Chapter 39: The Grand Duke Investigates Three Problems (3)

I returned to the reports. Work, unlike ancient memory fragments and evasive Jinns, had the decency to sit still.

For the next hour, I divided orders.

To Sonomi: retrieve deeper archive references on Lorillis as keeper, older invocations in founding-era oath documents, black salt contamination wards, and any mention of wishing stars, dusk-born, or prayers used as vessels.

To the Capital agents: watch the House of Gentle Mercy, identify its administrators, trace its donors, and determine whether any children had recently disappeared from its care.

To palace observers: continue monitoring the archive wing, Lord Keeper Marcellus, and deliveries to the Crown Prince’s residence.

To Bernard: find Edric Leeds. Preferably alive. Doesn’t matter if limbs are missing.

When I finished, the sun had risen fully, turning the study curtains warm gold.

I somehow disliked that color today. I’ve been seeing so many things referenced to it that it was getting old.

It reminded me of the veins in the lower vault walls.

A knock came at the door breaking my temporary reverie.

"Enter."

Spiro peeked in.

He held a small tray with both hands. On it was a cup of tea and two pieces of toast, one slightly burnt at the edge.

William stood behind him, looking as if this had been allowed only after much negotiation.

"Father," Spiro said, "Sir William said you haven’t eaten breakfast yet."

I looked at William.

He gazed back calmly.

I disdained saying anymore. It won’t change anything anyway. They have all decided to rebel.

"I was working," I said.

Spiro entered carefully and placed the tray on the desk. "That is why you should eat."

"Is it?"

"Yes. For energy."

He looked at me with his serious amber eyes.

I looked down at the tray.

One piece of toast had far too much butter. The other had jam spread unevenly, with one corner almost bare. The tea smelled correct, at least. William must have handled that part.

"Did you prepare this?" I asked.

Spiro nodded. "Only the toast. Sir William said knives are still dangerous."

"Sir William is correct."

"I know. So, I used the small spreading knife."

He seemed proud.

"Thank you," I said.

His face brightened.

"You’re welcome, Father."

I picked up the less burnt toast and took a bite.

It was too buttery and slightly uneven. A touch cold, too.

Spiro watched my face like his entire future depended on my reaction.

"Not bad," I said.

His shoulders relaxed.

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

"Sir William said I should not disturb you too much when you’re working."

"Sir William is usually correct."

William bowed his head.

"But bringing food is an acceptable disturbance."

Spiro smiled. Again, that small, real smile.

The study, which had felt full of suffocating reports and colder questions, warmed slightly.

I took another bite to avoid thinking further.

Spiro glanced at the black-ribboned papers on my desk. "Are these about the palace?"

"Some of them are."

"Is it dangerous, Father?"

"Possibly."

"Will you still go there again?"

"Yes. There is a need to."

He frowned faintly. "Because of the Crown Prince?"

I raised a brow.

"Why do you ask?"

His fingers curled around the tray’s edge. "He is important, isn’t he?"

"To the empire, yes."

"To you? Is he important to you too, Father?"

What a sharp question. This child would become terrifying if properly trained.

I felt proud. Doomed, but proud.

"He is an interesting piece of work," I answered.

Spiro tilted his head. "Is that equivalent to being important?"

"I suppose to me, it is."

"Then he is important."

I stared at him.

The logic was clean. I couldn’t argue with that. Abi would be insufferable if he heard it, though.

"Perhaps," I said.

Spiro nodded as if he had solved something.

Then, after a moment, he asked, "Will the Crown Prince hurt you?"

"No."

"Are you sure, Father?"

"Very sure."

"Is it because you are stronger?"

"That, and because he currently needs me more than he fears me."

Spiro absorbed that quietly.

"Is that a good thing?"

"Well, it is useful."

"Is being useful good?"

"Usually."

"Not always?"

"There is no assurance about something being constant."

He looked down, thoughtful.

I could see the question behind his eyes. The careful turning of words. The attempt to understand power not as theory, but as a means of survival.

I did not like that he understood survival so instinctively.

Yet I would rather teach him properly than leave him to learn from wolves.

"Spiro," I said.

He looked up.

"Power is not good or bad by itself. Neither is usefulness. What matters is who holds it, what they want, and what they are willing to do when no one can stop them."

