He took the parchment and quill from the scribe and drafted an urgent missive.
“Select two of the fastest high-ranking knights. Have them deliver these to His Highness the Crown Prince and the Lord of Dolakan Castle, respectively. It wouldn’t hurt to heighten security in case of a surprise raid.”
Once he rolled the parchment and sealed it with wax, the squire waiting behind him passed it to Edgar, a squad leader of the Wolfram Cavalry sitting at the far end of the long table.
The man tucked the letter into his breast pocket and asked in a cautious tone,
“Would it not be better for us to conduct our own investigation as well?”
“Where would we find the manpower for that?”
Before he could even answer, a middle-aged knight seated midway down the left side clicked his tongue and cut in.
“With security in the East already tenuous, we cannot afford to deploy more men on the back of unconfirmed rumors.”
“I agree.”
Varkas gave a calm nod.
“Six thousand elite cavalry are already stationed in the North. Any further deployment is unnecessary. Tracking down traitors is the Imperial Army’s duty.”
“Well, now that the war has wound down, it is high time we attend to internal matters.”
The moment Varkas finished, Honor Knight Modrian spoke up from his seat on the right.
He was a former cavalry commander appointed during the late Grand Duke’s reign, now serving as a military advisor after retiring from the field.
A faint smile touched the man’s taut, ageless face as he spoke in a smooth, quiet voice.
“On that note, what do you intend to do regarding the matter of succession?”
Varkas frowned at the sudden shift.
The other knights, their faces previously set in grave lines, exchanged bewildered glances at a topic so out of place in a council of war. Yet the old knight pressed on, unbothered.
“When discussing the stability of the territory, what matter could carry more weight than an heir?”
“Sir Modrian.”
Lucas, who had kept quiet until now, broke in, his voice sharp with disbelief.
“The current situation is no different from wartime. A traitor’s whereabouts remain unknown and public sentiment across the East is unsettled, yet you bring up such personal matters now?”
“Personal?”
Modrian shook his head in reproach.
“Preserving the bloodline is the very bedrock upholding the order of this land. If, by some misfortune, disaster were to strike His Grace, who would inherit the rule of the East? Surely you do not wish to see our lands torn apart by strife among kin.”
“My successor is Lucas Raedgo Shearkan.”
Varkas’s voice was firm.
“Did I not make that plain before we departed for the front?”
“That was merely an interim measure should Your Grace fall on the battlefield.”
Modrian toyed with the tip of his quill, his tone soft yet cutting.
“By rights, the main branch of the house must pass through direct lineage. Since Your Grace has returned unharmed by the grace of God, you must now fulfill your duty to secure an heir.”
The old knight’s searching gaze drifted toward Lucas, who sat rigid.
“Furthermore, I urge you to settle the matches for Young Master Lucas and Lady Raina soon. Both have reached an age to wed, yet neither even has a betrothed…”
“Enough of this!”
Lucas pushed his chair back and stood up, face flushed red.
“You are a military advisor, not a matchmaker! What sort of absurd nonsense is this in the middle of a war council?”
“True, it hardly suits the setting.”
Conceding the point without resistance, the old knight leaned back against his chair and let out a measured sigh.
“Yet with the other retainers walking on eggshells around the Grand Duke, afraid to open their mouths, someone must speak. When not one of the Grand Duke’s three blood relatives has a child, is it not only natural that your vassals share a common dread for the future of the East?”
“If you look closely enough, Young Master Lucas might already have children of his own.”
Baredon, sitting silently near the lower end of the table, chimed in as though he could no longer hold his tongue.
“The young master has enjoyed his carousing since he was fifteen. There could easily be an illegitimate child stashed away somewhere…”
“You foul-mouthed bastard—”
“Enough.”
Varkas spoke in a low voice, pressing a hand to his brow. A sudden, strained silence fell over the room.
Varkas took a slow look around at the eyes fixed on him before addressing the old knight in an even tone.
“I understand your concern for the future of this house, but you go too far. You speak as though I were an old man on the verge of the grave.”
“Forgive me, Your Grace, but these are perilous times. We must prepare for any eventuality…”
“As you noted, I have only just returned from the campaign.”
