The Duke of Viremont had never bowed to shame. But now, as his family name cracked beneath the weight of scandal, he found himself crossing the threshold of Baron Albert's estate—not with fury, but desperation tightly cloaked beneath his noble composure.
Albert received him in the drawing room, reclining lazily in a high-backed chair, a glass of dark wine in hand.
"I was not expecting a visit so soon after your…daughter's misstep," Albert said smoothly, not bothering to hide his smirk.
The Duke stiffened.
"You've humiliated my house, Albert. The court laughs behind silk fans and the people whisper at our gates. I will not let this linger. I came with a proposal."
Albert leaned forward slightly.
"Do tell."
"Marry her. Salvage what's left of this mess," the Duke said curtly, jaw clenched. "Make her your wife. The title and union may restore her dignity and protect both our names."
Albert set down his glass and gave a low chuckle. "And what would I gain from such a noble act, Your Grace?"
The Duke's silence said it all, he knew what was coming.
Albert's tone turned cold, clear. "I want Jethro."
The Duke flinched. "That land has belonged to my line for generations. It is indirectly under the King's seal."
Albert stood now, his smirk vanishing. "Then ask the King to unseal it. You want me to clean up your daughter's shame? I'll do it—but I want Jethro."
The Duke's nostrils flared, a curse burning on his tongue. If not for the King's veiled threats against Rosella, talks of exile, of removing her from court entirely, he wouldn't have stepped foot in this godforsaken manor.
His voice came low, bitter. "You filthy viper."
Albert merely smiled. "Is that a yes, then?"
***
Sapphire wandered through the hall, flipping through a folded sheet she had quietly taken from Eugene's open ledger in the servant's quarter. She wasn't even sure why—curiosity, boredom, maybe both.
She was too engrossed in the neat, slanted handwriting to notice the figure turning the corner.
She bumped hard into a chest of black fabric and cold silence.
Typhon.
His hand caught her by the arm before she could stumble.
"Stealing ledgers now?" he murmured, eyes flicking to the page she held.
"Should I be concerned?"
Sapphire opened her mouth to speak but couldn't find the words.
"Come," Typhon said curtly, already turning on his heel.
She had no choice but to follow, her steps hurried to match his long stride as they moved through the dimly lit corridor. Her fingers still rubbed absently at her chest, the echo of their collision lingering. His back was straight, posture rigid, unreadable as ever.
He didn't glance back once. She trailed behind, heart beating fast like a prisoner summoned for judgment.
Typhon pushed the door to his study open and stepped inside without a word, the heavy oak creaking on its hinges. Sapphire hesitated at the threshold, glancing once behind her as if hoping for a reason to escape. None came.
"Close the door," he said, not looking at her.
She obeyed, the soft click sounding louder than it should've. The room smelled of old parchment, beeswax, and something darker—him.
He stood by the hearth, one hand resting on the mantle, the other ungloved. The firelight cast shadows across his face, sharpening his already severe features.
"How goes your research? The kingdom's fate rests on it."
She swallowed, steadying herself before speaking.
"I'm still surveying the symptoms and possible causes, but to move forward, I'll need the past medical histories of the affected families."
Typhon's eyes narrowed. "I haven't given you those yet."
Sapphire held his gaze. "If you want this cured, I need every detail. I can't do it blind."
"If I could get access to past medical records, family history, any previous treatments, it would help narrow down potential causes."
Typhon nodded thoughtfully. "I'll arrange for that."
Sapphire clasped her hands in front of her, summoning calm. "If possible, I'd like to use the weekend to cover more ground outside the manor."
Typhon, still by the hearth with his back turned, let the silence stretch long enough to make her uneasy. Then, in his usual flat tone, he said, "Go. But make sure you take Asahel."
Sapphire's brows rose slightly. "I can handle myself."
"I'm sure you believe that," Typhon replied, turning his head to glance at her. "But the last thing I need is a corpse in the woods."
She held his gaze, unflinching. "Noted, milord."
He turned fully now, approaching slowly. "Do what you must, You asked for time. I've given it. I expect results."
Her jaw tensed, but she dipped her head. "Then I'd best get started."
He didn't stop her as she turned and walked out, but his eyes lingered until the door shut behind her.
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