Chapter 375: A Few Horrible Scenarios

The morning sun barely made a dent in the thick grey smog smothering the capital. What little light actually managed to break through was cold and washed-out, slanting across the Valtrane estate’s stone driveway like a dull, unwelcome glare.

Near the open carriage door, Reiner and Ezek stood in crisp formation, bowing their heads respectfully as Zarius and Cherion descended the grand entrance steps.

"Have a safe journey, Your Grace, Lord Cherion," Reiner offered, his voice low and steady.

Cherion paused by the carriage door, flashing a warm smile at Reiner and Ezek in thanks before turning to survey the quiet courtyard. He did a slow, full 360-degree look around, hunting for a very specific face, but didn’t find the person he was actually looking for.

"Where’s Marielle?" Cherion asked, turning toward Elios, who was casually leaning against the side of the carriage, adjusting his sword. "I thought she’d be down for breakfast by now."

Elios let out a lazy, amused huff, tapping his fingers against his hip sword. "Oh, she’s completely unconscious. Slept right through the third morning bell like a rock. Just let her lie, Lord Cherion. Waking Marielle up when she’s dealing with that kind of catastrophic headache is a fast track to execution. Let her sleep off the alcohol in peace before she decides to kill us all."

Flio walked up behind them, carrying a small leather notebook tucked under his arm. He gave Elios a sharp, knowing look. "You actually ended up drinking with her last night, didn’t you?"

"I did," Elios replied with a broad, unbothered grin. "What, Flio? Regret not joining us?"

Flio let out a long, dry exhale, stepping past him toward the carriage door. "Hardly. I lack your terrifying, monster-like alcohol tolerance. Unlike some people, I prefer my head intact for morning duty."

Zarius stepped up, his broad shoulders easily drawing the attention of the entire group. His expression was cool, though there was a subtle, dangerous edge in his eyes that signaled his patience was already thin.

"Fine," Zarius commanded softly, his voice cutting through the morning chatter. "Let’s depart."

They boarded the carriage, the heavy wheels beginning to churn against the cobblestones as the team of horses pulled them out through the estate’s heavy iron gates.

Inside the cabin, the atmosphere was thick and quiet. Cherion sat across from Zarius, his chin resting lightly in his palm as he stared intently out the small, curtained window. His eyes tracked the passing townhouses, his mind clearly racing at a hundred miles an hour.

Zarius reached out, his long fingers gently tapping Cherion’s knee.

"Give your brain a rest," Zarius said quietly, his voice dropping into a low, rumbling hum meant for Cherion’s ears alone.

Cherion pulled his gaze away from the glass, sighing softly as he met Zarius’s eyes. "I can’t just turn it off, Zarius. Anticipating every possible disaster is literally my job."

"Yes, but you’ve been doing it all night," Zarius countered, a slight, exasperated twitch touching the corner of his lips. "You barely slept."

Cherion threw his hands up in a small, helpless gesture. "How could I sleep? King Alderon doesn’t just pull a Northern Duke out of bed for a private morning audience unless something massive is happening."

Zarius leaned back against the padded velvet seat, crossing his heavy arms over his chest. Truthfully, he was just as irritated by the summons, though for an entirely different reason. His rut was still lingering beneath his skin, a dull, hot pull in his veins that made his instincts roar to turn the carriage around, lock Cherion inside their quarters, and ignore the entire kingdom.

"Whatever it is," Zarius grunted, his eyes darkening as he held Cherion’s gaze, "it’s serious enough for him to disrupt my morning. And frankly, I’d much rather be back at the estate with you."

Cherion’s face warmed slightly at the blunt honesty, but before he could reply, the carriage gave a heavy lurch, coming to a smooth halt in the royal palace’s inner courtyard.

The carriage door opened, revealing a high-ranking royal aide waiting on the mounting block with a polite, stiff bow.

"Your Grace," the aide greeted smoothly. "His Majesty is expecting you in his private study. Please, follow me." The aide then turned slightly toward Cherion, Flio, and Elios, offering a formal nod. "The rest of the Duke’s retinue is invited to rest in the south salon or stroll through the glass gardens. Servants have been instructed to cater to your every request."

Zarius stepped down first, turning to offer Cherion a hand. As Cherion stepped onto the stone pavement, Zarius leaned in slightly, his eyes sweeping over Elios and Flio with absolute authority.

"Take care of Cherion," Zarius ordered in a low, firm voice. "Keep your eyes open."

"Understood, Your Grace," Flio replied instantly, while Elios gave a sharp, confident nod.

Watching Zarius vanish down the long stone corridor with the King’s aide, Cherion turned back to Elios and Flio. He let out a long breath, crossing his arms over his cloak.

"Alright," Cherion said, his eyes gleaming with intense, analytical energy. "Let’s list the possibilities. Scenario one: the King is demanding a secondary border contract. Scenario two: he wants to use the Valtrane army to pressure the Solaric delegation."

Elios instantly perked up, stepping up right beside Cherion with a completely deadpan, utterly serious expression. "Scenario three, Lord Cherion: King Alderon is secretly broke and wants to borrow a massive loan from the Northern treasury."

Cherion snapped his fingers, nodding in dead-serious agreement. "Plausible! Or scenario four: he wants Zarius to personally execute the poisoned maid’s conspirators, if there ever were any, to prove our loyalty!"

Flio stared at the two of them, his jaw practically hovering open in utter disbelief as he watched them form an instant, chaotic coalition of wild conspiracy theories.

"Can you both please stop spouting such ridiculous nonsense?" Flio practically begged, rubbing his temples with a weary groan. "I am genuinely terrified that if you two keep saying these things out loud, the universe is going to manifest them into reality."

"Hey, we’re just mulling over the possibilities," Elios chuckled, clapping Flio lightly on the back. "Come on, let’s retreat to the garden. We need to breathe in as much oxygen as humanly possible to stop hyperventilating while His Grace is inside."

The three of them made their way down the grand marble hallways, eventually stepping out into the sprawling, sunlit courtyard garden. The glass greenhouse dome glinted in the morning light, surrounded by manicured hedges and stone archways.

They turned a corner near the central fountain, chatting in low voices, when Cherion’s steps suddenly faltered.

Standing near the edge of the stone balustrade, a cup of steaming tea in hand, was Yerel.

Yerel was alone, his golden hair catching the morning sun, his dark blue silk coat immaculate. At the sound of footsteps, the Crown Prince slowly turned his head.

His sharp eyes locked directly onto Cherion.

Cherion went entirely rigid, the lighthearted energy vanishing from his frame in an instant. Beside him, Elios instantly wiped the smirk off his face, snapping into a sharp, formal guard stance with his hands clasped behind his back. Flio went completely taut, his eyes narrowing in quiet alertness as he subtly shifted in front of Cherion.

Neither Cherion nor Yerel spoke a single word. Across the quiet, flower-scented garden, the two men simply stared at each other, a heavy, suffocating silence stretching between them, thick with the lingering memory of Yerel’s dark, calculated "defense" from the night before.

"Oh," Yerel murmured, a slow, dangerous grin spreading across his face. "Look who decided to accompany me."