Chapitre 14: Chapter Fourteen

Ryan, a furrow etched between his brows, sat hunched over a massive oak desk, his fingers drumming a restless beat against its polished surface.

Davis stood before him, his hands clasped respectfully behind his back. He cleared his throat, breaking the heavy silence that had descended upon the room.

"You requested my presence, Your Grace," Davis began, his voice a low rumble. "Yet you seem lost in thought."

Ryan's gaze flickered upwards, his eyes holding a flicker of annoyance. "The journey was long and tedious," he muttered, his voice strained.

"Forgive my intrusion, Your Grace," he began, his voice respectful, "but I was under the impression your schedule was full yesterday. What brought you to the.... the inn?"

Ryan glanced up, his gaze distant and unfocused. "Another noble died. The scouts and I were surveying the area he was last seen before I saw you in that situation," he muttered, his voice low and gravelly. " If I wasn't there on time I wonder what would have happened?"

His mind was swirling, replaying the events of yesterday as he instructed the scouts to continue the search, before he left to help Davis.

"Any word from the scouts?" Ryan asked, his voice low and laced with frustration. Yesterday's event, the suspicious "death" of Lord Caldwell, gnawed at him.

"No, Your Grace," Davis replied, shaking his head solemnly.

"There's something...off." He slammed a heavy book shut, the sound echoing through the study room. "The entire court is abuzz with rumors, whispers of another noble 'illness.'"

Davis raised an eyebrow, a hint of curiosity replacing his usual stoicism. "Another illness, Your Grace?"

Ryan nodded grimly. "The third in as many months. Each victim found in their chambers, seemingly struck down by sudden illness or taken their life. But the details…" He trailed off, frustration lacing his voice. "The details just don't add up."

Ryan sighed, a sound heavy with worry. This string of "suicides and illness" plaguing the nobility for the past month was starting to feel more and more like a well-orchestrated plot.

Davis's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Surely, that's been dealt with, Your Grace? The King himself entrusted the investigation to…"

"Me," Ryan finished the sentence for him, his voice laced with a hint of bitterness. The King's trust was a double-edged sword – an honor, but also a burden, especially when the investigation seemed to be hitting a dead end.

A sudden image flickered in Ryan's mind, a vivid flashback that sent a jolt through him.

[ FLASHBACK - A MONTH AGO ]

Ryan stood rigid in the King's private chambers, the weight of the monarch's words heavy in the air.

"A string of deaths, Ryan," the King said, his voice laced with concern. "Three nobles in as many weeks, all found in their studies, seemingly by their own hand."

The King's advisor, a wiry man with shrewd eyes, chimed in, "Suicides, Your Majesty. Unfortunate events, to be sure, but suicides nonetheless."

Ryan, however, wasn't so convinced. He studied the reports laid out on the table – cryptic messages left behind, seemingly staged scenes of despair. A cold, methodical hand seemed to be behind these deaths.

"These are not suicides," he stated, his voice firm. "There's a pattern here, Your Majesty. A killer, one who is meticulous and… theatrical."

The King and his advisor exchanged worried glances. "Then find this killer, Ryan," the King commanded. "Bring them to justice before they claim another innocent life."

[END OF FLASHBACK]

The memory faded, leaving Ryan staring into the fire. The King's words echoed in his mind, a heavy burden to bear. This was a serial killer, someone targeting the elite with cold, calculated precision.

"I believe you, Your Grace," Davis replied, his loyalty shining through. "But without concrete evidence, our hands are tied."

"Maybe not," Ryan countered, a hint of a plan forming in his mind. "There has to be a clue, something we've missed. Something about the way they… died. It's too clean, too perfect."

He pushed himself to his feet, a steely resolve hardening his features. "Tell the scouts to double their efforts. Search every corner, every hidden crevice. We need answers, and we need them fast."

————————

Suzy stretched weakly as she woke up from her sleep, the events of yesterday coming flooding back. The long journey and the imposing Duke of Carleton.

She sat up on the plush four-poster bed, taking in her surroundings. The room was large and airy, with high ceilings adorned with detailed plasterwork. Rich tapestries hung on the walls. A massive wardrobe stood in one corner, overflowing with what she presumed were fine clothes.

"Well, at least the Duke has some sense," Suzy muttered to herself, a hint of amusement in her voice. "Giving me my own room, that is."

She rose from the bed, her legs wobbly after the long carriage ride. A yawn escaped her lips as she stretched again, relishing the feeling of fresh air filtering through the open window.

Suddenly, a soft rapping on the door startled her out of her reverie. "Come in," she called out, reaching for the discarded dress she'd worn the day before.

The door creaked open, revealing two young maids, their faces flushed with nervous excitement. They curtsied low, their eyes wide with curiosity.

"Good morning, Your Grace," one of them stammered, her voice barely a whisper. "We are here to assist you with your morning preparations."

Suzy smiled warmly. "Good morning. That's kind of you. I'm Suz ….. I mean Cassandra."

The maids exchanged a surprised glance. Formal introductions weren't exactly the norm with new Duchesses.

"I'm Elara, and this is Clara," the first maid announced, her voice gaining a hint of confidence.

Elara, with gentle hands, began laying out various dresses on the bed – all elegant but stiff, with high necks and long sleeves. Clara, meanwhile, started preparing a steaming bath.

Suzy watched them for a moment, then cleared her throat. "Thank you ladies, but I think I can manage dressing myself."

The maids looked hesitant. "But Your Grace," Elara stammered, "it wouldn't be proper…"

Suzy held up a hand, her smile unwavering. "Please, call me Cassandra. And while I appreciate the offer, I prefer to choose my own attire."

She picked up one of the dresses, its heavy fabric felt suffocating even to the touch.

"These are lovely," she said politely, placing the dress back on the bed, "but perhaps something a little lighter, something I can move around in."

Elara and Clara exchanged another glance, unsure of how to proceed. They weren't accustomed to a Duchess who had opinions, let alone voiced them with such confidence.

Just then, Suzy's eyes landed on a simple blue dress tucked away in the corner. It wasn't as extravagant as the others, but it had a certain charm to it. She picked it up, holding it against herself.

"This will do nicely," she declared, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Elara and Clara, after a moment of stunned silence, nodded their assent. They helped Suzy slip into the dress.

Next came the hair. Elara started to gather Suzy's mane of auburn hair into a tight bun, but Suzy stopped her mid-motion.

"Wait," she said, gently prying the brush from Elara's grasp. "I prefer it like this."

With nimble fingers, she quickly styled her hair in a high ponytail, secured with a sky-blue ribbon. She pulled out two strands of hair curling down to frame her face, highlighting the smattering of freckles across her nose.

Elara and Clara watched in awe as Suzy transformed herself from a fragile young woman to a confident figure who exuded a unique kind of grace.

"There you go," Suzy declared, stepping back to admire her handiwork. "Now, if there's some breakfast to be had, I wouldn't say no."

The maids, finally breaking out of their reverie, bobbed their heads in unison. "Of course, Cass … Your Grace," one of them stammered, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. " His Grace is waiting for you at the dinning area."

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