THE PRINCE SHE POISONED: I returned as her brother-in-law

The Imperial Banquet

The towering mahogany doors of the Grand Ballroom swung open, pouring golden light and the sweet, dizzying scent of rosewater and roasted meats into the cold marble corridor.

Cale leaned heavily on his iron-tipped wooden stick, his pale fingers gripping the head until his knuckles turned ash-white. Every step was a brutal chore, his shattered mana channels throbbing with dull, rhythmic pain. He wore an ill-fitting dark velvet tunic—the cleanest garment in the Annex, yet hopelessly threadbare compared to the silk and gold thread flashing inside the hall.

As he dragged his left leg over the threshold, the light laughter of three hundred imperial nobles faltered.

Eyes turned. Whispers rippled across the sea of satin gowns and polished breastplates like a cold draft.

"Is that... the Third Prince?"

"What is he doing out of the tomb? He looks like a walking corpse."

"Disgusting. The smell of rot follows him."

Cale kept his head down, letting his dark hair fall over his forehead, bowing his shoulders into the pathetic stance of a boy terrified of his own shadow. Beneath that mask, however, his eyes were sharp as razors, cataloging every noble face, every house crest, and every security guard posted along the gilded balconies.

"Cale."

A deep, commanding voice boomed over the chamber string quartet, cutting through the murmurs.

The crowd parted smoothly, revealing Crown Prince Cassian von Valerius. Broad-shouldered, radiating a oppressive gold mana aura, Cassian stood on the raised dais, a heavy golden goblet resting casually in his ringed hand.

Standing right beside him, draped in an exquisite icy-blue gown lined with white fur, was Evelyn.

Cale’s breath caught in his throat.

The room seemed to tilt beneath his boots. The phantom taste of metallic poison flooded his mouth, hot and bitter, making his jaw clench until his teeth ground together.

It was her. The same pale skin, the same dark eyes, the same lethal, unreachable beauty that had lulled him into a false sense of peace right before she shoved a needle into his glass.

Evelyn looked down at Cale from the high dais. Her dark eyes swept over his frail frame, his limp, and his stained collar with mild, detached curiosity—the exact way an aristocrat might look at a stray dog that had wandered through an open gate.

Zero recognition. Zero guilt. To her, he was just Cale von Valerius—a useless, dying trash prince.

"Brother," Cale whimpered, forcing a wet, raspy cough to break his chest before clutching his stick and bowing low—almost losing his balance on purpose. "I... I came to pay my respects..."

Cassian sneered, stepping down one marble stair, his gold cape fluttering behind him. "I thought I instructed the stewards to keep you in bed, Cale. You look like you're about to collapse on my floorboards and ruin the carpet."

A light chuckle drifted through the surrounding courtiers.

"Forgive me, Your Highness," Cale squeaked, shrinking back into himself, his watery eyes darting nervously around the room. "I only... I wanted to see the lady who will lead our empire..."

Cassian chuckled, a cruel, arrogant sound, before turning to glance at Evelyn. "You hear that, my love? Even the dead boy in the Annex has heard of your beauty."

Evelyn glided down the steps, her silk train rustling against the stone. She stopped three paces away from Cale. Up close, her scent hit him—crushed blackberries and old oak. The exact same perfume she wore on Earth.

"Rising from your sickbed to offer congratulations shows great filial respect, Third Prince," Evelyn said softly. Her voice was smooth, cool, and melodic, devoid of any genuine warmth. She reached into her sleeve, pulled out a small silk pouch filled with copper coins, and held it out toward him. "Take this. Have the servants buy you warmer blankets for the coming winter."

It was a public insult disguised as charity. She was handing the Third Prince of the Empire pocket change like a beggar at the city gates.

The nobles snickered into their wine glasses.

Cale looked at the pouch, then up at her face. Internally, a dark, roaring furnace of hatred exploded inside his chest. He wanted to tear that smooth, perfect throat out with his bare hands.

Instead, he forced his trembling hand forward, taking the coins with a pathetic, deeply grateful bow.

"Thank... thank you, Lady Evelyn," Cale stammered, bowing his head so low his nose nearly touched the silk. "May the heavens bless your union with the Crown Prince."

"Run along back to your room now, Cale," Cassian ordered carelessly, waving his hand as if dismissing a housefly. "Don't ruin the mood."

"Yes, Your Highness... immediately," Cale whimpered.

He turned on his heel, dragging his heavy leg as he limped back toward the shadows near the outer arches.

As soon as his back was turned to the grand dais, the fearful tremble vanished from Cale’s hands. His posture straightened just enough to ease the strain on his ribs, and a cold, terrifying smile cut across his pale lips.

He leaned against a stone pillar in the dark balcony corner, slipping Evelyn’s copper coins into his pocket alongside his pocket watch.

Enjoy your wine, Evelyn, Cale thought, his dark eyes fixing on her distant figure as she smiled up at Cassian. Enjoy your gold and your crown.

Right on cue, a breathless messenger wearing the crest of Duke Julius burst through the side doors of the banquet hall, his face pale as chalk, frantically searching for the Crown Prince.

Cale’s smile broadened in the shadows.

The river grain futures had just been bought out by the Blind Broker. The financial trap had sprung and the nightmare was just beginning.