**Whispers Shape Distant Tomorrows by Aren Cole Vale**
**Chapter 43**
Raul felt the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him like a thick fog. He rushed after Simon, his heart racing, and grasped the High Priest’s arm with urgency. “High Priest, there’s something that continues to gnaw at me. After all these years of service together, could you please offer me just a hint?”
Simon halted, his gaze piercing as he turned to face Raul, an inscrutable expression on his face.
Raul, sensing the gravity of the moment, hurriedly continued, “I’m referring to the events from nine years ago. You sent me the information regarding the rebels’ hideout. Was that truly…?”
Simon scrutinized him for what felt like an eternity, the silence stretching between them like an unbridgeable chasm. Finally, he spoke, his voice steady yet tinged with a hint of disdain. “Lord Chancellor, do you genuinely believe that everything that transpired was solely your doing? Have you ever considered why I would choose to entrust such a critical matter to Margaery, allowing a mere seven-year-old child to deliver that message to you?”
As the realization dawned on Raul, a wave of bitterness washed over his features, twisting his expression into one of disillusionment.
In that time, he had been convinced that Simon recognized his potential and sought to elevate him, granting him an extraordinary favor.
He had reveled in that notion for far too long, basking in the glow of what he believed was acknowledgment.
But now, the truth struck him like a bolt of lightning: Simon’s actions had been motivated solely by a desire to help Margaery—a favor extended to an innocent child, nothing more.
Had he known the reality, he would have treated Margaery with the respect she deserved, rather than dismissing her as inconsequential.
Yet, the moment for regrets had passed, leaving him adrift in a tumult of emotions. Raul stood at a loss, grappling with the turmoil within him.
Simon’s voice cut through the haze, laced with a biting irony. “Even if Tessa is your own flesh and blood, her disappearance is a consequence of your actions. If your guilt weighs so heavily upon you, perhaps you should kneel and apologize to her—no one would dare speak ill of you for it.”
“But instead, you choose to place the blame squarely on Margaery’s shoulders. Are you implying that she is not your daughter? Or are you suggesting that she somehow caused Tessa’s vanishing?”
“Do not forget, they are twins.”
“When Tessa went missing, Margaery had just entered this world, a newborn with no inkling of the chaos surrounding her. The life she has led within the Chancellor’s estate is rightfully hers; it was never something she took from Tessa!”
Simon’s anger surged as he continued, each word sharper than the last. “You said it yourself. We’ve been colleagues for years, and you’ve ascended to great heights. But today, I must confess, I doubt you deserve that position. From this moment onward, do not associate yourself with me in any way.”
“And be cautious, Lord Chancellor. You wouldn’t want to find yourself in my crosshairs again.”
With that, Simon turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Raul standing there, his nerves frayed and his mind racing.
Raul watched Simon’s retreating figure, disbelief coursing through him. The last thing he had anticipated was Simon siding with Margaery so vehemently.
What further shocked him was the realization that the crippled Prince Dashnell had enough influence to rally Simon, Bernard, and Quinn to defend Margaery with such fervor.
All his carefully laid plans had crumbled into dust.
Things were spiraling beyond his control, and panic began to creep in.
He glanced at Margaery, unsure of how to approach her amidst such chaos. This was hardly the right setting for a heart-to-heart. Instead, he turned to Joshua, his voice steady but laced with urgency. “Please escort Prince Nathaniel and Princess Estelle out.”
“Prince Nathaniel, Princess Estelle, this way, if you please,” Joshua said, his tone hurried.
Nathaniel scoffed, clearly displeased by the abruptness of the situation.
Estelle’s expression darkened further, her annoyance palpable. Ignoring Joshua, she fixed her gaze on Bernard, her eyes glinting with a mix of determination and frustration. “Lord Bernard, would you care to join me for dinner later?”
“No time,” Bernard replied curtly, dismissing her without a second thought.
Estelle’s features contorted with bitterness, and she redirected her ire towards Joshua, shooting him an icy glare.
Joshua felt a cold sweat break out on his brow as he quickly stammered, “Your Highness, I didn’t foresee…”
“Silence!” Estelle interrupted, her voice sharp. Then, she turned her gaze to Margaery, searching her face for something—perhaps an acknowledgment of her disdain.


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