Chapter 96: Ch. 96: Ocean’s Two

A heist, not to break out a prisoner, but simply to break in and speak to one. I think Julian and I will deserve a medal after all of this.

I smile on occasion from where I sit, stir my cold soup with a spoon, and people watch as Julian and I await our chance. The plan is a simple heist in reverse, meant to take place in the early morning hours when the staff prepare for us to hit the road. They wake before the rest of us, feed the horses, ready the saddles and carriages, and most importantly, the staff bring the transmigrated weaponsmith back out from the Belfort Castle dungeon to his personal cell with wheels.

However, when the staff bring the weaponsmith back from the dungeon, we will break into his cell and have a short “conversation” with him. The guards, courtesy of Julian’s arrangements, have received conflicting schedules, allowing for a 5-minute lapse where there won’t be a soul guarding the wooden contraption. And that is when we will strike.

By the time the wee morning hours have crept around and few people have just passed out on the table or begun to sing common tavern songs, I flick a look at a waiting attendant, who rushes to pull out my chair from behind me. My eyes burn from forcing this childish body of mine to stay awake for so many hours, but my voice doesn’t waver.

“Please accompany me to go freshen myself,” I tell her, sending a signal to the nearby Julian.

My father gives me a passing glance, saying nothing as he drinks once more from his goblet of sour-smelling wine. In addition, to poison immunity and a killing aura, my father also seems impervious to getting drunk.

“Of course, your highness,” she answers, following me as we step out of the noisy banquet hall.

.....

I heave out a breath of relief, free of the curious stares and boisterous conversation. I know how the vassals think, as the inheritance within their families is far more straightforward than ours.

The first son gets the title, the second son gets some land and a pat on the back. Daughters are meant to be debuted in high society in Radovalsk and sold to the highest bidder while bastards, like me, are mistakes meant to be hidden in the dark or traded for favors. Only the imperial family extends leeway to this tradition, because when there is a throne at stake, sometimes the second son or bastard will step out of the shadows and fight for their birthright.

However, there will be no repeat of my father’s generation: as my father lives and breathes he will not allow Julian to gather true power of his own and rival Augustus. Prince Julian shall become Archduke Julian and be granted his own dukedom that is neither too far nor too close away from the capital’s eyes. As for me? I don’t even dare wonder what will become of me.

The clip clop of the heavy, leather boots that are popular among nobles in the capital echoes behind and has me hurriedly sending my attendant away after informing her I wish to speak to my brother in privacy.

“You ready?” Julian asks in lieu of a greeting, appearing from around the corner. His face glows red as if he’s had a bit too much to drink, but his eyes and voice are clear. From under my generous skirt which has finally come into use for once, I pull out dark outer robes for both him and I to wear, along with black masks that obscure one’s entire face save for their eyes.

“Smells like sweat,” he jokes while he dresses, prompting a dark glare from myself.

“Very funny,” I mutter dryly. “Just get dressed so we can get this done with. How’s our time?”

Julian flicks out a pretty, gold pocket watch, the elaborate design studded with yellow diamonds instead of numbers on its face. A birthday present I vaguely recall hearing about through the palace gossip that had finally begun to enter my ears before I ran away.

“We’ve got a good 4 minutes to get to the place where the prison cage is stored and get into it. I’ve got a skeleton key of the actual cage so we can come back out just as easily after our conversation.” Julian is the complete opposite of me, the confidence practically oozing from his pores.

“This feels risky,” I mutter, wiping sweat from my palms onto the black robe. I’ve felt this before, this uneasiness that burrows all the way down to my bones. The last time I ignored it, it nearly killed me.

“It’ll be fine! He won’t know our identities with these disguises. As long as we string him along and pretend we’ll break him out, he’ll practically sing where he hid the blueprints for the bombs are and we will have done this world a very big favor when we find them and burn them,” Julian reassured me.

“Right, right,” I nod tentatively. I have to think big picture, not just worry about myself. “And don’t forget to ask what he knows about transmigrators. You know, whether he knows the details about “Travelers” and if he’s as in the know as you are.”

Julian’s mouth presses into a flat line, probably from holding back all the secrets about Travelers that he has never bothered to tell me.

“And if he knows?” Julian says, his voice trailing off. There is no former CEO behind his eyes, only a prince who has long known the taste of blood. The way his thoughts turned to violence so quickly leaves a bad taste in my mouth, even though I know this is normal for the times. I suppose I just don’t want to admit how much this world has changed me, changed us.

For a second, the transmigrated weaponsmith’s life hangs in a balance between us, as I feel the weight of deciding the fate of another human’s life. It’s a familiar burden, just like when I choose to save a life, but in reverse. I would still be playing god, but the vengeful kind. And I’m no killer. Not yet anyways.

But Julian never gets an official answer from me to his question.

A benefit to staying in this old castle that I have quickly realized in a few short hours is that you can easily identify the people you hear moving through the halls. Servants’ steps are like the flap of a bird’s wings, barely discernible as they’ve been trained to keep their presence from being noticed. The greater your status, the louder you move through the halls. Augustus lives on the floor below me, and whenever he and his entourage leave his chambers, the floor beneath my bed rumbles as if it is coming alive.

