Chương 136: AN OBVIOUS SET UP

Evening settled over Blackwood Keep like a slow exhale. The last strands of sunlight clung stubbornly to the horizon, bleeding amber and gold across the stone walls before surrendering to the encroaching blue of night. Shadows stretched long through the corridors, pooling in corners, creeping beneath doors, settling into silence. Inside his study, Alaric Dukker sat unmoving. The room was dim, lit only by the fading light through the tall window behind him and the faint glow of a single Lamp resting on his desk.

Papers lay neatly arranged in careful stacks, maps pinned along the walls, each marked with precise annotations. Everything was in order. Everything—except the letter in his hand. His fingers tightened slightly around it, the parchment crinkling just enough to betray the tension he otherwise kept contained. He had read it already. Several times. It did not change. It would not change. ~ Lord Alaric Dukker, Head of House Dukker, Lord of Blackwood.

By decree of the Privy Council and with the assent of His Majesty the King, you are hereby commanded to present yourself before the Council in the capital of Aethelberg within one month of the date of this summons. Failure to comply will result in sanctions, including but not limited to the suspension of your voting privileges, the freezing of your territorial funds, and potential charges of dereliction of duty. It is not a request. Signed, The Privy Council of Aerthos. Sealed, His Majesty, King Aldric of Aerthos.

~ The seal was there. Crimson wax, pressed with the royal crest. Unmistakable. Unforgeable. Alaric had one day left. His jaw tightened. Sanctions. The word lingered in his mind with a bitter aftertaste. His gaze shifted, slowly lowering to the bottom of the letter. The seal. The King's seal. That was what made it unavoidable. Alaric exhaled slowly through his nose. He would have ignored it otherwise. Delayed. Negotiated. But with that seal—there was no room for dismissal. And yet— His grip tightened again.

"One day…" he muttered under his breath. One day. That was all the time left before the deadline passed. And he had only received the letter that morning. Convenient, too convenient. His eyes narrowed slightly as his thoughts drifted back to the man who brought the letter—the way he stood, the way he spoke. The way he lied. He was a thin man with a sharp smile and eyes that gleamed with quiet satisfaction. He claimed he had been attacked by bandits, held for weeks, only recently escaped.

He claimed the letter had been delayed through no fault of his own. Alaric almost scoffed. The Blackwood region was not perfect, but it was stable. He had ensured that. Patrol routes were maintained. Roads were patrolled, caravans moved safely. Yes unscrupulous individuals would try their luck from time to time and yes the ideal situation did not exist, but one could say that of all the illegal activities that took place, banditry was non existent in his territory, everyone knew this.

There was no way a messenger carrying a letter bearing the King's seal would be delayed by that. And even if he had been— The man did not look like someone who had suffered for it. No signs of struggle. No exhaustion. No fear. Only a subtle arrogance. A quiet confidence that sat just beneath the surface. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. Alaric's fingers tapped once against the desk.

Upon questioning, the man had said he had come through the region of Amber.

'Amberose.' Alaric's jaw tightened.

"Of course," he murmured. The man was one of Kingsley Amberose's lackeys. It was obvious, painfully so. All of it pointed to a setup. This was not about the message arriving late, it was about ensuring it arrived late. Crude. Blatant. And yet effective, given their long term goal. Because regardless of how it had been delivered—the deadline remained. The Council did not care whether the message was delayed. Alaric closed his eyes briefly.

Even if he argued his case, they would point to his absence from the council over the past couple of months. They would frame it as negligence or whatever big word they could use to fit their narrative and could justify whatever plans they had. His hand tightened again around the letter.

"Tch." A quiet sound broke the silence.

"Agonizing over it isn't going to change anything." Alaric's eyes opened. Slowly. He lifted his gaze toward the doorway. Ortis leaned lazily against the frame, arms crossed, one shoulder resting against the wood as though he had been there for a while—or had simply appeared when it suited him. Alaric's expression did not soften.

"What do you want?" Ortis shrugged.

"Relax," he said, pushing himself off the door and walking in without invitation. His steps were unhurried, casual, as though the tension in the room simply did not apply to him. He approached the desk and dropped into the chair opposite Alaric, leaning back before casually placing his legs up onto the desk itself. Alaric's eye twitched slightly. Ortis smirked. Ortis folded his arms behind his head.

"So," he said, glancing at the letter.

"What're you gonna do about the summon?" Alaric stared at him for a moment before answering.

"I don't have much of a choice." His voice was steady.

"I have to go." Ortis smirk widened into a grin.

"You do realize this is a setup, right?" Alaric's gaze hardened.

"Who do you think I am?" he replied.

"Even a child could see through this scheme." Ortis chuckled.

"Fair enough." He tilted his head slightly, eyes half-lidded.

"The interesting part isn't that it's a setup," he continued.

"It's that they didn't even bother hiding it." Alaric said nothing. Ortis' grin widened slightly.

"That kind of confidence?" he said.

"Means they're sure it'll work." Silence settled again. Heavily. Alaric exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair.

"Why?" he asked quietly. Ortis glanced at him. Alaric's eyes drifted toward the window.

