A Web of Lies Begins (III)

Chapter 15: A Web of Lies Begins (II)

The Summoned Tricksters

The halls of House Umbrael were unnaturally quiet that morning.

Noctis had learned to read the silence in the air.

There was the ordinary quiet—the stillness of discipline, the kind demanded by a household ruled by a warlord. Then there was the other kind. The silence that preceded a storm. A tension in the walls, a sharpness in the servants' movements, the way even the guards at the entrance to his father's study stood just a fraction too stiffly.

That silence.

That was what awaited him now.

Noctis stood before the heavy double doors of Lord Umbrael's study, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. The summons had been brief, but the weight behind it had been unmistakable.

His father did not summon him for conversations.

Only judgment.

The guards did not speak as they pulled open the doors. Noctis stepped inside without hesitation.

The room was dark, despite the morning light spilling in through the tall, arched windows. Shadows stretched long across the polished floors, the scent of parchment, ink, and steel hanging heavy in the air.

Lord Umbrael sat behind his massive ebony desk, his silhouette cut sharp against the golden glow of the sun. A man built like a monument to war—broad-shouldered, his dark hair streaked with silver at the temples, his gaze as unforgiving as a blade at one's throat.

The doors shut behind Noctis with a deep, echoing thud.

His father's eyes never left him.

"Sit."

A simple command.

Noctis obeyed, sinking into the leather chair across from him with his usual unhurried grace.

For a long moment, his father simply stared at him.

Then—

CRACK.

The sound shattered the silence like a whip.

Noctis did not flinch as a heavy dagger embedded itself into the wood of his chair's armrest, just inches from his hand.

A lesser man would have recoiled.

A lesser man would have let the flicker of instinctive fear betray him.

Noctis merely let his gaze drop to the blade, then flicked it back up to his father's face with quiet amusement.

"Are we past pleasantries, then?"

Lord Umbrael's eyes were cold, sharp, deadly. "You think this is a game?"

Noctis leaned back slightly, fingers grazing the hilt of the dagger. "I think everything is a game. The question is whether you play or allow yourself to be played."

His father's lips pressed into a thin line. "Do not insult my intelligence."

Silence stretched between them.

Noctis did not speak. He knew better than to respond to accusations that had not yet been fully voiced.

A muscle in his father's jaw ticked.

"You have been moving pieces." His voice was measured, but beneath it, there was the unmistakable edge of danger. "I have been receiving reports, Noctis. Reports of rumors. Political shifts. Tension between houses that did not exist mere weeks ago."

Noctis remained silent.

His father's gaze sharpened. "And at the center of it all… is you."

A pause.

Then—

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

The words were sharp, venomous. They did not invite an answer. They demanded one.

Noctis met his father's fury with practiced ease. "Positioning our house where it should have been all along."

Silence.

Lord Umbrael's fingers curled into fists atop the desk. "You arrogant little shit," he muttered. "You think because you have a quick tongue and a few tricks, you can step into this world and manipulate men like Duvain?"

Noctis tilted his head slightly, his smile almost… mocking.

"I don't think, Father. I know."

The room stilled.

Then—

BOOM.

The desk shuddered as Lord Umbrael's fist slammed into its surface, the sheer force of it cracking the wood beneath his knuckles.

"You do not know what you are dealing with." His voice was low, seething. "You are a child playing with blades in the dark, unaware of what watches from the shadows."

Noctis's fingers traced the edge of the dagger still embedded in his chair.

"Am I?"

His father's eyes narrowed.

Noctis met his gaze, unflinching. "You built this house on strength. On blood and steel. But strength alone does not dictate the future. Influence does. And for all your power, House Umbrael has always been reactive—a sword wielded only after the strike has come."

A slow, deliberate pause.

"I have simply ensured that the blade is already at their throat before they even know a battle has begun."

Lord Umbrael's nostrils flared. He exhaled slowly, as if forcing down the storm within him.

Then, suddenly—his voice shifted.

