Today, Iris Hall, located in the eastern wing of the imperial palace and dedicated to the preservation and exhibition of royal portraits, was filled with visitors.

As on the previous day, the tour was led by Grand Duke Yuri von Lernando.

“The former Empress was remarkably beautiful.”

Ashton Haimos spoke with a gentle smile, gazing up at the large framed portrait before him.

Clodine, who had been walking a few steps behind while observing other paintings, soon found herself beside Ashton, looking up at the same portrait.

It was the likeness of the late Empress Elizabeth von Lernando, the birth mother of Yuri and Princess Anna von Lernando, and Ahazan’s stepmother.

Unlike when viewing other portraits, Clodine stared at Elizabeth’s image with a lingering sadness and tenderness.

She had shared many memories with her.

If asked even now to name a model Empress worthy of admiration, Clodine would not hesitate to choose Elizabeth.

“As you know, she was my mother. As kind as she was beautiful. I still cannot believe she is gone. It was an immeasurable loss to the Imperial House.”

Sensing the mood growing heavy, Yuri seemed to deliberately speak of Elizabeth’s death. Clodine felt a pang of guilt.

Unlike the passing of Empress Selena von Lernando, Ahazan’s birth mother, whose chronic illness allowed room for vague explanations, Elizabeth’s death was undeniably ruled a s*icide.

There had been no ambiguity.

Yuri himself had been the one to discover her, her body suspended from the ceiling. There had been no need for further investigation.

And yet, Clodine still could not believe it.

She nodded when others spoke of it as fact, but in her heart, acceptance would not come.

The Elizabeth she knew was gentle and virtuous—a woman who found profound happiness in small things.

She loved poetry. Whenever young Clodine visited the palace, Elizabeth would compose verses just for her. Every poem praised life.

She could find divine providence in a nameless wildflower and greet a single ladybug as though it were a friend.

How could such a person, without warning, grow so desolate as to end her own life?

“I think she was simply too beautiful for this world.”

Yuri smiled faintly, sorrow woven into the expression, as he regarded his mother’s portrait.

His eyes were the same shade as hers.

Clodine could not begin to measure the shock and grief he must have endured. She offered silent comfort in place of words.

She was certain that the enduring bond between the Lernando siblings was largely Elizabeth’s doing.

Her impartial love, indeed, her deliberate prioritization of Crown Prince Ahazan, along with her wisdom, had prevented the kind of succession strife that so often followed an emperor’s sudden death.

Because of Elizabeth, the Imperial House had known peace.

Clodine believed that without doubt.

“The flower language of cyclamen is ‘wise love,’ is it not?”

At Ashton’s thoughtful remark, all eyes turned to the red cyclamen Elizabeth held in the portrait.

Every subject in Iris Hall bore a flower or object suited to their character. In Elizabeth’s final portrait, it was cyclamen.

The white downy fuzz enveloping the bloom had been rendered so realistically that it seemed almost tangible.

In truth, it was the flower that had allowed this portrait to be displayed in Iris Hall at all.

Elizabeth had ended her life shortly after it was painted. Despite its exceptional beauty, many had argued it should not be exhibited.

But in the end, the symbolic meaning of cyclamen, wise love, had been deemed a fitting representation of her life.

“And now, we shall proceed to the portrait gallery of His Late Majesty the Emperor.”

Perhaps fearing the atmosphere would grow unbearably heavy, Yuri spoke in a deliberately bright tone. Ashton responded readily and followed him.

Clodine walked a few steps behind them, then stopped, as though something had caught at her ankle.

She turned back.

Elizabeth’s portrait filled her vision once more.

The flawless white of her skin and the deep crimson of the large-petaled flower formed a contrast so vivid it hurt the eyes.

Even as the group moved farther away, Clodine found herself unable to look away.

***

“After investigation, we confirmed that the ring found on the maid Pellier Sanderson belonged to our Empire. The seal engraved on the inner band led us to the atelier, it was commissioned by Her Majesty the Empress three years ago. It appears she intended it as a gift for that woman. The atelier is renowned even abroad for its exquisite craftsmanship.”

