Chapter 438: Choosing Sides [III]
Chapter 438: Choosing Sides [III]
Jokes aside, though, I understood what Alice was saying. It actually made sense.
If we partnered up and cultivated our combined influence instead of hacking it to pieces, the payoff down the line would be great.
I’d also get to laugh in Casey’s face when she realised her masterful blackmail chip had been rendered completely obsolete before the night was even out.
The thought alone was enough to make me want to purr.
Not to mention, becoming acquaintances with these two dunderheads would also allow me a much easier time when I’d eventually need to thwart their assassination attempt.
All things considered, it really wasn’t a bad offer.
So, naturally, my answer was, "No."
Alice didn’t stop looking at me, her expectant look melting into confusion as if she’d heard me wrong. She didn’t.
Eventually, she bared her teeth. "What? Okay. Sammy, don’t be rash. Do you even understand what you’re throwing away here if you—"
"Yes," I said. "I do."
I did.
But the thing is... I had my sights set on bigger things.
If— scratch that. When I won the Mock War against Thalia, she was bound to lose the favour of most of my family’s Elders.
After that, whether my father wanted it or not, I could make a political play for the position of his heir, for the High Seat of Luxara itself.
So if there was even a chance, no matter how slim, that I could become the next Duke of the Golden Sanctuary, I’d have to take it.
Besides, if I didn’t win against Thalia, my father would not accept me into the family. He might even disown me permanently. And while I hardly cared about his acknowledgement, I really, really cared about his vault.
Oh, and also, in case I failed to save the royal twins from dying by the hands of the Scarlet Assassin, I needed to be in the proper position of power to advance the next stages of my plan.
If Alice’s political influence collapsed overnight because she was, you know, dead, any alliance I made with her would turn meaningless.
Ah, and talking about Alice... she wasn’t very happy with my answer. But neither did she try to persuade me.
At least she knew me enough to recognize that the tone I had used earlier brooked no argument. I was not going to change my mind.
She got up, already stalking toward the exit. "I really hoped we could’ve been friends. But I see the Tyrant moniker suits you in more ways than one."
Then she was out, the clicking of her high heels receding to a complete fade.
Her brother didn’t follow her right away.
Willem kept sitting in his spot, searching my face.
The amused, easygoing glint he always carried was now replaced by the grim sobriety of a man lost deep in the trenches of his own mind.
Out of politeness, I stayed still and let him stare.
A minute trickled by. Two. Five.
Okay, it was getting weird.
I opened my mouth to speak, but he beat me to it.
I figured he was going to lecture me about how I was making a big mistake, or perhaps throw in one last threat before stomping out behind Alice.
Instead, he caught me off guard by asking, "Would you be disposed to discussing a bit of philosophy with me?"
I blinked, too confused to offer anything other than, "Uhh... sure?"
Willem clenched his jaw, then unclenched it. He repeated this cycle a few times, enough for me to guess he was debating whether to speak his mind or simply walk away.
He chose the former. "The prince must die to prove the man," his voice was barely more than a whisper. "I read this somewhere when I was six. At first, I thought it was just a poetic phrase about leadership — about shedding one’s youthful illusions to become a proper sovereign. But lately... I can’t get it out of my mind. What do you think it means, Sammy?"
His duster coat rustled against the leather of the couch as he plunged back.
I stared at him, stumped. Wait, what?
Was he pulling my leg or something? Or was this some psychological warfare tactic I was too dumb to understand?
I scrutinized his expression, his posture and his gaze. Nope. He looked dead serious... and kind of haunted, as if this was something that had been eating him alive for a long time.
Reluctantly, I started mulling the quote he’d given me over in my head. The prince must die to prove the man.
It was vague. There could be many meanings, metaphorical or just literal.
The symbolic death of childhood. Killing the role to save the person. The defiance of destiny. Violence turned inward. The sacrifice of ego. A paradox of authenticity.
The interpretations were endless.
But to me, it meant...
"The rejection of inheritance," I said, prompting the red-haired man to raise his eyebrows, silently requesting me to elaborate. "Legitimacy is earned, not inherited. This statement is less concerned with royalty than with the universal idea that people often begin life inside identities chosen for them by family, society, or history. To become fully themselves, they must be willing to let those inherited identities die. Instead of a call to kill a prince, it’s more like a call to bury the illusion that birth alone can define a person’s worth."
You are not what you inherit. You are what remains after everything that makes you you is stripped away. That’s what it meant, basically.
Willem’s eyes were blown wide by the time my final words were delivered. It wasn’t a look of astonishment, however. Validation.
I had seemed to confirm the conclusion he had already reached himself. And I seemed to be the first one to do so amongst all those he had ever asked that question.
His lips pulled back into a beaming, infectiously happy smile. He got up, chuckling to himself as if I weren’t even present in the room.
"Birth alone cannot define a person’s worth," he nodded, suddenly so gladsome. Then he looked at me. "I like it. I like it very much. Thank you, Samael."
Without any further explanation, he started for the exit as well, calling over his shoulder, "Good luck for the mock war... and everything after."
And then he was gone, too.
"...That’s one weird guy," I muttered to the empty skybox.