Frustrations of a Self-Proclaimed Villain Lord

Chapter 85: The Grand Duke Receives a Debt

"And Fate?"

"She sent word before dawn." William placed a small folded note on my desk. The paper smelled faintly of smoke and bitter tea. Very Fate. I opened it.

Your Excellency,

The Black Market has heard that a royal medical carriage left the palace without heralds yesterday evening. I assume this means you ignored my request for distance and created a larger problem.

I have identified three more charitable accounts connected to the lower temple network. One belongs to a closed musical academy. One belongs to a noble trust administered through House Rouvier. The third belongs to a foreign trade office with links to the Verdant Faerie Marches.

Before you become entertainingly suspicious, I cannot confirm the Faerie Court is involved. The office may simply have used their routes. Their delegation is expected after the coronation festivities.

Also, someone attempted to buy information on the children you moved. My clerks declined to develop suicidal tendencies.

Payment for this warning can be discussed later.

Fate

I folded the letter. The Faerie Court. A diplomatic connection, a trade office, likely nothing, probably. The world contained many courts, many trade offices, and many rich people who hid their money in places they believed others wouldn’t look. There was no reason to dwell on a faerie delegation expected after the festivities. None at all.

"William," I said, "have Bernard note the Verdant Faerie office."

"Yes, Your Excellency."

"Don’t move on it yet."

"Understood."

"Also, send Fate a reply."

"What would you like it to say?"

I considered, then smiled faintly. "Tell her I appreciate that her clerks possess survival instincts. Inform her that future payment will depend on how long they continue possessing them."

His mouth twitched. "Very good, Your Excellency."

I stood. The Crown Prince had woken. It was time to see what kind of debt a man carried after someone ruined his attempt to die.

The west guest suite was quiet when I entered. The palace physician sat at a small desk near the window, writing with more restraint than he’d shown at dawn. The knight stood beside the door, his armor cleaned but the exhaustion beneath his eyes still there. My father leaned against the fireplace mantle, arms crossed. The Empress sat beside the bed.

Adrien was propped against several pillows. He still looked pale, though the sickly shadow beneath his skin had disappeared, his hair tied back loosely, his eyes clear and alert. They moved toward me when I entered, and there was a difference in them now, not merely health. Before, the Crown Prince had carried himself like a person holding something heavy without admitting it, his back straight, his smile measured, his steps careful, but beneath all that polish had been exhaustion. Now, even weakened, he looked like he could breathe.

A dangerous thing. People became unpredictable when they discovered they’d been carrying less pain than before.

"Your Excellency," he said.

"Your Highness."

His eyes moved briefly toward the empty space on the bedside table where the vial had been. "What did you give me?"

I walked closer. "Vita’s Tears."

The physician stopped writing. The Crown Prince’s mouth curved faintly. "You bought an antidote and called it poison."

"I bought what was needed. What I called it is irrelevant."

He watched me a moment, then looked toward the Empress, and she didn’t look away.

"I should have told you," she said quietly.

His expression changed, not anger, not yet, something more complicated. "I was seven. What could you have told me?"

Her hands folded over one another. "The truth."

He was silent. My father didn’t move from the fireplace. The physician looked down at his papers. The knight stared rigidly at the wall. Everyone in the room understood this wasn’t a conversation they should interrupt.

"You were ill before the rite," she continued. "We didn’t know why. You burned with fever. You heard things in your sleep. The palace physicians had no answers. Marcellus had records. He claimed he knew a way to keep you alive."

"And you believed him."

"Yes." The answer came immediately, no excuse, no softening.

"For years?"

"For years, I believed the ward was protecting you from the remnants of that night."

"And now?"

She looked at the faint scar beneath his sternum. "Now I believe it protected the lie."

The room stayed quiet. When Adrien spoke again, his voice had gone tired. "I remember pieces."

The Empress went still.

"I remember the singing. I remember being cold. I remember someone holding my hand."

