Chapter 1722: Chapter 1722

With the destruction of Nolan's clock tower by the black monolith, the city was now devoid of the familiar chimes that marked the passage of time, a change that left many feeling uneasy. Inside the carriage, Mr. Hood frequently checked his pocket watch. Though he said nothing, his tension was palpable.

The other two gradually lost their inclination to talk. Even Jenkins, who had been the most confident about their plan, began to feel a sliver of doubt under the weight of his companions' anxiety, wondering if perhaps they had been too bold today.

But regardless, they were already hidden inside the carriage. Retreat was no longer an option, so they could only wait in silence.

When the hands on their three pocket watches finally pointed to five in the afternoon, a clamor of voices began to swell outside. The meeting, they all understood, was over.

They pressed themselves tightly against the carriage walls, double-checked that their concealment charms were still active, and then fell utterly still, not even daring to breathe. Jenkins, worried his cat might suddenly meow, even stuffed the white feline into his pocket despite the sweltering heat. The cat, however, didn't seem angry at all; in fact, it appeared rather pleased.

By tradition, Queen Isabella would not emerge with the rest of the attendees. She, along with the other two monarchs, still had to attend a brief press Q&A that followed the daily conference. It was a way to keep the public informed of the meeting's progress and served as prime material for the next day's newspapers.

The news that the war was nearing its end was already common knowledge. The latest major headline was that the king of the northern kingdom had chosen his successor, meaning the Hamparvo Kingdom was poised to have its first queen. Consequently, Queen Isabella didn't need to linger long after the daily meetings. The recent bill to limit industrial emissions, while important, simply couldn't compete with the allure of royal succession in the north.

At around five-thirty, the carriage, which had been stationary for some time, began to inch forward. When it stopped again, the three inside heard the coachman's voice. A man in a uniform entered the carriage first, scanned the interior, then backed out and said a word to those outside. Only then did the servants assist Queen Isabella into the vehicle.

She wore a red-and-white dress today, which, given her advanced age, possessed little in the way of aesthetic appeal. Her face was etched with exhaustion. After settling onto her seat, she spoke with another man who had ducked inside—a man in a black formal suit with a small mustache—discussing the schedule for tomorrow's meeting. Only after he had departed did she give the order for the carriage to set off.

As the carriage pulled away from the City Hall and proceeded down the main thoroughfare toward the Queen's residence, the old woman, alone in her seat, did not relax. On the contrary, her expression grew stern, and she sat bolt upright.

Roughly ten minutes later, the carriage abruptly slowed before resuming its normal pace. From the perspective of a pedestrian, the heavily guarded vehicle had merely reduced its speed at an alleyway, likely as a precaution against an ambush. But to the four occupants of the carriage, it was clear that someone had used that moment to slip inside.

The newcomer was a woman who, even in the height of summer, wore an exquisite black woolen coat with a long tail. A small velvet hat with a blue bow was perched jauntily on her head, and the mole by the corner of her mouth looked, to Jenkins, like a single drop of ink on a sheet of soft parchment.

"A level four Enchanter."

He noted silently, then observed that Queen Isabella showed no surprise at her appearance.

The woman sat down opposite the queen. Her expression was placid, her posture elegant; she was clearly of noble birth herself.

The old woman across from her remained silent, her lips trembling. No one present could doubt that a thousand thoughts were storming through her mind.

"The person has been killed, and the potion is ready. All we need is the final core component for the ritual, and we can fully awaken the power within that 'lucky' lady's bloodline. This method has been verified, you know. You may not be aware, but earlier this year, the wielder of a terrifying weapon used this very same method to introduce an ordinary woman—one who possessed the bloodline of an exotic mantis—to the true world of the supernatural." ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ NoveI~Fire.net

"The core component... Must it be that?"

The old woman's voice was even more weary than Jenkins had anticipated.

"Yes. It must be the life of someone with a manifested elven bloodline. After all, everything has a price. I imagine that while difficult, it shouldn't be too hard to find, correct? William..."

"No. While I will not choose him to inherit everything from me, I absolutely cannot allow a legitimate male descendant of the Middleton family to be harmed."

Hearing this, the younger woman smiled faintly, as if she had expected that very response.

"Then, as we agreed, our next step is to find an opportunity to abduct that Capet girl. She may be a novice with the Church of All Things and Nature, but I'm certain we can find an opening. We already have a plan. Every week, she joins the church's lay members to sell flowers on the street. That will be our chance. The only question is... have you truly made up your mind?"

"Yes. The Middleton bloodline must inherit the throne."

The old woman's voice was low but carried a powerful resolve.

"But you are unwilling to hand over the kingdom you've governed for half a century to some commoner boy who just popped out of nowhere," the younger woman stated.

Her words made Queen Isabella's expression turn even more sour, as if every letter in the sentence had leapt out and struck her.

"It's only natural for the old to have their private desires," the woman continued, her voice soft, but to Jenkins, it sounded like the hiss of a venomous snake. "You've done remarkably well. Your reasoning is sound. After choosing your heir long ago and grooming her by your side, an outsider suddenly springs from the undergrowth. Even I would not be pleased."

The "outsider who springs from the undergrowth" could only refer to the Williams family, or more specifically, to the writer himself.

"Your Majesty, you are a good person. Even at a time , you still consider the legitimacy of the Middleton family. And you are right. How could the royal line of succession be broken? That is why, with our help, you will make Miss Windsor a true Middleton... a Middleton pure in blood."

This was the conclusion Jenkins had feared. He pressed his lips together, his eyes on the cat, who had poked its head out of his pocket. From Jenkins's gaze, the cat seemed to read a tangle of complex emotions.