Chapter 62: The Prime Minister’s Last Bath

As the Prime Minister of the Principality of Saint Fros, Charles had been tirelessly occupied with the preparations for the Prince’s upcoming wedding.

The sheer effort required for such a grand affair was immense, but it was the astronomical cost that truly haunted his nights.

This single event had all but drained the vast fortune Glais II had painstakingly amassed over his reign.

Yet, he believed these monumental expenditures would ultimately prove worthwhile.

Charles surveyed his surroundings, a profound sense of satisfaction swelling within him at the fruit of his labors.

The once-barren royal court had been transformed into a vision of breathtaking beauty. Newly installed whale oil lamps shimmered in orderly rows, akin to a constellation adorning the grand banquet soon to unfold.

At the very center, a red carpet strewn with fresh flowers bisected ten long dining tables. The Black Eagle banner stood proudly on the left, while the White Wolf banner graced the right, delineating the seating for each nation’s guests.

This arrangement was a pragmatic consideration, acknowledging the potential for lingering animosity between the two parties. Charles harbored no desire for unforeseen incidents to disrupt the wedding.

He stroked his handlebar mustache, already envisioning the magnificence of the next day’s ceremony.

He lifted his gaze to the wall behind the throne, where numerous portraits now hung. Among them, some faces exuded benevolence, others a fierce glare, and still others a vacant stare.

They shared but one commonality: each depicted a Prince of Saint Fros.

However, a subtle frown creased Charles’s brow, as if someone were missing.

“A little to the right, yes.”

The craftsman’s words broke Charles’s reverie. He looked up to see another artisan securely hanging the portrait of Glais II on the wall.

Custom dictated that the portraits of all past princes be displayed when a new prince married.

However, Glais II had always disliked artists and rarely sat for a painting. Charles Faraute had searched extensively before finally discovering a portrait from the late prince’s youth.

Dismissing the craftsmen, he remained to admire the former prince alone.

In that painting, Glais II was dashing and spirited, a world-renowned handsome man, a fearless knight, and indeed, Charles’s childhood idol.

Thus, when Charles delivered the poison to his lips, his heart had been fraught with conflict.

He had watched his aged idol succumb to the poison, dying without dignity, yet an inexpressible joy had bloomed within him.

Regicide was never a one-time act; it was either never, or N times.

As Prime Minister, Charles stood backed by the great nobles of Saint Fros. He was more than willing to serve as their executioner, eliminating any future prince who proved disobedient.

Cliff, unlike Glais II, had moved too swiftly, venturing too close to the Elder Council.

He was far too astute, and the great nobles preferred a simple, pliable puppet.

Nobles, in their rustic sincerity, desired nothing more than tranquility. Regrettably, Cliff seemed intent on shattering that peace.

Should Cliff perish suddenly at the wedding, the succession would fall to Norria, the former prince’s legitimate illegitimate son.

Even if this meant annexation by the Eledis Empire, the great nobles were indifferent as to whether a prince or an emperor rode roughshod over them.

This wedding was excessively lavish, but if it were to coincide with a funeral, the extravagance would seem perfectly appropriate.

Charles slipped his trembling hand into his pocket, his fingers closing around a glass vial.

During tomorrow’s banquet, he would be closest to Cliff. He merely needed to discreetly pour the liquid from the vial into the prince’s bowl.

‘How would he make a swift escape when Cliff suddenly collapsed and died?’ Charles mused anxiously.

‘He would pin the blame on the royal chef! If the chef refused to cooperate, he would threaten his family. After all, he was of humble birth; no one would care about the life of a commoner.’

‘If all else failed, he could even implicate the Eledis Empire. The two nations had been hostile for a long time, so assassinating a prince at a banquet wasn’t an impossible scenario.’

“My lord.”

A maiden’s silvery voice suddenly chimed from behind him, startling Charles so badly he nearly fainted.

He slowly turned to find a maid standing there, her hands clasped before her skirt, her body slightly bowed.

“Your hot bath is ready.”

“Good… I’ll be right there.”

****

Moments later, Charles Faraute lay in the bath, allowing the maid to knead his aching shoulders.

Worn out by conspiracies and affairs of state, Charles was utterly exhausted, but at last, he had a chance to rest.

“Prime Minister, my lord~ Is that comfortable?”

The maid’s coquettish whisper reached his ears, sending a jolt through his body.

“Mm…”

Charles turned his head, assessing the maid.

She possessed short, light-brown hair, fair skin, and a beautiful face. Her two-piece swimsuit revealed her well-developed figure in its entirety.

Bathed in the steam and lamplight, her face was flushed, her captivating gaze tracing Charles’s naked form.

Yet, Charles couldn’t shake the feeling—was it merely his imagination, or had he seen this adorable young woman before?

“Are you new here?”

“Yes, my lord. My name is Treya, and I was introduced by your father.”

Charles chuckled, casting his suspicions aside. He had been too busy lately to seek female companionship.

His hand instinctively rested on Treya’s thigh, the touch smooth and yielding. Treya offered no resistance, a faint smile playing on her lips.

She was truly a temptress, though her features were undeniably youthful.

But Charles had a penchant for exactly that! His father, indeed, knew his son’s preferences intimately.

Charles rose from the bath. The water might cleanse his fatigue, but the fire of desire within him only intensified.

“Would you care to spend the night with me? I guarantee you a lifetime of wealth and glory.”

Treya covered her mouth, giggling softly, which only heightened Charles’s excitement.

Charles’s hand reached for Treya, but she swiftly caught his wrist.

“Prime Minister, my lord, no lewdness, please.”

Suddenly, Charles was seized by a tearing, agonizing pain. His eyes dropped, revealing a dagger plunged squarely into his heart.

“You… are…”

Treya withdrew the dagger, her tongue delicately tracing the blood on its blade.

Charles struggled with his last vestiges of strength, his mouth agape as if to speak, but the air rushed uselessly from his lungs. He could utter not a single word.

Treya had left a faint, delicate cut across his throat.

She placed a finger to her lips, her eyes playfully narrowing.

“Keep it a secret.”

Charles’s vision blurred. Before consciousness completely faded, he saw dark red trails seeping from his body, gradually staining the bathwater crimson.

Treya bent down, immersing the dagger in the water to wash away the blood.

In the polished surface of the blade, Longinus’s beautiful face was reflected.

She cast a look of disgust at Charles beside her; his touch had filled her with revulsion.

Longinus suppressed her nausea, placing her hand on the Prime Minister’s now-cold shoulder. This time, however, it was not for a massage.

Tongues of fire erupted from the Prime Minister’s body, growing wildly in all directions, consuming his form until nothing but ashes remained.

Longinus drained the bloody water, then added fresh hot water. She plunged into the tub as if nothing had occurred.

She splashed water over herself, not only to wash away the scent of blood but also to feel utterly clean.

After all, she had a wedding to attend tomorrow.