Chapter 12 : The Bastard’s Intentions

The first rays of sunlight filtered through the rusty cracks, gently bathing my face. I slowly opened my eyes, adjusting them to the light. The contrast hit me immediately: there were no silk curtains or soft beds, only dirt and cold stone.

I clumsily stood up from that hard board, stretched my arms, and began to move my body slightly. Every muscle protested immediately, as if screaming how unaccustomed it was to the effort.

—Tch… A body this weak… it was a real problem.

Every part ached. I couldn't even move properly; my legs had already cramped.

—Pathetic… —I muttered, trying to shake off the numbness.

I forced myself to stand again. It didn't matter how uncomfortable or painful it was—I had no intention of ever being powerless again.

—Chikkkk...

Then a harsh squeak interrupted my thoughts; the cell door had opened. A beam of light illuminated the figure standing there: an elderly man with perfectly combed hair, thin glasses, and an impeccable dark suit that clashed completely with the filth of the place.

His face was a mask of iron, firm and without emotion, though his gaze—deep, calculating—pierced sharply into me.

—Young master —he said with a bow so slight it was almost imperceptible.

It took me a moment to place him. Then memory returned with clarity: Sebastián, the head steward of the house and the marquis' right hand.

—About time you showed up —I said as I stepped out of the cell, brushing the dust from my clothes with a slow, almost disdainful gesture.

(...)

Sebastián remained silent, though I noticed a faint tightening along his jaw.

—What is it? If you have something to say, then just say it —I continued, raising an eyebrow with cold impatience.

The old butler inclined his head another fraction, as though suppressing a sigh.

—Forgive my boldness then, young master, but… how did you know I would come for you?

I let out a brief humorless laugh, more a sigh laced with contempt.

—Isn't it obvious? —my eyes locked onto his, unflinching—. That woman may have acted out of anger, but she isn't a fool. She knows how to weigh consequences. And though she might wish me dead… at the end of the day, whether she likes it or not… I am still an heir to this house.

I tilted my neck slightly, stretching to ease the tension, before continuing with a faint, crooked smile.

—So she relegated me to this small "punishment," one the marquis would have no grounds to dispute. A clever move, really.

Sebastián studied me for a few seconds, as if gauging my expression, then composed himself again.

—Well… that is not the only reason I came to fetch you. The marquis wishes to see you at once.

***

After bathing and scrubbing off the filth I carried with me, I dressed in clean clothes. The feel of linen against my skin was a luxury after spending the night in that place.

Sebastián led me with sure steps through the corridors until we stopped before an imposing double door, adorned with intricate carvings. He knocked lightly.

"Knock knock…"

—Enter —came a deep voice from within.

Upon stepping inside, Sebastián gave a slight bow, while I kept my head high, without the faintest sign of hesitation. I offered only a minimal formal gesture—just enough not to appear rude.

—Greetings, Father.

The marquis looked up from his desk, piled high with papers. His eyes—so very much like mine—settled on me as though assessing me, the gaze of someone who measured a person's worth by their utility.

—Daven, how have you been?

—Better than ever —I replied, giving little weight to the question. We both knew it was nothing more than empty formalities.

He regarded me in silence for a few seconds, as though weighing my words, then gave a short nod.

—That will be all for now, Sebastián. Leave us.

—As you wish, my lord. —Sebastián gave a deep bow before withdrawing, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

The air in the room felt thick, nearly stifling. The marquis laced his fingers together on the desk and fixed me with a serious look.

—Daven, you know well how things work in this kingdom —he began, his voice low, almost rasping—. You will soon be sixteen. And the laws of the empire are clear: you must choose between serving in the army or attending the imperial academy.

He leaned back slightly in his chair, his red eyes never leaving mine, and the chill in his gaze cut right through me.

—There is only one slot left for this family —he continued, without a hint of softness—. And in this house, we do not settle matters with petty preferences or sentiment.

His voice hardened, colder than ever.

—It will be decided as our tradition dictates: by a duel. The loser will be left with nothing. The winner takes it all.

"A smile crossed my lips. 'So that's why you came to my room, dear brother. How interesting."