The Royal Dungeons — the next day
As pressure from court mounted and discourse spread like wildfire, Elliott eventually took the heavy decision. He knew he had no choice. The whispers weren't dying down, the promise of a fair investigation wasn't enough to calm them. To silence the court once and for all, he had only one option left. Imprison Gabriella. And so, he did.
The dungeons were not the squalid, rat-infested pits one heard about in common tales. These were the imperial holding cells located within the palace itself—generally reserved for high-profile criminals and suspects. The surroundings were clean, the cells spacious. Still, they were holding cells. Bare stone walls, narrow cots, sheets of coarse cotton, basins of water. No luxury. No gilding. Liveable, yes, but unmistakably prison.
Gabriella had been escorted there earlier that day. Now, Elliott was visiting her. The guards bowed as he passed, and Elliott answered their gestures with only a small, weary nod. His steps carried him to her cell, though when he arrived, he stopped just outside the iron bars. He could have gone in—he was emperor, after all—but he refused. He was already imprisoning her to appease the court. To be seen showing her special treatment would undo everything, would make this sacrifice meaningless.
"Mother," he greeted.
Gabriella's eyes flickered up to him. She sat upon the cot with a posture so regal it looked more like a throne than a prison bed. She didn't look like a prisoner at all. Even plain clothes could not strip away the innate dignity, the class that seemed engraved into her very bones.
Still, the sight of her behind bars made his chest tighten and his heart clench painfully.
"The court has quieted," he said at last. "After your imprisonment. For now, they can't find anything more to throw at me."
"As they should be," Gabriella replied. Her voice was pragmatic, steady. Yet if one looked closely enough, there was a wry glimmer in her eyes. She saw through him—through his grief.
"How are you faring?" Elliott asked, his voice thin, almost weak. The words were shaped like a question, but she heard the intent behind them, even if he himself didn't. He wasn't truly asking how she was. He was asking for reassurance.
"I'm fine. The cells are decent. Comfortable," Gabriella said, gaze unwavering.
Elliott let out a dry, broken chuckle. His throat felt tight. "Comfortable? It's prison, Mother. Don't lie to me like that."
"I am fine, Elliott," she repeated firmly. "Truly. And if you worry yourself sick over this, I swear I'll make you eat nothing but peas for an entire week. No desserts, no wine."
Elliott laughed, wet and uneven. Her attempt at normalcy, even now, didn't escape him. "That's evil, Mother," he muttered, though without any heat behind it.
Gabriella's lips curved faintly. "Someone has to keep you in line."
Elliott managed a weak smile, grateful despite himself. A thought came to him, and he decided to mention it. "I almost forgot—Elara's reply came. Last night. She's already on her way. She should be here in two days' time."
Gabriella's gaze sharpened instantly. A flicker of calculation, suspicion perhaps, crossed her face. "A reply... already? The message was only sent yesterday morning. And she had already set off? No shock? No hesitation at her mother's sudden passing?"
Elliott blinked, then shrugged faintly. "She is a grieving daughter, Mother. Perhaps she wanted to come home quickly. Besides, the empress dowager's funeral cannot begin until Elara arrives. Maybe that's why she hurried. And the reply—perhaps the messenger birds were simply fast?"
"That's an awful lot of assumptions," Gabriella murmured. Her tone carried more weight than the words themselves.
Elliott sighed. Normally, he welcomed her thoughts, but this—this felt like too much. A little disrespectful, even. His voice edged with defensiveness as he replied. "I made a vow to Sydney in her last breath, Mother. If you expect me to deny Elara her right to bid farewell to her mother because of suspicion... then I'm sorry. I can't."
Gabriella studied him carefully. The shift in his tone, the sharp edge of defensiveness—she caught it at once. She could see the toll all of this was taking. Elliott was not just emperor now; he was still a man carrying pity and guilt toward Sydney and her daughter. And now that Sydney was dead—murdered by Cyrus—that guilt had only doubled.
He wouldn't listen to reason. Not now. His heart was not cold enough, not selfish enough, to. So Gabriella changed her approach. She had only been testing, gauging his reaction, and now it was clear: pushing further would be useless.
She smiled faintly, giving a careful nod. "Of course. Perhaps I am reading too much into it. A vow is a vow. You should return now."
Elliott nodded, though his shoulders sagged with a weight she could see pressing on him. He said his quiet goodbye and turned, footsteps echoing faintly down the stone corridor until they faded completely.