As for my father, the emperor. The harsh staccato of his bodyguards marching alone denote his presence. And that is what Julian and I hear right now in the halls where we stand like pigs waiting to be slaughtered.

“Distract him!” Julian whispers at me harshly, the panic making his voice harsh and reedy.

“How the hell would I do that?” I mouth back with my mask already half off, but the brat has already peeled ahead of me and left me in the dust. I won’t hear the answers I’ve been dying to hear from the weaponsmith. I don’t know if Julian will kill him tonight.

My father’s heavy footsteps are echoing down the arched hallway, he will soon reach my solitary form lurking suspiciously in the halls with no good reason. A thought that leaves a bad taste in my mouth occurs to me: perhaps Julian never intended to question the prisoner with me. Maybe he thought I would be too much of a burden or make too much noise. Either way, I have literal seconds to strip off the mask and robe before the emperor strolls around the corner, his eyes vigilant.

It must be his honed senses that have never failed him that alerted him to something suspicious, for Emperor Helio does not look at me first in this dark castle hallway, but the surroundings. His eyes are narrowed as if he’s looking for something... or someone. The killing aura must be in full force, for his elite protection guards who follow him anytime he leaves the palace have given the Emperor a wide berth.

“Greetings, father,” I call from where I stand, stepping in front of the robes and mask I dropped so they aren’t noticeable.

After sweeping the corridor with his oppressive gaze, my father’s flat stare lands on me and he nods. I gulp nervously, the gentle smile I have on my face in danger of collapsing into nothing.

“You linger in the halls rather than return to the banquet,” my father said. The words were incriminating, but the tone was not.

“It stunk,” I lie through my teeth, “of wine. It made me feel ill.”

“Hmmm.”

To my dismay, he crosses his arms and settles on his heels as if he wishes to remain here with me for a while. It feels like when your teacher breaks the 4th wall and starts a conversation with you that doesn’t concern school.

Any hopes of accompanying Julian have been dashed. So now, do I continue to be a good sister and keep my father from knowing about the plan or let Julian be exposed?

The choice will be taken from me soon enough.

He is tall and gloomy, his presence taking up much of the hall. Just by standing before my tiny self, the oppressive atmosphere seems to increase tenfold.

“You healed many soldiers,” Emperor Helio grumbles in his deep voice.

“I did,” I answer curtly. I take the chance to tuck an errant strand of icy hair behind my ear and break eye contact.

“Do you wish for a reward for your work?” He looks down at me, gauging my reaction intently.

Yes. I would like you to punish Empress Katya for trying to kill me multiple times and disabling my right hand. I would also like to leave the imperial family and live a long, peaceful life with Emma and lots of money for emotional compensation.

“I wish for nothing but the Empire’s continued longevity,” I tell my father with the most earnest look I can muster.

“Hmmm,” he hums again while looking at me.

Perhaps he can smell my disingenuity.

“You shall receive what you deserve when we return,” my father eventually says.

“Thank you, father,” I reply, wishing for nothing more than to end this painfully awkward conversation.

All those nights I stayed up as a little girl in my past life wishing for a dashing father to take my mother and I away from our troubles, this man before me has to be the exact opposite of everything I’ve ever wanted. But the heavens, or perhaps Peppermint just creating more problems, I truly have no way to know, see fit to intervene in our touching father daughter moment.

“I have urgent news for His Majesty, where may I find him? It is regarding the prisoner and his highness, Prince Julian!” I hear someone yell from the banquet hall we just ditched.

My stomach drops to the lowest pits of hell as my mouth dries.

It’s over. It’s all over. This is it.

It’s inevitable that the messenger is directed to the hall my father just disappeared down, only to receive the fright of his life to find my father and his imposing guards glaring down at him.

“What news?” Emperor Helio asks. The curiosity of a cat messing around with a mouse is crushed beneath the weight of the monarchy.

The messenger, a low ranked knight of the royal guard, does the traditional bow and drops to his knees.

“Your Majesty, the weaponsmith has been wounded grievously and Prince Julian was also found unresponsive nearby!” he reports with a slight stammer.

“Wounded?” My father begins marching towards the dungeon, heavy steps that spell misfortune for Julian and I.

“No Sire, the prince is alive and apparently unwounded, but he is unconscious and cannot awaken,” the messenger answers, scurrying to keep up with his pace.

I shake my head at Julian’s stupidity for managing to get caught at the crime scene unconscious. Maybe the weaponsmith got a lucky hit on him and knocked his idiot butt out cold.

historical

“The weaponsmith,” my father clarifies, his dark gaze sending more shivers into the poor messenger.

I’d laugh if the situation weren’t so precarious. Of course my father is more concerned about the live trophy he’s brought back from war.

“S-Sire,” the messenger barely manages to say. “The weaponsmith’s fingers were cut off and his tongue pulled out. The imperial physicians are working to stabilize him, but a strange spell has been cast on the weaponsmith’s person, nothing can heal his wounds. He may bleed out before the sun rises!”