Cal delivered his report smoothly, placing before Ahazan both the recovered ring and a rough sketch of its design.

The atelier’s name was stamped proudly into the thick leather corner of the draft.

Leaning back in his chair, Ahazan lowered only his gaze to the ring.

If it had been ordered from the Empire while Clodine was still in Rotermann, then the ring’s size could not have been mistaken.

And Clodine was not so careless as to misjudge something so crucial when purchasing a gift.

‘So the size was not the issue.’

Then what had caused the ring to fit the maid’s swollen hand so precisely?

Ahazan regarded the ring with a seemingly casual gaze before lifting his eyes back to Cal.

The look said clearly to Continue.

“We obtained testimony that Tomas Orlandor has been sighted. As Your Majesty suspected, he had been frequenting a small gambling den near the Rembran Territory. According to the owner, he appeared out of nowhere and cleared his outstanding debts in one stroke. He also lost a considerable sum of money without batting an eye.”

Cal continued in a grave tone, his brows drawn together.

“The owner warned him he was overreaching himself. Orlandor replied that he need not worry, because the most powerful financier in this Empire stood at his side. At first, the owner assumed it was drunken nonsense.”

“But such incidents continued after that.”

Cal looked at Ahazan in quiet awe as the Emperor completed his thought, then nodded.

“Yes. That is why the owner remembered him clearly. After behaving that way for several days, however, he suddenly stopped coming altogether.”

Ahazan leaned his head back against the high chair and looked up at the ceiling.

Unable to read his thoughts, Cal hesitated before speaking again.

“Is there anything you wish to tell me, Your Majesty?”

The noon sunlight streamed warmly into the study, and a brief silence passed between them.

Cal endured it patiently, recalling Ahazan’s promise on the day of the imperial wedding, that he would soon explain everything.

At length, Ahazan spoke, his voice quiet yet resonant.

“Do you know how to distinguish a human from a beast?”

Cal pondered the unexpected question before answering carefully.

“The presence of reason?”

“There are many rational beasts in this world who wear the skin of men, Cal.”

Ahazan gave a faint smile.

Cal searched again for the answer he thought Ahazan sought, but none came.

“Those shameless creatures never know how to turn back. Give them an opportunity, and they never think to cease their wrongdoing.”

His gaze sharpened as he lowered it from the ceiling.

“How could something like that have come from that person’s womb?”

Cal tilted his head, unable to discern whom Ahazan meant.

“Whom are you referring to, Your Majesty?”

Ahazan offered no reply. Instead, he asked another question.

“Is Yuri with Ashton?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. As ordered, Grand Duke Haimos is accompanying Her Majesty the Empress. When I last saw them, the atmosphere was quite cordial.”

Cal allowed himself a faintly satisfied smile.

Ahazan looked at him and laughed softly, though with a meaning different from before.

At times, Cal was startlingly perceptive. At others, no hint would help him grasp what lay between the lines.

Deciding not to prolong matters, Ahazan chose directness.

“Keep Yuri under watch.”

Cal blinked in confusion.

Not praise, surveillance?

He offered an uncertain smile.

“Surely I misheard?”

Ahazan’s voice turned cold as he recited a plan long settled in his mind.

“And arrange a meeting with the Marquis of Langham as soon as possible. Tell him I intend to propose something both large and secret. He will understand that it would be wiser to keep the hand he currently holds hidden in his pocket.”

“The Marquis of Langham…”

The Langham family was known for their steadfast support of Yuri. Though relations had seemed to cool somewhat after Clodine became Queen of Rotermann and Lady Charlotte was named a potential Empress candidate, their ties remained stronger than most.

“Do you mean to say, that you suspect your own brother, the Grand Duke Lernando, of orchestrating the maids’ deaths?”

A chilling smile curved Ahazan’s lips.

He lifted the hand resting on the armrest and propped his chin upon it, speaking almost lazily.

“Not a brother. A beast. And—”

The pause carried not hesitation, but restraint. Mercy would not be extended twice.

“It is not suspicion, It is certainty.”