Chapter 452. Better Posture Than I Have Right Now

Chapter 452: 452. Better Posture Than I Have Right Now

The frantic pounding of boots against flagstones echoed through the courtyard, growing louder as someone approached at a desperate speed. William looked up, expecting more panicked servants, but instead saw Catherine.

The Princess came through the gallery gate almost at a full sprint, her hair coming loose from its braid in wild strands, her sleeves still rolled up as if she had been torn away from a mountain of urgent paperwork mid-sentence.

She stopped dead at the threshold. Her eyes swept the scene with terrifying efficiency: first the twisted wreckage of the gallery, then the figure of Kaela huddled on the bench beneath the heavy wool blanket, and finally, William.

In that single second, William watched a cascade of realization flash across her face: fear, calculation, fury, and finally, a cold, steel-hard resolve.

He didn’t waste words. He didn’t have to.

He gave her the smallest, almost imperceptible tilt of his head and spoke a single syllable that carried the weight of an accusation.

"Delegation."

Catherine didn’t flinch. Her expression remained a mask of regal composure, but her eyes transformed.

Her eyes became sharp and predatory, bright with a dangerous focus. She understood. The Delmore delegation wasn’t just guests anymore; they were suspects.

Without saying a word, she walked straight to Kaela, bypassed the healers, and sat on the bench. She took Kaela’s shaking hand in hers, anchoring her.

"You look terrible," Catherine said, her voice deceptively gentle, though her eyes remained fixed on the debris.

"Thanks," Kaela rasped, her voice cracking as she tried to summon some semblance of her usual defiance. "You should see the pillar."

"It’s got better posture than I do right now."

The authority in the courtyard shifted as Captain Roan arrived. He was a mountain of a man with a grizzled gray mustache and shoulders that seemed wide enough to hold up the palace itself.

He had served Theron since the king was nothing more than a prince playing with wooden swords, and he moved with the grim certainty of a man who had seen countless bodies laid out in the courtyard.

Roan took in the scene with one long, assessing stare. Then, his voice broke over the crowd like gravel being poured from a bucket.

"Clear the area! Form a perimeter around the collapse! No one approaches until—"

"Captain." William cut through the command, stepping up beside him before the orders could even finish. "I need to ask a favor."

"I know I’m overstepping."

Roan turned his head slightly, his scarred face impassive. "You just saved my princess’s life, Instructor."

"The floor is yours. Ask."

William gestured toward the shattered stone where Marrick still stood clutching his ledger. "Seal the wreckage."

"I want this area treated like a crime scene."

"Nobody touches the stone! Nobody moves a single shard of debris, not even to clean up the dust!"

"Every splinter, every piece of mortar stays exactly where it fell. And Overseer Marrick’s ledgers, they stay in his hands or yours."

"Nobody else reads them."

Roan’s nostrils flared. His eyes narrowed as he followed William’s gaze to the broken pillar, lingering on that unnatural, pale seam of fresh mortar that shouldn’t have been there.

The captain’s jaw set hard, the muscles working beneath his beard.

"You think this was no accident," Roan stated. It wasn’t a question; it was a grim acknowledgment of a new reality.

William looked at the ruin, then back at the captain, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register. "I think it would be wiser to assume it was murder until we prove otherwise."

Roan gave a single, terse grunt of approval.

"You heard the Instructor!" he bellowed, his voice cracking like a whip over the courtyard. "Seal the perimeter!"

"Guards, two rows deep around the rubble—if I see so much as a stray cat sniffing at that stone, I’ll have your heads!"

"Captain’s orders!" The courtyard erupted into immediate, disciplined motion as armored boots stamped against the stone, creating a human barrier between the chaos and the witnesses.

Then, the atmosphere changed.

The frantic energy of the servants and the grim tension of the guards didn’t dissipate; it crystallized.

The crowd parted not out of fear, but out of deference.

Prince Alden arrived.

He moved through the gallery gate with four honor guards in midnight blue coats trailing behind him like shadows. He didn’t rush; he didn’t stumble.

He possessed the unnerving, liquid composure of a man walking into a ballroom rather than a disaster site. But William didn’t look at the prince’s polished boots or his pristine uniform.

He watched Alden’s eyes. He watched for the crack in the porcelain.

William saw it. The first expression Alden wore as he rounded the corner wasn’t shock.

It wasn’t horror. It was a calculation.

His gaze swept the scene with the cold precision of a predator assessing a trap. His eyes flicked to Kaela, measuring her condition, then to the ruined pillar, cataloging the damage, and finally to William’s hands, which were still dusted with stone grit.

Only after that assessment was complete did the concern arrive. And it arrived with terrifying smoothness, sliding over his features like silk over steel.

"Kaela." Alden’s voice was rich with concern as he crossed the yard in three long strides.

He took her free hand in both of his, cradling it as if it were made of spun glass. "Are you hurt? By the heavens, tell me, are you hurt?"

"I’m fine," Kaela said, her voice flat.

She allowed him to hold her hand, but William saw the minute tell the way her entire frame went rigid from the shoulder down, a subtle recoil that spoke louder than any scream.

Alden turned to William, his face now a picture of profound, sincere gratitude.

"Thank the gods for Instructor Wade." The prince’s eyes locked onto William’s with an intensity that felt almost rehearsed. "I am in your debt, sir... Truly."

"I cannot begin to articulate how grateful I am that you were there."

"You don’t owe me anything, Your Highness," William replied, his voice calm, almost casual. "I simply happened to be standing nearby when the worst occurred."

"A structure like this... on the royal grounds..." Alden shook his head slowly, a picture of disappointed nobility. "It is utterly unacceptable!"

"A failure of this magnitude cannot stand!"

"Allow me to bring my own craftsmen over at once, the Delmore engineers!"

"They can assist with the wreckage removal and help to identify the fault immediately."

It was a perfect offer. Generous, proactive, and delivered with a warmth that could melt stone.

To any observer, Alden was a prince concerned for his people.

To William, it sounded like a man offering to send in a cleanup crew to burn the evidence before the fire was out.

William matched the prince’s smile, a mirror image of politeness that never reached his eyes. He didn’t miss a single beat.

"That is an incredibly kind gesture, Your Highness," William said softly. "Truly... But honestly?"

"I would hate for anyone from Delmore to be unfairly blamed if something... unusual turns up in the stone."

"If the palace’s own people handle the investigation, there can be no doubt."

"Nobody could ever whisper that your men touched the evidence or tampered with the scene."

The silence that followed was microscopic, but to William, it felt like an earthquake.

Alden’s face paused. It was a fractional delay—the span of a single heartbeat—where the mask slipped, revealing something cold, calculating, and dangerously sharp beneath the surface.

For one suspended moment, the prince wasn’t a concerned ruler; he was a cornered wolf.

Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the mask snapped back into place. A smile arrived warm, easy, and perfectly shaped.

"Wise," Alden said, his voice smooth as honey. "Of course..."

"You are quite right, Instructor."

"We must ensure there is no shadow of doubt."