Chapter 23 - The Game Begins

23 - The Game Begins

The warmth inside Lucien's estate was a stark contrast to the winter chill outside. A fire crackled in the grand stone hearth, casting flickering shadows across the dark wood-paneled walls.

Lucien let out a satisfied sigh as he stretched his arms, basking in the comforting heat. "I must say, brother, this heating contraption of yours is absolutely fantastic," he declared, with no shame in his voice. "I knew that this idea of yours would work."

Aldric chuckled, removing his gloves and shaking off the lingering snow from his coat. "There's plenty more where that came from, if you're willing to venture on this journey with me."

Lucien laughed heartily, pouring himself a glass of wine. "Brother, is it wrong that I think the best thing to ever happen to you was getting poisoned?"

He took a sip before continuing, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Should we not first track down whoever did it and thank them? Maybe even ask them what poison they used? I wouldn't mind getting my hands on a little of that action myself."

He leaned in slightly, grinning. "The change in you is drastic. Fascinating, even. Sometimes I wonder—am I still speaking to my loathsome, alcoholic, no-good brother? Or did the poison truly kill him, and now some poor, unfortunate soul with unheard-of knowledge has taken his place?"

Aldric's smirk faltered for just a fraction of a second. His brother had always been sharp, but this? This was eerily close to the truth. He quickly masked his hesitation with a light chuckle. "Brother, you jest, but to me… the coma I was in may have only lasted seven days to you. To me, it felt like seven centuries." His expression darkened slightly. "No man would remain unchanged after that."

Lucien, oblivious to how dangerously close he was to the truth, merely grinned and raised his glass. "Well then, here's to seven centuries' worth of wisdom. May it continue to benefit me as well."

Aldric shook his head in amusement, but then his expression hardened. They had business to discuss.

Meanwhile, In the Shadows

The night was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of the wind through the trees. A lone messenger hurried through the empty streets, a small carrier bird perched on his gloved hand. As he fastened a tiny scroll to its leg and released it into the air, the bird flapped its wings, swiftly vanishing into the dark sky.

It never made it far.

A silent blur streaked through the night, and in an instant, a gloved hand snatched the bird mid-flight once again. The creature gave a brief, startled flutter before it was expertly stilled, its message retrieved.

A figure, clad in a white cloak, landed softly on the rooftop. Without a word, he unfurled the tiny parchment and scanned the contents. A second figure appeared beside him, emerging from the shadows like a specter.

"Nothing to note," the first murmured, slipping the paper back into his legs of the carrier and setting it free.

The second figure nodded. "We switch rotations from here. Three groups—one keeps watch from the shadows, another infiltrates the manor, and the third rests before their turn."

From the surrounding rooftops and alleyways, six figures shifted into motion. Four disappeared into the darkness, retreating to warmth and shelter, while two remained behind, their gazes fixed on Lucien's estate.

The leader of the group exhaled softly, then turned on his heel and disappeared into the night. His destination—Lord Alaric.

Inside a dimly lit study, Alaric sat behind his desk, fingers steepled in thought as he listened to the report.

"We've intercepted Cedric's messengers," the white-cloaked figure stated. "His men remain stationed nearby, but they've yet to act."

Alaric's expression darkened. He had considered eliminating Cedric's spies, but their sudden disappearance would only make the lord more suspicious. No—removing them now would be too obvious.

As he pondered his next move, another thought surfaced.

The spies from Esmoran… they are here as well.

A slow smirk crept onto Alaric's lips. So Cedric wasn't the only one interested in my son's movements.

His mind raced through the possibilities, weighing the risks and rewards. Then, suddenly, an idea took shape—a strategy so simple, yet effective.

Alaric leaned back, exhaling through his nose. "Let him play his little game," he murmured. "And let's show him how it's really done."

For the first time in years, a familiar spark ignited in his chest. It had been far too long since he had played the game of strategy in earnest.

And this time, it would be his move.