The Debt Of Fate
Chapter 229: Just enough

Chapter 229: Just enough

Bacon Frederick’s Residence

"Son, a few men are here to see you," Lady Susan said with a bright smile as she entered.

"Mother, what are you up to?" asked Bacon Frederick, the third son of the late King George. He could already guess what his mother was thinking, given the current situation.

"I’m not up to anything. It’s just that a few nobles are here to see you," Lady Susan replied. She wondered why she had a son with no ambition.

"Are they here to see me, or did you invite them?" Frederick didn’t look eager to meet the nobles.

"Son, I didn’t!" Lady Susan shook her head, feigning innocence. Frederick looked at her, unconvinced.

"Trust Mother," Lady Susan said. It wasn’t that she didn’t have the idea of forming alliances with the lords in the royal capital—it was just that many of them looked down on her. Now that they had come willingly, of course she was pleased.

Frederick still had his doubts, but he followed his mother to the meeting hall. Five nobles awaited them in the room. Two were members of the Royal Privy Council, one was a deputy general of the army, and the remaining two held no significant position.

"Your Highness," the men stood as soon as he entered.

"Please, be seated. I am only a Bacon," Frederick said calmly. He wanted these men to understand he had no desire to be caught up in the royal family’s chaos.

"Your Highness, you are the son of King George. Even if your mother was not the queen, she was still a dignified mistress," one lord said.

"Yes," the others echoed in agreement.

Frederick didn’t bother arguing and took his seat. He waited patiently for the men to speak first.

"Your Highness is not ignorant of the current situation at the royal court of Nixel," one lord finally said, standing as he addressed him.

"What situation?" Frederick asked, feigning ignorance. Lady Susan, who was eavesdropping just outside the door, nearly burst into the room to knock some sense into her son.

"King Edward is not capable of leading our kingdom. It is well known that when a man cannot manage his household, he may not be fit to lead a nation," another lord chimed in.

Frederick simply nodded without a word.

"Your Highness, the second prince is ill and unfit for the throne. In such a time, as the son of the king, you should lay claim to the throne," the first lord continued.

"Oh... But I am only the son of a mistress. Was that not the reason my brother was condemned—because he tried to make a mistress’s son his heir?" Frederick raised a brow. He had no desire to be anyone’s scapegoat.

"Your Highness is mistaken. This is not about making a mistress’s son the heir. The king is truly incompetent," the second lord argued.

The others nodded in agreement. These men didn’t care much about legitimacy. What truly bothered them was the king’s inability to manage the two women in his household.

Frederick looked around the room. "Why me?" he asked again.

"This is only natural. The five of us have always been loyal to your late father. Now that his first son, King Edward, is unfit to rule, and Prince Lucan is ill—moreover, his legitimate wife is from Gube, making him an unsuitable choice—we have no one else to turn to," the first lord explained.

"Although the southern rebellion has been dealt with, I received an invitation from Lord Auraline to join forces with him. But we, as your father’s loyal subjects, cannot betray him even in death. So we have come to you," the second lord added.

"That is true, Your Highness. You have my sword and those of every man under my command," the deputy general declared.

"Though we are not so noble, we have come to pledge our loyalty," the remaining two lords said, rising to their feet and bowing.

"Just the five of you? How would I take the throne with only that? You don’t expect my brother to just hand it over, do you?" Frederick asked, raising a brow. He knew their declarations of loyalty were only part of the reason they were here. Perhaps Lord Auraline already had allies of similar interest. These men were likely afraid that if they supported Auraline, they would risk everything and gain nothing.

"Your Highness, we have a plan to rope others in," the second lord said. At those words, Frederick’s interest was finally piqued.

---

Dorothy’s Courtyard

"Is the king coming?" Dorothy asked the nanny beside her. Since the queen requested a divorce and the royal celebration was canceled, the king hadn’t come to see her or the baby.

"His Majesty is busy," the nanny replied without meeting Dorothy’s eyes. She had taken time to ask around and discovered that the royal court had been unstable since the divorce. The king was focused on calming the unrest—there was no time to visit Dorothy.

"Go bring the young prince," Dorothy said. Although confined to her quarters, she still heard whispers. She knew that the king had canceled the celebration after the former queen requested a royal divorce during morning mass. At the time, Dorothy had been hopeful. She thought that with the queen gone, she would become the only woman by the king’s side. She hadn’t expected the king would never come to see her—or his son.

As the rumors spread, Dorothy learned that her son would not become crown prince because he was born of a mistress. The more she heard, the more annoyed she became. The day before, she pretended to be ill and sent for a physician, but the king still didn’t come.

Now, with everything going on, she was deeply worried.

"My lady..." the nanny began, concerned she might do something rash.

"Bring the prince. I’m his mother—how could I possibly harm him?" Dorothy said, correctly guessing what the nanny was thinking.

The nanny swallowed the words at the tip of her tongue.

Dorothy sat still for a long while after the nanny left to fetch the child. Her fingers gripped the armrest of her chair tightly, her knuckles pale. The walls of her chamber, once symbols of royal favor, now felt like a prison closing in on her.

She had done everything—acted meek, then kind, then graceful. She had smiled when insulted, waited patiently, and even bore the king a son. Since she became his official mistress the king had pampered her, she thought that now that the queen was gone the royal crown could finally rest on her head. She did not expect that once the queen was gone the king would also not pay attention to her.

Her thoughts spiraled like smoke from a dying fire, bitter and choking.

When the nanny returned, carrying the infant prince in her arms, Dorothy’s expression softened. The boy was perfect—rosy-cheeked, quiet, with large gray eyes that reminded her so much of the king.

She reached out and took him into her arms. "There you are, my darling," she whispered, pressing her lips to his forehead. Her eyes shimmered not with maternal joy, but with something colder, more resolute.

"I’m sorry, my dear. But this is the only way," she murmured, rocking him gently. "I am doing this not just for me but your future also.

Later that afternoon, she called for her nanny. "Bring me a pinch of that herb the physician left for my headaches. The one that makes me sleepy."

"My lady? That herb is not for children—" The nanny said she felt that Dorothy was going to do something bad.

"I did not say I would give it to him," Dorothy snapped, though her voice remained smooth. "Just bring it. I am a physician, do not forget,"

The nanny obeyed, hesitantly. "The child is her own flesh and blood she would definitely not harm him," she reminded herself.

Dorothy took the small pouch in her hands and dismissed everyone from her chambers. Then, with trembling fingers and a heart pounding in her chest, she mixed the smallest amount of the crushed herb into the prince’s milk. Not enough to truly harm him; just enough to make him feverish, listless. Just enough to worry the king.

The boy fussed for a moment after drinking, then fell asleep in her arms.

Hours passed. She waited. Of course, she had chosen the approach that could not be easily noticed.

As night deepened and the candles burned low, the prince stirred—his cheeks flushed, his breathing shallow. Dorothy held him tighter, cradling him as she stepped into the hall.

"Nanny!" she called, voice rising in panic. "The prince—something is wrong!"

The nanny came running, eyes wide. She touched the baby’s forehead and gasped. "He’s burning up!"

"Send for the physician!" Dorothy cried. She deliberately did not mention the king. With the movement around her courtyard she knew the king would find out.

The palace stirred. Servants ran. A message was dispatched. Word spread faster than fire through dry leaves.

And Dorothy clutching her feverish child, her face pale and eyes glassy waited for the king. She did not believe he would ignore the prince in such situation.