Chapter 350: React with agitation

"Whoever killed my witness will pay with their life," August pronounced, adjusting his cuffs with cold precision as he stepped into the room. "If the nobles wish to rebel, let them. I do not care."

"Your Highness, are you truly serious?" Louis stared at him in utter disbelief. "You cannot possibly handle a matter of state with such recklessness! Appease them first, I beg of you. You have no conception of the lengths these nobles will go to protect themselves. Damian has spent months painstakingly building a case against them, moving in secret. You rushed in and ruined it. Now, the true mastermind will retreat deeper into the shadows!"

"The local inspector is directly responsible for Flynn’s death, along with every incompetent fool in that station," August muttered, his eyes dark with fury. "Fuck it all! There is not a single thing worthy of praise in this entire wretched province of Varos."

"Then let the inspector take the brunt of the investigation while Your Highness clear your name before the public," Louis urged, refusing to yield. "Your Highness cannot afford to let anger dictate your strategy when the entire court is waiting for you to stumble."

"I am not hiding from a herd of terrified aristocrats," August replied coldly, pulling his leather gloves on with a sharp tug. "If they wish to parade through the streets with banners bearing my name, I shall go out there and give them an audience."

He dashed out of the chamber while Louis and Samir ran after him.

"Your Highness, you need to calm down," Louis urged, keeping pace with his rapid strides. "Please control your tongue this time. I am sure we will find the culprit together soon."

August ignored him entirely, pushing past the grand main doors and stepping out of the mansion, only to freeze on the marble steps as Sylvian stepped out of an arriving carriage.

Both Louis and Samir immediately bowed to the grand prince.

"August, what on earth did you do?" Sylvian asked, his tone laced with concern. "I passed nobles filling the streets, raising banners in protest against your actions."

"I did nothing wrong," August stated coldly. "I merely apprehended one of the nobles who was leeching wealth through illicit distribution."

Sylvian turned a questioning gaze toward Louis, seeking a clear account. Louis quickly stepped forward and detailed the night’s events—the sudden raid, Flynn Mercer’s unexpected death by poison in custody, and the rising anger of the merchant nobility now demanding the prince’s answer.

Sylvian simply stared at August, not uttering a word because he knew August would only get agitated.

"What’s the plan now?" asked Sylvian.

Louis glanced at the prince before speaking, "Your Highness, our priority must be damage control. The nobles are using the lack of formal charges and Flynn Mercer’s sudden death to paint Prince August as a tyrant acting above the law. If we do not address them directly and diplomatically, this outrage will reach the King’s desk before nightfall."

"I have no intention of bowing to corrupt snakes," August cut in coldly again.

"You do not have to bow to them, August," Sylvian said softly.

"Your Highness, you need to release the deputy manager," Louis advised, his voice urgent. "That is the only way to defuse the outrage in the streets. While the crowd is pacified, I will take over the Mercer estate and initiate a formal investigation. I suppose Flynn had a extensive network behind him."

"Network?" August chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "He had trained assassins planted in his own grand hall. Last night, he was a hair’s breadth away from giving the signal to murder me."

Sylvian’s calm facade shattered, his eyes widening in immediate concern. "What? Did you go there to arrest him all by yourself?"

"I had a pistol and my royal token. That was more than enough," August replied flatly.

"It was reckless!" Sylvian snapped. "You risked your life entering a high-ranking noble’s estate without all by yourself! Had those assassins acted, you would have been buried in his garden, and no one would have known until it was far too late!"

"I won’t die so easily," August remarked with a chuckle.

"Don’t be so overconfident," Sylvian warned. "Have you forgotten how delicate Father’s standing with the capital nobility has become? You need to act with composure. You cannot react with agitation every time you are challenged. I know how much you despise taking advice from me, but this isn’t solely about you anymore. Consider the position this places the Duke of Varos in."

August’s harsh expression softened slightly, a flicker of restraint passing through his eyes at the mention of the Duke.

"The Duke has spent years treading carefully around these factions," Sylvian continued, sensing his brother’s hesitation. "If you ignite a war with the merchant lords on his territory, it is his standing and authority that will bleed first."

August exhaled heavily, turning his gaze toward the estate gates. "Fine. Release the deputy manager on bail," he muttered, though his jaw remained tightly clenched. "But I am not offering them an apology."

"No one is asking you to apologize, Your Highness," Louis chimed in. "I’ll take the charge from here. Prince August, you only need to address the nobles, so that they leave the streets."

August nodded his head. "Let’s go then."

~~~~~

Eilika held up the piece of knitted wool against the sunlight streaming through the window, trying to picture Roman’s broad shoulders and frame. She ran her fingers down the length of the torso, counting the rows to gauge how much further she needed to work before beginning the sleeve armholes. Measuring the width against her hands, she let out a quiet sigh.

"It is still several inches too short to fit him properly."

A gentle knock echoed at the doorway, breaking her concentration.

"Your Grace, a messenger has just arrived with a sealed letter from your mother," a servant announced, bowing low near the threshold.

Eilika furrowed her brows, a wave of unease settling over her as she wondered why her stepmother would send a message for from Varos.

"Bring it in," she ordered, setting the wooden needles down carefully on the mattress beside her unfinished work.

The servant stepped into the room, offered a low bow, and extended the heavy paper envelope. Eilika took it, and with a nod of dismissal, watched the maid step back into the corridor and draw the wooden door shut.

Breaking the red wax seal, Eilika drew out the parchment and unfolded it. Her eyes scanned the tight, elegant script, widening in sudden distress as the true nature of the letter became clear. It spoke of her father’s illness.

"He is sick," she murmured to the empty room, her voice trembling as tears immediately brimmed in her eyes. "And the disease is unknown."

"What should I do now? The medicines are no longer working on him. I knew something was wrong when I saw him last," Eilika mumbled to herself, her breath catching in her throat.

Her distress mounted with every passing second. Clasping the letter tightly in her hands, she began pacing the length of the chamber, her eyes constantly darting toward the doors as she prayed for Damian’s early return.

Hours slipped by, yet the corridor outside remained quiet. Unlike his usual routine, the Damian arrived rather late.

"Eilika, why didn’t you take your lunch?" Damian asked, his voice filled with immediate concern the moment he pushed open the grand doors and stepped into the room. "I heard from the servants downstairs that you refused your meals entirely," Damian said, striding across the room toward her.

"My father is gravely ill. No medicine is having any effect on him. I received a message from my stepmother," Eilika replied without delay, stepping forward to hand him the open parchment.

Damian took the letter, his dark eyes scanning the hasty lines. After a brief silence, he looked up.

"I will make immediate arrangements to send you to Varos," Damian stated firmly. "I will see you off where the Northern Region’s border ends, and Maurice will escort you the rest of the way to the estate as quickly as possible."

"But your responsibilities here and—" Eilika began, her voice fraught with worry.

"I will inform the Dukes to pause our proceedings for a day," Damian replied, cutting short her hesitation.

"Thank you," Eilika whispered. "The last time I saw him, he looked so terribly thin. He was always so harsh with me, but this time, he wasn’t." Tears finally overflowed, rolling down her cheeks as she tried to brush them away with her thumbs.

Damian moved closer and pulled her into his arms, holding her firmly against his chest. "Nothing will happen to your father," he said, gently stroking her hair as she wept. "I will send an urgent dispatch to the imperial palace to summon the court’s best physician for his care. He will be fine, Eilika. Don’t cry. Please. Your father will make it." His thumbs moved under her eyes as he brushed away those tears.