The Possession-Spoon Chef Feeds the Empire - Chapter 78

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 78
Serion regarded the middle-aged man standing before him.
Hair that lay somewhere between silver and gold—slightly darker than Bael’s.
At first glance kindly, but examined closely, his blue eyes churned with naked ambition.
“So you’re the Duke’s second son.”
At Serion’s words, the man’s eyebrows lifted in surprise.
“You recognized me, Your Highness? I’ve scarcely set foot in the Imperial Palace these past years.”
“Your house affiliation shows in your eyes. The third son looks like an idiot. The eldest died long ago. The answer writes itself, doesn’t it?”
Serion spoke with crude directness.
He had no interest in making conversation with the Duke’s second son, a man who no longer even frequented the Imperial Palace.
“If the Duke sent you out of concern for my safety—”
“My father does not concern himself with such matters.”
Serion’s brow furrowed.
The more he thought about it, the more this household seemed a gathering place for scoundrels.
“What do you want from me?”
“It’s the reverse.”
Osborn spoke.
“I can give you what you desire.”
“And that is?”
“Luciel.”
Serion’s eyes widened.
“I’ve heard you wish to possess that girl.”
At this, a smile bloomed at the corner of Osborn’s mouth.
“Are you truly attempting fraud against the Crown Prince?”
Serion spoke with clear distaste.
“I met that child just now. She is not yours to hand over to me, nor yours to command. You understand that much, at least.”
“How perceptive you are.”
Osborn acquiesced readily.
“You’re right—she belongs to no one, least of all to me. She hears no command from my lips.”
“Then what use is this prattle?”
“Time is required.”
Osborn answered with a slight smile.
“That child cannot leave Bellaon. She is bound by contract, and besides, she has nowhere else to go. A wanderer from birth, with no home to call her own.”
“So?”
“Then, should I obtain Bellaon, would I not also have authority over her disposition?”
“Obtain Bellaon?”
“Have you not heard of the fierce succession contest raging in Bellaon?”
“How sordid. A succession dispute among those born to no such station whatsoever.”
Serion laughed openly at the notion.
“You claim you can dispose of a girl who is neither slave nor property?”
“She is a cook in the Duke’s House. There are countless ways for a household head to control the actions of a cook.”
Osborn answered.
“One can fabricate crimes never committed, or seize upon actual misdeeds as leverage for coercion. Even our former head cook—dismissed after but a single mistake—saw his honor dragged through mud and never set foot in a kitchen again.”
“…”
“I promise you this: on the day I become the formal Successor of this house, I shall deliver Luciel to the Imperial Palace.”
“Are you asking me to make you the household head?”
Serion smiled with cold amusement.
“Standing so proudly, asking for so much.”
“Before a Successor is named, my father will never withdraw from the center of the house. This means he can never be forced to release Luciel. My father is not a man who bends.”
Serion bit his lip tightly.
The man’s words likely held truth.
Had he not witnessed firsthand how rudely the stubborn old man treated him?
“Why must it be you?”
Serion asked.
“Once the Duke dies, what’s the difference?”
“That child is beloved by everyone except me. You will not be able to pry her from any other hand so easily.”
“…”
Serion bit his lip once more.
She was beloved by others.
That fact alone made him crave her more.
He lifted his gaze slowly to meet Osborn’s eyes.
“There may be truth in what you say.”
“Then do you accept my proposal?”
Osborn extended his hand, his expression turning gentle.
Serion merely gazed at the offered hand for a moment, then let out a small snort.
“Your Highness?”
Osborn tilted his head in confusion.
“You labor under a grave misunderstanding.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Did you truly believe I would clasp your hand?”
Serion struck Osborn’s hand away roughly and twisted his lips upward.
“You and I are not equals in commerce. If you wish for my power, you will kneel and kiss my feet. That is the form such dealings take.”
Osborn’s face crumpled for an instant.
Seeing this, Serion laughed again—a short, biting sound.
“Do you have another choice? Bael grows swiftly, and I hear the Bellaon Barony has already passed to another?”
“…!”
‘Insolent bastard.’
Osborn murmured silently to himself.
He had suspected arrogance befitting a Crown Prince, but he had not imagined it would exceed even the Emperor’s.
The fifteen-year-old boy, eyes lifted upward, still somehow looked down upon Osborn with his gaze.
Waiting, it seemed, for acknowledgment of hierarchy.
“I understand, Your Highness.”
He spoke slowly.
Yes, there was no helping it.
There were always multiple ways to use another.
If equality held no appeal, he would simply look upward instead.
What mattered now was obtaining what he sought.
Betrayal could come later.
“Osborn of Bellaon pledges his loyalty to Your Highness.”
He knelt on one knee and made his declaration.
“I shall be Your Highness’s shadow, executing only your commands. And when I achieve my ambitions, so too shall you attain what you desire. I swear—”
He paused, then continued.
“Luciel shall kneel at your feet without fail.”
“Good.”
From Serion’s lips came, at last, a tone of satisfaction.
“Having my instrument within this house is not without its uses.”
The newly formed master and servant regarded each other.
Without sincerity, without devotion—and yet not weak.
A bond forged where desire met desire—the birth of such an alliance.
* * *
The Emperor and Empress descended upon the Bellaon Mansion that very night.
Every light in the house blazed to life; all the servants came rushing out.
With no warning whatsoever, it was half-reception and half-spectacle.
“Marceus of Bellaon! If you are awake, show yourself!”
At the Emperor’s voice ringing through the great hall, a tall, upright figure appeared from the far end of the corridor.
“What matter brings you at this late hour, Your Majesty?”
“What matter?”
The Emperor turned to him with a baffled expression, yet the Duke’s face remained unmoved.
“Is it true?”
The Emperor glared at him, eyes wide.
“My son—my son who ate food served by the Duke’s House—has coughed blood and collapsed. Is this fact?”
“It seems, Your Majesty, that Your Highness received more than the letter I dispatched. I merely reported that His Highness was not in good health and resting here.”
The Duke smiled coldly.
“It appears one of your attendants ran ahead like a rat, with news, once you had drawn your sword and stormed in.”
“A sword? So there was trouble! Answer me now—where is Serion?”
The Emperor bellowed.
The Duke continued to watch him calmly in silence.
“The Crown Prince of this realm vomits blood and falls, and you keep that composed face? What is its meaning?”
“The expression of one bearing discourtesy, Your Majesty.”
“…!”
The Emperor fell silent for a moment.
“You do not consider this discourteous?”
The Duke spoke with renewed force.
“By day, His Highness came without announcement or courtesy. By night, you commit the same breach, Your Majesty.”
“In ordinary circumstances, I would beg your forgiveness.”
The Emperor ground his teeth as he spoke.
“But now my son may be in peril—and you expect me to concern myself with formality?”
His furious gaze bored into the Duke.
The Empress’s face bore little difference in its expression.
Only Arnen, continuing to glance anxiously about, seemed unsettled.
“Whatever has occurred, this boy is the Crown Prince of the Empire.”
The Emperor spoke through clenched teeth.
“If anything has befallen him, I shall tear this mansion apart and seize you by the throat—”
“Father.”
The Emperor’s growling words were cut short by a boy’s voice ringing from the second floor.
“…Serion?”
The Emperor’s gaze snapped toward the sound, where the Crown Prince Serion stood perfectly upright.
Not a drop of blood upon him, dressed in immaculate casual wear.
“You have come, Father.”
With a respectful bow, he presented an image far too serene for one who had so barely escaped assassination.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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