His eyes widened slightly

.

"Then what does Father want?"

The question landed softly, almost a whisper.

I smiled.

"Everything. I want everything."

He blinked.

"Everything?"

"Yes."

"Is that not too much?"

"No."

"Why, Father?"

"Because I have excellent taste."

Spiro stared at me for a long while and then laughed. Not a hidden giggle or a startled sound. A true, bright laugh that seemed to surprise even him. He covered his mouth immediately, eyes wide.

I pretended not to notice the way my chest eased.

"I see," he said after a moment, cheeks red.

"Then I hope Father gets everything."

What a dangerous child.

"Of course I will," I replied.

The words should have felt like arrogance.

They did.

But beneath them, something else stirred.

I crushed it even before it could form.

No. Not now.

Certainly not without my permission.

"Go finish your lessons," I said.

"Yes, Father."

He lifted the tray, but I stopped him.

"Leave it."

"But..."

"I will finish it."

The smile returned.

"Okay, Father."

When he left, William remained by the door.

"Your Excellency."

"I do not need you to say anything."

"I had not intended to."

"Your silence says otherwise."

"Then I shall keep my mouth shut, sire."

"See that you do."

He bowed, but I could tell he was amused.

Everyone was becoming too comfortable at my expense.

This needed to be corrected eventually.

After breakfast, or what remained of it, the day moved into motion.

By noon, the palace sent the copied records promised by the empress. By afternoon, Sonomi’s first response arrived through our secure communication array. By evening, faster that William’s estimate, Bernard returned with news that Edric Leeds, the Boleoti steward, had been seen entering a private residence in the Capital two nights before.

The owner of that residence?

Lady Marielle Rouvier.

How delightful.

The threads were finally beginning to cross. Something to finally vent my irritation on.

The Rouvier family and the Crown Prince’s ceremonial first dance partner.

And their suspicious charity.

The Boleoti steward tied to Spiro’s disappearance.

The temple-adjacent blessing ceremonies.

And somewhere beneath the palace, a relic that made the Crown Prince falter.

It was all still too early to draw conclusions.

But patterns were forming.

I loved patterns. They made excellent nooses I could tighten around someone’s neck.

I sat in my study that evening, arranging the reports across my desk while the lamp beside me burned low.

Abi had not returned.

A coward, that one.

Spiro was already asleep.

And William stood ready by the study’s door.

Outside, the Capital celebrated the founding festivities with music, fireworks, and laughter, unaware that beneath its polished streets and perfumed halls, some things had begun shifting.

Oh well. Let them celebrate.

People danced best before the floors cracked.

I picked up the report on Lady Marielle Rouvier and smiled.

"William."

"Yes, Your Excellency?"

"Tomorrow, send a polite response to Lady Marielle’s gratitude request."

His eyes sharpened. "You intend to receive her?"

"Yes."

"Here?"

"No. That would be too generous. She couldn’t afford it."

"Where then?"

I tapped the paper lightly.

"The House of Gentle Mercy."

William’s brows lifted a fraction.

"What an interesting choice."

"She wants to thank me for saving her young acquaintance from embarrassment. I shall let her do so while surrounded by orphans and holier-than-thou smiles."

"And if she refuses?"

"Then she will be revealing her discomfort."

"And if she accepts?"

"Then we see what mask she wears when standing in front of the cage she helps fund."

Abi’s voice suddenly came from the sofa.

"That sounds properly villainous."

I did not look up. Who else could it be if not the only Jinn in my household?

"So you finally decided to show yourself."

"I smelled you plotting. I wouldn’t miss it for anything."

"You fled earlier, though."

"It was merely a tactical retreat."

"It’s still cowardly."

"Correction, I’m an emotionally responsible coward."

"That is not a thing, you know."

"It is now. I said so."

I finally turned to him. His usual smile was back.

But his eyes were still shadowed.

He had not forgotten what had transpired in the study.

Neither had I. In fact, I do not have any plans to forget it.

We would deal with that later. Probably.

For now, there were living enemies for us to uncover. Others could wait their turn.

"Abi," I said.

"Yes, brother?"

"Tomorrow, you need to be on your best behavior."

His grin widened.

"Define behave."

I sighed.

It looks like the lamp commission remained necessary after all.