The Princess' Harem
Chapter 124: The Weight Lifted

Chapter 124: The Weight Lifted

"The immediate threat is neutralized," King Clive began, his voice firm despite his age. "Prince Arin is secured. His forces are either captured or broken. But Lord Eryndor’s words echo what Princess Viana and Prince Rayne have already conveyed. This conflict runs deeper."

"Indeed, Your Majesty," Rayne affirmed, leaning forward. "Our intelligence indicates Count Lazarus has been manipulating events for years. His network reaches into every court, every merchant guild. He exploited Arin’s ambition, provided the funds through illicit trade to build this army, and worked to isolate Elysia, ensuring no aid could reach you."

Queen Isabella’s hand went to her throat, her eyes were filled with disgust. "Slavery... that monstrous trade, financing such destruction."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Viana confirmed, her voice cold. "The blight was also a tool. It weakened Elysia, forcing us to drain our resources, making us ripe for Arin’s invasion. It wasn’t just a natural disaster, it was part of Lazarus’s calculated scheme."

Joel slammed a fish lightly on the table. "He must be hunted down! His influence rooted out!"

"Easier said than done, Commander Joel," Reyes interjected, his pragmatic tone cutting through the anger. "Lazarus operates in shadows. He leaves no direct trail. His agents are everywhere, but none truly know his ultimate objective beyond chaos."

"He sought to pit kingdoms against each other, or to destabilize the very fabric of our world," Rayne added, his gaze steely. "The Emperor himself has sought to uncover Lazarus’s operations for years. Arin’s rebellion simply brought the hidden war into the light."

King Clive sighed, running a hand over his tired face. "Our immediate concerns remain the recovery of Elysia. The capital must be rebuilt. Our dead must be honored, our wounded healed. Supplies must be secured, and our people reassured."

He looked at Rayne. "And the disposition of Arin’s remaining forces and resources must be managed with Valendale."

"That is already underway, Your Majesty," Rayne replied. "My legions will assist in securing the plains and ensuring order. Arin’s captive soldiers will be dealt with according to Imperial Law."

He then looked to Viana. "But the hunt for Lazarus, Princess, that is a task that will require swift action, careful planning, and absolute discretion."

Viana met his gaze. "I agree. We cannot allow him to consolidate his power further. He has been revealed, but not defeated. And the blight... its source must be found. It is not enough to simply treat the symptoms."

The room fell silent, the weight of the new mission settling upon them.

***

The afternoon gave way to dusk, and dusk to a star-strewn night. The grim work of the battlefield continued, but within the walls of Elysia, a different kind of energy surged.

The people, after days of fear and despair, erupted in joyous celebration. Cheers echoed through the streets, mingling with the distant rumble of carts still clearing the plains.

Bonfires were lit in the squares, casting flickering light of dancing figures. Songs, boisterous and off-key, rose into the cool night air.

The capital, so recently a tomb, pulsed with a raw, defiant happiness.

Viana heard it all from her chambers in the castle. The sounds drifted up, muffled slightly by the thick stone walls, yet potent enough to paint a vivid picture of revelry.

She had retreated to her room after the long council meeting, her body aching, her mind buzzing. A hot bath had washed away the grime of battle, but not the lingering exhaustion or the echoes of the day’s horrors.

Now, wrapped in a simple, soft nightgown, Viana stood by her open balcony door, letting the cool night air brush against her skin. The sounds of celebration were a stark contrast to the silence within her own heart.

She should be cheering, dancing, sharing in this collective euphoria. A great victory had been won. Elysia was saved.

Yet, a deep tremor ran through her. A relief, so immense it bordered on pain, settled in her chest.

She closed her eyes, and a single tear traced a path down her cheek, then another. They were not tears of sorrow, but of an overwhelming release.

The burden she had carried, a crushing weight of responsibility, fear, and a silent, personal terror, had finally, blessedly, lightened.

Lazarus.

The name echoed in her mind, no longer just a distant threat to her kingdom, but the very source of her deepest, most private nightmares. For so long, he had been a phantom, a whisper of a conspiracy, a silent force that pulled strings and threatened her kingdom from the shadows.

She had felt his presence, glimpsed his machinations in the blight, but she had been alone in truly understanding the full extent of his depravity, the fear he instilled in her own chambers.

The isolation had been suffocating, the knowledge that only she seemed to grasp the true horror of the man she was forced to call husband, and the silent torment he inflicted.

’They know now,’ she thought, her breath hitching. ’They all know the monster he truly is, before it’s too late for anyone else. Before he could trap another in his darkness, before he could poison another life as he did mine.’

The fear hadn’t vanished, but it had transformed. It was no longer a solitary terror, but a shared challenge.

The fight was far from over, but she was no longer fighting it alone. That knowledge, more potent than any victory cheer, broke through her carefully constructed emotional walls.

She leaned her head against the cool stone of the balcony frame, silent sobs shaking her.

Suddenly, a soft rustle came from the side of the balcony. Viana startled, whipping her head around, her hand instinctively going for a non-existent bow.

She saw a figure, dark against the night sky, stepping gracefully over the railing.

It was Reyes.

He paused, his keen eyes instantly assessing her. His face, usually set in a disciplined, pragmatic expression, held a rare, uncharacteristic softness.

He was wearing an open tunic on the chest, its linen soft against his skin, though his dark-brown hair was still disheveled and wet. A faint scent of soap lingered on him, hinting at a recent, hurried wash.

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