Chapter 821: Ambition in the Hall ( 821 )
Duke Kimar’s smirk curved wider, though the faint strain behind his eyes betrayed the edge of jealousy. His voice, smooth yet laced with polite bite, carried across the table.
"My~ Count Garius... tell me, are you attempting to dazzle us all with displays of wealth? Surely such glitter is better suited for festivals than for council."
Garius inclined his head slightly, his tone steady, calm, and refined, each word polished with courtesy yet edged with quiet steel.
"Ah, pardon my rudeness, Your Grace. It was never my intent to parade riches before you, nor before these honorable members of the council. Wealth alone is nothing but dust without purpose. What I wished to show... is that a region well-governed, where its people live safely, thrive in their labor, and rest without fear, will naturally bear such fruit. This glass, this wine, this wealth... are but reflections of the lives my people enjoy, not ornaments of vanity."
His smirk lingered, subtle and measured.
"Surely, Your Grace, that is the mark of true strength in rule, not the coin we hold, but the prosperity our people prove."
Duke Kimar’s smile thinned, his fingers drumming once against the table before stilling.
"Oh? How curious, Count Garius," he said smoothly, each syllable wrapped in courtly grace yet sharp as a blade. "One might almost think you speak with a taste for more than your current station. The council has yet to deliberate on the crown, and yet... your words ring as though you weigh it already."
Garius raised the glass, tilting it just so the chamber’s light gleamed along its rim.
"Ah, Your Grace, you misjudge me. Never have I sought, nor even spared a thought, for that throne. Unlike certain gatherings of eager men, hosted beyond these walls before this council convened, I do not chase shadows of crowns not yet bestowed."
His gaze swept across the table, lingering on Kimar before passing to the rest, every word polished in noble courtesy.
"What I have shown is not a claim, but evidence. That the next ruler, whomever this council deems worthy, must be one who sets the people above the pocket, their well-being above personal ambition. Wealth is no goal in itself; it is merely the measure of whether those under one’s care live secure and well."
He lifted the glass a fraction higher, voice steady as steel wrapped in silk.
"And what is a crown worth, if it does not shield those who bow beneath it?"
Duke Kimar’s hands came together in a measured clap, the sound soft but carrying through the chamber. His smile remained polished, his tone refined, every word draped in courtesy yet threaded with something quieter beneath.
"Indeed... such should be the heart of the next ruler of this kingdom. Truly, Count Garius, your words strike with the weight of truth, and none here could deny their wisdom."
His voice was silk, yet the faintest shadow lingered at its edge, a subtle note only the sharpest ears might catch.
Inside, however, Kimar’s thoughts coiled darkly.
Enjoy your moment, Garius. Win this round if you must. Soon enough, that smile of yours will vanish. The throne will be mine, and no speech, no clever courtesy, will bar my hand from it.
With a final glance over the gathered nobles, Kimar let his expression soften into the picture of noble grace. His hand gestured lightly toward the chamber.
"Very well, then... let us begin the council."
Meanwhile, Javier leaned back in his chair, his sharp eyes following every word, every subtle gesture from his father. He watched how Garius’s calm smile never wavered, how his tone carried weight without force, and how every counter landed like a blade sheathed in silk, cutting without spilling blood.
Inside Javier’s mind, the thought stirred.
Hmm... so this is how Father does it. Calm. Precise. Never raising his voice, never showing anger, yet every word lands heavier than steel. Not rushing, not dragging, just enough to silence them without giving them a reason to strike back.
Javier’s gaze shifted toward the front, where Princess Kliatana sat with poise, her expression calm and unreadable. Just behind her, the royal advisor stood with hands folded, his presence like a shadow, while General Gilmon remained at her side.
Javier’s eyes narrowed slightly before drifting back across the council table, scanning the dukes, marquises, and the ripple of subtle gestures passing between them.
Hmm... something’s brewing. With the way this meeting is moving, there’s no chance it will end quickly. Too many eyes, too many ambitions. Someone’s bound to make a move before long.
Javier sighed heavily, leaning deeper into his seat, his cheek resting against his palm.
Great... more hours of watching these old men play their games.
Still... this is a bit interesting. I wonder how this will end up. I’ve studied laws, I’ve read about rules, judgments, even punishments. But crowns? No book ever taught how a throne is passed when blood thins and ambition thickens.
His gaze flicked toward Princess Kliatana, then toward Duke Kimar.
One holds blood. The other holds influence.
Javier mused, drumming his fingers softly against the armrest.
It looks like everything is already set up by that old man there. Kimar’s weaving his net, and most of these fools don’t even notice the strings tightening around them.
And by the look of it, every last one of these nobles is burning with ambition. Some hide it behind polished smiles, some behind empty laughter, but it’s there. They’re not here for the kingdom. They’re here for themselves.
And according to what I heard from Alf and Father’s discussion before, it seems that during the late King Edmund’s corruption by that thing everyone calls a Celestial, some of the lands were left lordless, their rulers slaughtered by Edmund’s madness.
Javier’s gaze drifted across the nobles, watching their eyes gleam sharper.
By the look on their faces, those lordless lands are nothing but ripe fruit to them, lands of opportunity, waiting to be plucked.
Which means someone, somewhere, already whispered promises. Bargains struck behind closed doors. A seat for support, a territory for a vote. That’s what this is really about.
He leaned back, fingers drumming idly against his knee.
But still... if you ask me, those lands are worthless if not properly governed. Soil without order turns barren. People without a guiding hand scatter like dust. What good is a title if the land beneath it rots away?
( End Of Chapter )