Chapter 533: A Rather Suspicious Delivery

It was shaping up to be a lovely morning at the Valtrane estate. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, fresh tea had been served, and warm butter pastries were waiting on the table.

Everything was perfectly peaceful.

Well, except for the four enormous crates occupying the middle of the drawing room like they owned the place.

Their polished wooden surfaces were decorated with silver filigree, while each lid bore the unmistakable gold emblem of the imperial vault.

Zarius stood in his morning robe of deep obsidian velvet, holding a half-empty teacup in one hand while his eyes narrowed in quiet suspicion at the sudden delivery. Beside him, Cherion, dressed in a loose white silk tunic, stared down at the crates with a mixture of annoyance and complete bewilderment.

Flio stood at attention near the doorway, holding a crisp parchment manifest tucked under his arm.

"You’re telling me the palace sent these to us this morning?" Zarius asked.

"Yes, Your Grace," Flio nodded respectfully. "The imperial couriers arrived at the front gates just as the morning watch was turning over. They insisted these were to be delivered directly without delay."

Cherion walked a slow circle around the nearest crate, tapping the lid with the tip of his slipper. "Did our guards inspect them before bringing them through the main doors?"

"Of course, Lord Cherion," Flio reassured him immediately. "The inner guards detail screened every single box for hidden spells, curses, or toxic powder before allowing them onto the residential floor. It appears to be entirely high-grade herbal goods, rare moon-blossom teas, tonics, and other necessities from the imperial vault."

Flio paused, taking a breath before adding casually, "The delivery manifest indicates these items were personally dispatched by order of Crown Prince Yerel."

Clack!

In exact, terrifying unison, Zarius and Cherion who just about to opened it slammed the lids shut.

"What?!" both of them blurted out simultaneously, their voices echoing loudly off the high ceiling of the drawing room.

Flio blinked, stepping back half a pace at the violent, perfectly synchronized reaction. "Ah... yes. Apparently, His Highness heard about the incident at the grand theater and ordered these recovery supplies sent directly from his personal vault allocation."

Cherion immediately whipped around to face Flio, his hands pressing flat against his hips as his heart beat a little faster with sudden political paranoia.

"Please tell me he didn’t only send this to me!" Cherion blurted out, before catching his own phrasing and quickly correcting himself. "I mean... to us! Please tell me we aren’t the sole recipient of the Crown Prince’s sudden, overflowing generosity! Derrick got some too, right? He was involved in the whole incident as well!"

Flio offered a polite, helpless shrug. "That, I cannot confirm, Lord Cherion. The imperial couriers only carried the manifest for our estate. I do not know if House Avery received a similar delivery."

Cherion let out a dramatic, frustrated groan, burying his face in his hands before turning to Zarius with wide eyes. "Zarius... what on earth is the meaning of this? Why is Yerel suddenly sending us high-grade imperial medical supplies so early in the morning?!"

Zarius set his teacup down onto a side table with a heavy, solid thud. His broad chest rose and fell in a slow exhale as his jaw tightened.

"As much as I would like to think positively about this..." Zarius spoke heavily, his eyes fixed on the imperial seals stamped onto the wood, "...or try to look at the bright side of simple court diplomacy, I cannot help but keep darting to the darkest possible interpretations whenever Yerel is involved."

"Of course you can’t!" Cherion agreed vehemently, waving his hands exasperatedly toward the four crates. "Because this is Yerel we’re talking about! The man is a walking political puzzle! Look at the mess he just dropped in our lap!"

Cherion began pacing back and forth across the marble rug, listing their options on his fingers with sharp, agitated precision.

"We can’t actually use any of this stuff," Cherion ranted, pointing an accusing finger at the boxes. "Because it’s Yerel who gave it to us! Who knows if there’s some subtle political leash attached to drinking his private tea? We can’t just throw it out into the trash, because throwing away official imperial gifts from the Crown Prince is technically a breach of high-court protocol and an insult to the royal house! We can’t give these rare herbs away to the common people or our servants, because if something strange happens to them, we’re responsible! And we certainly can’t keep it sitting here, because every time I look at it, I feel completely uneasy!"