My father’s eyes shifted toward me. I didn’t look at him.

"I thought it was a dream," Adrien continued. "I thought the boy was someone I invented because I was afraid."

Her face tightened. "He may have been one of the auxiliary children."

"He was." The words left his mouth with strange certainty, and then he frowned. "I don’t know how I know that."

No one answered. Some memories didn’t return like a page opening. They arrived like splinters beneath skin, small, sharp, impossible to ignore once felt.

"What happened to them?" he asked.

The Empress closed her eyes. "We’re finding out."

"That’s not an answer."

"No," she said. "It isn’t."

I stepped closer to the bed. "The children were taken through temple charities and private sponsors. Some were listed as transferred. Some disappeared from records entirely. We have names, partial routes, and a chapel full of evidence. We’ll find what can be found."

"And the rest?"

"The rest will depend on how cooperative your palace becomes."

His mouth twitched, even now. A promising sign. "You’re speaking as though you’ve taken control of the investigation."

"I have."

"That’s not how imperial law works."

"I know."

His eyes sharpened slightly. "Then why?"

"Because imperial law has been sitting on top of a secret mouth beneath the palace while priests trade children through charity accounts. If the law wishes to catch up later, it may submit the appropriate paperwork."

My father coughed into his fist. The physician looked alarmed. The Empress didn’t look offended, which was perhaps the most alarming reaction of all.

Adrien leaned back against the pillows, quiet for a moment. Then he asked, "What do you want in return?"

There it was. The question I’d been expecting since the moment his fever broke. A prince didn’t accept help without considering the cost, especially not a prince who’d spent his life surrounded by people offering protection with contracts hidden behind their backs.

I looked at him. "Nothing yet."

His expression shifted. "That’s worse."

"Yes," I agreed pleasantly. "It is."

My father smiled faintly. The knight looked like he wanted to object but couldn’t decide whether arguing with me was appropriate while his prince remained in my bed. A wise hesitation.

Adrien exhaled slowly. "Then I suppose I should be grateful that you’re honest."

"I’m not honest. I’m merely patient."

"That’s not comforting."

"It wasn’t meant to be."

For the first time since waking, the Crown Prince laughed, quiet, still tired, but real. The sound caught the Empress by surprise, her eyes closing for a moment before she smiled too. Only briefly. Enough.

A knock sounded at the door. William entered with a tray, tea for my father, herbal water for the Crown Prince, a small bowl of broth, and one plate of honey cakes.

I looked at the honey cakes, then at William. "Who are those for?"

"Your Excellency."

"I didn’t request them."

"You haven’t eaten breakfast."

"I’m busy."

"So is the Crown Prince. He’s still being fed."

My father looked amused. The Empress hid a smile behind her hand. Adrien glanced at the honey cakes. "Are those safe?" he asked.

"You’ve become too suspicious."

"You admitted to buying poison."

"That was a private conversation."

"Not anymore."

I sighed. "Eat the broth, Your Highness. You’re not yet strong enough to survive on sarcasm."

He accepted the bowl from the physician. Good. At least someone was taking sensible instructions.

The room settled into a quieter rhythm after that, the Crown Prince drinking slowly, the Empress remaining beside him, my father finally accepting his tea, the knight relaxing by the smallest degree. I turned toward the door, then stopped.

Spiro stood in the hallway. William must have instructed him to wait, since he hadn’t entered, a folded piece of paper held in both hands, his hair slightly messy, as though my mother had let him escape the garden before finishing whatever proper grooming lesson she’d begun. He looked at Adrien. Adrien looked back, and for a moment neither spoke.

The Crown Prince’s eyes widened slightly, not because he recognized Spiro, not exactly, but something in his expression shifted, the same uncertain flicker it had held when he spoke about the pale-haired boy, a resemblance more than a memory, two small dark-haired strangers who happened to share a coloring.

