Chapter 29
He omitted the youngest daughter’s name only because, for an instant, he had confused it with his second daughter’s. His coat billowed as he strode down the corridor with long steps. The western study, soaked in Cecily’s blood, was still the office he favored most.
Standing as quiet as if he were not there, a man bowed low at the sight of him. His long, dark brown hair gathered in a loose tail, this was Quido, who served as Beitram’s very hands and feet.
Beside Beitram’s massive frame and unusually long limbs, the man looked almost frail, yet he was an accomplished assassin. He excelled at stifling his presence and moving with agile swiftness, and he was proficient with a wide array of weapons.
Beitram kept him close because, beyond being a killer, he was a gifted strategist. Quido was one of the few men alive who could gather intelligence, dissect it, and see precisely which way the world was turning.
Knowing that finding such a person was harder than raising a hundred serviceable subordinates, Beitram treated Quido leniently. That was why, despite his utter loathing of men with long hair, he never compelled him to shear it. Had it been anyone else, Beitram would have lopped off the head along with the hair.
Shaking his head, Beitram retrieved a bottle of liquor and a glass from the wall cupboard. Quido spoke, his expression calm as ever.
Pouring the thick spirit into his glass, Beitram twitched a brow.
Glancing at Quido as his voice trailed off, Beitram extended the glass. Accepting it respectfully with both hands, Quido raised his eyes.
Quido nodded as though Beitram’s reasoning held merit, yet a hint of suspicion lingered around his rounded eyes. Wetting his lips lightly with the liquor, he murmured.
Perched on the edge of the desk, Beitram raised his glass as an invitation to go on. Quido continued.
Quido spoke while cautiously gauging Beitram’s reaction.
A chill swept over Beitram’s swarthy, flushed face as he drained his glass. He understood his subordinate’s implication with precision.
Beitram clicked his tongue, a scowl furrowing his brow. Quido was right. It was utterly unthinkable that someone like Kirhin could be orchestrating all this on his own.
It felt as if an invisible enemy were watching him. His opponent was like mist, slipping through clenched fingers. As of yet, neither shape nor objective could be discerned. The only certainty was that an enemy existed.
Caressing the rim of his glass, Beitram spoke in a low rasp.
A murderous edge crept into the gaze Beitram leveled at Quido. His lips curled into a smooth smile.
“Kill them all. Leave not a soul alive. Then we shall see how that mastermind behind them reacts.”
Quido refrained from pointing out that if that mastermind truly stood beside House Beekman, they could no longer be dismissed as a ‘flock of fools.’ Time was short, and there was much to prepare.
Moreover, he had to prepare for failure this time around. In their current circumstance, slaughter was hardly a wise recourse.
Should this incident foster defiance rather than dread among the Fremont Merchant Coalition, they might well sever trade with House Balshuin altogether. The Principality of Fremont had secured its independence through armed revolt in the first place; its people were by no means meek.
His master did not understand that not everyone bowed to fear. That was Beitram’s strength, and his weakness. Quido’s mind raced as he weighed the shifting variables.I wanted nothing more than to slip away from this awkward situation, but I could not bring myself to do it. I sat stiffly at the dining table with Kirhin and Laurel across from me.
Ever since witnessing that scene, I had been avoiding sharing meals with Kirhin. Meeting him felt uncomfortable. When he smiled as brightly as usual, as if nothing had happened, I simply did not know what kind of face to make.
Though he had seemed to let it slide, Kirhin had insisted that we must have breakfast together today of all days. I had tried to hold out, but the stern look from Nina—informing me that he would be away from the manor for several days on business—carried a veiled threat not to trouble the head of the house.
It was the first time I would be left alone in the estate for days without Kirhin. It meant I needed to stay alert, but the first thing that surfaced in my mind was Damian’s face as he had added the condition ‘if you come back alive.’
Kirhin’s outing was surely linked to Damian. Though passed off as a jest, I could tell it carried a certain degree of danger. That was why I had rushed to the dining table, yet looking Kirhin in the face remained awkward enough that I could not meet his eyes.
At the sound of Kirhin feigning dejection, I tore my gaze away from Brook and the servants who were packing baggage. The moment our eyes met, his blue eyes crinkled with bright laughter as if he had been waiting for that very second. Letting out a sigh laden with tangled thoughts, I spoke.
Catching him completely off guard, my sudden question caused Kirhin’s playful smile to falter. He quickly composed his expression and gave a shrug.
Flustered by his quick counterattack pointing toward my waist—perhaps to steer the subject away—I shifted my eyes. Explaining the perfume bottle would inevitably lead to mentioning Damian. And everything that followed.
So I blurted out on impulse.
