The Duke strode into his private office, the heavy door closing behind him with a dull thud as the Grandmaster of the Angeras Knights followed closely. Without pausing, he gave his command. "Send word to Benjamin. Tell him I want him here at once."

Not long after, the old man appeared at the doorway, bowing respectfully. "You called for me, my lord?" His voice carried both dignity and weariness, as though years of service weighed on his shoulders.

Duke Gerin settled into his chair, resting his chin briefly on his hand. "Have you heard," he began, his tone sharp though he made an effort to mask the bitterness seeping through, "of the so-called triumphs my son has achieved?" His lips curled ever so slightly, betraying the contempt he tried to conceal. "Tell me, what are your thoughts on the matter?"

Benjamin, the palace's chief administrator and long-serving head butler, had been summoned deliberately.

Due to his ties to Estefan's late mother were well known, and Gerin had long resented that connection. The old man shook his head. "I have not heard the details, my lord," he admitted plainly. "But if he is indeed achieving success, then I am glad. Your son making a name for himself can only reflect well upon your house."

The Duke's fist slammed against the desk with sudden violence, the sound echoing through the chamber. "How many times must I tell you to never call him my son?" His eyes narrowed with venom. "He is a mistake. He was born of one, and he will always remain one. Remember that, old fool."

Benjamin's face tightened, though he remained steadfast. "With respect, my lord, he is your son whether you acknowledge it or not. All the Duchy sees him as such. Should he prove himself, his accomplishments will cast glory upon your family, whether you wish it or not."

From his seat along the wall, Mason, the Grandmaster, spoke up, his voice a stern warning. "Watch your tongue, Benjamin. You forget your place."

The butler turned his eyes toward Mason briefly, but before he could speak, the Duke's voice cut in again. "A mistake, I said." His words dripped with malice. "I never wanted him. Do not think I consider him mine simply because I forced myself on his mother. That night left me with nothing but a wretched reminder." He said it boldly, without shame, even taking a dark satisfaction in announcing it.

Benjamin's composure did not falter. "But my lord," he pressed gently, "you married her after. She became your wife in the eyes of the law, and by that bond, the boy is your lawful heir."

The Duke let out a derisive chuckle. "This land is so primitive. Backwards. Do you really think that just because I had my way with her, I am bound to recognise what came of it? Foolish."

Benjamin sighed deeply, his voice low yet firm. "Then you mean to say you will ignore all his efforts? That even if he restores Rammstein to prosperity, you will not recognise his achievement nor name him heir, despite your own wager?"

"No," Gerin replied coolly. "Because he will not complete his task. He will stumble, he will fail, and I will ensure that fate. Life is cruel, and I will see it prove itself so."

The Duke's words were poisonous as those of a man who had violated a woman, married her afterward, and now spat on both her memory and the child born of her.

Benjamin could do little. Though his heart raged with disgust, he was still just a commoner who had risen by merit and loyalty. To defy Gerin outright would only invite his own ruin.

"Is that all you wished to say, my lord?" Benjamin finally asked, suppressing the storm within.

"Of course not." The Duke leaned back, steepling his fingers. "Provide me with the monthly expenditure report. I've seen the numbers, but I want to hear them from your mouth."

The butler began reciting the details. Much of the budget had gone to rations, palace upkeep, and minor renovations.

Yet as he went on, he mentioned Lady Cornelia's lavish spending on banquets, costly gifts, artworks, and expensive indulgences. Then came the reports of the Duke's second son squandering vast sums in taverns and brothels.

Gerin's brow arched, a twitch of irritation flickering across his face. "So the figures are ordinary enough, aside from my wife and second son throwing money around like drunken fools." His mutter was low, though laced with venom. "Everything around me is a mistake."

The room fell silent, no one daring to comment. "Well, I cannot exactly protest," Gerin went on, sighing as though in resignation. "She is the King's sister, after all. Naturally she burns through the treasury as if it were endless. Very well. Increase the budget for this month, specifically for her expenditures and set aside funds for Carnel as well. He is a father now, after all."

Benjamin bowed, forcing himself to mask his distaste at the Duke's blatant double standards. He favored one son while spitting on the other, denying Estefan what he freely lavished on Carnel. "As you wish, my lord."

The Duke rose, moving closer, his sharp gaze settling on the old man. "I can feel it, you know," he said with a cruel smile. "Your disgust toward me."

Benjamin kept his eyes lowered, feigning confusion. "I beg your pardon, my lord. I would never harbor such feelings. Why would I, toward the great Duke of the Angeras family?"

Gerin chuckled darkly, placing a hand on the butler's shoulder, patting it in a mockery of affection. "Oh, sure… sure. If not for my father's insistence on your worth, I'd have slit your throat long ago. He believed you were invaluable, and perhaps he was right. To eliminate you would be wasteful."

It was no less than a death threat, veiled in casual words. Benjamin, however, was not cowed. His voice was calm but cutting as he replied, "It was your father who commanded you to marry her, my lord. If Estefan is a mistake, then was it not Lord Simon who erred?"

The Duke's hand froze mid-pat before slipping away, his expression darkening. The mirth vanished from his face. "Return to your duties," he ordered sharply. "See to the budget."

Benjamin bowed and withdrew, leaving the chamber.

"Shall I kill him?" Mason asked after a moment of silence.

The Duke considered it, then shook his head. "No. I could crush the life from him any time I wished, but he remains too useful. He will continue to serve until death claims him, or until I find a suitable replacement."

Mason frowned. "Would it not be easier to train a younger man? Benjamin is skilled, yes, but surely there are others who could surpass him."

"You're right," Gerin admitted. "I replaced Ulf with you, did I not? My father's choice was strong, but I wanted someone younger, someone who understood me. I chose you. I would like to do the same with Benjamin. But as of yet, no one matches his standard."

"Is it loyalty?" Mason asked.

"Precisely," the Duke answered.

"My lord, loyalty is not so rare. We could find someone more loyal to you than him."

Gerin exhaled slowly, almost tiredly. "That is not enough. A palace administrator must embody loyalty not merely to me but to the family as a whole. A man loyal only to me could turn traitor once I am gone. That is the risk."

"Even so," Mason pressed, "he gives the impression of despising you."

The Duke laughed at that, waving it off. "And yet his loyalty anchors him. Hatred cannot undo it. Should he ever attempt something foolish, it would not matter. His capacity for harm is limited."

He walked to the tall window, drawing the curtain aside. Outside, a carriage rolled through the palace gates. From it emerged Lady Cornelia, regal in her bearing.

"Where has she been?" Gerin asked coldly.

"At a party, my lord," Mason replied. "She remained there all night. Shall I request a full account of her activities?"

"Do so," the Duke answered, eyes narrowing as he watched her ascend the steps. "That woman is ever suspicious. She schemes for her eldest to inherit my title. I have no quarrel with that, yet I question her clumsy maneuvering. She should know better than to insult my intelligence."

"She is only worried, my lord," Mason suggested.

"Worried?" Gerin repeated.

"Yes. Since you refused to name Carnel as heir and instead gave Estefan a trial, Lady Cornelia fears you may have a change of heart. She worries you will pass the seat to Estefan instead of Carnel."

The Duke dismissed the thought with a sneer. "Foolish woman. I have shown nothing but disdain for that brat. If she cannot see that, it is her failing, not mine. I do not care if she plots his death. But she had better not jeopardise Carnel's rightful succession with her blunders."

[To be Continued]

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