Cherion stopped his pacing, throwing his arms up into the air with a loud sigh. "Ugh! This Yerel! Why can’t he just stop caring so much or showing his random, inconvenient compassion at the worst possible moments?!"

Cherion honestly had no idea what was going through Yerel’s mind. Perhaps the Crown Prince really had heard about what happened at the theater and simply wanted to send his regards through a generous supply of recovery goods. It was hardly an unreasonable gesture for a royal to make toward a noble house that had served the empire faithfully.

Deep down, Cherion genuinely wanted that to be the case. He wanted to believe that this was nothing more than a thoughtful care package from a prince to his loyal subjects, with no hidden intentions or political implications attached.

But then again, perhaps he had simply spent too much time around Zarius. Just like him, Cherion’s mind seemed determined to wander toward the darkest possible explanation whenever Yerel was involved.

And honestly, could anyone really blame him?

Zarius couldn’t help the tiny, amused twitch that touched the corner of his lips at Cherion’s passionate outburst, though his overall mood remained dark and cautious. He stepped forward, placing a large, comforting hand on the small of Cherion’s back, pulling him close to ease his tension.

"Calm yourself, my light," Zarius said softly, his thumb gently stroking through the fabric of Cherion’s tunic. "We will not let a few boxes from the palace throw us off our focus."

Zarius turned his attention to Flio, his earlier amusement disappearing as he spoke with the authority expected of the head of House Valtrane.

"Flio. Have the servants drag these crates out of the drawing room immediately and place them in the deep storage vault. Keep them far away from our daily supplies."

"Understood, Your Grace," Flio bowed.

"And Flio," Zarius added coldly, "I want a further, rigorous secondary check performed on every single bottle of tonic and packet of tea inside those boxes. Test them for latent lingering spells, slow-acting suppressants, or tracking runes. I want to know with absolute certainty whether these are completely safe or if there is something hidden beneath the surface."

"I’ll see to it that everything is thoroughly examined before noon," Flio replied, noting it down.

"Good," Zarius nodded. He turned back to Cherion, his expression softening back into tender warmth. "Let us set this headache aside for now. Marquess Avery and Derrick will be arriving at our gates later this morning for our meeting, and we need our minds entirely clear."

Cherion let out one last lingering sigh, his eyes tracking two heavy estate guards as they stepped into the drawing room and began dragging the heavy imperial crates out toward the storage hallway.

"Right," Cherion grumbled playfully, leaning his head against Zarius’s broad shoulder for a brief, comforting moment. "Out of sight, out of mind. But if Yerel sends us a basket of morning pastries tomorrow, I’m personally throwing them into the courtyard fountain."

Zarius let out a quiet, rumbling laugh, wrapping his arm securely around Cherion’s waist. "I will personally assist you with the throwing."

An hour later, the sun had risen higher into the sky, filling the ducal estate with bright light. The heavy imperial crates had been successfully stowed away in the dark depths of the lower vaults, and the drawing room had been completely reset for formal guests.

A silver tray featuring delicate porcelain cups, steaming hot black tea, and refined almond biscuits sat neatly on the central glass table.

Outside in the courtyard, the sound of iron-rimmed carriage wheels crunching over gravel signaled the arrival of their expected visitors.

Cherion stood near the grand archway of the main reception hall, adjusting the cuffs of his dark blue coat. He smoothed down his lapels, taking a deep, steadying breath to clear away the morning’s annoyance. The game of high-court politics was about to resume, and with Marquess Avery stepping into their home, every word spoken in the coming hours would carry immense weight.

Zarius walked up beside him, his posture instantly shifting as he prepared his own role for the performance ahead. The formidable Duke was about to become the weak, struggling noble in the eyes of the capital once more.

Cherion looked at Zarius, giving his hand one quick, reassuring squeeze. "Ready?"

"Always," Zarius murmured, his eyes flashing with resolve as the doors of the manor were pulled open to welcome their guests.