritted my teeth, pressing my hand against my temple. The pain wasn't physical... it was something deeper, heavier. Something unraveling.

A memory surged up. Not mine. Not entirely.

"Father… it was all your—…"

(Memory Blurred)

"I was there, hoping that you would come someday…"

(Blurred)

"You don't know how much I wait—…"

(Blurred)

"I hope you would never—…"

(Blurred)

I gasped.

My breath came ragged as I clenched my fists and drew my aura toward my head, steadying the waves of pain.

…That memory.

I didn't want to recall it.

And yet…

That girl.

My daughter.

She…

No. It doesn't matter.

What matters is… this is the second timeline.

There's no longer any doubt.

I know what's coming.

I know what happens to this empire.

And just thinking about it...

The collapse. The shame.

It makes my blood boil.

Why?

Is it because I'm him now?

Because this kingdom now belongs to me?

Or…

No.

It doesn't matter.

What I know is this...

I must recover quickly.

I must take control fast.

Because I know the future...

And I will not allow that damn future to come.

Not again.

"Looks like you're not dead, you mad man."

The voice wasn't in my head this time.

It came from behind me... low, mocking.

I turned slowly.

A royal knight stood there, arms crossed, staring at me with open disgust.

My lips twitched.

Who the hell is this fucker?

I'm already in a foul mood...

And this bastard just made it worse.