It might be even more than that — not simply a matter of physical distance.
Kasha’s mind went back to the brief encounter she had witnessed between the two at Elor Bay.
They had appeared, to all outward signs, a perfectly contented couple — but the Crown Prince had avoided touching her with a stiffness that bordered on awkward, in a way he had not before.
Why?
The Crown Prince was in evident good health. So was Jasmine. And she was, by any objective measure, a deeply attractive woman. Her love for the Crown Prince was so unconditional that it had become common knowledge. Everyone knew.
And it wasn’t only that.
Their union was a celebration for two nations; they had been blessed by the whole world. Their children, when they came, would be looked upon by an entire continent with reverence. The moment an heir was born, the Crown Prince’s power would become unassailable.
And yet. Knowing all that — why does he not touch her?
The branches of her thinking, stretching endlessly outward, began to converge toward a single point.
And that single point aligned with uncanny precision with the answer she had been turning over in her mind for days.
Her heart began to beat with purpose.
Could it be — could Nigel truly be—
Her mouth went dry.
Gulp.
She lifted the glass with trembling hands and swallowed.
Her palms were damp with cold sweat.
Did he sense it? Leon’s thumb — resting over her hand — began to move in a slow, steady rhythm across her knuckles.
The calloused roughness of it, unhurried and sure, drew the tension out of her inch by inch. But it was not quite enough.
She turned her hand over and interlaced her fingers with his.
The abruptness of it made Leon turn to look at her.
Kasha’s deep pink eyes were bright with something almost like excitement. He looked at her with puzzled attention, but she could only press her lips together in silence.
He could not know. He could not possibly know how desperately she wanted, in this moment, to tell him everything.
Leon. I may have found him. The one who placed that terrible curse on you.
The one who controlled Simon Blanche and Baron Marquis as easily as moving pieces on a board — and could make them disappear without a trace when it suited him. The one who viewed Leon as a thorn in his side and wished to see him fall. The one with every reason to use the death of Leon’s sister Eve as a weapon against House Ossilote. The one who had a close relationship with Jasmine — the woman who had brought the fragrance, one of the black mastermind’s calling cards, into the empire.
Crown Prince Nigel.
Every fragment of evidence she had gathered pointed directly to him. Piece after piece slotted into place.
Only one thing still didn’t quite fit: in the previous life, the mastermind had used a folding fan. Fans were, almost universally, a woman’s accessory.
But perhaps that was just her own assumption. Was it really sensible to bind someone capable of orchestrating evil across an entire continent inside the constraints of convention?
And then there was the curse of lust aimed at Leon — the curse born of the first spirit stone, Onor. Onor’s domain: charm and renown.
The Crown Prince’s accession had taken place roughly a year ago. Almost immediately after Kasha had unsealed the stone and it had been taken from her by Simon.
He had returned from his time abroad and was said to have captivated everyone around him almost instantly — with remarkable magnetism and extraordinary eloquence.
In the year since, he had moved from diplomatic triumph to diplomatic triumph, binding neighboring nations to him while sweeping up the trust and devotion of the empire’s own people.
Every room he entered erupted in adulation. Every decision he made passed without question or objection. With an unnaturalness that was, if one stopped to look at it, deeply strange.
Kasha recalled a conversation she’d had with Margaret a few days earlier. Margaret had been laying out in careful detail the history between House Ossilote, Empress Ann, and Crown Prince Nigel, and had added this:
Come to think of it, as I’ve been talking through all of this — I’m suddenly struck by the thought that His Highness’s decision to leave the Grand Duke alive after his investiture wasn’t purely mercy… When you look at the path House Ossilote has walked since then, it’s been a slow decline. That’s strange. Why have I never thought of this before? I’ve always just assumed His Highness was merciful by nature.
And the deciding piece: the curse of lust that had been aimed at Leon. If that curse had somehow transferred to Nigel — that would explain precisely why Nigel could not bring himself to touch Jasmine.
Because intercourse under the influence of a curse of lust carries enough force to kill the other person. He would never risk that with a foreign princess, a woman who is now the empire’s Crown Princess.
With the single hypothesis that Crown Prince Nigel was the mastermind, everything fell into place.
Gulp.
As the drink slid down her dry throat, Kasha felt her thoughts settle into their final shape.
Throughout it all, Leon had kept stroking the back of her hand.
I’m here. Don’t worry. Whatever comes — I will keep you safe.
He said none of it. But it was all there.
And Anthony — watching them with that quietly unsteady smile — was there too.
Wa—. Clap clap clap.
Jasmine’s dance had ended while Kasha was lost in thought.
“Extraordinary, as always, Jasmine. I do believe the treasure I took from Kazim is proving more dangerous than I anticipated.”
Ha ha ha.
The Crown Prince’s playful praise drew a ripple of laughter through the crowd, and Jasmine dabbed at the light perspiration on her brow and smiled with satisfaction.
“I’d say our table will be difficult to beat — but let the others try, by all means.”
Goaded by the Crown Prince’s challenge, a young nobleman from Duke Vistas’s table eventually stood, scratching his head with an air of theatrical self-deprecation.
