Chapter 23: The Grand Duke Receives Unwanted Guests (1)

"William," I said gently.

"Yes, Your Excellency?"

"Commission the lamp. Immediately."

Abi’s face dropped.

William bowed compliantly. I’m pretty sure he will actually commission it. The old guy likes to be prepared for all kinds of scenario, even when he knows I’m just making empty threats.

"As you command, Your Excellency."

There are few sights in this world capable of soothing one’s frayed nerves as effectively as seeing a smug Jinn lose his composure.

It was not a dramatic loss, unfortunately. Abi did not pale, stumble, or look at me with despair deep enough to be immortalized in a portrait. He merely blinked, his smile slipping for a fraction of a second before returning with suspicious haste.

Still, it happened and I saw it. Therefore, it would sustain me through the indignity of the morning.

"You would not actually do that," Abi said, attempting an air of confidence.

"I would."

"You already destroyed the original lamp, anyway."

"Which means we have no standard to compare against. I am free to improve the design."

His brows furrowed. "Improve?"

"I am thinking of something portable. Perhaps with reinforced sealing arrays and tasteful engravings. Gold would be too gaudy, of course, but black bronze might suit you."

William’s expression did not change. "Shall I also ask the artisans to incorporate soundproofing?"

I looked at him with approval.

"Excellent suggestion. Please do that."

Abi turned toward William with betrayal written all over his too-handsome face. "You as well, old human?"

William bowed slightly. "I serve His Excellency."

"Cold. You’re all very cold."

"Thank you, Lord Abinatha."

I almost laughed.

My mother’s training once again saved my dignity from something as unbecoming as open delight. Though, if I were to be honest, my dignity had been suffering repeated attacks ever since Abi entered my life. Perhaps laughing would have been merciful to it.

Alas, it was already too late. The tragedy had matured and I can only suffer.

"We are getting away from the actual problem," I said, turning back to the list of noble callers on my desk.

Abi leaned back on the sofa, still wearing the offended expression of a man threatened to be stuffed back into a lamp despite being a transcendent being. Talk about dramatic. Sometimes, it baffles me to think about Abi’s train of thought. Maybe he really did lose it after being imprisoned for centuries.

"Yes. Your blooming garden."

"You stand to be corrected. My unwanted callers."

"Your blooming garden of unwanted callers."

"Abi."

"What? That is what the gossip woman named it. I’m just copying it."

"The gossip woman will one day pay for her crimes against my peace."

"By having her printing house bought?"

"Obviously."

Abi looked terribly amused again. Truly, this man regained his equilibrium too quickly. How unfortunate. For me, that is.

I focused on William, who had already arranged the correspondence into neat piles. The man was efficient enough to turn social harassment into a filing system. A rare talent, indeed.

"Prioritize," I instructed simply.

"Yes, Your Excellency. The trade-related requests can be delayed without offense. Those from the temple should be acknowledged but not granted an audience immediately. And the self-proclaimed relatives are already being investigated."

"Self-proclaimed relatives, huh?" I repeated, feeling my mood sink.

"Yes, Your Excellency."

"What exactly are they claiming?"

William’s eyes shifted briefly toward Abi.

Ah.

Okay. Now, I understood.

Some opportunistic fools must have seen me introduce Abi as my brother and concluded that House Konstantin had begun accepting relatives from the void. Now, they wished to crawl out of whatever decorative hole they inhabited and attach themselves to me.

The audacity was impressive. Impressively stupid.

"Reject them," I said.

"With what reason, Your Excellency?"

"They are alive. If they were truly related to me, they would know better."

Abi burst out laughing.

William nodded as if I had just delivered a perfectly reasonable administrative directive.

"Understood."

"Marquess Veyron?"

"He requested a brief visit to congratulate you on your return to the Capital."

"That oily eel only wants information. What congratulations? He ought to stop fooling himself that he could fool me. Schedule him last."

"Very well."

"The families wishing to greet me?"

"Mostly from the old central houses. They were likely prompted by your conversation with the Crown Prince."

Of course. Why am I not surprised?

The Capital did not observe events. It pounced on them, ripped them open, and sniffed their insides. They would put extraordinary meaning even to a twitch of a finger much less an actual conversation.

The Crown Prince invited me privately last night. This morning, several families wanted to greet me. By tomorrow, half of the Capital would try to determine whether I intended to support His Highness, oppose him, or devour the throne whole.

Such impatience. They should learn to savor uncertainty. It was one of life’s finer poisons.

"And Lady Evelina’s father?" I asked.

"Duke Rouvier sent a formal request to pay respects."

"Pay respects, my foot. He wants to know whether his daughter’s first dance with the Crown Prince still holds political weight after the Crown Prince dragged me into a moonlit gallery."

Abi hummed. "That sounds scandalous when you say it that way."

