Chapter 513: Chapter 513
"There’s no such thing as too many coincidences," Aisden murmured, his deep-set eyes narrowing as a shadow of suspicion darkened his gaze.
"Don’t forget who Kiara’s eyes resemble."
The butler followed Aisden’s train of thought, and his own eyes widened in sudden realization.
"Y-You think... this Madam Luther might be... might be..."
The rest of the sentence touched upon royal secrets, and he didn’t dare voice it aloud.
"Better safe than sorry," Count Aisden mused after a long pause, his voice low and deliberate.
"After all, the Crown Princess and the men I sent to San Francisco have vanished without a trace—no leads, no answers.
We can’t afford to overlook even the slightest possibility."
The man straightened in his seat, the haze of alcohol fading from his eyes as clarity took hold.
"Change of plans. We’re heading to the palace.
And contact the Crown Princess immediately—tell her I have urgent matters to discuss."
If this hunch turned out to be true, they could eliminate their greatest threat once and for all.
The timeline would have to be moved up. "Understood,"
The butler immediately instructed the driver to turn the car around and head toward the palace.
An hour later, the vehicle came to a stop in front of a side entrance of the royal residence.
A man dressed in a white work shirt and black vest stood waiting at the door.
"Count, the Crown Princess is expecting you inside."
Eston nodded, instructing the butler to remain in the car while he followed the man into the annex alone.
Thanks to special arrangements, the halls were nearly empty, devoid of unnecessary onlookers.
In the drawing room, a woman sat gracefully, sipping tea.
She wore an emerald-green Chanel tweed suit with a black belt cinched at her waist.
Her poise was impeccable—even without uttering a word, she exuded an air of elegance and nobility.
Count Eston spoke first.
"Have a seat," the woman replied, setting down her cup and lifting her gaze to meet his.
"What could possibly be so urgent that you had to summon me back from Mother’s side at this hour?"
Thanks to a life of privilege and meticulous care, her complexion was flawless, her beauty preserved as if untouched by time.
Though she was around fifty years old, she appeared no older than forty.
Her arched eyebrows were sharp and deep-set, her nose high-bridged, and her lips strikingly thin.
Her features were delicate, yet her beauty could only be considered above average—not as striking as her daughter Kiara’s, but with a far more poised and dignified air.
Easton didn’t speak immediately.
Instead, he cast a meaningful glance at the man in the black vest who had escorted him in.
Queen Luna caught the hint at once. She lifted her eyes and gave the man a cool, dismissive look.
The man in the black vest nodded.
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Wait—" Easton added just as the man turned to go.
Don’t let anyone near."
The man, well aware of the princess’s high regard for Easton, promptly replied, "Understood."
Then he stepped out. In the drawing room, only Earl Aston and Princess Luna remained.
"How is the Queen doing?"
Aston visibly relaxed as the door clicked shut.
"Just as we anticipated," Princess Luna spoke of her mother’s condition with an impassive expression.
"It won’t be long after Kiara’s marriage to Nolan family is settled."
She eyed Aston with a slight frown.
"You came here in the dead of night just to ask this?"
"Of course not," Aston caught the reproach in Luna’s tone but chose not to elaborate.
Instead, he produced a photograph from his coat and rose to present it to the princess.
Who does this woman remind you of?"
The photo captured Camilla making her entrance at a charity gala— her delicate features and striking beauty frozen in the frame.
Luna’s brow furrowed slightly as she accepted the photograph, studying it intently under Aston’s expectant gaze.
Her deep brown pupils suddenly constricted as if she had discovered something, and she swiftly raised a hand to cover Camilla’s mouth and nose.
Only her striking eyes remained exposed.
Aiston observed Princess Luna’s expression and realized she had noticed something.
Earl pressed his lips together, remaining silent.
Princess Luna stared intently at Camilla’s eyes, then slowly slid her hand upward, revealing Camilla’s delicate nose and crimson lips.
