Chapter 50
“I couldn’t help admiring the Duke’s attire—it’s incredibly chic.”
“The attire… but you glimpsed it this morning, yes?”
Those words prompted the Duke to bashfully sweep a hand through his hair.
“It suits you even more splendidly from this angle.”
He sported a high-collared shirt fastened with golden buttons beneath a vest secured by a double row of them—one of my top ten idol ensembles, curated from endless fan videos.
You’re my spring! The words nearly tumbled out once more, but the Duke deftly steered the conversation elsewhere.
“Where are you off to?”
“Oh, yes! To see the wizard!”
The thought of my goal sent my steady pulse into a sudden gallop.
Only days earlier, I’d discovered a wizard was quartered in the Duke’s stronghold. He’d offhandedly noted that one from the 9th Knight Brigade would return shortly, and I’d blurted out my question before I could stop myself.
—“A genuine wizard?”
—“Temper your expectations. They’re nothing like the mages in the capital.”
He’d dismissed it lightly, yet my excitement had simmered ever since.
Wizards from the capital? I’ve never laid eyes on a single mage!
True, I’d encountered the 9th Knight Brigade already, but today’s true purpose was this wizard encounter.
“You’re heading out solo, no escorts?” The Duke ventured, a trace of reluctance in his tone.
“It’s within the castle walls—the securest spot there is. Your own words, Duke.”
“Still, by yourself…”
Just then, Perel bounded down the stairs, breathless, trailing the Duke who’d leaped ahead.
“Perel, assume control and escort her to the tower.”
The Duke’s lips pressed into a thin line as he issued the order with evident reluctance.
“What? Right now?”
Perel blinked in bewilderment at the abrupt directive.
“I won’t have her wandering alone—accompany her.”
“Alone? But there’s someone trailing…” Perel glanced back at Cecilia lingering some distance away, and comprehension dawned.
Confined to the castle’s inner zones, Cecilia would need to linger beyond the wizard’s tower.
“But the briefing…”
“Skip today’s briefing,” the Duke replied, flicking his hand dismissively.
Perel’s expression remained dour, as though dodging it merely piled on future burdens.
After a pause, he ventured optimistically, “Shall I summon knights for an escort?”
“Fancy shivering outdoors in the downpour?” The Duke bent close to Perel, murmuring low.
“I’m holding my tongue on this, so hush and proceed.”
Perel winced as if he’d swallowed something bitter.
“If Your Grace bows out, the itinerary crumbles… Fine, I’ll go!”
The Duke pivoted to me, murmuring, “He may not look it, but he’s a dubbed knight—better than venturing empty-handed.”
“Are wizards frightening sorts?” I wondered, cocking my head.
The Duke’s striking brows knit together. “Not frightening, precisely… peculiar.”
He smoothed his flawless brow and continued, “Hate to admit it, but cling to Perel if possible.”
“I’ll glue myself to him!” I vowed, clenching a fist in resolve.
Meant to ease the Duke’s mind, it only deepened the furrow in his elegant brow.
“On second thought, no. He’s boorish—something irksome could arise. Perhaps I should go instead…”
“No need to fret, I’ll handle her superbly! Onward, Your Grace!” Perel prodded me, and we set off for the tower and my eagerly anticipated rendezvous.
Yet, for all the Duke’s fretting, the wizard eluded us that day—we turned back without a glimpse. Signs of life stirred within, but the door stayed barred, feigning vacancy. After persistent rapping and noting Perel’s dismayed look, I offered a crooked smile and retreated.
Unbeknownst to me then, further fruitless trips awaited before that elusive meeting.
Later, trudging back to quarters, Tiern seethed under his breath, unable to contain his ire. His training-bulked pectorals heaved with every ragged exhale.
I’ll take good care of it, he inwardly sneered.
Tiern gnawed his lip, replaying the training yard clash.
His debut session post-return.
Spring had surely bloomed—a handful of sword strokes already beaded sweat across his brow and throat.
During the respite, knights quenched their thirst or mopped their brows.
Tiern accepted his squire’s towel, swiping his face while steadying his breath.
A sidelong glance revealed the absurd: First Knight Captain Demiche dabbing his expansive forehead with a delicate white cloth.
A comical mismatch.
The fellow who customarily sloughed sweat via sleeve, scorning even a towel.
“What’s that nonsense?”
Tiern scowled, flicking his gaze toward Demiche’s brow. Demiche blinked in fleeting puzzlement, then grinned wide.
“Oh, yeah! You lack one, huh?”
He flourished the handkerchief, flaunting its crimson emblem, then aped a lady of rank, patting his forehead with theatrical flair.
“A gracious token from Her Highness, Lady Annette, bestowed personally.”
Tiern’s features locked in ice at the revelation.
On reflection, numerous knights clutched similar white squares.
The gossip rang true—they’d all tumbled into infatuation.
“How absurd.”
Tiern ground out the words. Demiche caught it, arching a bushy red brow.
“Pardon?”
Both captained knight units, yet Demiche of the 1st boasted vastly more tenure than Tiern of the 9th.
Demiche had served since Hadrick, now Vice Commander, was a mere rank-and-file—among the order’s elder stalwarts.
“Spit it out clear, novice.”
Demiche rolled his neck with a crackle, and Tiern held his stare.
“Didn’t peg you for such iron guts. You once swore bloody murder on that marquess, yet ‘Her Highness’ rolls off your tongue now.”
Tiern’s knuckles whitened around the towel, veins throbbing.
“Currying favor at this late hour? Hardly prime age to shop for a fresh liege.”
Tension crackled between the captains, snaring the knights’ focus.
Johas, a veteran of the 1st, bristled at Tiern’s barb and grasped his sword hilt.
In the weighted hush, Demiche sneered.
“Think you’re hot stuff, pup?”
The 9th’s knights recoiled.
“Only the Commander decrees the Duchess. And he’s endorsed her as Blenheim’s Duchess.”
Demiche’s resonant timbre filled the yard.
“From the instant our lord ushered her in and presented her, she claimed this stronghold as mistress. We pledge our lives to her safeguard, no ifs or buts. Since when do Blenheim’s Knights defy our lord’s decree?”
Knights nodded mutely in accord.
“Straighten your thinking.”
Demiche tacked on, smirking derisively.
“No room here for a cur snapping at its handler.”
A rabid stray might be manageable.
Rage quaked through Tiern, yet retort failed him—Demiche spoke truth.
“Any others with gripes? Speak now.”
Demiche eyed the 9th from afar.
The bristling 9th fell mute beneath his piercing scrutiny.
“Fools.”
Demiche tsked, surveying the yard.
“Fortunate it’s me—if Vice Commander showed, you’d be carrion.”
Drills recommenced upon Hadrick’s return from a brief absence. But Tiern’s mind churned in fury and disloyalty.
He’d ranked among the Commander’s staunchest.
The Commander’s choices never falter.
But should the lord subvert that wisdom?
Tiern grasped no riposte.
“Brief halt.”
With their captain adrift, proper drills faltered.
Amid lingering strain, Hadrick signaled another pause.
“Her Highness!”
A comely young noble glided in.
Her appealing visage explained the knights’ fervor, Tiern conceded.
So much for “our lord’s will.”
