Chapter 175: Of Letters Delivered and Disasters Foretold
Chapter 174: Of Letters Delivered and Disasters Foretold
The corridor beyond the Duke of Blackmere’s chambers was, by all outward appearances, unremarkable.
Servants passed at measured intervals, their steps softened by thick carpets that swallowed sound. A pair of maids lingered at the far end, speaking in hushed tones as they sorted folded linens into neat piles. Somewhere farther along, a footman adjusted a candelabra with quiet precision, ensuring each flame burned evenly.
It was an ordinary scene.
Which was precisely why nothing about the guard stationed outside the Duke’s door invited scrutiny.
He stood with his arms loosely crossed, posture relaxed enough to suggest idleness, yet there was nothing careless in the way he held himself. Lean of build, he lacked the overt bulk of a man like Mathias, but there was no mistaking the quiet lethality that rested beneath his frame. His black hair had been drawn back into a low, practical bun, and a light beard shadowed his jaw, giving him a slightly rugged edge that contrasted with the polished refinement of the palace.
Two swords rested against his back.
His gaze drifted lazily across the corridor, as though mildly bored by the proceedings of the morning.
But he was there for a reason.
He heard it all before the footsteps rounded the corner, before the figure came into view.
The faint shift in rhythm.
The subtle disturbance of air.
Robin’s attention sharpened, though nothing in his expression betrayed it.
The messenger appeared moments later, slowing slightly as he approached, clearly aware of the man before him.
"Good morning," the messenger said, with appropriate deference as he extended the sealed letter to him. "I bear correspondence for His Grace, the Duke of Blackmere, delivered by instruction of the royal household."
Robin uncrossed his arms. His movements were unhurried, almost languid, as he accepted the letter.
He gave a small nod.
"I shall see that it reaches him."
The attendant bowed again, evidently satisfied, and withdrew without further delay.
Robin did not move at once.
His gaze lingered down the corridor, watching as the messenger disappeared from view. The maids at the far end had not so much as glanced in their direction. The footman continued his work, undisturbed.
No one paid him any mind.
Only then did Robin turn.
His hand moved to the door, and with a quiet, practiced motion, he slipped inside.
The door closed behind him with barely a sound.
And then there was a soft click as it was locked.
---
The atmosphere within the chamber was markedly different.
The curtains had been drawn just enough to allow a muted wash of daylight to filter through, casting the room in a subdued, almost drowsy glow. The air itself seemed heavier, as though reluctant to disturb the quiet that lingered there.
At the centre of it all, Evander looked thoroughly displeased with existence.
He was in the process of being guided into a sitting position upon the bed, his expression caught somewhere between mild irritation and resigned suffering. Tommy hovered close, adjusting pillows with careful precision, his movements efficient despite the obvious tension in his posture.
A low groan escaped the Duke.
It was not particularly loud.
But it was enough to alert everyone present.
Robin stilled immediately.
Mathias, who had been stationed nearer the window, turned at once.
All three of them looked at the Duke.
"Your Grace?" Tommy said quickly.
"Is something the matter?" Robin added, stepping forward.
Even Mathias’s gaze sharpened, concern flickering through.
For a brief moment, the room held its breath.
Then Evander blinked at them and chuckled softly.
"You all look," he said, amusement threading through his tired voice, "as though I have just returned from an unfortunate encounter with highwaymen."
Tommy straightened at once, his brows drawing together.
"Your Grace," he said, with no small amount of indignation, "if anyone in such an encounter were to be robbed, I am quite certain it would not be you."
Evander’s smile deepened.
"Oh?"
"Yes," Tommy continued firmly. "You would, in all likelihood, be the highwayman."
Robin huffed faintly under his breath.
Mathias said nothing, though the faintest shift at the corner of his mouth suggested agreement.
Evander regarded Tommy with open amusement.
"Your confidence in my moral character is deeply touching."
"It is practical," Tommy corrected. "Entirely practical."
"You wound me."
"I endeavour to keep Your Grace grounded in reality."
"An admirable ambition," Evander said. "Though a doomed one."
"Your Grace—"
"Tommy," Robin cut in mildly, his tone even, "do try not to agitate him."
Tommy turned on him at once.
"I am not agitating him."
"You are speaking rather a lot."
"That is because someone must."
"That someone need not be you."
Tommy drew himself up.
"Robin."
"Tommy."
"Do not start."
"I have not started anything."
"You are about to."
"I am merely advising restraint."
"I am already restrained."
"Debatable."
Evander exhaled slowly.
"Gentlemen," he said, without raising his voice, "if you are quite finished negotiating the fate of my well-being amongst yourselves..."
They stopped immediately at that.
Evander extended one hand lazily.
"The letter," he said.
Robin moved forward at once and placed it into his hand.
Evander glanced at the seal again before breaking it open. The paper unfolded with a soft rustle.
His eyes moved across the contents.
And then, he chuckled.
Tommy leaned forward almost immediately.
"What is it?" he asked, curiosity overtaking whatever restraint he had managed to maintain thus far.
Evander did not look up.
"Information," he said lightly. "Regarding the next stage of our illustrious competition."
Tommy’s eyes widened.
"The next—already?"
Evander hummed.
"Or rather," he amended, "the first, since we are, apparently, beginning again."
Robin folded his arms.
"And?" he asked. "What is it about?"
Evander’s smile sharpened slightly.
Tommy leaned even closer.
"Well?" he pressed.
Evander gave them all a look, then calmly spoke.
"It is a poetry competition."
There was silence at his words.
Then, slowly, Tommy rose to his full height.
He dusted his hands together once.
Then turned to the others.
"We should begin packing," he said calmly.
"I am entirely certain we are all going home."
Evander leaned back slightly against the pillows, watching him with quiet delight.
"Really?" he asked.
"Yes," Tommy continued, already moving toward the wardrobe. "There is no possible scenario in which this ends favourably."