Spiro looked down at the paper, then stepped inside. "Father said I can give this to you," he said.

I hadn’t said that. Correcting him would be pointless. He held the folded note like it mattered. Perhaps it did.

Adrien looked at him. "What is it?"

Spiro walked closer to the bed but stopped at a respectful distance. "It’s a map. Of the garden."

The Crown Prince blinked. "Mil is going somewhere safe with the other children," Spiro continued. "I drew the garden so he knows there will still be a place waiting when he comes back."

Adrien stared at the paper, then accepted it, his fingers moving carefully over the folded edges. "You made this for someone else."

"Yes."

"Why give it to me?"

Spiro thought for a moment. "Because you looked like you need to know where safe places are too."

The room went silent. My father looked away. The Empress’s hand tightened around the edge of her chair. The Crown Prince stared at the map, his eyes going bright. He didn’t cry. Neither did Spiro. The two of them simply sat in the same quiet room, holding different pieces of an old disaster neither fully understood.

How troublesome.

I cleared my throat. "Spiro."

"Yes, Father?"

"You shouldn’t be standing in a sickroom without eating your breakfast."

"I already ate."

"Then you should be resting."

"I rested."

"You’re becoming argumentative."

He considered this, then nodded. "Okay." He turned toward the door.

Adrien stopped him. "Spiro."

The child looked back.

"Thank you," the Crown Prince said.

Spiro’s expression turned shy, then he nodded once. "You’re welcome."

William escorted him out, and the room felt different after he left. Not lighter, nothing about this situation was light, but steadier, as though someone had placed a small object on an uneven table and made it stop shaking.

The Crown Prince unfolded the map slowly. It showed the Elysian Estate’s south garden with more trees than actually existed, a very large fountain that had probably been inspired by Spiro’s imagination, and several uneven labels in careful handwriting. The apple tree. The sitting place. Where birds come. Do not step on flowers. At the bottom, in smaller letters: You can come here when you are better.

Adrien read it twice, then folded the paper again. "Your son is kind," he said.

I looked at the door. "He’s still learning."

"So are we all."

I glanced back at him. Not bad. The Crown Prince had become more interesting after all.

That was unfortunate.

Before I could reply, Bernard appeared at the door with a sealed report, his face pale, not frightened, focused. That was worse.

"Your Excellency," he said. "A message from Captain Arthur."

I accepted it. The wax seal had been pressed in haste. I opened the report.

The Cantor has spoken. He claims the second hymn failed because the prince was removed from the palace line. He also claims this was never the true objective. The third instruction has begun. The sealed aqueduct route beneath Saint Orison’s has opened from the inside. We found fresh tracks leading east. Not toward the palace. Toward the old Melverne Conservatory.

I read the final line. One set of tracks was small. Child sized.

The room went quiet. The Crown Prince looked at me. The Empress stood. My father set down his tea. Outside, somewhere in the estate, a bird called from the south garden, a perfectly ordinary sound. It should have been comforting. Instead all I could think about was a child walking through an old tunnel because some adult had decided a hymn needed another voice.

I folded the report. "Prepare the carriage."

The Crown Prince tried to sit up. "You’re not leaving me here."

I looked at him. "You’re barely capable of holding broth without looking tragic."

"I can walk."

"No."

"Grand Duke."

"Your Highness."

The Empress opened her mouth, then stopped. My father looked at me with the expression of a man who already knew he’d be going as well. Abi appeared in the doorway, having apparently heard enough to understand the shape of the problem.

"The Conservatory?" he asked.

"Yes."

He smiled. Not happily. "Then the music lessons continue."

I turned toward the window. The Capital waited beyond the estate walls. A chapel had fallen quiet. A prince had survived. A child had been led toward an abandoned academy. And somewhere, someone had decided that the Grand Duke of Sonomi had become too inconvenient to ignore.

A pity for them. I had only just begun becoming inconvenient.