Softer.

Darker.

"Tell me something, Noctis." He leaned forward slightly, his gaze boring into his son's. "Have you awakened?"

Noctis's breath slowed.

A calculated pause.

"I don't know what you mean."

A lie, smoothly delivered.

His father's stare did not waver.

"Do not insult me."

Noctis said nothing.

The silence stretched between them, thick as iron.

Lord Umbrael exhaled through his nose. "Your mother's blood runs in you, strong and undiluted." His voice was quieter now, edged with something dangerously unreadable. "Too strong to remain dormant forever."

Another pause.

"When it happens, you will come to me."

Not if.

When.

Noctis smiled faintly. "Of course."

Another lie.

His father watched him for a long moment, then exhaled sharply and leaned back, running a hand through his hair. The air in the room was still thick with tension, but some of the rage had settled into something… colder.

Finally, Lord Umbrael spoke.

"You will continue."

Noctis's eyes flickered with something satisfied, but his father wasn't finished.

"But know this, boy." His voice dropped lower, carrying the weight of absolute authority. "If you misstep—if your actions bring even the slightest weakness to this house—"

He leaned forward, his presence towering, suffocating.

"I will put you down myself."

A promise.

A warning.

A truth.

Noctis inclined his head, his expression betraying nothing. "Understood."

The weight of his father's stare lingered for a moment longer before he finally dismissed him with a flick of his fingers.

Noctis stood.

He turned towards the door, his movements as unhurried as they had been upon entering.

But just as he reached the threshold—

"Noctis."

His father's voice stopped him.

He glanced back over his shoulder.

Lord Umbrael's expression had not softened. His gaze was still that of a man who had seen war and death in equal measure. But there was something else beneath it now.

Something sharper.

Something that almost resembled… worry.

"Do not underestimate Lord Duvain."

Noctis let a slow, knowing smile curl at the edge of his lips.

"Of course not."

And with that, he stepped out, leaving the weight of his father's warning behind him.

Noctis returned to his chambers in silence, the weight of his father's words pressing against his spine like a blade just shy of breaking skin. The encounter had been expected—inevitable, really. But that did not mean it had not left a mark.

His father's warning had not been an empty threat.

And yet, he had not been stopped.

That, more than anything, told Noctis that he had won—for now.

The fire in the hearth flickered low, casting long, shifting shadows across the room. The scent of burning wood mixed with the crisp chill of the morning air, drifting in through the open balcony doors. And in that darkness, waiting like a phantom given form, was Sable.

She was perched on the windowsill, her black cloak blending into the night beyond, her sharp golden eyes fixed on him with quiet amusement.

"Well?" she murmured.

Noctis smirked. "We have permission."

Sable let out a breath of laughter, low and knowing. "How generous of him."

Noctis moved toward his desk, his fingers grazing the sealed letter that had arrived earlier that morning. The parchment was thick, the wax sigil unmistakable—the Duvain crest, dark as ink and just as treacherous.

An invitation.

A private meeting.

A dangerous move.

A necessary one.

He turned the envelope between his fingers, feeling the weight of the decision before him. Lord Duvain was not a man to summon others lightly. He was a hunter. A creature of patience and cruelty. If he had taken an interest in Noctis, it meant he had seen something worth catching.

Or something worth killing.

Sable watched him with quiet amusement. "Do you intend to go?"

Noctis exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "Of course."

She arched a brow. "You don't think it's a trap?"

He laughed, light and sharp. "Oh, it's absolutely a trap."

Sable's lips twitched. "And you're walking straight into it?"

Noctis smiled, but it wasn't warm. "I'm the one who set it."

A slow pause. The candlelight flickered between them, the only sound in the room the distant howl of wind against stone.

Sable studied him for a moment, then exhaled, shaking her head. "One day, your arrogance will get you killed."

Noctis merely turned the letter over in his hands. "Perhaps."

The web had been spun. The game had begun.

And now?

It was time to see who would be caught in it first.