Chapter 261: Suspended?

The rumor mill of the Imperial Capital operated with the terrifying velocity of a magical plague.

When Count Valerius had fled the Nacht Estate, shrieking about ’degeneracy’ and ’unnatural sodomy,’ he had not gone quietly into the night.

The pompous Uncle had immediately sought out his cronies in the Elder’s Council, weeping over his tea, broadcasting the horrifying, scandalous ’truth’ of the Archduke’s romantic preferences to anyone who would listen.

Within forty-eight hours, the narrative was the undeniable canon among the high nobility. Duke Kaelus von Nacht, the Reaper of the North, the most terrifying, blood-soaked warlord on the continent, was hopelessly, scandalously entangled with a traveling, bespectacled scholar.

Kaelus genuinely did not care about the opinions of the Capital’s powdered idiots.

If they wanted to whisper behind their fans, let them do it.

The marriage proposals had instantly, miraculously ceased. The frantic, desperate letters from High Houses offering their daughters had evaporated, replaced by a terrified silence.

The strategy, orchestrated by his six-year-old daughter, had been a flawless success.

However, there was one highly irritating, completely unforeseen casualty of the rumor.

The male staff of the Nacht Estate.

It was mid-morning.

Kaelus was sitting behind his newly repaired mahogany desk in the primary study, his violet eyes scanning a logistics report regarding the winter grain reserves.

The heavy oak doors cracked open.

Alistair, the Chief Administrative Aide, entered the room.

Normally, Alistair glided into the study with the effortless, flowing grace of an elven prince, his scholar’s robes swishing elegantly.

Today, Alistair was moving like a highly traumatized crab.

The incredibly beautiful, long-haired aide was pressed entirely flat against the bookshelves. He was shuffling sideways, inch by agonizing inch, keeping his back firmly, desperately pinned against the wall.

His emerald eyes were wide, darting frantically around the room, radiating an aura of pure survival instinct. Furthermore, he had apparently decided to wear three overlapping layers of thick, woolen cloaks over his usual silk robes, making him look like a very glamorous, sweating burrito.

Most conspicuously, Alistair’s hands were firmly, securely clamped over his own gluteus maximus, as if he were protecting a vault of gold.

Kaelus slowly lowered the logistics report.

He stared at his Chief Aide.

"Alistair," Kaelus rumbled, his voice a low, flat drone of pure exhaustion. "What, by the light of the Sun Goddess, are you doing?"

"N-Nothing, Your Grace!" Alistair squeaked, his voice cracking violently.

He shuffled sideways a few more inches, refusing to un-glue his back from the mahogany paneling. "I am merely executing a new, highly ergonomic method of ambulation! It is excellent for the lumbar spine!"

Kaelus’s eye twitched. "You are walking sideways, wearing a winter cloak in the middle of summer, and clutching your own backside as if you expect an ambush."

"I am merely cold, Your Grace! The Capital drafts are treacherous!" Alistair babbled, sweating profusely under the wool.

He managed to shuffle all the way to the side of the desk. He did not lean over to hand the documents to Kaelus. Instead, he maintained his two-handed grip on his own rear end, awkwardly using his elbow to nudge a stack of ledgers onto the edge of the desk.

Kaelus stared at the ledgers.

Then he looked back at the terrified, sweating, beautiful scholar.

The realization hit the Archduke with the force of a falling anvil.

’He believes the rumors,’ Kaelus’s internal monologue raged, a vein pulsing dangerously in his pale forehead. ’He believes the ridiculous, theatrical nonsense Roan spouted. Because Roan is a handsome scholar. Alistair is also a handsome scholar by some way. Does he believe that if he bends over to pick up a quill, I will abandon all aristocratic decorum and ravage him on the spot? This bastard! Does he think I’ll also go after married man even if I were gay?!’

Kaelus took a deep, shuddering breath, suppressing the urge to freeze his own aide to the ceiling.

"Alistair," Kaelus said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "I have absolutely no interest in you. I have no interest in your anatomy. And I do not harbor any hidden, degenerate desires for my administrative staff. If you were the last human being on the continent, I would sooner marry a pine tree."

