Reborn I Refuse To Save The Traitors (Margaery) novel Chapter 163

**Whispers Shape Distant Tomorrows by Aren Cole Vale**
**Chapter 163**

Callum’s response was swift, almost instinctual. “Father, I’ll handle it right away. You won’t be disappointed.” The words tumbled out, but they felt hollow, like a fragile facade that could shatter at any moment.

What a farce this all was.

The Northern Frontier was a realm of relentless chill, where frigid winds howled like vengeful spirits. If he were to spend three years in that desolate wasteland, what would await him upon his return to Sinderin City? Would he still belong there?

Sonia—she was one of his own, a trusted ally.

Yet, in this moment, he stood at a crossroads, forced to make a heart-wrenching sacrifice. There seemed to be no other option left.

Never in his wildest dreams had he anticipated that his reckless endeavor to incite discord within the Hadley family would spiral into such a catastrophic mess, dragging him down into its depths.

With a heavy heart, Callum rose from his seat, leaving the room in a fog of confusion.

How had the secret of the Springcourt House been revealed?

Who had betrayed him?

“Callum, what’s the matter with you?” Marcus’s voice sliced through his thoughts, tinged with concern.

He observed Callum with growing unease, pondering, *What could have possibly happened? He seemed fine during the birthday festivities. Why is he so shaken after seeing Father?*

Stepping outside, Callum was met by the biting cold. The sweat that clung to his skin turned to ice, making his undergarments cling uncomfortably to him. He took a moment to steady himself, forcing a pale smile. “It’s nothing.”

With that, he brushed past Marcus, his mind still clouded as he exited the Springcourt House, lost in thought.

Sonia was a spy from Frosthelm, but her loyalty to Callum was unwavering.

Given the gravity of the situation, Callum had taken every precaution to keep his dealings under wraps, never once visiting the Springcourt House as himself. Each time, he donned a disguise. How had their secret been exposed?

And to whom had it been revealed?

He couldn’t make sense of it.

Turning his gaze back, he couldn’t help but scrutinize Marcus once more.

*Could it be him? No, if Marcus had knowledge of this, he would seize the opportunity to orchestrate my downfall.*

*It couldn’t possibly be Marcus.*

Callum’s eyes shifted to Dashnell, shaking his head in frustration.

*It wasn’t Dashnell either. While he may conceal his martial prowess, it was unlikely he commanded a covert operation dedicated to monitoring my every move.*

Just then, the chief eunuch emerged, and Marcus’s impatience bubbled over. “Is it my turn now?”

The eunuch handed two imperial edicts to another eunuch, instructing him, “Go deliver these.”

The eunuch nodded and hurried off.

Marcus stood there, bewildered. “Eunuch, who are these edicts for?”

“Prince Marcus, perhaps you should focus on your own affairs first,” the chief eunuch replied with a dismissive glance, then turned to Dashnell. “Prince Dashnell, the King requests your presence.”

In the dim light, the eunuch’s gaze was laden with complexity, stirring an unsettling feeling in Dashnell’s heart.

That sense of foreboding intensified, yet he remained oblivious to the impending events.

With a deep breath, he wheeled himself into the Imperial Study. “Your son greets you, Father.”

The heavy doors swung shut, sealing the two of them in a tense silence—one seated high on the throne, the other confined to a wheelchair.

An inexplicable tension thickened the air.

The King’s penetrating gaze swept over his youngest son, appraising him from head to toe before finally breaking the silence. “When did you begin to practice martial arts? What techniques are you using? Is it possible to train in a wheelchair?”

Dashnell recalled the year of his accident, a time when he was merely seven or eight years old. Back then, he had trained with palace instructors, but as a child, he could only mimic their movements, never grasping the deeper essence of the art.

Yet, judging by the startling news that had erupted from the Hadley family today, it was clear that things were far more complicated than they appeared.

Before he could respond, a shadowy figure slipped out from behind the screen, lunging towards Dashnell with a sword aimed directly at his abdomen.

The strike was executed with such ferocity that Dashnell found himself trapped. To evade would require him to stand, a feat impossible in his current state.

His heart raced—should he choose injury or risk exposure?

In that fleeting moment, Dashnell had to make a choice.

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