"Why are humans like this?" he continued.

"Why do they chase power at the cost of the very systems that sustain them?" Ortis was quiet for a moment. Then he scoffed"Because humans are strange creatures." He shifted slightly, resting one elbow on the arm of the chair.

"They want to dominate the world," he said casually.

"But the world's too big. Too complicated. Too… real to be taken over by such weak creatures." His gaze sharpened faintly.

"So what do they do? They lie. They scheme. They twist things. Build little contradictions they can exploit." Alaric listened in silence.

"And when they finally get a bit of power?" Ortis continued.

"They don't grow. They don't improve anything." A faint smirk tugged at his lips.

"They destroy the very thing that gave it to them. The World." Alaric's fingers tapped once against the desk. He did not like it. But—"Well, you're not wrong," he admitted. Ortis hummed in satisfaction.

"Of course I'm not." Alaric's gaze shifted back to him.

"For someone who claims not to care about things like politics," he said, "you seem to have quite the opinion. I never took you for a philosopher." Ortis waved a hand dismissively.

"Oh please, politics is so boring." He yawned.

"All this faction nonsense? Complete bullshit." Alaric frowned slightly.

"Oh?"

"Yeah," Ortis said lazily.

"They should just crown the strongest one among the King's children as heir and be done with it." Alaric stared at him.

"You're referring to the Twelfth Prince?" Ortis didn't answer immediately. Instead, his grin widened. Alaric continued.

"Even if he possesses the Anomaly Trait—The Fool—he's still a child." Ortis' eyes gleamed and he shook his head.

"You don't know what's going on," he said simply. Alaric's brows furrowed.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ortis shrugged.

"Exactly what it sounds like." He didn't elaborate. vAlaric clicked his tongue softly.

"Tch." He shifted slightly.

"…Will you attend?" he asked. Ortis raised a hand.

"Don't." Alaric paused.

"I didn't come here to be your friend," Ortis said.

"I was just passing by, saw your face, and thought I'd come make fun of you." Alaric's eye twitched again.

"You have quite the nerve." Ortis smirked.

"You're welcome." Alaric leaned forward slightly.

"And what right do you have to mock me?" he asked.

"You haven't attended a council meeting in years." Ortis yawned again.

"As I said," he replied.

"It's boring."

"That is not an excuse."

"It is for me."

"Such selfishness is unbecoming of a Lord." Ortis' gaze snapped to him.

"And who are you to tell me what's unbecoming?" he asked.

"Don't interfere in my affairs." There was a pause. Then Ortis sighed.

"That said... I have someone to act as my proxy. Alaric's expression shifted.

"Your wife?" He smiled—a rare, soft expression that Ortis rarely saw.

"She's quite the personality. Unyielding. Serious about the welfare of the people." He looked at Ortis with something like wonder.

"How did a lazy bum like you find a woman like her?" Ortis's eye twitched.

"Excuse me? Who are you calling a lazy bum?" Alaric pointed at him. Alaric met his gaze evenly.

"I, Alaric Auro Dukker," he said calmly, pointing at him, "am calling Ortis Mellou a lazy bum." Silence. A beat. Then—"You—""Lazy."

"I am not—""Bum."

"Say that again—""Lazy. Bum."

"At least I don't bury myself in paperwork all day."

"At least I fulfill my responsibilities."

"I fulfill mine just fine."

"Lazing around is not fulfilling anything."

"Says the man getting played by the council." They glared at each other. For a brief moment where it felt like the room might erupt again. Then— It didn't. The tension dissolved into silence. Ortis groaned.

"Ah, now I'm annoyed." He stood up.

"I'll attend." Alaric blinked.

"What?"

"I said I'll attend." Ortis stretched lazily.

"Not to support you, my darling brother-in-law." Alaric made a disgusted face.

"Don't call me that." Ortis ignored him.

"I want to witness what childish schemes they've set up." He grinned.

"It might be entertaining." Alaric's expression softened—just slightly.

"Your presence alone will be enough to turn the tide." Ortis didn't respond. Because he wasn't listening anymore. He had already walked to the door.

"Hey, you there. Bring me snacks. Something sweet. And tea. None of that bitter swill the Lord drinks." The maid stammered.

"M-my lord—""Now, please." She hurried away.

"What are you doing?" Ortis glanced back at Alaric.

"What?"

"I thought you were leaving."

"Nah." He walked back in and dropped onto the sofa in the corner of the study.

"I'm just gonna chill here for a bit." Alaric's eye twitched.

"You better not be planning to look through my sensitive documents." Ortis waved a hand dismissively, already closing his eyes.

"I couldn't give a rat's ass about those scraps of paper." Alaric's brow twitched. Ortis sensed his displeasure and smirked faintly.

"I'm just getting comfortable."

"Comfortable?" Alaric asked.

"Very." The maid returned with a tray—tea, pastries, small cakes dusted with sugar. She set it on the side table with trembling hands and fled. Ortis reached for a pastry without opening his eyes.

"After all," he murmured, voice light, almost amused—"The show's about to begin."