The face of another woman gradually surfaced in her mind.
Luna raised her gaze to meet his, her voice icy and measured.
A closer look would reveal the faint cracks in her otherwise poised and elegant demeanor.
"Camilla, the wife of Sinclair—current head of the Luther Family from San Francisco.
They happened to attend tonight’s charity gala and are currently in E Country."
Alston’s tone darkened as he cut straight to the point.
"Our operatives in San Francisco have turned up nothing for months.
It’s possible we were looking in the wrong direction from the start."
His eyes narrowed, expression hardening.
"That old fox might have done the exact opposite of what we expected—instead of hiding his pawn, he placed her right under our noses, exploiting our blind spot."
Understanding dawned in Luna’s eyes, her own gaze sharpening to slits.
In the next moment, she rose from her seat, clutching the photograph as she strode toward the basement.
"Time to pay our dear prisoner a visit."
Alston pressed his lips together, recognizing her intent, and followed silently behind.
Luna descended the stone steps of the long corridor, her face obscured by two layers of masks, and stepped into the vast, oppressive basement.
A stern-faced bodyguard, clearly the leader among them, approached.
"Your Highness," he said respectfully, bowing slightly to Princess Luna and Earl Easton, his tone formal and deferential.
The double-layered masks shielded Luna’s nose and mouth from the basement’s damp, musty air, yet a flicker of disgust still crossed her delicate features.
"How’s the old man holding up?" she asked.
"Same as always," the grim-faced man replied, his brow furrowing slightly with frustration.
"Playing deaf and dumb—won’t say a word." Earl Easton let out a derisive snort.
"That old bastard’s got some nerve for his age."
"San Francisco people are notorious for their stubbornness and pride.
History has proven that much," Princess Luna mused, her eyes narrowing with an unreadable glint.
"But that’s only true... until you find their weakness."
She glanced down at the photo in her hand before lifting her gaze to the bodyguard standing before her.
"Take me to see him."
"Yes, Your Highness."
The stern-faced man gave a curt nod and moved to Princess Luna’s side, guiding her inward.
One security door after another clicked open along their path.
Though technically a basement, the space was vast—originally designed to secretly detain royal spies or those who had fallen out of favor.
But with the monarchy’s waning power, such affairs had dwindled, leaving the underground chambers largely empty.
Only the remnants remained—an array of rusted torture devices and interrogation rooms, their presence casting a lingering chill.
The bodyguard opened the final door and stepped aside, clearing the way.
"Your Highness, Count. We’ve arrived."
Luna stepped inside without hesitation.
Axton followed closely behind.
The room was starkly bare, furnished only with a weathered low table, a simple bed, and a threadbare quilt.
The air carried the faint metallic tang of blood, mingling with the stale scent of trapped, unmoving air.
At the table sat an elderly man, his hair and beard streaked with white, his face gaunt with exhaustion.
Yet his hands remained steady as he turned the pages of a medical tome.
Beside his hand lay a medical kit.
Earl reclined with an air of serene indifference, as though he weren’t confined to a dimly lit basement but lounging in the comfort of his own study.
When Luna and Easton entered, he didn’t even glance up—as if entirely unaware of their presence.
"You old bastard, acting all high and mighty!"
Easton spat, his temper flaring at the old man’s unshakable calm.
If it weren’t for this stubborn relic playing dumb and refusing to talk, he and Luna wouldn’t have been running around like headless chickens, chasing shadows across the vast expanse of San Francisco.
The old man merely turned a page of his book in response.
The blatant disregard was the last straw.
Easton’s rage boiled over, and he took a furious step forward.
Luna’s sharp interjection halted him.
"Earl’s barely recovered.
Don’t do anything reckless."
From the moment they’d dragged the old man here, they’d tried every trick in the book—yet he remained unyielding, impervious to both threats and persuasion.
No matter what they did, his lips stayed sealed, not a single clue slipping through.