"That is because this Capital is diseased."

"Or because you make everything sound suspicious."

"It is a gift I was born with."

William’s gaze lowered to the next set of letters. "As for the four ladies connected to the young woman you assisted, I believe they intend to express gratitude."

"No."

Abi laughed again.

I looked at William. "Send them a courteous note stating that the matter was trivial and requires no further acknowledgment."

"Understood."

"But Father said he would help if someone fell accidentally."

All three of us turned toward the door.

Spiro stood there in a pale gray morning outfit, one hand holding a book and the other lightly gripping Bernard’s sleeve. Bernard, who had clearly failed to stop him from entering at the most inconvenient time, looked apologetic.

The child stared at me seriously. Well, this was becoming a dangerous habit.

"Spiro," I said calmly. "That was a hypothetical situation."

His brows furrowed. "But if the lady wants to thank you, is it not good manners to accept?"

I opened my mouth then closed it.

I had forgotten that this child possessed the frightening ability to turn basic etiquette against me. My mother would be proud and might even declare him her precious protégé.

William was suspiciously quiet.

Abi looked delighted enough to combust.

Bernard seemed to have developed sudden intense interest in the corner of the carpet.

Traitors. All of them.

"Accepting gratitude is acceptable," I said with measured patience. "Encouraging needless visits is not."

Spiro tilted his head. "But what if refusing makes her sad?"

"Then she will learn emotional resilience as a result."

"Father."

There it was again. That tiny tone of disappointment.

I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling for a brief second.

Why was I being morally interrogated by an eight-year-old who looked five?

No, not eight. He only claimed to be eight. His body disagreed, and my eyes sided with his body. Still, his soul sometimes looked much older. It was not obvious enough to suspect anything yet, but it was enough to disturb me when his gaze sharpened too much for a child.

What kind of orphanage raised this kind of child?

The answer was likely unpleasant.

I disliked unpleasant answers.

"Spiro," I said, gesturing for him to come closer. Distracting tactics must be deployed, I suppose.

He released Bernard’s sleeve and walked toward me, book hugged to his chest.

"What are you reading?"

He looked down. "A geography primer."

"Already?"

"Sir Bernard said I may choose anything from the lower shelves."

"And you chose geography?"

He nodded. "I want to know where Sonomi is properly. And the Capital. And Boleoti."

I paused.

Boleoti.

The name passed too easily from his mouth.

Not in a strange way, exactly. The child had traveled with northern merchants and had seen northern goods. He also heard me mention the North several times. Still, there was something about the way he said it that caught my attention.

It was like a small hook in still water.

"Why Boleoti?" I asked lightly.

His fingers tightened around the book. Hmm. That reaction...

"It was written in the book," he said after a brief moment. "The pictures looked pretty.

And there was snow."

A perfectly acceptable answer. Too perfectly innocent that it was suspicious.

I smiled.

"I see. Boleoti is indeed pretty, if one has a tolerance for freezing to death."

Abi leaned forward. "Snow is frozen water, correct?"

"Yes."

"Humans willingly live in that?"

"Humans also willingly attend balls."

"Fair point."

Spiro looked between us, visibly torn between amusement and confusion. Good. Let him be a child for a little while longer. Whatever secrets he had folded beneath that careful little face could wait.

Not forever, just for now.

"Regarding the ladies," I continued, returning to the original crime against my schedule, "I will accept one formal note of gratitude. No visits."

Spiro considered this.

Then nodded. "Hmm. That sounds proper enough."

I stared at him.

Did he just approve my decision?

Again?

This child had the audacity of a Konstantin already. It was either the blood seal working efficiently or the universe developing a sense of humor at my expense.

"Since you are here," I said, "you may sit quietly while I handle the morning callers. Consider it an immersive education."

William’s eyes flickered with approval while Bernard looked faintly alarmed.

Spiro brightened. "May I?"

"Yes. But you are not to speak unless I address you or unless the matter concerns you directly."

"I understand."

"And no correcting me in front of guests."

His face flushed. "I wasn’t correcting Father earlier."

"Yes, you were. Quite audaciously, in fact."

"I was only asking."

"Your asking was judgmental."

His blush deepened. "Sorry, Father."

I sighed and patted his head. "No need to apologize. Just do it less publicly."

Abi murmured, "So privately scolding you is allowed?"

I ignored him. Why pay attention to a senile, old Jinn?

The morning callers began arriving after the second bell.

The first three were easy enough to dispose of. Minor noble families from the central faction, all dressed in embroidered garments as if it would impress me and smiling with evident greed. They offered greetings, praised Sonomi, complimented my attire from the ball, and attempted to ask about Spiro in ways they thought were subtle.

They failed, naturally.

"His Young Grace has such striking eyes," said Countess Melden, her fan fluttering like an anxious bird. "The resemblance is truly remarkable."