章節 11: 'Punch a wall or something'
Amelia couldn't imagine he'd cajole her into doing something so cruel. She raised her gaze to his after seeing her dagger in his hand—it was her father's.
To take the life of someone so… helpless.
"No," she pleaded discreetly as the duke shove the cold handle on her hand.
Her vision blurred and hand trembled. She's never killed anyone or anything before. But before she could react, Alexander went around her and placed his hands on her shoulders, lightly pushing her towards the boy. The maid's eyes grew bigger, and tears fell down her face like an unattended water source, pleading for her life. Her coarse voice hurt the duchess' ears. The boy remained unconscious still; his wounds and bruises were nothing short of bearable.
She wanted to get away as much as the maid does; killing wasn't in her schedule. And to think that her guest—her very fiancé—would demand her of it made her stomach twist.
But the duke wasn't entirely wrong.
Amelia stood stiff at her sudden thought.
The duke wasn't wrong when he told her she was too soft. He wasn't wrong to seek justice. He wasn't wrong to want to kill the person who tried to kill him—and her. He's a duke, a ruler of a House bestowed by the old emperor. Any harm inflicted on him was harm inflicted on the empire; it's not something someone could casually do and walk away unscathed.
And she's a duchess of a House as old as the empire itself.
But was killing the only option?
"If not now, then when are you going to seek your justice?" she heard Alexander from behind. "Your parents died, and you went to another House to train only to lay silent for years. Someone tried to kill you—you almost died—and now that the cause of it is right in front of you, you hesitate." Amelia's breathing became little gasps when Alexander's hand slid across her arm to hold her dominant hand; he raised it to point at the boy's chest. "Justice isn't always just, my duchess. What's just to you might not be just to another, but that's how things are. When will you start considering your own self and stop thinking about other people?" each word hammered Amelia's mind.
"I-it's not like th-that."
"Oh, it is very like that, my love," Alexander whispered back.
The hand that held hers tightened as his chest warmed her back. And before she could take a breath herself, her eyes bulged in disbelief as her hand slowly pressed forward.
The bare, bruised chest of the boy in front of her showed marks of prolonged hunger and struggles to get by. Everything slowed down—devastatingly so—as she could almost hear the faint sound of poked flesh when the tip of her dagger buried itself in the boy's chest. A small amount of blood trickled from the opening and nothing more. The only other sound she heard was her ragged breathing as the maid already fainted at some point.
Amelia felt everything from her dagger—every muscle, every tendon, every frail bone that seemed to crack as she pushed through—that stopped her blade from going further, but the force that held her hand was heavier. He pushed her hand deeper into the boy's cavity until it stopped halfway as if the dagger finally reached its destination. But just when Amelia thought that it was over, Alexander tightened his hand more and swiftly buried the entire length of the dagger that made the boy jerk.
Amelia jerked as well.
She knew exactly what the tough muscle her blade just went through. She wasn't dumb not to know of it. But Alexander didn't stop there; he didn't let go of the duchess' hand but instead slowly dragged the blade out. Blood started to ooze from the small hole. It drenched the boy's torn shirt, his trousers, and the floor. By then, Amelia's the only one holding the bloody dagger. Alexander already wiped his hand clean and threw the piece of cloth on the ground.
Amelia trembled as she watched the blood trickle down her dagger's handle, adding to her already tainted hand. She wanted to throw it away, but she couldn't. Her hand tightened around the cold metal for reasons she couldn't understand.
The last thing she heard was the door closing behind her.
**********
Alexander annoyingly sat on the couch in the private quarters of Vance Thomson as he watched the old man cozily sipped coffee from his cup in his innerwear and dark velvet robe.
It's past five in the morning and a few days after all the poisoning and the killing happened. The Duke of House Clement hasn't had a wink of sleep when a knock disturbed him. He decided to ignore it and covered his face with a pillow, but the knocks were persistent. When he thought that it would stop if he stayed quiet, the man at the other side of the door informed him that the duchess' advisor asked for his presence.
He cursed silently and grabbed the coat provided for him, and forcefully opened the door, glaring at the knight who looked blankly at him on his way out. How dare a mere advisor ask for his—a duke's—presence?
Alexander clearly remembers how he was led by Arabella and Ancel around and into the back of the Western Palace. The female assassin deliberately used a complicated trail to the statue to mess with him. Even her brother complained and recommended an alternative route, but stubborn Arabella, who hated him so much, insisted that her way was safer.
