Frustrations of a Self-Proclaimed Villain Lord

Chapter 91: The Grand Duke Prepares for Rehearsal (2)

"How many?"

"Four."

His fingers tightened around the edge of Spiro’s map. "Are they alive?"

"Yes."

A breath left him. He looked down. "Good." The word carried more than relief. It carried guilt that hadn’t yet found its full shape.

Unpleasant. Useful, perhaps. But unpleasant.

"You aren’t responsible for what adults did when you were seven," I said.

He looked at me. "Neither were they."

"No."

The Empress closed her eyes briefly. I continued, "Guilt is only useful if it becomes action. Otherwise it’s just self-indulgence wearing mourning clothes."

Adrien stared at me, then gave a faint laugh. "You have a talent for making comfort sound like an insult."

"It’s a gift."

The physician muttered something under his breath. I ignored him.

"The rehearsal is the next target," I said.

His expression sharpened. "The coronation rehearsal?"

"Yes."

"Then cancel it."

"No."

The Empress looked at me. Adrien frowned. "No?"

"If we cancel, they scatter. If we proceed stupidly, they succeed. Therefore we proceed intelligently."

"By using the rehearsal as bait." His tone had gone colder. Good. He understood quickly when sufficiently irritated.

"Yes," I said.

"Whose bait?"

"Yours, unfortunately."

The physician made a strangled sound. The Empress stood. "No."

I turned toward her. "I didn’t say he would attend."

Adrien’s expression changed. I continued, "They need the Crown Prince as vessel or symbol. They expect him weak, contained, and still connected to the old line. We give them a Crown Prince."

His eyes narrowed. "A decoy."

"Yes."

"With whose face?"

Abi’s voice came from the doorway. "Mine, if necessary."

We all looked at him. He leaned against the doorframe, empty handed now, having apparently stored the bell inside the world’s most overqualified pantry.

Adrien stared. "You would impersonate me?"

"I can look more princely than you."

He paused, then, despite the situation, looked offended. "You cannot."

"Your Highness," I said, "don’t argue with him. It feeds him."

Abi’s smile widened. The Empress studied him with a strange expression. "You can pass the palace wards?"

His smile dimmed. "Not alone. But with the Crown Prince’s consent, a token, and Skandar’s tendency to step where he shouldn’t, perhaps."

"My tendency to what?"

He ignored me.

Adrien looked between us. "You intend to expose the network during rehearsal."

"I intend to let them prepare a stage," I said. "Then replace the actors, remove the audience they need, and keep enough of the performance intact that the people behind it reveal themselves."

"That sounds extremely dangerous."

"Yes."

"And you’re telling me this plainly."

"You asked."

He looked down at the map again, the paper trembling slightly in his hand. Not fear. Weakness. The body was honest, even when royalty was not.

"I want to help," he said.

"You will."

"How?"

"By staying alive."

His jaw tightened. "I’m serious."

"So am I."

The Empress watched the exchange without interrupting. I took one step closer to the bed.

"Your Highness, there are many tasks in this world that look like courage because they involve standing in the room where the knives are. Remaining still while others move can feel like cowardice. It isn’t. Sometimes the most difficult thing a person can do is survive long enough to become useful later."

He looked at me, and for a moment the prince vanished. Only a young man remained, sick for years, used by adults, kept alive by a lie, angry because he’d been rescued and still couldn’t stand where the next danger waited.

I understood that more than I wished to.

How troublesome.

"What do you need from me?" he asked quietly.

"Your seal. A strand of hair. A piece of clothing worn during official rehearsals. And a letter in your handwriting instructing the palace guard to follow my temporary command during medical emergency protocol."

His eyes narrowed. "That’s quite a list."

"I’m thorough."

"You’re asking for temporary command over my guard."

"I’m borrowing them."

"Like you borrowed me?"

"Exactly."

He looked at the Empress. She was silent for a long moment, then said, "Give it to him."

Adrien’s brows rose. She looked at her son. "I trusted the wrong people because they knew how to sound certain. I’m not making that mistake twice. The Grand Duke is arrogant, offensive, and has an intolerable manner of taking over matters that don’t belong to him."

"Your Majesty," I said.

She ignored me. "But he brought you back breathing."

A silence followed. Adrien looked at me. I smiled pleasantly. "Such warm praise."

"It wasn’t praise," the Empress said.

"It had shape."

Abi laughed. Adrien exhaled, then held out his hand toward the bedside table. "Paper."

The physician looked alarmed. "You should rest."

"I’m writing one letter."

"You nearly died yesterday."

"And if I don’t write this, I may regret surviving by tomorrow."

The physician looked at me for help. I looked away. I was not involved. A proper villain lord knew when to let royalty bully their own medical staff.

The letter was written slowly. Adrien’s hand trembled twice, and he stopped both times, not from embarrassment, but to make sure the strokes stayed legible. The seal came next. The strand of hair was cut by the Empress herself with a small silver knife. The formal coat was sent for by the knight, who looked increasingly resigned to the fact that his prince had become a patient, a witness, and a logistical component within the same morning.

A harsh day for job descriptions.

When everything was complete, I took the sealed packet. "Rest," I said.

Adrien leaned back, exhausted but alert. "Grand Duke."

"Yes?"

"If this succeeds, the court will owe you."

"I know."

"If it fails?"

"Then we’ll have larger concerns than court etiquette."

His mouth twitched. "You know, when I asked what you wanted in return, I expected something clearer."

"Where’s the fun in that?"

"There it is," he murmured. "The terrible honesty."

I turned toward the door, then paused. "Your Highness."

"Yes?"

"When the bells begin tomorrow, don’t listen for the boy who held your hand."

His expression went still. I looked at him fully. "If he was real, we’ll find what remains. If he was memory, you won’t help him by letting the Choir use your guilt as a leash."

Adrien’s throat moved. "I understand."

"Good."

I left before the room became sentimental. Sentiment had already invaded this household through maps, children, and honey cakes. I refused to feed it further.

The study was waiting. So were Mother, Father, Abi, Bernard, Arthur’s latest maps, Fate’s note, the red bell in the pantry, three prisoners, four rescued children, one recovering prince, one morally battered empress, and an entire coronation rehearsal that needed to be turned into a trap.

A lesser man might have found this overwhelming. Fortunately, I was exceptional. Unfortunately, exceptional people were often given exceptional amounts of work.

I sat behind the desk and looked at the gathered reports. "Bernard."

"Yes, Your Excellency."

"Send invitations."

He blinked. "To whom?"

"To everyone important enough to be useful and arrogant enough to believe they deserve front seats at the rehearsal."

My father smiled. Abi’s eyes gleamed. Mother looked at me for a long moment, then said, "You’re turning the trap into a salon."

"No," I replied. The corner of her mouth curved faintly.

"I’m turning the salon into a trap."

Outside, the city prepared for its coronation. Inside my study, the first list of guests began to form.

The Choir wanted an audience of authority.

Very well. I would give them one. And then I would make every person in that audience regret underestimating the host.