Chapter 2

At that very hour, within the Ducal House of Yvern.

A man with hair black enough to swallow the night and eyes to match stood with a faint scowl upon his face. Carpel Yvern was his name. His beauty was such that few could pass him by without their gaze lingering. His skin was smoother than alabaster, his jawline sharp as though carved by a blade, and his eyes, slanted and keen, held the languid arrogance of a predator at rest.

He was like a masterpiece wrought with painstaking devotion by a master craftsman; mesmerizing, dangerous, impossible to ignore. 

Yet those who faced him found themselves stricken not by admiration, but by the lethal air that hung about him.

Click.
Carpel clicked his tongue, regarding the trembling men kneeling before him. He had little patience to spare.

At last, her reply had come. She had consented to meet him, and he had already dispatched his own letter in return. Preparations for departure were underway; at any moment, he could leave for her estate.

But instead, he stood here, his journey delayed by unpleasant business he could not ignore. As Duke, he could not shirk his duty. If he left these vermin alive, who knew what further filth they might breed? Considering the crimes they had already committed within his lands, it was better to deal with them swiftly.

“These wretched insects… no matter how often I crush them, they crawl back again,” he muttered, his voice rough with disdain.

The foremost of the kneeling men had embezzled taxes owed to the Ducal House, siphoning off the difference by falsifying accounts. Small amounts, at first and each loss plausible as clerical error. But over ten years, the sum had swelled to rival the coffers of a noble estate. Worse still, with those stolen funds he had purchased slaves in secret.

“Your belly is swollen with stolen fat. Perhaps it is fitting to split it open.”

“M–Mercy, I will return everything–”

His plea was cut short so was his head. The body slumped, and blood spread across the floor. The second man quivered, unable to tear his gaze away.

“P–please… have mercy–”

“If mercy is what you seek, beg it of those who’ve already gone before you.”

Carpel’s blade fell again.

This one had kidnapped orphans from his domain, subjecting them to torture before murdering them. He had thought no one would care for the lost children of the streets but he was wrong. In Carpel’s eyes, every soul within his lands was his responsibility, orphan or not.

Even after death, Carpel’s fury was not spent. He ground his heel into the corpse as though to crush the wickedness out of it.

His gaze shifted to the last man. The fellow shook so violently he lost control of his bladder, terror written plain across his face. Carpel’s lips curled with contempt. He had considered hearing the man’s excuses, but the thought passed. In a blink, the third body joined the others.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Enter,” Carpel said coldly, shaking the blood from his sword.

The door swung open to admit a man with brown hair and striking red eyes. This was Yuren, Carpel’s adjutant. Despite the severity of his gaze, his features were mild and gentle.

“Saints above, you could have warned me!” Yuren exclaimed, though his dramatics were more habit than genuine shock. He had guessed well enough what would become of the prisoners when they were dragged in like dogs. Still, seeing their corpses strewn across the floor with Carpel looming above them like death incarnate was another matter entirely.

Carpel arched his brow. “Why would I?”

“For the sake of my poor heart,” Yuren replied.

“That heart of yours has endured worse,” Carpel scoffed.

Indeed, Yuren had grown up in the slums, despised for his unnatural red eyes. Beaten, abused, and cast aside, he had earned a reputation for defiance even on the brink of death. That stubborn resilience had left an impression on Carpel, who had plucked him from the gutters to serve. Yuren had since risen swiftly to the post of adjutant, proving himself invaluable. His tendency to speak his mind before even Carpel had earned him the nickname ‘the mouth of hell.’

Carpel’s voice cut back to the present. “The preparations?”

Yuren’s face turned thoughtful. “All in place, save one thing… Were it possible, Your Grace should adjust your face before the meeting.”

He shook his head, half in jest, half in truth. Carpel’s looks were flawless, but his presence was lethal. Awe was drowned out by fear; even Yuren, long accustomed to it, sometimes startled at a glance. What, then, of a young lady seeing him for the first time?

Carpel’s lips curved into a smile, sharp and dangerous. It should have been divine in its beauty, yet instead it radiated menace.

Yuren did not flinch. He knew Carpel’s severity well enough to trust that unless he committed some grave betrayal, the Duke would not turn on him. Carpel was not capricious with those he chose to keep close. Harsh, yes but steady, and just in his own way.

“Continue to prattle, and I will relieve you of that tongue,” Carpel murmured, voice like ice.

Yuren lifted his hands in mild surrender. “I meant only to ensure that your first meeting with the young lady would not leave her frightened.”

Carpel snorted. “As if I would show her such a face.”

For twelve long years, his feelings had only grown deeper, not diminished. The memory of her remained vivid: her warmth, her courage, the tenderness in her eyes when she had saved him.

If not for her, he would not stand here now. He had been poisoned then, rendered helpless for the first time in his life, heir to the Ducal House though he was. And she, small,and  seemingly fragile – had carried him to safety, tended him until he could rise again.

He had left without confession, without even revealing his name. But from that moment, his path had been set.

At last, he would see her again.

Yuren’s voice cut through his thoughts. “In truth, the greater concern lies elsewhere. But I’ll hold my tongue… for now.” He glanced at the bodies cooling on the floor. He understood well enough: this massacre was a warning, not just to traitors within the domain, but to spies that slithered in ceaselessly.

Carpel’s reply was curt. “Enough chatter. If preparations are complete, we leave at once.”

Time had been wasted. Any further delay, and he would not arrive at Baron Javern’s estate by tomorrow.

And so Carpel departed, Yuren at his side.

⚜ ⚜ ⚜

The next day, Raiel prepared to meet the Duke. Her adornment was modest, little more than a touch of ornament. Yet for all its simplicity, the process was not an easy one.