When they reached the statue, a trap door was opened at its foot, which Alexander somehow expected. He has investigated every House in the empire as they also have his, so he doesn't have a tad of guilt.
The dungeon seemed like an old torture room, which was surprising for Alexander because he never thought that the House as passive as the Florence's would have something like a hidden dungeon below their beautiful garden. Most dungeons were for detaining people, but by the look of the cells and the ones with wooden doors, there's a whole lot more other than imprisoning that happened there. Fortunately, it didn't look like it had been recently used—except for the cries that the duke heard as he arrived almost at the end of the trail.
Bloodlust eyes welcomed him as soon as Ancel opened the door.
It was the duchess' trusted advisor, Vance.
Alexander scanned the room before he closed it; it was just the old advisor, a knight he's not familiar with, the assassin siblings, himself, and the two chair-bounded prisoners. The boy was already coughing blood with bruises and cuts in parts of his body, and the girl looked horrible with tears and snot dripping from her messed up face.
Just as Alexander thought the scene couldn't be more out of the ordinary, the sweet-face assassin that clung to his fiancée like a leech loomed at the maid and grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling it as far as the maid's neck could handle. Her brother just looked at her like it was business as usual.
Alexander inhaled discreetly—was the people surrounding the duchess this… criminally inclined? Does she know about them being able to hurt someone like it swatting a fly?
Questions started to pile in Alexander's mind. He tried to recall all the information his men gathered about House Florence since the day of the incident, and he always wondered why it felt like something was amiss.
House Florence was said to be as old as the empire itself, yet they didn't take the throne for themselves.
Supporters praised the first duke for being contented to rule a duchy instead. But no one's that saintly as to not desire to have the strongest and highest authority in the land. There's bound to have at least one greedy seed in the tree. It also doesn't have strong military powers, with most of its knights being trained by House Mulford, House Florence's closest friend. All they have were fertile lands and the undying support of their people.
Yet, the power and influence were undeniable, especially these past few years since the discontent of the public towards the ruling family continue to grow. Sure, they have underground organizations like the Order that they established with House Mulford. Alexander's spies also gathered word that there were bets and call to action from families to either support House Florence or find an illegitimate second prince somewhere.
Vance would be the person to know all of it.
Alexander shook his head. He'll know all these answers but now's clearly not the time for it. His time should be focused on the identity of the so-called Vance Thomson—the seemingly overqualified and utterly mysterious secretary of the late duke— now that the culprits have been dealt with.
He was wearing a rather light tunic in the dungeon, his bare, toned chest glistening in sweat. Gone were the glasses and sleeked-back hairstyle. Veined and scarred hands and arms; Alexander never noticed it before because he always wore long-sleeved coats and black leather gloves, but his hands were too familiar around the small dagger with a curved blade just to be a mere secretary. Plus, even Alexander thought Vance was handsome with an amazing body for his age.
He didn't precisely know the secretary's age—the duke realized. The advisor wasn't very public of his personal affairs. But that didn't matter. He's just an advisor.
-----
"At least tell me you've got something."
Vance took a small sip before he faced the duke, "Well," he started, adjusting his glasses to his comfort, "he doesn't have the slightest idea who he was working for."
"WHAT?!" Alexander's voice rose as he slammed his palm onto the tea table almost tipping one of the cups. "And you killed him despite it?"
"Careful. This is imported." Vance casually said after wiping some imaginary dirt on the tablecloth before he took a breath to face Alexander. "Despite trying to kill our duchess? Yes, I killed him. It's to be expected, is it not?"
"Wha—But he didn't know a thing!"
"Have you seen Amelia? Have you seen her face? Have you been to her room? She hasn't woken up for days, and the doctors are getting anxious! Oh, I'd kill him a thousand times if need be. And to be honest, I'd do the same to you as well, if permitted to."
Alexander leaned back a little. Vance's threats—he learned—are never to be taken lightly. He already looked like he could kill anyone, what's a duke to add to his list?
"I know I am at fault. And I have no idea how I could amend that. Truly. I'm also at wit's end. But it wasn't that boy's fault! It was mine. I didn't properly address my men about the situation because I didn't think she'd be stalking around the garden in the dead of night when she should be on high alert, safe in her quarters, and heavily guarded!"
"Yes, you are at fault! If it weren't for you, she wouldn't even be targeted in the first place." Vance's voice was low, cold, and vindictive but his eyes weren't as stoic.
"And here you are, sitting as if you didn't let your duchess thought she killed him!"
