Breakfast had been cleared.
The remains of the morning meal were whisked away, leaving behind only the faint scent of baked bread and cinnamon, now fading into the greenhouse's cool, floral air. Outside, beyond the glass walls, the vines on the trees stirred with a soft summer breeze, leaves rustling like whispered secrets.
The Empress Dowager leaned back in her chair, the gesture elegant yet deliberate, like a queen still seated on a throne long after surrendering it. Her grey gaze flicked to Elliott, cool and unreadable. She spoke, voice smooth as velvet with an edge of steel:
"What do you want from me regarding that incident, Emperor?"
Elliott didn't blink. "The truth," he said, eyes locked with hers.
She laughed, though there was no humor in it. It was a dry, brittle sound- like something cracking in the cold. "The truth? You, asking for the truth of some matter? The same truths you've spent your whole reign burying?"
"Not this time."
She paused. Her gaze lingered on him, searching. For what, Aiden didn't know. Perhaps for guilt. Or perhaps just confirmation of a suspicion long held. Then Sydney exhaled, slowly.
"Very well."
Her tone changed. It became quieter, not softer. The kind of voice that belonged to stories buried under decades of ash.
"Your father- General Rosethorne, was getting popular," she began. "Too popular, especially after his victory in the Altherian War. The people adored him. The soldiers would've followed him into hell. Even the court, full of jackals as it was, began to look toward him when they spoke of the empire's future. My husband, naturally, took note."
She adjusted her shawl, eyes distant, like she was remembering something she had no desire to relive.
"On the surface, he rewarded and applauded the general. Called him a hero. Lavished him with medals. But underneath? Envy rotted him from the inside out. In his own court, he heard more praise for the general than for himself. It made him seethe. And when the general- bold as ever-opposed his cruelest policies, spoke out in public no less, that admiration turned into hatred."
She met Aiden's eyes, and for a moment, the decades between them collapsed. "Your father was a warlord, yes. But he was also kind. He killed to protect, not to dominate. That was the last straw."
Her words turned cold.
"The orders were given in the dead of night. No decree, no paper trail. Just a whisper in the dark. The assassins cornered the carriage on a forested road. Your mother begged them to spare you, at least. Your father died fighting. Defiant to the end. You were spared- not out of mercy. The emperor's orders had only mentioned the Rosethorne couple. Nothing about the child."
She looked away. "The servants were paid and threatened to say it was bandits."
Aiden's voice was very soft. "That's what the official papers said. Bandits."
Sydney gave a wry smile. "Evidently."
He nodded. Silence followed. It wasn't the kind that demanded words- just the kind that sat heavy in the lungs. He'd always known, in some dark, quiet part of his mind. But hearing it confirmed out aloud made something inside him break. And oddly, it also loosened something. As if he'd been holding his breath for years without knowing.
The Empress Dowager's gaze turned to him, then flicked back to Elliott.
"Any other questions?"
Aiden shook his head mutely.
That seemed to satisfy her. Or at least, disinterest her. Her fingers drifted over her teacup's rim. The cup clicked against its saucer when she set it down, sharp in the quiet.She studied Elliott, tilting her head slightly.
"So. What brought on this sudden craving for truth, Emperor?" She smiled thinly. "You always did have your mother's talent for selective morality."
Elliott's brows furrowed. He knew where this was going.
"Bury what inconveniences you, justify what comforts you," she continued, voice dry. "That's always been your mentality."
His grip on his teacup tightened.
"That's not-"
"Isn't it?" Her voice lashed like a whip. She'd sworn not to talk about the past. Her control slipped. "Your mother poisoned rival concubines. And the official record? Tragic food poisoning accident. She ensured no other sons were born to challenge you by slipping the emperor impotency herbs? Oh, a divine curse from the gods, was it?"
Her lips curled in disdain. "She exiled my daughter at sixteen and married her to a foreign king twice her age- and that was a political alliance, I suppose?"
Aiden flinched. He hadn't known. He had suspected Gabriella wasn't soft, but this was the sort of ruthless scheming he associated with old books and older queens. He hadn't realized it had shaped Elliott's very rise.
Elliott's expression hardened. "We're not here to discuss my mother."
"Aren't we?" Sydney leaned forward, eyes glittering. "You brought your boy here for truth. Or did you only mean the truths that don't force you to look in the mirror?"
"I meant the truths related to his family," Elliott said, cold. "And you've given us the answers. We're leaving."
But Aiden watched the subtle shift in Elliott's features- years with him had taught him to see through the mask. Beneath the cool words was a man torn, fractured. There was kindness in him- true, generous kindness. The kind that freed concubines and sheltered widows. But alongside it, there was fear. Not for himself, but for the people he loved. And love. Love for the mother all condemned, because after everything, she was still his mother.
Elliott had never laid a cruel hand on anyone. But he had closed his eyes when others did- if it meant protecting those dear to him. He was kind. But he wasn't fair.
Not because he refused to be.
Because he didn't know how to be.
"I know what my mother did," Elliott said suddenly, voice steadier now. "She did it for me. Out of fear, not malice. I have exiled her."
Sydney laughed. It wasn't pleasant. "Exile? You mean the countryside vacation estate with the lavender fields? The one with a staff of thirty? Oh, yes. Truly a fate worse than death."
"She did what she had to do," Elliott replied tightly. "It would be ungrateful of me to condemn her."
Sydney scoffed. "And there it is. The ever-forgiving, ever-blind son."
"I have tried to make amends. That has to count for something."
"Oh, it does." Her voice was venomous now. "The concubines' families received pensions. My daughter got a monthly allowance to endure her husband. What generous amends."
Elliott rose to his feet.
"You are kind," she said quietly, still seated. "Kinder than any of us. But you're not just. You think smothering grievances in gentleness absolves them. It doesn't. It just wraps them in silk and lets them rot underneath."
His mouth parted. His voice cracked.
"What would you have me do? Execute my own mother? The woman who has given me life and saved it a dozen times over?"
There was a flash of raw emotion now. "And don't pretend you're innocent. If my mother hadn't made the first move- wouldn't you have ensured my death so your daughter could take the throne?"
For the first time, Sydney flinched.
The truth hit hard. It always did.
She didn't answer. Neither denied nor admitted it. That silence, too, was its own confession.
Elliott's voice dropped, low and bitter. "And what would that even achieve? It wouldn't bring anyone back. It wouldn't fix anything."
Sydney wasn't planning to snap. She had promised herself she wouldn't.
But something about those words made her anger break past her ribs.
"Fix?" she spat. "You think kindness is salve on wounds while the culprit lives in comfort? No. Kindness is telling the truth. Even if it burns your hands to hold it."
She slammed her palm against the table. The porcelain tea set rattled violently, one cup nearly toppling.
Aiden startled. Even Elliott flinched.
The greenhouse went still.
Elliott said nothing.
Then-
"We're leaving."
Aiden followed in stunned silence, his steps echoing across the marble. The weight of what had been said hung thick in the air.
Sydney didn't follow them. But her voice followed Elliott to the door.
"You didn't tell him about the Rosethorne tragedy until now because of this, didn't you?" she said, softly. "You couldn't risk him looking at you and seeing Lancaster blood instead of the man who raised him."
Elliott didn't turn around.
"Farewell, Empress Dowager."
And then they were gone.