Two-Faced Princess - Chapter 283

“Father, have you heard the news?”

Paris burst into the Emperor’s study, his face flushed. The Emperor, who had been reading a letter while holding Seta in his arms, looked up.

“The Duke of Trion has refused your order to raise taxes this month. He offered some excuses and penned a lengthy letter, but this is disobedience to your royal command, isn’t it?”

“Lower your voice,” the Emperor said. Yet, Paris raised his voice even more.

“That’s not all. The Duke of Edwin, Count Esteban, and even some neutral nobles from other cities are subtly supporting that Ephinhart fellow. They’ve all sent him gifts, claiming they sustained injuries at Bamel Mountain. These are even more valuable items than those received during your last birthday!”

“Seta, leave us for now,” the Emperor instructed. Seta left the study without hesitating.

“I told you to lower your voice, and yet you don’t listen to me.”

Although it was a reprimand, the Emperor’s tone was gentle. He might not have approved of all Paris’ actions, but there was always an undertone of affection when dealing with his son. Knowing this all too well, Paris didn’t change his demeanor. His red eyes still smoldered with anger.

“How could this happen? If we just leave them be, then—”

“What will you do if we don’t?” the Emperor interrupted, adopting a slightly stricter tone.

“What will I do? We should make an example of them—exterminate a family or two.”

“And would that earn you the sincere support of others?”

“Well…” Paris hesitated, shrinking back. In reality, he hadn’t considered the consequences; he simply needed an outlet for his anger.

“Why are you overthinking things? You’re the Emperor! Isn’t this the time to show your authority?”

“So, you’re suggesting that I should push the nobles entirely into Caelion’s arms?” the Emperor sneered.

“The neutral nobles don’t follow me. Regardless of their various interests, they are, in the end, lapdogs of the royal family.”

“So, are you saying that we should let them support Caelion over you?”

The Emperor didn’t respond but simply looked into his son’s face.

“Father?”

“No.”

He rose to his feet and locked eyes with his son. Even in middle age, he maintained an upright posture and muscular build, looking down at the rather tall Paris.

“You are of royal blood. They will follow you,” he said.

Paris’s mouth hung open, and he froze in place.

“Father? What do you mean by that?”

“Yes,” the Emperor replied, his golden eyes gleaming as he subtly smiled.

‘The time has come.”

As he took another step forward, Paris, tense, took a step back.

“Paris, you must ascend to the throne,” the Emperor declared, the corners of his mouth lifting. His face looked almost emotional as if he were about to realize a dream he had harbored for a long time.

“Ah, Father, are you serious?” Paris gaped at his father, who simply smiled back at him. Whenever the Emperor looked at Paris, his face was soft—a mixture of affection, pride, and a lingering sense of longing for someone he had lost long ago.

“Follow me,” The Emperor said and strode briskly out of the study. A bewildered Paris hurriedly followed.

“Do you see it?” the Emperor asked as they passed through a corridor and arrived at the central hall. Usually a banquet hall or a place to receive allegiance from subjects, it was now empty except for a single attendant.

Deep within the expansive space was a high podium, and upon it, a resplendent throne radiated light.

“Bring me the imperial crown,” the Emperor ordered. Paris’s eyes widened a bit more.

“In the empire, no, across the continent, that seat is the most esteemed and powerful,” the Emperor continued.

“Father…” Paris began.

“My beloved son, that seat is the greatest gift I can give you. I’ve thought this since you were very young,” the Emperor said, his words tinged with a dreamy tone. Paris looked momentarily confused. The Emperor’s words seemed unnatural; the throne was something Paris was destined to inherit. And hadn’t the previous Emperor, who showed little interest in Paris, been alive when he was very young?

The Emperor’s words sounded as if he had fought hard to obtain something from afar, just to give it to Paris. Though Paris tried to read the situation, the Emperor remained lost in some distant memory, his eyes filled with an emotion that Paris couldn’t understand.

“I’ve brought the imperial crown, Your Majesty,” the attendant announced.

However, at the Emperor’s final words, Paris brushed aside the puzzlement he had felt moments earlier. It was just a matter of expression. What mattered was that the Emperor had now mentioned his coronation.

“Sit, Paris,” the Emperor commanded. Without a word, Paris ascended the platform as directed and sat on the imperial throne.

“You fit it perfectly,” said the Emperor as a red velvet crown adorned with gold and jewels was placed upon Paris’s head. Paris sat with a tense expression.

“As if it were yours from the moment you were born,” the Emperor said, once again speaking cryptically. This time, however, Paris didn’t ponder it deeply. He also felt overwhelmed by the imperial crown he was wearing for the first time.

“Father, do you truly believe I am ready?” Paris asked with a trembling voice. The Emperor nodded.

“You are my son and the crown prince of the empire. You have long been ready,” the Emperor’s eyes regained their sharpness. Paris swallowed hard.

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