CHAPTER 45: CHAPTER 45:LET IT SPROUT

Aiden could hear it.

The walls themselves seemed to vibrate with the voices inside, thick with accusation and wounded pride. The seed he had planted—so carefully, so patiently—was finally bearing fruit.

Catherine and Augustus.

They were shouting again. But this time, it wasn’t Augustus’s stern voice weighing down on his wife. No. This time it was Catherine, her words cutting, her tone sharp, striking him where he was weakest.

Aiden pressed his ear against the carved oak door, the polished surface cool beneath his cheek. His lips curled faintly. A servant’s ears were rarely invited into the heart of noble quarrels, but tonight, his would drink every word.

"I still remember your suspicious eyes on me when you could not find the platinum coins..." Catherine’s voice trembled, not with fear but with rage barely held in check.

Inside, Aiden imagined her standing tall, her gown rustling as she shifted her weight, chin lifted in defiance.

"Catherine," Augustus groaned, fingers surely pinching the bridge of his nose in his familiar, weary gesture. "I did not mean... haaaa... it’s okay. Now we know—the imbalance in the budget was due to corruption in the garrison."

Silence followed. A silence filled with heat, heavy as a curtain that would not draw.

Catherine smiled then—Aiden couldn’t see it, but he could hear it in the edge of her voice. Not relief, but triumph. She was not finished. She would not be finished until she reclaimed every piece of dignity stripped from her during those days of suspicion.

"Now you understand. But tell me, Augustus—what are you going to do about it? Stay quiet? Blame it on me again?"

Aiden’s teeth caught his lower lip. Yes, Catherine. Twist him. Dig deeper. Bleed him with your words until the wound festers.

"Of course! I will take action," Augustus thundered suddenly, the scrape of his chair legs groaning against the floor. "I will get to the bottom of this. Whoever dared to steal from me—steal from this house—will taste tenfold of my wrath!"

The sound reverberated through the door, a surge of mana in his voice amplifying the weight of his anger. Aiden felt the vibration run through the wood and into his chest.

Catherine did not back down. She pressed harder, her tone like a needle driving into flesh.

"You have been too lenient, Augustus. I don’t know if the capital has made you soft, but you must show them. Garner not only respect—but fear. Otherwise this will happen again. Again and again."

There was the faintest pause, a sharp inhale, and then Augustus’s low chuckle.

"...Indeed. I suspect the commander. He is old, withering. He served this family well—once. But perhaps, at some point, greed took root."

Aiden’s brows arched. Catherine had planted that thought. He could hear it in the way she let silence follow, allowing her husband to speak the very words she needed.

’He’s innocent,’ Catherine thought, though she would never admit it aloud. But he will make a perfect scapegoat.

"Then what are you waiting for?" she pressed. "Confront him. You are the viscount of this fief. Show him, show all of them, that you rule this land—not by their favor, but by your name. By your father’s name. And his father’s before him. So Stop this blasphemy."

Augustus sighed deeply, his voice softer, almost breaking. "I... had thought to guide them with the heart. To rule with patience, not with a sword. But..."

His voice dropped.

"But perhaps patience has sprouted corruption. Perhaps now, only steel will cleanse it."

The weight of his decision hung in the air. Aiden’s pulse quickened.

He heard the slow, deliberate steps as Augustus crossed the chamber. The creak of leather boots. The faint clink of metal.

And then—

The golden sword.

Aiden imagined it as he had seen it once before: hung elegantly on the wall, gleaming like captured sunlight, etched with the Leonidus crest. It was not a blade of war, but of judgment. To raise the worthy high, or cast the unworthy low. To bless, or to condemn.

Now, it would condemn.

Step.

Step.

Step.

Aiden moved swiftly back, slipping into shadow as the latch turned.

Thud.

The door opened.

Augustus emerged, his shoulders squared, the golden blade gleaming faintly under the corridor torchlight. Mana thrummed around him, each step a rhythm of fire and stone. His wide back seemed larger, heavier with duty, his presence burning like an ember stoked too long in silence.

