The Devil is the Villainess

Chapter XXI: Sin and Defilement (Part 1)

Inside the imperial palace, Rezef, the first prince of the empire, approached his bedridden father, the Emperor. Clad in royal attire, Rezef moved with a calculated grace, sitting carefully on the edge of his father's bed. 

He gazed at the frail figure before him with an expression that exuded sympathy and concern. Tenderly, he touched the Emperor's hand, his fingers gently tracing the papery skin. "Father," he called softly.

The prince's face appeared tearful as he looked down at the sickly man. The Emperor, once a robust and commanding presence, now lay emaciated and weak, his body limp and motionless. 

At the feel of his son's warm touch, he slowly opened his eyes, a flicker of warmth and vulnerability passing through them. "Son, is everything alright?" The Emperor's voice was barely more than a whisper, frail and strained.

"Father, all I want is for you to recover," Rezef replied, his voice laden with feigned pity. The Emperor managed a weak smile, his eyes filled with gratitude as he tried to sit up. His movements were slow and labored, and Rezef quickly leaned in to assist him. "Father, please, you shouldn't strain yourself. Your body is too weak right now," Rezef cautioned gently.

In the corners of the opulent chamber, servants stood silently, holding an incense burner that filled the room with a potent aroma. "Son, you need not worry about my health. I have accepted that my time is nearing an end..." The Emperor's words were cut short by a fit of harsh coughing.

"Father!" Rezef exclaimed, shooting a glare at the servants. "It must be that incense—it's too strong for you." He turned to the servants and barked, "What are you waiting for? Extinguish it at once and summon the Imperial doctor!"

The Emperor weakly patted his son's shoulder in an attempt to calm him. "Rezef, you still have that temper," he chuckled weakly. "But it's heartening to see how much you care for my well-being and how you manage the affairs of the empire as the First Prince."

Rezef's grip tightened around his father's hand, his frustration and disbelief barely contained. "I know I shouldn't make you talk much. I feel so incompetent, always coming to you for guidance. Forgive me, Father," he said, lowering his head in a show of humility.

The Emperor pulled his son into a frail embrace, speaking gently, "Son, you are doing remarkably well even without my guidance, just like your brother Frederick."

Rezef's face briefly twisted into a smirk, his true feelings breaking through his facade. "The Empire will mourn your passing, Father. Please, live a long life," he uttered, the words dripping with insincerity. The atmosphere in the room darkened, the first prince's empty hope hanging in the air like a poisonous cloud.

"A long, long... life," he repeated, his tone betraying the true darkness of his intentions.

Rezef's words hung in the air, a chilling reminder of the hidden ambitions that lurked beneath his veneer of filial piety. The Emperor, too weak to sense the true menace in his son's voice, merely nodded, grateful for the fleeting comfort in his final days.

***

The night of the banquet had finally begun. Nobles from prestigious families across the empire gathered, filling the grand hall of the Imperial Palace with a brilliant array of lights and animated conversations, marking the significance of the evening. 

Medea Falaguerra, accompanied by her brother, made their entrance with a grace that commanded attention. Medea's hair was styled in an elegant low bun, adorned with precious ornaments, and she wore a midnight blue gown that hugged her curves, complemented by sparkling sapphire earrings and a matching necklace. Her presence drew the gaze of many, with whispers and murmurs spreading through the crowd.