CHAPTER 246: CHAPTER 246: LEADER AND FOLLOWER (2)

Far from the polished halls of Ophelia’s dorm, the air was heavy with perfume and heat, thick enough to cling to the skin like oil.

Odin sat in a deep leather chair, the kind that swallowed a man whole, his posture deceptively relaxed. Across from him, Misty lay draped on a velvet chaise, eyes glazed and unfocused, her body moving faintly with the restless rhythm of a heat that wasn’t entirely her own. She was beautiful still, in the way a weapon is beautiful even when dulled, dangerous only if someone else wields it.

"Ready for customers," Odin murmured, the words more observation than compliment, his tone almost bored.

Misty’s gaze flickered to him, glassy and sluggish, though whether she understood or not was impossible to tell.

He leaned back, watching her with the same quiet amusement he’d shown when speaking to Ophelia minutes earlier. "I just got off the phone with your daughter," he said, savoring the word. "She thinks she’s clever, thinks she’s making her own choices. You should be proud; she’s learned to lie to herself as well as you do."

Odin’s brow lifted faintly. "How thoughtful." His fingers brushed the smooth lid, feeling the faint etching of the Fitzgeralt seal before flipping the clasp. The hinges gave a muted creak as the lid opened.

Inside, cushioned in black velvet, lay a severed hand, pale, bloodless, and still wearing the distinctive silver ring of Jason Luna.

For a long moment, Odin simply stared at it, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he leaned back into the chair, one elbow resting on the armrest, fingertips steepled.

"Jason," he murmured, almost conversational. "You should have stayed a customer. Allies tend to end up... in pieces."

Misty’s head lolled to the side, eyes glassy, with no comprehension in her stare. Odin didn’t look at her when he spoke again.

"They think this is a warning," he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else. "But all it tells me is that they’ve started playing the game I wanted all along."

He closed the box with deliberate care, the click of the clasp loud in the dim room. "And now," he murmured, his mouth curling into something that was almost a smile, "I’ll have to send a gift back."

—

The Fitzgeralt main mansion in the capital was quiet in that peculiar way it only managed when Trevor was gone. No low hum of his voice from the study, no faint scent of his coffee drifting through the halls. Lucas sat curled into the corner of a velvet settee in the front drawing room, a book balanced loosely in his hands, Windstone occupying the chair opposite with his usual unshakable composure.

"Dinner tonight," Windstone reminded him, eyes flicking briefly up from the tablet he was reviewing. "Duchess Serathine and Lady Cressida will be arriving together."

Lucas closed the book with a sigh, his blond hair catching the movement’s light. "Which means they’ll dismantle my entire wardrobe before I can even greet them. Again."

"They want you properly presented to the Emperor and Empress," Windstone said, though the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth suggested he found the thought mildly amusing. Still, he didn’t dare to look Lucas in the eyes, knowing full well the storms those two women could unleash.

"They really like to spend Trevor’s money and my patience," Lucas muttered, closing the book with a soft thud.

Windstone allowed himself the faintest ghost of a smile. "You endure it well enough."

"That’s because I can’t exactly throw them out of the house," Lucas said, leaning back against the cushions. "Not when they’ll just follow me to the palace with even more suits and twice the opinions. At least Cressida gave up on the doves this time."

Windstone glanced up, his pale green eyes flickering with amusement under the glasses. "The doves were intended as a symbol of peace."

"They were intended," Lucas corrected dryly, "to soil the carpet and give your employer’s grandmother something to talk about for the next three months."

A faint hum of agreement escaped Windstone. "Lady Cressida does have a... memorable approach to hospitality."

"Memorable is one word for it," Lucas said. "Serathine at least warns you before she starts reorganizing your wardrobe. Cressida just hands the staff a list and by the time you notice, your favorite suit’s already been sent for ’adjustments.’"

Windstone’s brow twitched. "I seem to recall you surviving the last round without bloodshed."

"Barely," Lucas said. "If either of them brings a measuring tape this time, I’m locking myself in Trevor’s study."

Before Windstone could respond, one of the uniformed attendants appeared in the doorway, carrying a black lacquered box in both hands. "For you, Your Grace," she said, bowing slightly. "It was delivered directly to the gate, marked as a gift."

Windstone’s gaze sharpened, closing the tablet he was checking until then. "Why didn’t it follow protocol?" He won’t allow just anyone to bypass his strict protocol after years of perfect work under Trevor.

The attendant shifted under his stare, clearly at odds with the strange situation she was in. She put herself in danger of losing her job if she didn’t bring it, but Windstone was still upset with her for breaking the rules. "The courier insisted it was urgent and personal. He refused to leave it with security and said it must be delivered to the Grand Duchess immediately."

With precise movements, Windstone stood up and, with a cool voice, placed the tablet on the low table between him and Lucas’s seat. "Then it should have been brought to me first."

Lucas was already reaching for the box, curiosity overtaking caution. "It’s fine. How bad could it be?" He set it on the low table in front of him, lips curling faintly. "What, do you think it’s a bomb? No one in the capital has that much style."

"Your Grace..." Windstone began, but Lucas had already set the box on the low table and flicked open the clasp.

It wasn’t a bomb.

It was worse.