Varkas cut him off without raising his voice.
“To stand before your lord upon his safe return and prate about his line ending is remarkably ill-mannered.”
The old knight finally fell silent.
Varkas drove the point home.
“I will see to the matter of succession in due course. Cease badgering me about it.”
“May I take that to mean you intend to produce an heir with Her Grace the Grand Duchess?”
Varkas fixed him with an icy glare.
“Am I to report the affairs of my bedchamber to you as well?”
· · ·
“I will ensure I do not abruptly drop dead and throw the East into turmoil. Let that be the end of your overstepping.”
The elder vassal’s face tightened slightly.
Watching that rigid expression with flat eyes, Varkas curled one corner of his mouth.
“Or are you, perhaps, planning my assassination?”
“Your Grace! How could you utter such a thing…!”
“A joke.”
Varkas offered a mild tone, a faint smile touching his lips.
“I only said it because you seemed so worried about my demise.”
The man, previously as smooth and slippery as a serpent, kept his mouth firmly shut.
Varkas glanced at the candle marking the council’s time and rose to his feet.
“It seems we have addressed every item requiring immediate action. We are adjourned.”
The knights stood one after another.
Varkas moved past them, catching up to Modrian just as the man stepped out into the corridor. The advisor’s posture was stiff, the earlier rebuke clearly lingering like a fresh wound.
Feigning complete ignorance of it, Varkas lowered his voice.
“There is something I wish to ask you.”
“…Speak, Your Grace.”
“Did you ever pressure my wife regarding an heir, as you did with me today?”
Modrian’s brow furrowed in disbelief.
“Have you forgotten that you ringed the Grand Duchess with guards before departing for the campaign? It was plain that every whisper would reach your ears. Who would dare attempt such insolence?”
The old knight shook his head, a wry edge in his voice.
“Besides, there is that monstrous wolf of hers. No one in this castle would be bold enough to approach the Grand Duchess without cause.”
Varkas studied the old man’s face closely, weighing the truth of his words, then rested a hand on his shoulder, his manner softening noticeably.
“If my jest earlier caused offense, you have my apologies. I intend to review prospects for Lucas and Raina before long, so grant me a little more patience.”
Caught off guard by the unexpected apology, Modrian cleared his throat with a dry cough.
“…If Your Grace says so, this old servant has nothing further to say. Very well. I shall put my trust in the Grand Duke and wait.”
Giving a brief nod, the old knight turned and walked away down the hall.
Varkas watched him go, then turned to make his way out of the keep, only for Lucas, who had lingered a step behind in dazed silence, to hurry after him.
“What you told that old man… were you serious? Are you really going to arrange matches for Raina and me…?”
“Why look so surprised?”
Varkas answered bluntly, keeping his stride steady down the corridor.
“Both you and Raina passed your coming-of-age long ago. For the scions of a prominent house to have no betrothed by this age is rather irregular.”
“I’m nineteen! And Raina won’t even turn seventeen for another two months!”
“I am not telling you to wed tomorrow. Settle the engagement first; the ceremony can wait a year or two.”
“Stop talking about such awful things.”
Lucas raised his voice, nearly beside himself.
“I intend to enjoy my bachelor life for the next twenty years!”
“Do I strike you as the sort of man who indulges such childish nonsense?”
Varkas stopped in his tracks, looking down at him with a sharp, unrelenting gaze. Faced with that unyielding expression, a groan slipped past Lucas’s lips.
“You’re really serious, aren’t you?”
“As Modrian pointed out, is it not past time we reinforced our foundation? I will send you a list of eligible candidates shortly. Choose a lady who suits you and make your suit.”
“By ‘eligible candidates,’ I assume you mean daughters from families that serve the Shearkan house’s interests?”
Lucas let out a sneer. Varkas regarded his half-brother with mild exasperation, watching the boy balk at something so self-evident.
“You are part of the ducal house. It is only right that your marriage should benefit the family. That is the fair price for the privileges you have enjoyed.”
“And what about you, Brother? Didn’t you marry the woman you wanted?”
Varkas, who had been about to turn toward the stables, froze.
END