Lord Rhaegal sat at his desk, his quill gliding smoothly over parchment, crafting a meticulous report of yesterday's events—excluding one crucial detail. His expression remained impassive as he worked, the dim candlelight casting sharp shadows across his face. When he finished, he set the quill down, gathered the documents, and rose from his chair.
Apart from reporting to the king, he had another duty—to face the head of the bureau. Losing five men was no minor incident.
His boots echoed through the stone passageway as he strode past a row of offices, the air thick with the scent of old parchment and wax. He halted before a heavy oak door and knocked once before pushing it open.
Inside, Duke Cassian of Ravenwood sat behind an ornate desk, his fingers laced together in thought. Seated opposite him, wearing a smug expression, was Sir Ambross. Both men turned as Rhaegal entered.
Rhaegal gave a brief, respectful nod to the duke. "Duke Cassian." His tone was formal, but he spared no such courtesy for the other occupant of the room. Without so much as a glance in Ambross's direction, he took his seat.
Cassian exhaled slowly, his sharp eyes scrutinizing Rhaegal.
"Lord Rhaegal, I hear we lost quite a few men… to a band of lunatics." His voice carried an edge, demanding an explanation.
"It is as you heard, my lord. Unfortunate, but unavoidable." Rhaegal's voice was steady, devoid of emotion.
With measured words, he recounted the events, leaving out unnecessary embellishments. When he finished, Duke Cassian sighed and shook his head. "These people never learn. Fighting the very system that has given them stability… it is no different from destroying themselves."
While Cassian's words were laced with frustration, Ambross's silence spoke of something else—resentment. The man had never hidden his distaste for Rhaegal, always irked by his cold indifference, his unwavering composure, and his status.
Leaning forward, Ambross smirked, eyes gleaming with thinly veiled hostility. "Dare I say, losing such capable men reeks of incompetence." His tone dripped with mockery. "On your part, Lord Rhaegal."
Rhaegal didn't react.
Encouraged by the lack of response, Ambross continued, "And yet, somehow, you alone survived. A curious thing, isn't it?" His sneer deepened. "Something tells me there's more to this that meets the eye."
Only then did Rhaegal finally turn his gaze toward him. The weight of his stare was heavy, unreadable. "And you are?" His voice was smooth, detached, as if addressing an irrelevant bystander.
Ambrose stiffened. A flash of fury twisted his face. "What did you just say?" he seethed, barely keeping himself from lunging forward. "You dare act as if you don't know me?"
Rhaegal tilted his head slightly, a faint, almost mocking smile tugging at his lips. "I don't make a habit of remembering insignificant people."
Ambross shot to his feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. "You—"
"Enough." Cassian's voice cut through the tension like a blade. "I'll review your full report later, Lord Rhaegal. You may go."
Rhaegal stood without another word. As he walked past Ambrose, he barely spared him a glance, as if he truly was as unimportant as he claimed.
Ambross, fists clenched, seethed in silence.
Rhaegal had barely settled into his chair when the door to his office swung open. Mac Hayles strode in, a thick stack of documents in his arms.
"My lord, the shipment report you requested just arrived," he announced, setting the papers down on the desk.
Rhaegal gave a curt nod, his golden eyes flicking to the documents before settling on Hayles. "What about the remains?"
"They were transported here overnight by Lord Reinhard. Most have been sent to their families, except for one. He had no known kin, so he was buried at the cemetery."
A brief silence stretched between them before Rhaegal gave another nod. He straightened the papers, tapping them against the desk before standing. "Take these to my carriage. I'll go through them once I get home."
"Yes, my lord." Hayles gathered the documents and disappeared through the door.
Rhaegal reached for his coat, draping it over his shoulders as he made his way through the dimly lit passageway. His footsteps echoed against the stone floor, each one steady, unhurried. Outside, his carriage waited at the entrance, the horses shifting restlessly in the cool evening air. Just as he was about to step inside, another carriage rolled to a sudden stop beside his.
Rhaegal didn't have to guess who it was.
The door swung open, and Lord Reinhard climbed down, his movements fluid, practiced. He adjusted his coat, his gaze locking onto Rhaegal with the ease of someone far too accustomed to watching others. A slow smile curved his lips as he strode closer.
"Leaving work so early?" Reinhard mused, his tone light, almost amused.
Rhaegal said nothing. He merely stood there, hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable.
Reinhard's smile widened as he took a deliberate step forward, eyes raking over Rhaegal from head to toe. "You look entirely too composed for someone who slaughtered over a hundred rebels just last night." His brow arched ever so slightly.
Rhaegal nearly rolled his eyes. "Get to the point."
Reinhard let out a soft chuckle. He had worked alongside Rhaegal for decades—long enough to be unfazed by his cold, detached demeanor. "The king was rather pleased by your swift handling of the situation." He slipped a hand into his coat pocket, pulling out a pristine white envelope. "His Majesty extends an invitation… to the princess's birthday celebration."
Rhaegal took the invitation without looking at it, shoving it into his coat pocket. He was already turning to leave when Reinhard spoke again.
"One more thing."
Rhaegal paused.
Reinhard's smile didn't falter, but something sharpened in his gaze. "While cleaning up the mess you left behind, I noticed something peculiar. A scent… unfamiliar. Lingering in the air." He tilted his head, watching Rhaegal intently. "Tell me, does it have anything to do with the death of your men?"
The space between them tightened, an invisible tension crackling in the air.
Rhaegal turned to face him fully, his golden eyes glinting under the lantern light. "Is that so?"
The two men stood locked in a silent battle of wills, neither looking away, neither backing down. The weight of unspoken words settled heavily between them, thickening the already hostile air.
Then, Reinhard took a step back. His smile remained, but something unreadable flickered behind his eyes. "I'm only a tad bit curious."
Rhaegal's lips barely parted as he spoke, his voice smooth yet laced with quiet warning. "Curiosity, they say, kills the cat."
The words hung there, heavy with meaning. Without another glance, Rhaegal stepped into his carriage, the door clicking shut behind him.
Reinhard watched as the carriage rolled away, his once-pleasant smile slowly twisting into something far more sinister.