Chapter 14: Choices
Marquis Raeven was quiet for a few seconds.
Those narrow blue eyes stayed on Lucian's face, the way someone looked at a piece of antiquity just unearthed: trying to date it, and trying to read the meaning behind every mark on its surface.
"How did Baron Livian die?"
He asked it gently, but the coaxing tone he had used with the child was gone.
Every nerve in Lucian went taut.
That question.
He looked down.
His shoulders began to tremble.
Faintly at first, then more. Lucian pressed his face into the edge of the blanket and curled in on himself, small body folding tight, like a startled animal.
No answer.
Just trembling.
The room went quiet. Quiet enough to hear the faint crackling of the candle flame, quiet enough to hear breathing.
Marquis Raeven didn't push.
He simply stood there, looking down at the small curled figure on the bed, his expression as calm as someone watching a play whose ending he already knew.
Lucian kept his face in the blanket, let his breathing go shallow and irregular, held the trembling at exactly the frequency of a child too frightened to speak.
The blanket hid his expression. It also hid his eyes, which were far too clear.
When a question is too difficult to answer, say nothing. No one is going to press a child who just barely survived something.
"Enough."
Count Alvis's voice was not loud, but it cut through the performance without any trouble.
He stepped forward, placing himself between Lucian's bed and Marquis Raeven, and met the Marquis's gaze directly.
"My lord Marquis." His voice was even, without inflection. "My son has had a serious fright and is not in a steady state. Since the situation is now clear, I think we can leave it here."
Marquis Raeven looked at him.
Count Alvis looked back.
Two adults, neither giving ground.
After a few seconds, Raeven smiled. A thin smile, thin enough that almost no feeling showed through it. He drew his gaze back and let it rest on the small curled figure on the bed.
"Count Alvis," he said, "you have a fine son."
His tone carried nothing to indicate whether it was a compliment or something else entirely.
"Quick instincts."
Count Alvis didn't respond.
Under the blanket, the corner of Lucian's mouth moved, just slightly.
Quick instincts?
Please. That's just bluffing.
Putting on the face of someone who sees everything, to rattle the other party into giving something away.
Lucian filed the move away quietly. He had seen it before, from people far better at it than this. Lead with the air of total knowledge, make the other side panic, and collect whatever they let slip in the confusion.
Too bad.
He was not actually a child.
Marquis Raeven seemed unbothered by the absence of any response. He simply stood there, looking down at the small figure on the bed, and then spoke.
"Lucian."
Lucian's shoulders gave a small tremor, but he didn't look up.
"You ought to spend some time with Princess Renner."
His tone was casual, as if commenting on the weather.
"I think you two would get along very well."
Lucian's pupils contracted, barely visibly.
Princess Renner.
The name landed like a needle finding something buried deep.
The third princess of the Re-Estize Kingdom. The sharpest mind in the royal family. The one who would, in the end, betray and destroy the Kingdom she was born into. Less a person than something wearing a person's face, with nothing human underneath it.
Had Raeven already noticed Renner's strangeness at this point?
No. At this stage he probably only saw a very clever princess.
Lucian kept his face in the blanket and kept being an overwhelmed child.
Marquis Raeven watched him. The smile at the corner of his mouth deepened slightly.
Then he turned.
"Count Alvis. I'll take my leave."
"Safe travels, my lord."
Footsteps, fading.
The door closed softly.
The room was quiet again.
* * *
Marquis Raeven stepped out of the temple. His carriage was waiting at the entrance, ready.
He folded himself into the cabin and settled back against the cushioned seat, eyes closing.
The carriage began to move. Wheels on stone, a slow steady rhythm.
The cabin was dim. The curtains were drawn completely, only thin threads of light finding their way through the gaps, tracing blurred lines in the air.
"My lord."
His steward ventured carefully.
"Are we proceeding with the plan?"
Marquis Raeven did not open his eyes.
He said nothing.
The wheels kept turning. Light leaked through the curtain seams and moved across his face, shadow and brightness trading places.
A long silence.
Long enough that the steward had given up expecting an answer.
"That child."
Raeven spoke suddenly, his voice quiet, almost to himself.
"He's the one who killed him."
The steward went still.
"Then we proceed with the plan?"
Raeven opened his eyes and looked up at the small lantern swaying from the cabin ceiling. The light rocked with the movement of the carriage, breaking his shadow apart.
A few seconds of silence in the cabin.
"The plan is finished. The boy's value has already surpassed the incident itself."
He said it without warning, voice quiet but entirely clear.
The steward bowed his head. "Yes, my lord."
Raeven said nothing more.
He closed his eyes again and settled back into the cushions.
Wheels turning. Light coming and going.
This was what it meant to be a nobleman: read the situation, and choose accordingly.
The carriage moved on and gradually disappeared into the streets of the royal capital.
* * *
The Aindra estate.
Count Alvis walked ahead. Lucian followed behind.
From the temple to here, the Count had not said a single word.
Not one.
Lucian walked with his eyes down, following his father's footsteps in silence.
Through the front gate.
Across the courtyard.
Along the long corridor.
Every servant they passed lowered their head in greeting, and not one dared to look twice.
Finally, the study door closed behind them.
Before the Count had even opened his mouth—
Thud.
The sound of knees meeting a wooden floor.
Lucian had knelt. Cleanly, without hesitation.
The Count's back went still for a moment.
Then he turned, and looked at the small upright figure kneeling on the floor.
Silence.
Know when to bend. That was wisdom, allegedly.
As long as whatever came next didn't hurt too much, kneeling before his own father was not beneath him.
Lucian quietly gave himself the pep talk.
"I know I was wrong."
He led with the all-purpose opening. Set the right tone first.
The Count looked at him without speaking.
"Where were you wrong?"
The question came from above him after a few seconds, in the same flat, unreadable voice as always.
Lucian thought for a moment.
"I shouldn't have taken my sister out without permission."
He deliberately chose the lightest of his offenses, hoping to soften the ground a little.
But the moment the words were out he felt something shift.
His father's expression had grown more serious. Something in those deep eyes settled, like a weight sinking.
"Your mistake was—"
The Count paused.
"Not putting the blame for killing Baron Livian on that commoner girl."
Lucian went still.
He raised his head and looked at his father.
That face, always composed, showed nothing now. But in those eyes was something Lucian had never seen there before.
Not anger.
Not disappointment.
Something cold. Clear-eyed. Entirely matter-of-fact.
Lucian opened his mouth. For a moment he had no idea what to say.
So.
All this time.
Turns out the ruthless streak runs in the family.
Lucian registered that in silence.