Chapter 1733: Chapter 1733
Stopping at the study door, Jenkins took a deep breath. He ran through the words he planned to say, then practiced a deliberately fierce expression before rapping his knuckles on the wood.
Permission to enter was granted immediately. The vast study was well soundproofed, but with only two occupants, the room felt cavernous and somewhat desolate.
An elderly woman in a wig sat on the sofa, engrossed in a book. Jenkins glanced at the cover; the title appeared to be *Eternal Purity: The Glorious Nobility of the Sicari Empire*. Behind her stood a nervous young maid who, upon seeing Jenkins enter, discreetly excused herself to prepare tea.
“I didn’t expect you to return,” the Queen remarked. “It’s your birthday today, isn’t it? Happy birthday.”
It seemed everyone knew it was his birthday, yet Jenkins himself was the only one who didn’t care.
“I was just passing by,” he replied.
He placed his cat on the armrest of a nearby armchair and then sat down himself.
“So, what's the situation?” he asked. “Are you under house arrest?”
He glanced around the room.
“So, this must be house arrest.”
“The Church has no immediate plans for me,” the Queen explained calmly. “I have apologized, revealed everything I know, and pledged to declare the organization known as the Treehouse enemies of the state. Things will likely return to normal by tomorrow.”
The old woman's tone was flat, as if she were commenting on the behavior of a complete stranger. When Jenkins remembered what she had done—the seven innocent lives lost and Sigrid Capet's narrow escape—he felt a wave of nausea, realizing how sickening this conversation was going to be.
“So, it's just over then?” he pressed.
He accepted the cup of tea from the maid but merely touched it to his lips before setting it back down on the low mahogany table.
“And what more do you think should be done?”
Queen Isabella inquired, glancing up at him for a moment before her eyes returned to the book in her hands.
“This world has never been a fair place, and not every sin must be purged. You need to understand that, Jenkins.”
Jenkins grunted but offered no comment. A silence settled over the study for a moment before he spoke again.
“About Sigrid Capet...”
“She’s a good girl. Since my plan failed, I certainly won't cause her any more trouble. Your Church will no doubt increase her protection. I suspect the Treehouse had motives beyond simply cooperating with me in her capture. They have their own agenda. That much is obvious.
“I will compensate her, of course. I'll be leaving her something in my will.”
She paused for a moment before continuing.
“I will leave my entire dowry to her, along with a portion of my personal estate. These assets are separate from the royal treasury and are mine to dispose of as I wish. Jessica has no need for them, and I imagine you have no desire for my possessions, so they will go to Miss Capet...”
Her fingers deftly turned the page, the rustle of the paper seeming louder than their conversation in the quiet room.
“As for the throne...”
She had raised the subject herself, yet a long moment passed without another word. Just as Jenkins began to think she had forgotten what she was saying, the old woman finally, and slowly, continued:
“Since you are already betrothed to the next queen of the northern kingdom, there's no need to compete with Jessica for this throne.”
Jenkins fought to keep a sneer from his face, a task that proved far from easy.
“I know you're mocking me inwardly, because even Jessica is willing to let you be king. Such is the self-righteousness of young love,” she mused. “But what about you? Do you truly want to be king, Jenkins? You may think I was out of my mind to cooperate with that organization, but there are times I see things quite clearly.”
She started to turn another page but stopped abruptly. Lifting her head, she peered at Jenkins over her dark red-framed reading glasses. The gesture might have seemed like a kindly grandmother observing her grandson, but her expression was severe.
“Jenkins, do you truly want to be king?”
Lying now would be pointless. As for whether he truly wanted to be king, Jenkins couldn't give a simple yes or no. He knew it was something he had to do, something he was willing to do, but it wasn't something he truly desired.
“Whether or not I want to be king of Fidektri is irrelevant. That throne cannot belong to anyone else,” Jenkins stated firmly. “And are you questioning me? No. You declared war on me, and I was forced to meet the challenge. That is the logic of our current situation.”