Gabriella waited. She sat still for some time, perfectly composed, until she was sure he was gone. Only then did her demeanor shift. The calm mask fell away. She rose, her movements sharp, and strode to the bars.
"Guard," she called. Her voice was crisp, commanding, the voice of a queen rather than a prisoner.
The man stationed outside her cell stepped forward quickly and bowed. "Your Highness?"
The faint smile she had worn for Elliott was gone. In its place was a grim, steely look.
"Send for Prince Aiden," she ordered. "Tell him I wish to see him immediately. And he is to come discreetly—without anyone knowing. Now."
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Aiden arrived soon after. He had understood the underlying meaning behind her summon— he hadn't told Elliott he was going to see her. His expression was unreadable as he came to stand before her cell.
"You summoned me," he said, not bothering with pleasantries.
Gabriella inclined her head, and though her voice remained composed, there was a flicker of approval in her tone at his timely arrival. "You came quickly. Good." She wasted no time. "I assume you know Elara's reply arrived yesterday night."
Aiden gave a curt nod. His gaze was sharp, attentive.
Gabriella continued, her words deliberate. "Don't you find it... too fast?" Her eyes narrowed, cutting into the thought. "Elara is the queen of a minor foreign kingdom. She is not immune to... influence. From outer powers."
Aiden's eyes widened slightly. He had thought the reply unusually quick, but hadn't lingered on it. Gabriella saw it—the spark of realization, the lack of defensiveness. At least Aiden wasn't swept up in emotion the way Elliott had been.
"You're saying... she made a deal with Cyrus?" he asked, voice low.
"Not a deal." Gabriella shook her head firmly. "No daughter would bargain with her mother's death. But persuasion— forceful persuasion— that is possible. Whatever the exact nature of the arrangement, it isn't our concern. What is our concern..." she leaned forward slightly, voice like steel, "is to not walk directly into their trap. Cyrus knows we have James—"
Her gaze flicked toward Aiden briefly. He nodded once, probably still thinking of Carlson. For now, she let him keep the assumption.
"—and he knows we intend to support him," she went on. "It is only natural Cyrus grows desperate. Desperate enough to orchestrate something like this, even with how risky this plan was, to target Elliott's life."
Aiden's jaw tightened. Conviction hardened his features, his entire frame taut with restrained fury. "Then we'll search through her things," he said, his voice edged with steel. "Thoroughly. Every trunk, every pouch—nothing unchecked. We'll say it's standard palace procedure, necessary because of the war and the direct threat on the emperor's life."
"Elliott will see that as a betrayal of his promise," Gabriella warned softly. Her eyes stayed on him, assessing. She was testing him—expecting a particular answer.
"He doesn't have to know," Aiden replied without a shred of hesitation. The certainty in his voice left no room for doubt. Between Elliott's safety and Elliott's feelings, his choice was clear. Every time.
Gabriella exhaled, a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. For the first time since her imprisonment, there was a flash of relief in her eyes. Someone understood. Someone was willing to make the cruel choices her son could not. "You think rationally," she murmured, almost to herself, "even when it is cold-blooded... or disrespectful. Good."
Aiden didn't answer. He only stood there, solid and unshaken, the quiet force of his presence enough to reassure her.
"There is another problem," Gabriella went on. "Elliott intends to welcome the girl as she should be welcomed—personally, as a grieving daughter returning to her parents' home. Which means..."
"...he will insist on receiving her himself," Aiden finished for her. His tone was flat, but his eyes glinted. He was already calculating. A search would be useless if Elliott met her at the gates and she gained personal access to the emperor before they could act.
"Exactly. If we intend to search her belongings, Elliott cannot be the one to receive her. Someone else must do so- a representative will suffice."
"I see," Aiden said slowly. "And how do you propose we convince him not to and send a representative instead?"
"He doesn't have to know," Gabriella echoed, repeating his earlier words with a faint, knowing smirk. "Tell him her arrival will be two hours later than it is. Just enough for it to seem reasonable. When he gets to know she already arrived, say she arrived earlier than anticipated. In the meantime..." Her eyes gleamed with something. "...keep him distracted."
Aiden blinked at her, his expression darkening just slightly. There was something in her look he wasn't sure he liked. "...Distracted?" he repeated carefully.
Gabriella's smirk widened the slightest fraction. "The throne room is not as secretive as you think, Prince."
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