Alistair blinked, his emerald eyes watering slightly. "A-Are you certain, Your Grace? Because the rumors... Count Valerius was very specific about the... the gagging."

"THE GAGGING WAS A THREAT OF PHYSICAL VIOLENCE!" Kaelus roared, completely losing his temper, the ice mana exploding violently in the room. The inkwells instantly shattered. "ROAN IS A THEATRICAL LUNATIC AND MY DAUGHTER IS A SOCIOPATH! GET OUT! GET OUT OF MY OFFICE BEFORE I DEFENESTRATE YOU!"

Alistair didn’t need to be told twice.

He let out a high-pitched, terrified shriek, completely abandoning his crab-walk to sprint out of the study, the heavy oak doors slamming shut behind him.

Kaelus slumped back into his leather chair, rubbing his temples, a massive migraine throbbing behind his eyes.

It wasn’t just Alistair.

The previous night, Kaelus had dropped his napkin in the dining hall. When he bent down to pick it up, three male footmen had simultaneously gasped and physically jumped behind the drapes.

His dignity was in ruins.

He was the Reaper of the North, and his staff was treating him like a predatory menace.

He didn’t care about the high society of the Capital. But dealing with a paranoid, butt-clutching Alistair on a daily basis was going to rapidly deplete his patience.

There was only one person to blame for this psychological torture.

The tiny, adorable, six-year-old mafia boss currently residing in the East Wing.

****

Seraphina von Nacht had operated under the assumption that her flawless execution of the ’Double-Entendre Ambush’ would earn her a commendation.

She had solved the marriage crisis and removed the Uncle from the scenario. She was a tactical genius!

However, she had severely miscalculated the Archduke’s capacity for petty revenge.

Seraphina sat at the grand dining table for lunch.

She wore a lovely, pristine white dress with a navy sash. She had just finished a nutritious, incredibly boring plate of roasted chicken and steamed vegetables.

She looked up, her pitch-black eyes locking onto Sebastian, who was standing at attention near the sideboard.

"Butler Sebastian," Seraphina chirped politely. "I am ready for the chocolate eclairs now. And maybe a small slice of the strawberry tart. As a palate cleanser."

Sebastian, the veteran of a hundred wars, looked down at her.

His single pale blue eye was filled with tragic sorrow. It was the look of a man delivering a terminal diagnosis.

"I am deeply sorry, Sovereign," Sebastian rasped, his gravelly voice thick with genuine mourning. "But... the kitchens have been locked. The pastry chef has been temporarily reassigned to peeling potatoes."

Seraphina blinked. "Locked? Why? Did Castor try to cook again?"

"No, My Lady," Sebastian sighed, crossing his massive arms. "By direct, explicit order of the Archduke. All refined sugars, baked goods, imported chocolates, and candied fruits have been confiscated from the premises. Your dessert privileges have been indefinitely suspended."

The silence in the dining hall was absolute.

Seraphina’s jaw dropped.

The color drained from her soft, chubby cheeks.

’Suspended?’ Seraphina’s mind shrieked, a wave of pure panic flooding her nervous system. ’He cut off the sugar supply?! But that’s my operational fuel! That is a violation of the Geneva Conventions! This is a war crime!’

She didn’t throw a tantrum in front of Sebastian.

She was the Boss. She handled disputes directly with management.

Seraphina slid off her high chair, her small boots hitting the marble floor.

She marched out of the dining hall, her fists clenched at her sides, moving with the terrifying, unstoppable momentum of a tiny juggernaut.

She reached the primary study. She didn’t knock, kicked the door open instead.

Duke Kaelus von Nacht was sitting behind his desk, sipping a cup of black coffee, looking incredibly, insufferably smug.

"PAPA!" Seraphina demanded, marching directly up to his desk, planting her hands on her hips.

She puffed her cheeks out to maximum capacity, glaring up at him with her large, dark eyes. "Mr. Sebastian says the eclairs are gone! He says you took the cookies! This is unacceptable!"

Kaelus slowly lowered his coffee cup.

He leaned forward, resting his chin on his black-gloved hands. The dark, wicked, incredibly amused smirk on his face was infuriating.

"Actions have consequences, Seraphina," Kaelus rumbled smoothly, his violet eyes dancing with malicious delight.