"You made her do it, not me."
"Because I trusted you enough to know better!"
Shrugged shoulders were all the duke received as a reply. His teeth almost shattered as his clenched fists tried to stay put on the table.
The man is insane! He's never met a man with so little regard for human life as Vance Thomson!
---
After he arrived in the dungeon, he watched as the old advisor inflicted pain after pain on the boy whose only response were mumbles and grunts. It didn't last long when Jyver found him; he told him beforehand to keep his distance and trail him so he could alert him if any problem arose.
When Alexander's knight arrived, he quickly moved over to where his duke was standing and informed that Amelia woke up and was heading towards the Western Garden. It was then that Mr. Vance pulled out a handkerchief from the back of his trousers and wiped his neck, chest, and hands clean. He then looked at the duke over his shoulders and said with a cold tone, "Finish this one up."
The woman begged for freedom, but the advisor slapped her so hard, it took her a while to face straight again. He looked back at the female assassin who casually handed a small glass vial of clear yellow liquid. Mr. Vance squeezed the boy's cheek and forced the contents down his throat; he gagged and gasped for air, but the advisor that the duchess held in so much esteem looked at him blankly before heading out.
And Arabella and his brother—they didn't even move an inch and just watched as if Vance's way was the best way to get over things!
When the advisor left, so did the siblings and the man who kept his head low as he leaned against the wall, looking at the deed as if it's some kind of first-class theater. But before Ancel closed the door, the duke was surprised at the hand that swiftly ran across his abdomen.
"It wouldn't be so believable if you're too clean… your grace," Arabella murmured as if to mock him for standing so still, "punch a wall or something."
The door clicked, and Alexander stared at his bloodstained shirt. He later knew that the vial was the same poison given to the duchess, so he stared at the boy who gasped for air for minutes that felt like hours. His men arrived and were confused.
Alexander was just as confused and mad!
He was mad enough to really punch the stoned wall with his bare fist that left it with small cuts and slightly swollen. To think that among all his men searching high and low for the culprit, they were beaten by two slim, petite, harmless-looking siblings and an old man! He glared at the sudden feeling of incompetence towards his personal guards that he held with so much high esteem.
The boy was dying!
The maid was useless! All she did was plead for her life to be spared, saying that she didn't know a thing. Mad was an understatement, matter-of-factly.
-----
"But I did find the letter that the vial came with," Alexander's thoughts were cut short as soon as he heard Vance.
He glanced over the advisor with an inquiring look. Vance only looked for a second before placing his cup on the table and stood up to walk to his nearby worktable where he opened one of his drawers and fetched a small crumpled but folded piece of paper.
Alexander reached out his hand to receive the parchment from the advisor. When he unfolded it, his eyes widened at the seal at the bottom.
Every noble and aristocratic family in every duchy has their own seal to identify themselves. The aristocratic families, being a relative of the ruling duke or duchess—or the emperor—use a modified seal of the House's—or the imperial's—crest.
"This could easily be forged," Alexander said as he stared at the seal of a budding rose with the initials 'G.W.' at the side of it.
House Florence's crest was a red rose in full bloom covered with thorns, and they've given the budding rose for their family to use however they like in their seals.
"That's what I'm going to find out," Vance said in a determined voice.
"Just who the hell are you?" Alexander blurted out, but the old secretary only stared at him. When he noted him shift his gaze, he looked back and saw the same man Vance was with last night. He was dressed rather casually to be a knight and his silk robe looked too expensive to be a wandering mercenary. But his deep-seated brown eyes and slightly darker skin stroked an interest.
"You should take your leave now, Duke Clement. I will see you at breakfast."
Alexander stood from his seat and Vance lightly bowed his head. He wanted to ask who the man was but deemed inappropriate. When the duke walked past him, a smug was stamped on his face with a slight air of nobility. Perhaps of another country—he looked like someone from the Desert Kingdom of Toutis, in the far south of the continent.
The door closed behind Alexander, and he took huge strides all the way to his room. When he arrived, his eyelids felt heavy, and his body screamed for the bed as if it were the best bed he'd lay his body on. The day hasn't started yet and he's already tired. As he glanced over the mantel and looked at the clock amidst the small golden decors, it was already past six in the morning—any minute and a knock calling for breakfast will again disturb his sleep, so Alexander turned and twisted as he groaned his frustration on the pillows.
-- 收到的禮物 
-- 推薦票
榜單 
-- 推薦票