Aiden’s throat tightened. Not with fear. With hunger.

That ember... it was pure. Ripe. If he wished, he could devour it—consume Augustus where he stood, strip the flame from the man’s very soul. But no. Not yet. Not here. His prey was not the lord of the house. Not the man.

It was her..... Catherine.

The seed was sprouting. Soon the garrison would be in turmoil, chaos unraveling like threads from a tapestry. And chaos was no enemy. Chaos was a ladder. A ladder only the daring would climb.

He waited until Augustus’s footsteps faded, then smoothed his collar, composed his expression, and raised his hand.

Knock. Knock.

"My lord, are you there?" His voice was respectful, neutral, knowing full well there would be no lord within. Only the lady.

Inside, papers rustled, a gasp of surprise.

"Come in..."

Catherine’s voice—slightly strained, the edge of frustration still clinging to it.

Aiden opened the door and stepped inside. The air was thick with the scent of ink and wax, mingled with the faint lavender perfume Catherine favored. She sat at the desk, letters scattered, her brow furrowed.

"Oh, it is Lady Catherine," Aiden said lightly, bowing. "Where is Lord Augustus?" He muttered, like he didn’t know it all.

Catherine looked up, and even in her weariness, her face softened at the sight of him. The corners of her lips tugged upward, faintly, betraying how much his presence alone soothed her. She tossed aside the letter with a dismissive flick of her wrist.

"It’s you, Aiden... Sorry. Your lord is busy right now."

Aiden tilted his head slightly, as though studying her with care. His senses stretched, pulling at the threads of her aura. Beneath her beauty lingered something bitter.

Sadness. Disappointment. Longing unfulfilled.

Her profile burned in his mind.

[Catherine Von Leonidus

Status: Charmed Possession

Personality: sad / disappointed / unfulfilled]

’What the fuck happened to her?’ he thought, curiosity igniting his interest.

He stepped inside, hands clasped politely behind him. "I came to apologize, my lady. I misplaced a document earlier, but it seems it has already reached here..."

His eyes flicked to the paper lying discarded—the very one he had left, intentionally, at tea this morning.

Catherine followed his gaze. Realization bloomed in her eyes, followed by a flicker of relief.

’ So it was him. It was Aiden who saved me from the headache of searching. How strange... fate weaving him into my rescue again and again.’

"Yes... it has reached where it needed to be." Her voice softened, almost grateful.

Aiden let his aura unfurl subtly, threads of allure weaving into the space between them. His ember replenished by Akidna, his presence brimmed with warmth that was not heat, but the promise of safety. He stepped closer, each movement precise, gentle.

"My lady, if you do not mind me asking..." His tone was tender, almost hesitant, as though he were not a butler but a confidant. "...You seem troubled. What weighs on you?"

Catherine turned her gaze toward him. His face was lit faintly by the golden lamplight, his features softened by shadows. He looked... caring. Understanding.

"Oh, Aiden," she breathed, the veneer of her strength slipping for a moment. "Just like the story you once told me... a maiden’s tragedy." Her hand brushed the letter, her fingers tapping it restlessly.

"Something happened? With the lord?" he asked again, the question laced not with demand, but with gentle concern.

She hesitated, her eyes searching his, as if weighing whether to trust. Then, with a sigh, she picked up the letter and pressed it into his hands.

"Read. You will understand."

Aiden’s fingers brushed hers as he took it, deliberate, warm. He glanced down at the parchment, the ink still fresh.

His eyes flickered across the lines, absorbing every word.

Augustus. Leaving. Again. To the capital.

Catherine’s sorrow was painted across the page. Abandonment, frustration, the slow erosion of a wife’s heart as her husband’s duty always pulled him elsewhere.

But Aiden’s lips curled in the faintest of smiles, hidden as he lowered his eyes.

Inside, his thoughts burned bright.

The lord is leaving again... to the capital?

Fortune smiles on me. Luck bends the knee.

This letter was not Catherine’s tragedy. It was his opportunity.

An opportunity, which he intended to take it’s full advantage.