Chapter 220: For Recognition
"Why did you think of looking for her in Aurelmont," Aveline asked quietly, "when everyone believed she died in the fire?"
That was what Aelion had told her. Leveret had supposedly perished in the Caelvaris estate forty years ago.
Lucien did not answer immediately. The pride that had filled his eyes moments ago was gone. In its place remained only an old man’s sorrow.
"You knew she wasn’t dead," Aveline said.
It was no longer a question. She simply spoke the thoughts forming in her mind.
Perhaps it was the trust they had built over the months. Or perhaps... she simply wanted the truth badly enough that fear no longer mattered.
She stood in a hidden chamber no one else knew existed, alone with one of the most powerful men in the kingdom.
Yet she found herself pressing onward.
"You sent her away..."
Lucien lowered his head.
Silence answered her.
Aveline swallowed.
"Why?"
She took another cautious step. "Were you trying to protect her?"
Another silence.
"...Or were you protecting your mistress... and your child she carried?"
The chamber erupted. Heat exploded outward without warning. Blue fire burst from Lucien’s body in a violent wave, roaring across the room before coiling toward Aveline like a wounded beast.
"She was never my mistress!"
The words echoed through the underground chamber.
Instinct took over. White flames crackled across Aveline’s fingertips. Before the blue fire could touch her, it dissolved into drifting sparks that vanished harmlessly around her.
Silence fell.
Lucien stared at his own trembling hand, as though only now realizing what he had done. His shoulders sagged.
"...Do not..." he whispered hoarsely. "Do not stain her memory with such words."
Aveline’s own temper flared.
"The whole kingdom believes it," she shot back. "Don’t snarl at me as though I started the rumor."
She folded her arms.
"And if your fire comes flying at me again, old man, I’ll melt this entire laboratory before you can blink."
Lucien let out a long, weary breath. The anger drained from him all at once. He turned away. Without another word, he walked toward the stone wall and slowly lowered himself to the floor.
His back remained to her.
His lips moved faintly. Whether he spoke to himself... To the woman he had lost... Or to memories only he could still see... Aveline couldn’t tell.
She watched him for a long moment. Then quietly shook her head. Whatever moment of clarity had brought him here... It had slipped away again.
She turned toward the staircase.
She still had no answers. Only more questions. But one thing had become painfully clear.
Her father... Had never been the ordinary noble man she had believed him to be.
And somewhere along the way... She had lost far more than memories.
-----
Aelion made his way to the teahouse where he knew his uncle would be waiting. He was not entirely sure how he would break the news, but he hoped Hadrian would understand Aveline’s decision to leave the cotton in the Crown Prince’s hands.
The private room overlooked a small stone garden where a trickling stream wound between moss-covered rocks. Thin curls of steam rose from a clay teapot resting over a charcoal brazier, carrying the soothing fragrance of jasmine through the quiet room.
Hadrian Sylvarien sat opposite him, his back straight, his expression as composed as ever.
Without a word, Aelion poured tea into his uncle’s cup before filling his own. Only then did he sit.
"I heard," Hadrian said, lifting the cup without drinking, "the Crown Prince claimed the cotton before the royal court today."
Aelion lowered his eyes.
"Uncle... I understand why you’re furious. We lost the cotton, and it now sits in the Crown Prince’s hands. That is hardly the outcome any of us wanted."
Hadrian merely watched him, saying nothing.
Aelion swallowed before continuing.
"But we must also consider what would have happened otherwise. The warehouse was already about to burn. Had Ava not intervened, every bale would have been reduced to ash, and the fire might have spread throughout the district. I think she has the right to decide. She’s the Dawn Hare, after all, and she trusts the crown prince."
His uncle’s gaze sharpened, though he remained silent.
"I am not asking you to be grateful to the Crown," Aelion said quickly. "Only to recognize that there is a difference between losing the cotton to flames... and losing possession of it."
He leaned forward slightly.
"I dislike where it ended up just as much as you do. But I cannot call this a complete defeat."
"The Crown Prince has publicly vowed to distribute the cotton before winter. If he keeps that promise, the people survive the cold. If he breaks it... the people will know precisely who failed them."
He paused, choosing his next words carefully. "Either way, the Crown has placed itself under scrutiny. The cotton is no longer ours. But neither has it lost the purpose for which we stole it. For now, at least... it still belongs to the people."
Silence settled between them.
Only the soft clink of porcelain broke it as Hadrian finally took a slow sip of his tea. When he lowered the cup, his expression had softened ever so slightly.
"You’ve inherited more judgment than I gave you credit for."
Aelion looked up in surprise.
A faint smile touched Hadrian’s lips. "I am pleased to have been proven wrong."
He gave a small wave of his hand.
"Go. You’ve earned your rest."
Aelion bowed deeply.
As he stepped from the room, a smile tugged at his lips.
His uncle...
The only man who had ever looked beyond the circumstances of his birth. The only one who had ever made him feel that he truly belonged somewhere.
The paper door slid shut behind him.
The warmth vanished from Hadrian’s face. He remained seated for several moments, watching the steam rise from his untouched tea.
Only when he was certain Aelion had gone did he speak.
"The people remember who feeds them."
A quiet rustle came from behind the ornamental divider.
Hadrian did not turn.
"Make certain the cotton reaches them..." He paused. "...before the Crown reaches their hearts."
The unseen figure bowed.
"It will be done."
Without another word, the presence disappeared.
Hadrian lifted his teacup once more. His reflection rippled across the amber surface.
"A fine move, Your Highness," he murmured quietly. "But victories are not decided by who possesses the grain."
"They are decided by who possesses the people’s faith."
He picked up a teacup and swirled it.
"And as for that headstrong girl... " His lips curved to a smirk.