Chapter 257: Gag?!

He processed her words.

He looked at her serious, pitch-black eyes. He realized exactly, precisely what she was asking him to do.

The Supreme Archmage of the East threw his head back and let out a roar of laughter so loud it rattled the frosted glass of the study windows.

He laughed until tears pricked the corners of his eyes, slapping his hand against the oak desk in overwhelming disbelief.

"You..." Roan wheezed, pointing a trembling finger at her. "You want me to stage a scandalous, ambiguous, homoerotic theatrical performance with the Archduke of the North to convince his homophobic, traditionalist Uncle that Kaelus is unavailable to women?"

"Yes," Seraphina nodded firmly. "And I need it to be convincing. I need you to be dramatic. I need you to make it sound incredibly explicit without actually saying anything that Papa would recognize as a romance."

"Oh, my sweet, terrifying, brilliant little demon," Roan breathed, wiping a tear from his eye. "It is the most magnificent, socially devastating plan I have ever heard in my decades of existence."

Roan leaned across the desk, his eyes practically glowing with a villainous electricity.

"But Kaelus is... dense," Roan noted accurately. "He possesses the emotional intelligence of a frozen brick. If I walk in and flirt with him, he will assume I am challenging him to a duel and will likely decapitate me on the spot."

"That’s the beauty of it," Seraphina smirked, leaning in. "We don’t tell him. We use his density against him. You go in there to report on the Obsidian Network’s nighttime operations. He thinks you are talking about stealth missions, midnight espionage, and heavy lifting. You use vocabulary that describes an intelligence drop, but sounds like... something else."

Roan’s jaw dropped.

He stared at her, absolute reverence washing over his features.

"The double-entendre ambush," Roan whispered. "It is a suicide mission. It is a masterpiece."

"Will you do it?" Seraphina pushed the plate of cookies an inch closer.

Roan picked up another burnt cookie.

He took a big bite, chewed, and swallowed.

"Sovereign," Roan grinned, standing up and unbuttoning the top three buttons of his crisp, charcoal-gray dress shirt, exposing a highly scandalous, deeply inappropriate expanse of pale, muscular collarbone. "I am a patron of the dramatic arts. I was born for this role."

Roan reached up, running his hands through his flawlessly slicked-back raven hair, violently messing it up.

He pulled a few strands loose, letting them fall across his eyes, making himself look thoroughly disheveled, exhausted, and incredibly rumpled.

He looked like a man who had just spent the entire night engaged in activities that were decidedly not academic.

"What time does the walrus arrive?" Roan asked, his voice already dropping into a low, husky, incredibly suggestive register.

"Three o’clock," Seraphina checked the grandfather clock in the corner. "He brings Caspian and Elara for their daily harassment session. Papa usually leaves the door cracked open to listen for my footsteps."

"Perfect," Roan smirked, picking up his clipboard of intelligence reports. "Get to your observation post, Boss. The show is about to begin."

***

At exactly two fifty-five in the afternoon, Duke Kaelus von Nacht was sitting behind his ruined mahogany desk in the primary study.

He was incredibly irritated.

He knew Count Valerius was scheduled to arrive at three.

The Archduke was currently aggressively sharpening a mythril letter opener, actively fantasizing about using it to sever his Uncle’s vocal cords.

The heavy oak doors of the study were cracked open by exactly two inches, a strict, non-negotiable security protocol Kaelus maintained so he could instantly detect if Seraphina needed him in the hallway.

At two fifty-eight, the door was pushed open.

Kaelus looked up, fully prepared to unleash a wave of freezing dark mana upon his Uncle.

But it wasn’t the Count.

It was Professor Roan.

The Archduke’s eyes immediately narrowed.

Kaelus still actively despised the tutor. He despised his handsome face, he despised his smooth voice, and he primarily despised the fact that Seraphina liked that guy, even gave him her personally hand baked cookies.

But as Kaelus looked at Roan, the Archduke’s mind paused.

The tutor looked... very messy.

