After she had sent the message to be delivered with the utmost urgency— summoning Raphael Winston to the capital— Gabriella was returning through the palace halls. She still had no idea about Sydney's poisoning when she happened to run into Elliott. He was coming from the southern wing, his face ashen, his steps far too heavy.
She stopped in front of her son, and her eyes narrowed. His pale face, the tight set of his shoulders—none of it escaped her.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," she said, her voice low but carrying in the silence of the hallway.
Elliott's weary gaze lifted to meet hers. For a moment there was surprise—almost relief—that he'd finally run into her.
"Where were you?" he asked.
"The archives. Some business I had to take care of." It was the truth, but not the whole truth. She couldn't share her suspicions yet. Not until she was absolutely certain. If she was wrong, she wouldn't risk reopening Aiden's bitter, buried past. And since she wouldn't tell Aiden, by extension, Elliott neither.
Elliott registered her brief answer but didn't press. His eyes looked too drained to even hold curiosity. He simply sighed. "I see."
"...Something happened while I was there," Gabriella said softly. It wasn't phrased as a question. She could read the kind of exhaustion etched into her son's features. This wasn't the weariness of physical strain. Something heavier had landed.
Elliott didn't delay. His words were blunt, heavy. "Sydney has been poisoned."
The air between them seemed to snap taut.
"It's an overseas poison. Lethal," he continued. "No one expected her to be targeted, so the security around her was lax. No testers tasted her food or drink beforehand."
For a fraction of a second, true shock flickered across Gabriella's face. Then it was gone—buried beneath the practiced, cold calculation she wore like armor. She didn't need Elliott to finish before she understood the reason for his tension.
"The nobles will say I did it."
Elliott didn't deny it. He didn't need to. "They will."
"And what about her?" Gabriella pressed. "You said the poison is lethal and rare. What do the healers say?"
Elliott exhaled through his teeth, voice rough. He didn't bother to soften the truth. "She may die in the night itself."
A tense breath escaped Gabriella. Her face hardened. Sydney being poisoned was already bad—but Sydney dying? That escalated everything. It would no longer be whispers of rivalry or scheming. It would be murder. And she would be their perfect scapegoat. The vultures would lap it up like ants swarming honey.
"I've put Aiden and Commander Lira to it already," Elliott said quietly. "They're beginning an investigation tonight itself, so we'll have something to present when the accusations come. Out of us, Aiden is the most 'impartial party,' and Lira serves as a third party. It may not silence the accusations completely, but... it's worth a try."
Gabriella let out a brittle laugh—humorless, hollow. She shook her head. "Unlikely that will amount to anything. You know as well as I do who's behind this. Cyrus. A classic move. He orchestrates the crime, ensures I'm blamed for it, and by extension, you. It undermines your authority, breeds dissent, feeds dissatisfaction."
"That's what me and Aiden suspect too. It's too specific to be anyone else." He sighed. "They'll use your past feud against you. Even if you gained nothing by harming her now. Sydney herself said she doesn't believe you're involved. Even she understands. But the ones who'll accuse you—understanding isn't what they want. They'll use this as cover to claw their own benefits."
"How kind of her to understand me in her last moments," Gabriella said, her tone dry. "But unfortunately, her word means nothing here—even if she is the one poisoned." She stepped closer, gaze sharp as glass, lips curving into a bitter smile. "...You will have to prosecute me."
Elliott recoiled as though she had slapped him. "No. Absolutely not." His voice broke into refusal instantly. "Not again. I won't. You did not do it. I know you didn't."
"That does not matter."
"It should—!"
"Well, it doesn't!" Gabriella's voice cracked—louder, almost a scream. Her composure, usually unshakable, faltered. "This is precisely why you must consider it, Elliott! Think with your head, not your heart for once!"
Her tone was sharp, cutting, but beneath the anger was something rawer. Not a scolding, not cold detachment—pleading. Pain. A plea that hurt her to even voice.
"You are on the brink of orchestrating a coup in an empire you are still at war with. Your hold on power must be firm—not questioned. If the nobility believes you protect your mother—a woman they already fear, already distrust—if they see you shielding me when I am accused of murdering the empress dowager, your hold, fragile as it is, will shatter! And that—" her voice broke with the weight of it—"that is the worst thing you could do right now."
Her hands gripped Elliott's shoulders. Her eyes were wide, desperate. "You cannot appear sentimental. You cannot. You must appear just. You must approach this like an emperor, not a son. You will appear just—even if the justice is a lie."
"I will not throw you to the wolves for a lie—" Elliott shot back, his voice rising, raw.
"You will if it wins you this war, Elliott Lancaster!" Gabriella cut him off, her voice shaking with intensity. "You will if it saves your throne, if it keeps you safe! Do you think your refusal makes me happy? What do you think I would prefer—your victory, or a few days of my comfort? You must think of the bigger picture! Sometimes, you must sacrifice pieces on the board to save the king!"
Silence. Elliott couldn't reply- he had no words. And just like that, the fury drained out of Gabriella.
Her voice softened, drained of its fire. Her grip on his shoulders slackened. She was still holding him, but weakly now. "...Please," she whispered, almost breaking. "If imprisoning me for some time— if putting me in a gilded cage for a few months— solidifies your image as a fair and impartial ruler, if it ensures no one can question your power... then you will do it. Okay? You will."
Elliott's throat worked. He stared at her, tears pricking his eyes, vision burning. He saw the ruthless logic in her words. He understood the necessity. But that did not make it bearable.
"...You ask too much," he whispered, his defiance crumbling into ache. "You're asking me to imprison my own mother for a crime she didn't even commit."
Gabriella's gaze softened, just slightly. "...Then I ask you to indulge me."
The fight drained out of him. His shoulders slumped as he looked away, unable to meet her eyes. His voice was rough when it finally came. "Fine," he said. The word tasted like ash in his mouth. He swallowed hard. "But—it is the last option. First, we'll see how strong the backlash truly is, how far it spreads, what Aiden's investigation uncovers. I will only take that step if the situation becomes uncontrollable, if no other solution is in sight. It will be the last, dire option."
"...Very well," she replied quietly.