Libelle

27 | A Threat

The next few hours blurred after that. The Court was summoned from their rooms. Eliott stuffed the advisers into the most uncomfortable room in the villa, which happened to be the wine cellar.

"I'm sure you already heard what happened in town today," he started as soon as he had a fair share of seeing their displeased faces as they were forced to sit on kegs and the steps leading towards the upper landing. "A fae was murdered out of a misconception. The soldier responsible thought it was improper for a fae to be with the Princess Consort. Do you know what's the glaring error in this issue?"

Nobody answered. After all, Eliott had been baiting them into revealing their hidden biases. "The error lies in the soldiers thinking of the fae as nothing more than outliers in our society," he said. "They could be shot at because they aren't worth anything. To us, they don't have a life. To us, they're not people."

Eliott stared down at them, being the only one who opted to stay standing. "That's got to change, don't you think?"

The advisers finally found the wine cellar's interior design to be interesting. He smirked. Scums of the earth, these people were. "I know why the edict wasn't moved to the Royal Office until today," he said. "The Court is holding it back, correct?"

The silence had never been so much of a testament of Eliott's accuracy. "I would advise you to stop whatever machinations you're pulling from the background," he said. "Do you think your places in this court are permanent?"

Eliott leaned against the rim of the single table inside the room. It spanned almost the whole floor plan in its quest to support more kegs along with some rounds of aged cheese. "I'd like to remind you that it's not," he said with a gracious smile. Despite the acts these people do in the shadows deserving not a drop of it at all. "All it takes is for me to open my mouth and all of you could be sent out of the palace the next hour. Do you know why?"

He leaned forward without taking his weight off the table. His hair fell to his eyes, giving his smile a little more sinister shade. "I know all your dirty little secrets," he dropped his voice to a whisper. "From the local gambling ring to the proudest whorehouse, I know what each of you had done in their lifetime. And I assure you, I know things even the best of you won't ever sniff out."

Part of it was true. Together with Sir Geoffer, they had uncovered some of the worst crimes a human could ever do. Instead of going to the King about it, the affairs manager, because he had a good head on his shoulders, suggested for Eliott to hold on to it for as long as he could and to use the cards at the proper time.

There had never been a more perfect moment for them other than this hour.

"The only reason I kept my mouth shut was because the Kingdom cannot handle a complete Court overhaul with all the things going on," Eliott continued. "But seeing as you are not doing what you are paid to do with the efficiency expected of you, I would be left with no choice."

He tilted his head to one side, drawing back once more and resting his hands against the table's rim. "So here's the deal," he said. "Prove to me you can do your job right in the coming weeks and I will keep my mouth shut. You'll be able to hold on to your prized seats for as long as you are useful. How does that sound?"

"You can't expect us to endorse an act that would serve the Empire to the subjects on a silver platter," Frances Atwood shot up from his place on the last step of the stairs. "Dispensing a 'damage fee' to all of the displaced and affected fae is going to set our funds back to the founding years. What's more, if we recognize fae's rights to own property, we might as well kiss Cirenwell goodbye! That's another source of income down the drain."

Eliott narrowed his eyes. "So you admit the Empire does not rightfully own Cirenwell all these years?" he said. "That it's seized from the fae from the beginning?"

The adviser sputtered. Another one shot up. Hamil Whitehall, was it? "Why are you gloating over us, Your Grace?" he yelled, obviously switching tactics now that Eliott had a hand around their necks. They refused to admit their defeat. "Who made you a king when the current one is still on the throne?"

"I'm not talking to you as a king. Gods, I'm not even the Crown Prince today," Eliott scoffed and shook his head like he was so done with this conversation. He tapped his foot against the cellar's wooden floorboards. "Think of me as a maker of deals. A god extending his hand to save you from the pits of your despair. This will be the last chance I will give the lot of you. Do your best to deserve it."

With that, he strode to the stairs and trudged past it. He was about to shut the door when he caught a familiar smirk thrown his way. It was familiar because he had used it himself. This time, it was being reflected back to him from the face he had sent it to back then.

Just as the door shut behind him, Linus Copper's devious eyes and manic grin sent shivers up Eliott's spine. It wasn't of a man's desperate attempt to get back into the Prince's graces. It came straight from a devil's scheming—one telling Eliott he shouldn't rest quite well tonight.

Because evil doesn't rest and when it strikes, it strikes once. Cleanly. Through the heart. Eliott would be dead before he hit the ground. And once it was done, the world would be dancing in a shallow pool made by the blood of the innocent followed by the blood of its enemies.