4.

Marcel's amused smile fades as he stares from the small alcove he'd hidden himself in, fixated on the dark red staining his brother's cuffs.

Before he realises it, he's leaning over August's desk to examine the fabric more thoroughly, the edge digging into his waist. He furrows his eyebrows at the slightly lingering scent of drying blood and... something unpleasant.

Marcel tilts his head slightly, biting his bottom lip briefly before sighing and rounding the desk.

Glancing down, his heart skips a beat as dread settles in. Blood also flecks August's breeches.

Marcel inhales deeply and quietly exits the study. He almost trips over Caius' leg, too preoccupied with his thoughts of August's schedule. He recovers himself with a huff, lowering his arms from his floundering. Tension leaves his shoulders as he appraises Caius' body. Marcel tilts his to the side and then stomps on the man's chubby fingers.

"Deadbeat layabout," the teen mutters, hazel eyes narrowing with a scowl. He pauses thoughtfully and stares down the hallway. He doesn't hear any footsteps or voices. Stepping over his cousin's body, Marcel stomps harder on his other hand. He feels a crack and swallows at the quiet sound, exhilarated; he hates how the idiot dismisses his brother, having to remain silent under their cousin's heckling.

Lifting his foot, Marcel takes a moment as the liberating feeling fades. He stares at Caius' swelling fingers, and strides down the corridors to the west wing, where Thaddeus should be waiting.

Inhaling deeply, Marcel returns his focus to August. His brother, the heir apparent of Va'en, secretly spearheading the near-riots parading throughout the capital with anonymous letters? No wonder his brother is so ragged, trying to shepherd them to their ideal targets. Marcel closes the door to a guest's bed chambers, finding the lanky man turning away from the window under the warm candlelight.

"How do you think is best father should retire? Under a stampede of peasants or a fire?"

***

Thaddeus is hastily swallowing his last mouthful of seeded bread, which he desperately badgered from a lingering cook shortly after his discussion with Marcel. He'd been waylaid on his way to the kitchens, and hurries up the stairs. He pushes his spectacles back up his nose when he hears a chilling groan.

Stopping to strain his ears, he hears nothing.

Thaddeus quietly steps up to the landing and when he hears it again. Tilting his head, his spectacles glare from the chandelier, but he hears a faint thump followed by a grunt.

Carefully, he steps into the corridor to his left, the runes etched into the frame of the cold mirror warm as they brush his shoulders.

There's nothing ahead, but Thaddeus is propelled to seize the vase across him once he realises it's from the gallery. Hiding behind a tall cabinet, he hefts the heavy ornament above his shoulder, his heart thudding faster after each further thump.

He feels the person lean against the cabinet he's hiding behind, their ragged breathing, the creak of the wood tilting back into the wall.

A piercing shriek startles him, and Thaddeus swings his arms. He stares blankly as he registers the body bleeding out by his feet, the remains of a prized vase that loudly shattered across the floor and Caius' head.

Heart racing, Thaddeus hurriedly tries to lug the noble by his feet; he was still a valued ward of the archduke's younger sister.

Pieces of the vase screech against the floor, and he lets go. Rubbing his wrists through the leather of his gloves, Thaddeus glances up and freezes at the errant worker staring up at him. He hasn't seen her before, but he's rarely in this part of the castle anymore since his duties have increased.

"You certainly know how to pick your target," the brunette huffs casually, eyebrows furrowing as she inspects Caius' body. 

"You're complaining?" Thaddeus cocks his head sharply, his trembling arms neutralising his reproach.

"I overheard the young master threatening to feed his corpse to the rats in the slums," the woman says pointedly and observes Thaddeus' calculating expression, growing excited.

The staff make a point to avoid Caius whenever possible for good reason lest they lose their dignity or seek imprisonment.

"Then we must make haste," Thaddeus declares eagerly, flush with exhilaration. He hopes the next body to be discarded will be His Grace's; August would benefit from inheriting the title and estate quicker.