His usually immaculate charcoal suit jacket was slung carelessly over his shoulder. His tie was completely undone, hanging loosely around his neck.

His crisp white shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, the fabric wrinkled and clinging to his skin. His raven hair was a chaotic, messy bird’s nest, and he was panting slightly, leaning heavily against the doorframe as if his legs could barely support him.

"What is the meaning of this intrusion, Proffessor Charte?" Kaelus growled, his voice a low, hostile rumble. "And why do you look as though you were dragged backward through a hedge?"

Roan didn’t stand up straight.

He allowed his head to loll back against the doorframe, letting out a long, heavy, incredibly dramatic, breathy sigh.

"Your Grace," Roan groaned, his voice thick, husky, and dripping with an utterly shameless, agonizing exhaustion. He closed his pitch-black eyes, running a pale hand down his face. "I must protest. My body is completely broken. I am aching in places I didn’t even know existed."

Kaelus frowned. His military brain instantly analyzed the complaint.

’He is reporting on the midnight espionage operations for the Obsidian Network,’ Kaelus translated flawlessly oblivious. ’He was scaling walls, carrying heavy crates of blackmail material, and evading the Capital guard. The academic is soft. His physical stamina is pathetic.’

"You are soft, Roan," Kaelus sneered, leaning back in his leather chair, crossing his arms over his broad chest. His tone was dripping with cold, martial condescension. "If you cannot handle the stamina required for a few hours in the dark, you are completely useless to me. I explicitly warned you when you took this position that my demands were severe. I do not hold back."

Out in the hallway, footsteps approached.

Count Valerius, flanked by Caspian and Elara, was marching down the blueberry carpet toward the study.

They were roughly twenty feet away when the low, resonant, carrying voices from inside the cracked door reached their ears.

Count Valerius stopped mid-stride. His beady eyes widened. Caspian and Elara paused behind him, exchanging a look of profound confusion.

Inside the study, Roan heard the footsteps halt. The audience had arrived. It was time to deliver the Oscar.

"A few hours in the dark?" Roan gasped, stepping fully into the room, leaning his hands heavily on Kaelus’s cracked mahogany desk. He looked down at the seated Archduke, his chest heaving, his voice dropping into a desperate, scandalous whisper that perfectly carried to the hallway. "Your grace, Duke Nacht... it was all night. You kept me up until dawn. The relentless physical exertion... the sweat... I can barely walk straight this morning."

In the hallway, Elara let out a tiny, high-pitched, strangled squeak. Her hands flew up to cover her mouth, her emerald eyes expanding to the size of dinner plates.

"I pay you for your physical endurance and your discretion, Professor," Kaelus snapped, completely annoyed by the whining, and completely unaware of the horrifying context. "You knew the position required intense, nocturnal activity. You are executing my private affairs behind closed doors. If you are going to stand there and whimper about being sore, I will simply gag you."

’Gag me?!’ Roan’s internal monologue shrieked with a chaotic delight. ’He actually said gag you! The man is a comedic genius! He is handing me the dialogue on a silver platter!’

"You are incredibly rough, Your Grace," Roan panted, leaning closer over the desk, his voice a sultry, exhausted purr. "But I suppose... I suppose I can endure the pain, if it satisfies your... deep, insatiable demands. Just... please. Be gentler with me tonight. The positions you forced me into last night nearly snapped my spine."

Kaelus rolled his violet eyes, letting out a heavy, irritated sigh.

’He is complaining about hiding in the ventilation shafts,’ Kaelus deduced, rubbing his temples, exhausted by the scholar’s fragility.

"I will not be gentler," Kaelus stated flatly, his voice echoing with absolute, uncompromising, terrifying dominance. "The positions are necessary to avoid detection. You will bend exactly the way I instruct you to bend, Roan, or I will break you in half and find someone more flexible. Now button up your shirt, you look ridiculous. You are dripping sweat on my ledgers."

***

In the hallway, the psychological devastation was absolute and total.