Chapter 112 : The King’s Tea and Poisoned Intent
Chapter 112 : The King’s Tea and Poisoned Intent
The chamber was cloaked in stillness, as if holding its breath beneath the weight of unspoken treachery.
Christian, her gaze fixed sharply upon the King’s inscrutable features, parted her lips at last.
“When Your Majesty speaks of a great event to divert the public’s attention… what precisely do you envision?”
The King gave no immediate reply.
But the silence itself roared — a silence that held within it the shape of malice.
It was not a question, but an order veiled in ambiguity. An incident was to be orchestrated. A scandal, precise in its devastation, grand in its distraction — and ideally, to fall upon the heads of the Schultz family.
Christian’s brows knit subtly. Even as her thoughts grew thorns, the King brought his teacup to his lips and sipped as though pondering no more than the weather.
Stillness stretched into unease.
At last, with eyes closed and voice low, he spoke.
“What would you think… if Duke Schultz or his wife found themselves at the center of such an event?”
“…At the Royal Department Store?”
Shock flickered across Christian’s composed face.
Of course, she had long since given up expecting strategy from the King. But this level of shortsightedness was astonishing.
The department store, newly erected in the heart of Baden’s capital, was more than a commercial venture. It was a monument — a symbol of cultural revival for a kingdom bruised by war and humiliation. To exploit it for palace politics would not only endanger its promise, but risk further bankrupting the treasury.
And worse — it reeked of the same ignorance that had led them into defeat to begin with.
Christian, stifling the invective rising within her throat, merely clicked her tongue softly and spoke with practiced restraint.
“With respect, Your Majesty — allowing even a hint of scandal to tarnish the department store would impose grave financial strain upon the Crown. It was constructed with considerable capital.”
The King nodded, lips pressed thin.
She continued, her voice a velvet blade.
“Public interest, both domestic and abroad, has swelled. We’ve even secured a contract with a prominent foreign designer. It is, in every sense, a beacon of Docilia’s return to grace.”
It was enough to make the King hesitate.
“Furthermore,” she added coolly, “the Marquis Russell has heavily invested in its creation. If even a shadow displeases the Marchioness… she will withdraw all support. You do not wish to see our grandest commercial endeavor begin its existence mired in ruin.”
That caught his attention.
For it was the first Royal Department Store not born of private ambition, but of sovereign declaration. The risks were as great as the pride it promised.
“If it flourishes,” Christian murmured, “the profits alone could make war reparations trivial. This cannot be compromised.”
The King tilted his head, mulling her words. Then, with the glint of mischief rekindled in his eye, he muttered,
“But wouldn’t such a place… be the most symbolic venue for a public tremor? One that echoes through history?”
Christian felt her restraint falter — nearly stood in indignation. But she mastered herself.
The King was, as ever, a creature of chaos cloaked in silk. He longed for spectacle without regard for cost.
Yet the solution was there — one that would satisfy his hunger for scandal, while safeguarding the Crown’s fragile dignity.
“…Then perhaps,” she said, voice quiet, “a museum. One with history… and less at stake.”
The King stirred, interest piqued.
“An art museum?”
“Yes. The one on 4th Avenue in Bütten, in Mussen. Rich in cultural value. Revered by the people.” She let the implication hang in the air. “It would hurt.”
And hurt it would.
Not only would the Schultz name be sullied again, but it would do so through the defilement of a symbol — a place sacred to the city’s soul.
The King seemed satisfied. A smile, faint and malicious, curled on his withered lips.
Christian’s thoughts were sharper still.
He trusts me, she thought. More than his son Edward, whose mind wanders. More than any of his children. She, who would be the first Queen of Docilia. She, whose legacy would be written in ink as the monarch who steadied a broken realm.
“We agree, then,” the King drawled. “You remind me of myself.”
A curse, disguised as praise.
Christian bowed slightly — but within her, disdain coiled like a serpent.
The King, whose own incompetence had fractured the nation, now flattered her with resemblance to his ruinous self.
“And what means do you propose?” he inquired.
Christian, her nerves taut, smiled faintly.
“I have not yet considered the precise method.”
She lowered her gaze to the tea before her, where pale liquid shimmered like the calm before a storm.
Yes, the Schultz family was dangerous.
Not only because of their rising popularity, but because of lineage.
Johannes Schulz bore the blood of Windsor — a truth the King had long tried to erase.
Once, eliminating Leah Schultz may have seemed like prudence. But failing to extinguish her legacy left Johannes as a threat still blooming in the shadows.
And now, the King’s ignorance demanded another reckoning.
Christian said nothing of this.
The King drained his cup and placed it gently down.
“Perhaps this is the time,” he said, his tone almost wistful, “to erase Johannes Schulz entirely.”
Christian felt her spine stiffen. Her throat grew dry.
Had she betrayed her thoughts?
But as always, she masked them flawlessly.
Still, the King’s gaze lingered — sharp, icy, and laced with hidden venom.
“There was a time,” he said softly, “when such things were easier. But you are tired, Christian. Rest. I shall retire now.”
He rose, with the deliberation of a man who bore no weight at all — though the weight of a kingdom sagged upon him.
As he disappeared from the room, Christian remained seated, the air thick with the stench of strategy and fear.
The King, she now knew with certainty, was no fool.
He only pretended to be one — perhaps even to his own children — waiting… watching… measuring each move in shadows.
And the moment one revealed their fangs, he would strike.
Left alone in the quiet, Christian finally exhaled.
But her breath was not one of relief — it was a warning to herself.
The game had begun. And the rules had just changed.
