Chapter 169: Of Doors Closed and Things Not Quite Said
Chapter 168: Of Doors Closed and Things Not Quite Said
The Duke of Blackmere had been the last to appear at the hall when the interview was ongoing, and Lucian was curious as to why.
It was widely understood that Evander Valenridge did not conduct himself in a manner that could be called conventional. He attended when he pleased, spoke as he pleased, and withdrew with little regard for expectation. Yet even that did not account for everything.
Lucian also knew something else.
The questions.
They had not been entirely unknown to certain candidates.
And the Duke had known.
That was the matter that remained.
It was not the sort of thing one ignored. Lucian had been aware of the questions; he had been given them after all, though he disregarded them and only searched for the one to give to Lyria, hence why he offered when he met her on his way to the hall. But he had to admit that the questions he saw were different from the ones Lyria had answered, though she answered them like a professional, and he was extremely proud of her.
And he would let her know, but now, he had to meet with the Duke of Blackmere.
Behind him, a quiet step kept perfect pace.
"Shall we return to your chambers, Your Grace?" his valet asked.
Lucian glanced briefly to his side.
Oliver inclined his head slightly as he walked, posture straight, movements neat without stiffness. He was young—no more than a few years into service—but there was already a refinement to him that spoke of careful training and sharper observation than most would expect.
His dark hair had been brushed back with precision, though a single strand had slipped loose at the temple, and his gloves—immaculate as ever—were folded neatly in one hand rather than worn.
He was the only one with Lucian now since Lucian had dismissed his guard.
Lucian looked at his valet and then shook his head.
"Not yet," he said. "There is a call I should make first."
Oliver did not question him.
He merely inclined his head again.
"As you wish, Your Grace."
They moved through the palace corridors at an unhurried pace, their path turning gradually toward the wing that had been set aside for the visiting candidates. The palace had quieted in this section; the servants moved with greater discretion, the sounds of activity subdued beneath the weight of expectation that seemed to settle over that part of the residence.
Lucian’s steps did not falter.
There was no uncertainty in his direction.
It was only when they reached the far end of the corridor that he slowed slightly, his gaze settling upon the door ahead.
A guard stood there.
The man was built like a fortress given form—broad across the shoulders, arms heavy with muscle, his stance relaxed in appearance but unmistakably alert. A long scar ran down the length of his forearm, pale against tanned skin, disappearing beneath the cuff of his uniform.
His hair, which was blonde, was cut short and did nothing to soften the impression he gave.
He was, Lucian noted, nearly as tall as Earl Hawthorne, lacking perhaps an inch at most.
When the guard’s gaze lifted and settled upon Lucian, recognition came at once.
He straightened fully and bowed.
"Your Grace," he said.
Lucian inclined his head in return.
"You are with the Duke?" he asked.
The man nodded.
"Yes, Your Grace."
A brief pause followed, and then the guard spoke.
"I am Mathias," he said. "In service to the Duke of Blackmere."
Lucian’s expression did not change.
"I see."
He allowed his gaze to pass briefly over the door behind the man before returning to him.
"Is His Grace within?"
Mathias did not hesitate.
"He is, Your Grace."
"Then I would speak with him."
The response came just as smoothly.
"I am afraid that will not be possible."
Lucian’s brow furrowed slightly.
"Why?"
"The Duke is indisposed."
There was something in the way the word was delivered that did not quite align with the usual meaning of the term.
Lucian regarded him for a moment.
"Indisposed," he repeated. "Is he unwell?"
Mathias made a face.
It was not quite improper.
But it was close enough to suggest a certain... familiarity with the subject in question.
"No, Your Grace," he said. "There is nothing the matter with him."
Lucian’s gaze sharpened slightly.
"Then what prevents him from receiving a visitor?"
Mathias exhaled once, as though weighing how best to answer without overstepping.
"He is asleep."
Lucian blinked.
"Asleep."
"Yes, Your Grace."
There was a brief pause.
"And this renders him incapable of being roused?"
Mathias’s expression shifted again.
"Under ordinary circumstances, no."
Lucian folded his hands behind his back.
"And under these circumstances?"
Mathias hesitated.
Then said, with careful neutrality, "He was... not pleased that his rest was interrupted earlier."
Lucian regarded him in silence.
The guard continued, perhaps deciding that partial explanation was worse than none.
"He had only just settled," Mathias said, "when he was required to attend the interview. Upon returning, he made it clear that he was not to be disturbed."
Lucian’s gaze flicked once toward the door.
"And if he were?"
Mathias’s mouth tightened.
"Then I expect," he said evenly, "that he would be... less than agreeable."
Lucian said nothing.
Mathias added, after a moment, "He does not take kindly to being woken against his will, Your Grace."
There was something in that statement that suggested experience.
Repeated experience.
Lucian considered the words.
It was... absurd.
And yet, it was also entirely consistent.
The Duke of Blackmere did not observe convention.
If he chose to sleep, then sleep he would.
If he chose not to receive visitors, then none would be received.
Lucian exhaled softly.
"I see."
For a moment, it seemed he might insist regardless.
The matter he had come to address was not insignificant.
But he did not move toward the door.
Instead, he gave a small shake of his head.
"Very well."
Lucian opened his mouth to speak again.
And then paused.
It came faintly.
So faintly that he might have dismissed it at once, had it not been for the instinct that followed.
A scent. It was not strong enough to be overwhelming, and it was not something he could name.
His head tilted slightly. He drew in another breath, and it was gone.
Lucian stilled.
For a moment, the corridor seemed to narrow around that absence.
He tried again.
Nothing. Perhaps he had imagined it then?
Mathias watched him.
"Your Grace?" he said. "Is something the matter?"
Lucian straightened.
"It is nothing," he said with a shake of his head.
"When His Grace wakes, you may inform him that I called," he said. "And that I shall return on the morrow."
Mathias inclined his head.
"I will relay it."
Lucian turned then, his coat shifting lightly with the movement.
"Come," he said to Oliver.
They moved away from the door without further delay, their steps quiet against the corridor as they retraced their path.
Oliver waited until they had gone some distance before speaking.
"Do you believe he will receive you tomorrow, Your Grace?"
Lucian’s gaze remained forward.
"That depends," he said, "entirely upon whether he chooses to wake."
There was a trace of dry amusement in the words, though it did not reach his eyes.
Behind them, the corridor fell quiet once more.
Mathias remained where he stood.
Until the sound of their footsteps faded completely, until they had left the wing where the Duke’s chamber was.
Only then did he exhale loudly, like he had been holding it for a while.
He glanced once to either end of the corridor, ensuring no one was around, and then, with a care that seemed almost at odds with his size, he slipped inside the Duke’s chamber.
