Frederick walked with purpose along the cobbled sidewalk, his boots clicking faintly against the stone.

The city was alive with its usual chaos, merchants calling out prices, commoners hurrying to their places of work, and carriages clattering over the broad thoroughfares.

The streets of this capital had their own peculiar order. Down the very center stretched a carefully marked lane, painted and reinforced, reserved solely for the nobility and members of the royal household.

Carriages belonging to Duke and the Palace rolled there with impunity, while the common folk crowded the wider sections on either side. The separation was not enforced by barricades or soldiers, but by nothing more than painted markings on the stone, and yet everyone respected it. No one dared to trespass into the center lane uninvited as such arrogance would quickly invite punishment.

These privileged routes connected the royal palace to vital districts of the city, ministerial halls, merchant guild headquarters, and the heavily guarded outer gates.

For Frederick, however, they were nothing but background noise. His destination was far less grand, though infinitely more important to the task at hand.

He moved steadily past rows of shops, food vendors, and beggars until finally halting before a modest, privately owned library. The building appeared unremarkable to any casual passerby. But those who knew its true nature understood the sort of transactions conducted within.

Frederick entered quietly, letting the creaking door shut behind him. Inside, the library was sparsely occupied with ten patrons in total scattered among the shelves, each appearing deeply absorbed in their reading.

He proceeded deeper, weaving through shelf after shelf until he reached the farthest corner. His hand hovered briefly before selecting a tome with a dull brown cover.

The single word emblazoned across it in faded lettering read, murder. To any curious onlooker, it was just a book on crime or history. To those in the know, it was a ledger of death.

Opening the volume as he walked, Frederick turned to an otherwise blank page carefully tucked within. Hidden in the crease was a slim pen.

He wrote with precision, the name of the intended target, Estefan Angeras, and beside it, the promised payment for the job. When the task was set down in neat script, he closed the book and made his way to the counter at the front.

A balding man sat behind it, pretending to catalogue tomes. Frederick placed the book on the counter along with a small pouch heavy with money. His voice was even, unshaken. "I would like to purchase this service."

The man opened the book, scanning the words within. His lips curved into a professional smile. "Always a pleasure to do business, good sir. We trust you will return should you require more of our… services." He gave a shallow bow before setting the pouch aside.

Frederick gave no reply and turned on his heel, striding toward the exit. Behind him, the man at the counter whispered aloud the name written within. "Estefan Angeras…" The sound carried just enough for every ear in the building to hear.

The moment the words settled, the ten silent patrons, who until then had seemed harmless readers, vanished one by one as if they had never been there at all. The job was in motion.

Meanwhile, at the palace, tensions brewed hotter than any forge. The earlier quarrel between Duke Gerin and Lady Cornelia had not been settled.

The Duke, ever firm in his convictions, had dismissed the notion of assassination as both cowardly and foolish. But Cornelia was not a woman easily swayed. She lifted her chin defiantly, her voice sharp.

"There is no honor in war," she retorted. "One either kills or is killed. The method that matters little victory is what endures. If the boy dies by blade or poison, what does it change? The result is all that matters, and I will have this victory whether you consent or not."

The Duke's expression hardened. "In battle, yes, a soldier does what he must to survive. But here? Here you speak of a child who has not even been given the chance to prove himself. What honor is there in snuffing out a flame before it has had time to burn?"

Cornelia's composure cracked. "Why should I give him that chance? I want no proof, no trial, no accomplishment. I want him ruined. His death ensures my son's destiny, and that alone is my concern!"

Gerin's voice thundered, shaking the very air. "Then why is your son not claiming his destiny himself? Why does he squander his days in brothels, wasting what little merit he was given at birth? Answer me, woman! Why does he cling to indulgence instead of seizing his rightful path?"

Cornelia sneered bitterly. "So that is it, you are angry not at me, but because I signed the death warrant of your precious bastard. You claim wisdom, but in truth you are nothing more than a doting father shielding a mistake. You cannot bear to lose him, so you cloak yourself in morality!"

"Silence!" The Duke's roar was like a storm crashing against stone. His sheer presence pressed down on the chamber, making even seasoned guards in the hall outside tremble.