“I could hardly hope to match the remarkable skill of Her Royal Highness, but I offer what little ability I possess and beg your indulgence.”
The speaker was Lord Valgis, nephew of Marquis Anmari, the head of the Crown Prince’s faction. He was also a wealthy patron who owned the largest opera house in Arkin, and a man of genuine artistic cultivation.
He performed a beautiful narrative poem — set to a self-composed melody and delivered with the consummate stage presence of a one-man show.
The effortless performance and brilliant technique warmed the party still further.
As Lord Valgis bowed to thunderous applause and took his seat, the Crown Prince beamed at him.
“Remarkable. You’ve all entertained me so generously — I couldn’t be more pleased. Well then — that leaves the final table?”
The moment the words left his mouth, the mood that had been building fell away. The guests at the third table felt it immediately. They looked at each other helplessly.
Princess Melissa, as the table’s nominal host, lowered her head in quiet silence.
Those seated with her were, for the most part, people who were neither prominent nor socially gifted. Of the group, only Leon and Viscount Daryl commanded the kind of respect that might have drawn genuine response from the audience.
But the problem was that these two were precisely the last people on earth who would ever perform in front of a crowd.
Moreover, it was obvious that Jasmine and Lord Valgis had prepared their performances in advance for exactly this situation. To go up unprepared now would simply be embarrassing.
Nigel is deliberately cornering the Princess.
Kasha looked at the Princess’s profile — elegant, composed, but rigid with tension.
And that’s the strangest part. No one seems to notice. No one seems bothered.
Kasha did not know Princess Melissa well. But the Princess had a presence that was quiet and steadying — the kind that ought to attract affection, not enemies. She was not the sort of person who invited antagonism.
And yet right now, Melissa was being publicly humiliated, and no one was lifting a finger to help her. Every face was turned toward her with expectation, as though she were a criminal who had ruined the Crown Prince’s perfect evening.
It isn’t natural. None of this is.
They looked like people in the grip of a cult — every one of them. These worldly, calculating, fox-sharp aristocrats.
And it wasn’t only the ardent Crown Prince loyalists. Even people like Daryl and Margaret, who had no particular allegiance to Nigel, felt no resistance to him — none at all.
If they are all being drawn along by the power of the spirit stone, then everything makes sense.
But there was one thing that bothered her.
If his magnetism truly comes from the stone — then why am I not affected?
As far as Kasha could tell, the only two people at this gathering who felt any discomfort around the Crown Prince were herself and Leon.
Leon’s immunity made sense — he had been directly involved with the curse of the stone. But what about Kasha?
Is it because I was the one who unsealed the stone?
Leon had once mentioned that the curse seemed to manifest differently around her. It wasn’t an entirely impossible explanation.
Still, I should be careful. Caution costs nothing.
Crown Prince Nigel was currently the second most powerful person in the empire. She could not challenge him carelessly, and must not.
If Nigel decided, at this very table, that he wanted someone’s head — Leon’s, Kasha’s, Daryl’s — there was no one who could stop him.
Which meant she had to be more careful than she had ever been. Because in this life, there were people she could not bear to lose — people whose value she hadn’t understood the first time around.
She was thinking this when Nigel raised his voice again, with practiced good cheer:
“My, my. I’d hate for my sister Melissa’s evening to be spoiled. Is it truly possible that among all the fine people at that table, not one soul knows how to make merry?”
Ha ha ha.
Not one thing was funny about it. And yet the assembled nobles laughed until their sides ached.
Even Princess Melissa curved her lips upward — though the corners of her mouth trembled faintly.
Kasha looked slowly around the room.
A chorus of voices performing, soullessly, under Nigel’s direction.
If the demon who had crafted the spirit stones could see this scene — wouldn’t he be satisfied?
Kasha looked directly at Crown Prince Nigel.
Whether by chance or design, she felt as though their eyes had just met.
If he truly was the mastermind, he would have been watching her all evening.
The magical device maker who had slipped out of his grasp.
Kasha was openly conducting a courtship arrangement with Leon — the very person Nigel considered a nuisance — and had been the one who prevented the abduction of Eve.
He already held limitless power. He had to know everything. And if so — why had he left Kasha alive all this time?
Perhaps there was a reason he couldn’t touch her easily. Or perhaps he was still biding his time, waiting for the right moment to use her.
She was still thinking this when Nigel raised his voice again, with easy warmth:
“Now then. It seems the mood has faltered — no matter. Shall we bring this evening to a—”
The scrape of a chair cut through his words as Kasha rose to her feet.
“Just a moment — may I perhaps represent our table?”
The room fell briefly, completely still.
Kasha looked around at the faces with a neutral expression.
Only Leon did not look particularly surprised. He looked up at her with quiet, unhurried certainty — a certainty she could not explain. His deep amethyst eyes, gleaming in the darkness, seemed to say:
Whatever you want to do.
I’m right behind you.
Something surged inside her and pressed against her ribs. She held it down and raised her voice.
“There is a song I’d like to sing.”