The old woman lowered her head again, her gaze returning to the page. After a few seconds, she remembered she had been about to turn it and did so, speaking all the while. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs, ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴠɪsɪᴛ nοvelfire.net
“I respect the Middleton bloodline. I would never declare war on you. I was in the wrong, yes, but I never intended to harm you. Never... Had I known of your deep feelings for Miss Capet, perhaps I would have chosen a different course... But, to be perfectly frank, you are not the successor I would choose.”
This was likely the first time she had ever spoken to Jenkins with such candor.
“I don't deny your merits. You are an Enchanter, intelligent, and talented. But you are not suited to be king. I can see it in you—you despise unchosen responsibilities, you loathe being controlled, and you are not wicked enough, not ruthless enough.”
All the while, she kept her eyes fixed on the book in her lap, her gaze filtered through her reading glasses.
“Furthermore, you know nothing of politics. You weren't raised in such an environment. It is not like learning etiquette from young ladies; some things cannot be learned through tutoring. For the good of all, I do not choose you. I choose Jessica.”
Jenkins rarely lied to himself, so he could admit she had a point. But he had learned long ago that being logical wasn't the same as being right.
“After all that, do you really think you can persuade me with words alone?” he scoffed. “You treat me like a child...”
“Then what if I could offer you terms that would make you renounce the throne willingly?” the Queen interjected. “I don't need to look up to picture your expression.”
She was right. Jenkins didn't need a mirror to know what his face looked like at that moment.
“I don't understand what you mean, and frankly, I don't believe you. What I want is power. Can you truly offer something more alluring than that?”
He leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing. His left hand rested on one arm of the chair while his right elbow propped up the other, his thumb tapping thoughtfully against his chin.
“I can certainly make you an offer that will satisfy you,” the Queen said smoothly. “If you are willing to cede the throne to Jessica, then I have no objection to you marrying her and ruling this country as Prince Consort, the true power behind the crown. In exchange for your abdication, I will ensure a peaceful transition of all authority and guarantee that no one will ever oppose your control. You, Jenkins, will be a king without a crown.”
A moment of silence passed. Jenkins was stunned. He had never expected such an offer; he'd assumed the Queen's talk of him giving up was merely a tactic to provoke him.
It took him a few seconds to process the full implications of her proposal. Instead of answering, he asked in sheer astonishment:
“If I were to agree, wouldn't that mean you've given up everything, while Miss Windsor gains nothing but the throne itself? Are you truly willing to make such a sacrifice? What benefit is there in it for you?”
“Benefit?” the Queen echoed. “Young Jessica gets her love, the throne of Fidektri gets a worthy ruler, and my wish to see her name etched into the pages of history is fulfilled. That is the benefit.”
Her voice was utterly placid. Jenkins was certain she would have used the same tone to discuss the room's decor.
“The offer is quite tempting, is it not?”
When Jenkins didn't reply, she spoke again. Though she hadn't once looked up at him, it was as if she could perceive his every mental shift, guiding his thoughts with carefully chosen words.
Of course, it was tempting. Jenkins had never wanted to be king; he only wanted the power that came with the crown. He needed that power to save the world.
“I have already promised to marry Dolores Stuart.”
He decided to stall. He couldn't give her an answer now; the decision was too momentous to be made alone. As absurd as the situation was, he had to admit it was an excellent bargain.
“Don't try to stall, Jenkins,” the Queen chided. “Do you think I am unaware that the Mikhail and Hersha girls have already moved into your home? Do you believe their fathers, two of our finest naval commanders, would permit their daughters to be your mistresses? You've already figured out a solution, have you not? Do not use Dolores Stuart as an excuse. It is pointless.”
It was as if she could truly see right through him. Jenkins briefly wondered if she possessed some special item the Church had missed, but deep down, he knew it was simply the intuition of a woman who had lived a very, very long time.
“I cannot give you an answer right now,” he said, his voice flat. “And I am not willing to negotiate with someone who has done what you've done.”
He feigned a calm demeanor, but his cat, feeling the erratic rhythm of his stroking, knew he was anything but.
“Because you find me despicable,” the Queen surmised, “and accepting my terms would be a compromise with a despicable person—an act your pride cannot stomach. Oh, Jenkins, at a time , are you really going to throw a childish tantrum?”
She said this with a laugh, then suddenly snapped the book shut with a crisp thump and set it on the sofa cushion beside her.