"Do not twist my words to suit your ambitions. You are not even a mother worth the name. You barely spared a glance at Carius, favoring only Carnel because he is your firstborn and your pawn for inheritance. You raise one while discarding the other, shameful! If you persist in this folly, I will cast your precious Carnel aside and name another heir entirely."

Cornelia's eyes blazed. "Do not dare bring Carius into this! The Goddess chose him to be a Paladin, and I abided by that will. I sacrificed him, left only with Carnel to nurture. And what of you? You scarcely look upon either of them. All your thoughts are of Estefan, that brat you favor above the rest. Do not think I am blind, you mean to grant him your seat!"

That was the breaking point. Gerin's massive hand shot forward, gripping Cornelia by the throat and lifting her effortlessly from the ground. Her feet dangled helplessly as his glare bore into her soul.

"Why do you persist in this madness?" he growled. "I have warned you countless times. Just because your son is a disappointment does not make the others so. Estefan is no prize but he is a mistake, yes but even so, he shows promise your boy lacks. Instead of correcting Carnel's flaws, you coddle them, making his weaknesses stronger still. You are raising him to ruin. Fix your son, make him worthy, and I will grant him a chance he deserves. But do not test me further, or I will end this charade myself."

With that, he hurled her onto the polished floor. Cornelia gasped, clutching at her bruised throat, but she forced out a twisted laugh. "It has been so long since he touched me this way…"

Servants, who had been waiting anxiously outside, rushed in at once. They lifted their lady to her feet, concern plain on their faces. One dared to ask, "Shall we report this to His Majesty, my lady?"

Cornelia shook her head slowly, still smiling despite the pain. "No… My brother will do nothing. Against the Duke, even he holds no sway here. This is his land, his domain. But mark me, soon the grand design will unfold, and everything will change." Her smirk widened as her husband's imposing form vanished down the corridor's end. "Yes… very soon."

"Take me to my chambers," she commanded.

Hours later, Frederick returned to the palace. He dropped to one knee before Lady Cornelia, his head bowed low. "My lady, the contract has been submitted. Estefan Angeras will be assassinated."

Cornelia, seated before a mirror, dabbed a salve against the darkening marks on her neck. She didn't look at him as she replied simply, "Good."

Frederick raised his gaze briefly. "Forgive my intrusion, but… may I ask what befell your neck?" As her sworn protector, it was his duty to know.

She chuckled lightly, her tone mocking. "Nothing more than my husband showing his love in his own brutal fashion."

Frederick's jaw tightened. "Should I lodge a protest, my lady? Such violence cannot be-"

"And what would it accomplish?" She cut him off. "At most, my brother the King would grumble and hasten his schemes against the Angeras line, but nothing of true weight would come of it. Gerin is untouchable here. The only true revenge lies in forcing him to gaze upon his son's lifeless body. That will wound him more deeply than any reprimand could. Tell me, Frederick… will I have that revenge?"

"You will, my lady." His voice was steady with conviction. "The men I have engaged are the finest this duchy offers. They have never failed in their contracts. A boy with little protection will not trouble them."

Cornelia arched her brow. "Little protection? You forget, my husband shields him now, especially after the stir he has caused in the city. Do you truly believe even the Duke's men cannot stand guard against your assassins?"

Frederick inclined his head respectfully. "That is precisely why I chose this group. Their stealth is unmatched. The Duke may station a hundred men beside Estefan, and still they will never know when the blade descends. The task is certain."

"I pray you are right," Cornelia muttered, setting aside her ointment. "This is the final chance I will grant to those closest to me. Failure has plagued me too often. I will not tolerate incompetence where I have always trusted competence. Do not fail me, Frederick."

He bowed low once again. "I will not, my lady. If this plot falters, I will see to it with my own hands. I will gladly stake my life to ensure your will is done."

Cornelia let out a soft laugh, amused. "Overkill, perhaps. You were not sent here to be my blade, but my shield. Yet it pleases me to know your loyalty runs so deep."

"My lady flatters me," Frederick said firmly. "I am but a servant of the throne. His Majesty sent me to you, and I will serve until my last breath. If my death secures your designs, I would welcome it without hesitation."

[To be Continued]

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