Antony’s expression didn’t change—his smile remained, a practiced mask of innocence. “Oh, are they now?” he asked with exaggerated surprise. “Goodness, I assure you that never happened under my instruction.” The lie flowed easily, without the slightest hesitation, his tone so convincingly sincere that anyone else might have believed him.

But Ren’s stare was unyielding, his words crisp and controlled, each syllable delivered like a sharpened blade. “You will stop lying to me and undo your schemes before I have to get involved.”

The air between them seemed to grow colder, Ren’s voice carrying the weight of an unspoken threat. He held Antony’s gaze, daring him to keep up the facade.

For a moment, Antony faltered—just a fraction of a second, but enough to reveal the workings of his mind. He studied Ren with renewed curiosity, as if seeing him for the first time. Ren’s directness was not born of recklessness but of a methodical mind that Antony understood too well. It was a confrontation of equals, two men playing the same game with different strategies.

Then Antony’s composure returned, his smile widening once more, more charming and insincere than before. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said, his tone light, dismissive.

His words were laced with a casual assurance that meant nothing and everything. He extended his hand, his eyes never leaving Ren’s, the gesture a thin veneer of goodwill.

“Let’s work together, just as agreed,” he said, his voice a melody of false promises and hidden meanings.

Ren’s hesitation was brief, but deliberate. He took Antony’s hand, feeling the coolness of the grip, firm and unwavering. It was a handshake of opponents, a silent agreement to the rules of the game they were both determined to win.

As their hands parted, Antony’s smile remained, unchanging and impenetrable, like the face of a marble statue.

Ren kept his words to himself, silently piecing together what had once seemed an enigma.

For a while, he had questioned how the plan to assassinate the royal family could have unfolded so smoothly—without a whisper of warning, without even a hint of trouble—until it was too late. But after meeting Lucius Antony, the mystery unraveled. Now, Ren understood exactly why the treacherous plot had been so seamless.

The fingerprints of a mastermind were all over the place.Antony was not just a man of influence but a master of shadows, his power reaching into the murkiest depths of politics. Men like Antony didn’t just crave power; they demanded it, bending entire kingdoms to their whims. And they didn’t hesitate to trade a nation's blood for their own ambitions.

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Ren had crossed paths with such characters before, but there was something about Antony—a ruthlessness that bordered on inhumanity. He didn’t merely orchestrate moves; he erased obstacles as though they’d never existed.

For Antony, there was going to be no compromise.Political assassinations were never Ren's preferred route, but he had seen situations like this before. When dealing with people of Antony's caliber, men who thrived in the dark spaces between law and ambition, there were no halfway measures. If you didn’t eliminate them completely, they would come back with vengeance sharper than a sword.

Reflecting on his interactions with Hazel’s father, Ren suspected the late king had also once recognized the danger in Antony’s ambition. The king may have glimpsed the threat and considered killing the man, but he had lacked the will to act on it. In the end, that hesitation had cost him his life.

Ren knew he couldn’t afford the same mistake. One misstep, and both he and Hazel would join the fallen king in the afterlife.

“I will be off then,” Antony said, excusing himself with a voice as smooth and hollow as a whisper in the wind.

He disappeared down the corridor just as Hazel rounded the opposite corner into the hall. She had changed from her regal attire into a simpler house dress, a plain scarf draped around her neck for warmth.

For a moment, the sight of her simplicity was a balm—but it was fleeting. As long as Antony was alive, he and Hazel would never truly be safe.

Ren’s smile softened, though his eyes held a lingering sharpness from the encounter with Lucius Antony.

He looked at Hazel, who was now standing so close he could catch the faint scent of lavender from her scarf.

“Was that Lucius Antony just now?” she asked, her voice carrying a hint of unease.

“Yes,” he replied with a faint smile, though a grimness flickered behind it. “And it was just as unpleasant a first meeting as I’d expected.”

Hazel studied him with a mixture of surprise and curiosity.

“You’re smiling and calm… most people leave his presence rattled. Even though I try not to show it, the man scares even me.” Her confession hung between them, a rare vulnerability she seldom allowed herself to express.

Ren’s gaze softened as he looked at her. “I just chose not to be afraid,” he replied simply.

As if sensing his thoughts, Hazel took a breath and clasped her hands in front of her, her resolve hardening. “Anyway, let’s forget about Antony for a moment. There’s something more urgent we need to discuss.” She paused, her cheeks tinged with a hint of color. “To secure your hold on the throne as fast as possible… I’ve decided we should move up the date of our marriage.”

Her words lingered in the air, unexpectedly intimate, and Ren felt his chest tighten. Hazel was practical—he knew that much. And though this was undoubtedly a political decision, he sensed something deeper in her tone. Her gaze held his, both bold and cautious, as if testing his response.