Derek laughed again, a hollow sound that hid the rage burning in his gut.
Liam didn’t laugh. He swirled the wine in his glass, watching the red liquid vortex.
"The Duke truly enjoys his pleasures," Liam noted. His voice dropped, becoming lower, more dangerous. "He seems... not concerned."
The room seed to get colder. The harp music continued, sweet and light, but the atmosphere at the table was deadly.
"Not concerned," Liam continued, "about the Thompson Army’s annihilation at Strathmore."
Derek’s heart slamd against his ribs.
Strathmore. The na of the place where his brother died. The place where his family’s legacy was butchered.
He felt a scream rising in his throat. He wanted to leap across the table and wrap his hands around Liam’s neck. He wanted to demand the truth.
But he couldn’t. Not yet.
He forced his muscles to stay relaxed. He forced his face to remain slack and open.
Liam was watching him like a hawk, waiting for a flinch, a tightening of the jaw, a flash of soldier’s anger.
"Or," Liam added, delivering the final blow, "General Theodore’s death."
Derek lowered his wine glass slowly. He let his smile fade. He didn’t look angry. He looked... sad. He looked like a man who was weak and defeated by grief, not fueled by it.
He sighed, a long, heavy exhale. He looked down at the table.
"Your Highness," Derek said, his voice quiet and pathetic. "Why ntion this now? You know how it hurts my grandmother, how it hurts my family when we rember how my brother died for the kingdom."
He looked up at Liam, his eyes wide and watery.
"Do you intend to warn the Thompson family?" Derek asked. "Are you telling I should go to war? I am not my brother, Liam. Theodore was the hero. Theodore was the strong one. I am... I am just Derek."
He slumped in his chair.
"Theodore is gone," Derek whispered. "The army is gone. Dwelling on it only brings pain. I prefer to forget. I prefer to live."
It was a performance of cowardice. It was the hardest thing Derek had ever done. To deny his brother’s vengeance to the face of his murderer.
Liam studied him. He searched Derek’s face for the lie.
He saw the sadness. He saw the resignation. He saw a man who had broken under the weight of his family’s tragedy and chosen the easy path of escape.
Liam smiled. It was a cold, satisfied smile.
"Good," Liam thought. "He is broken. He is useless."
Liam leaned back in his chair. The tension in his body released.
"Rest assured, Derek," Liam said, his voice mocking in its kindness. "I will preserve your carefree lifestyle. I will handle the heavy burdens of the kingdom. You just... enjoy your wine."
It was a dismissal. It was a promise that as long as Derek remained a fool, as long as he didn’t seek for answers or fight for the throne, he would be allowed to live.
Derek’s face lit up. He put the bright, happy smile back on instantly.
"Really?" Derek asked. "That is a relief!"
He brought out his wine glass clumsily, nearly tipping it over.
"Thank you, Your Highness," Derek bead. "You are a benevolent future King."
He proceeded to clink his glass against Liam’s for a toast.
Clink.
The sound was sharp.
"To pleasure," Derek said.
"To peace," Liam replied, drinking his wine.
Derek drank. As he tilted his head back, his eyes remained open for a split second, staring at the ceiling. The look in them was terrifying. It was a promise of death. But by the ti he lowered the glass, the look was gone.
They sat in silence for a mont, listening to the harp.
Suddenly, a noise erupted from below.
It wasn’t the music of the establishnt. It was a shout. A disturbance.
The private room they were in was on the second floor, overlooking the main hall and the entrance to the establishnt. The windows were open to let in the breeze.
"What are you doing?" a male voice bood from below. It was loud, aggressive, and slurred.
Liam frowned. He hated disturbances.
Derek looked curious. "More excitent?"
Another voice shouted, a woman’s voice, but it was cut off.
"Can’t I touch you?" the male voice roared again. "I have money! I am a noble!"
Derek stood up. He wobbled slightly, keeping up the act.
"Sounds like a fight," Derek said, grinning. "I love a good fight. Shall we look?"
He didn’t wait for Liam’s permission. He walked to the balcony and looked down.
Liam, annoyed but curious, stood up and followed him.
Below them, in the main hall, a scene was unfolding.
A large, burly man, dressed in fine but disheveled clothes, had grabbed a woman by the arm. The woman was wearing a simpler dancing attire, she looked terrified.
The man was pulling her, trying to drag her.
"Let go!" the woman cried out.
"Stop playing hard to get!" the man shouted. "You bumped into ! Now you pay the price!"
Derek leaned over the railing. He squinted.
"That man," Derek said, pointing. "Isn’t that Lord Baron? The one who lost his fortune last month?"
Liam looked. He didn’t care about the man. He looked at the woman.
The woman struggled.
Another woman interfered, " What do you think this place is? A pleasure house?" She shouted angrily.
It was Marissa.
Lord Baron smirked " You look more beautiful than her. You will do." He let go of the dancer and grabbed Marissa who struggled at his grip.
Derek’s hands gripped the window sill. The wood creaked under his pressure.
His "drunk" facade threatened to crack. That was his wife. That was Marissa.
He felt a surge of pure, protective rage. He wanted to jump from the balcony and crush the man.
But he couldn’t. Not with Liam standing right next to him. If he showed his skills, if he showed his speed and strength now, after pretending to be a useless fop, Liam would know everything.
He had to stay in character. He had to be the coward.
Derek turned to Liam. He put a hand over his mouth, feigning shock.
"Oh no," Derek said, his voice high and useless. "That... that is my wife! That is the Duchess!"
He looked at Liam, his eyes wide and helpless.
"Your Highness," Derek pleaded, wringing his hands. "Soone is harassing my wife! What should I do? The guards... where are the guards?"
He looked down again, shouting uselessly. "Hey! Stop that! That is my wife!"
He didn’t move to help her. He stood there, acting paralyzed by indecision and fear.
Liam looked at Derek with utter contempt.
"He sees his wife being attacked," Liam thought, "and he stands here whining? He truly is pathetic."
Liam looked down at the hall. He saw Marissa.
Marissa didn’t look terrified. She looked annoyed.
Lord Baron pulled her closer. "Give a kiss, darling!"
She raised her right hand. She held her black lacquer fan. It was closed. It was a hard, solid stick of wood and tal.
With a smooth motion, she swung the fan.
CRACK.
She brought the fan down hard on Lord Baron’s wrist.
The man howled in pain and let go of her arm.
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