"Well then, Minister Dreymore, we'll take our leave now. The prince is expecting us," Nicomaine said, offering a polite wave.
Her tone was smooth—too smooth. Dreymore clenched his jaw as he watched her walk away, the clicking of her heels echoing in his ears long after she disappeared.
He hadn't spent much time with the siblings, but today's conversation was enough to make his blood simmer. His hand twitched at his side, fingers curling into a tight fist.
"You will regret this, Nicomaine Thorne," he muttered under his breath.
For years, the prince's branch family and the Rebels stayed out of each other's way. Duke Nicomar had always stayed out of their affairs, never challenging their plans.
But then Dreymore saw Nicomaine—bold, smiling, standing too close to the prince—and he knew something was wrong. The way she carried herself, the way she had requested to speak to Prince Nicolo alone… It wasn't just social pleasantries.
She was planning something.
He had been watching them ever since.
And when did he see them again today? His suspicions were confirmed.
"Nicomaine might be Duke Nicomar's way to get what he didn't get before."
That was exactly what he had reported to Duke Velieu.
Late afternoon sunlight spilled through the high windows of Duke Velieu's estate, casting golden reflections off the polished table. The faint scent of lavender incense drifted through the air, mixing with the rich aroma of black tea.
Duke Lucian Velieu sat with practiced ease, lifting his teacup in one hand as he lounged back in his chair. His expression remained unreadable, his movements precise and unhurried.
Dreymore, on the other hand, was stiff. He stood by the table, shoulders locked, watching the duke for any reaction.
Duke Velieu took a slow sip before setting his cup down with deliberate care. He glanced up, his eyes gleaming with amusement.
"Ah, so you believe our dear friend has lost himself in delusions once more?" Duke Velieu murmured, smirking as he swirled the tea in his cup. "How unfortunate. It seems he never learns."
Dreymore clenched his jaw, forcing a tense smile. When he saw the reaction of duke to his news, he immediately grabbed his cup of tea and sipped it without looking away.
Duke Velieu also took another sip of his tea and savor it while putting down again the cup. "You have nothing to worry about his plan. You know he tried to steal the crown many times before, but he never succeeded. That's why I know for certain that he will fail again this time."
Dreymore's fingers curled slightly against the side of his cup. "My lord," he said carefully, "are you saying we should ignore even his son?"
Duke Velieu raised a single brow. "His son?"
Dreymore cleared his throat and adjusted his cuffs before speaking. "The boy is backing his father's ideas. He is pushing his sister toward the prince." He hesitated, then added in a lower voice, "But that is not what concerns me."
Duke Velieu finally put his cup down completely. "Go on."
Dreymore leaned forward slightly. "The son of the duke is trying to interfere with us, my lord."
For the first time, Duke Velieu's expression shifted—just slightly. The smirk faded, replaced by something closer to curiosity. "Interfere?"
Dreymore straightened. "He asked the prince for permission to investigate me." He clenched his jaw, lowering his voice. "He wants to use what he finds to uncover more about our faction."
Duke Velieu blinked once. Then, to Dreymore's frustration, he chuckled. "I'm confused," he said, tilting his head. "If he wants to investigate you and use it against us… Why would he say it openly, where the prince's retainers could hear?"
Dreymore's throat went dry. His mouth opened, but no words came. He fumbled for his cup, stalling.
Had he fallen into a trap? A cold weight settled in his gut. He replayed the conversation in his mind—the smug confidence in Nicodeim's tone, the way he had let his words carry just far enough to be overheard. Was it intentional?
No. He clenched his jaw, forcing the thought aside. He couldn't afford to hesitate. Even if Nicodeim had planned it, that only meant the boy was more dangerous than they realized.
Dreymore tightened his grip on the teacup and forced his voice steady. "He… perhaps… maybe…"
The duke's cold gaze locked onto him.
"Perhaps?" Duke Velieu's voice sharpened, his fingers tapping against the rim of his cup. "You disturbed my peace over baseless speculation?"
Dreymore's grip tightened on his teacup, frustration mounting. He could still see Nicomaine's mocking smile in his mind.
No. He wouldn't let this slip.
With careful precision, he set his cup down and met Duke Velieu's gaze.
"Perhaps the boy you knew died with his mother, my lord." He allowed himself a small, knowing smirk. "Because the one I see now is no fool. He is a manipulative gentleman trying to use the prince to get what he wants."
For the first time, the duke didn't dismiss him outright. "Explain."
Dreymore didn't hesitate. "Nicodeim was the one who proposed the prince marry his sister. In exchange, he offered his help in removing us." He let the words sink in before adding, "He knows our plan. He knows we intend to push your son forward as crown prince."
The color drained from Velieu's face, if only for a second.
Dreymore smirked.
"A stupid and crazy son of Nicomar is trying to compete with me. Like father, like son." Duke Velieu exhaled slowly, tapping a single finger against the side of his cup. Then he let out a short laugh.
"Ah, the good old days," he murmured, looking down into his tea. "I do love crushing dreams to make mine come true."
Then, as though an afterthought, he glanced at Dreymore. "...And you will do it for me."
Dreymore's smirk remained. "As you wish, my lord." He bowed slightly. "We'll start with humiliating the ambitious daughter first. They will learn their place."
***
Dreymore left the mansion under the dim glow of the evening lanterns, convinced no one had seen him.
He was wrong.
Across the street, nestled between two grand estates, a shadow moved. The scent of rain lingered in the cool air, dampening the cobblestone path. A man watched, his cloak blending into the darkness.
From behind him, a voice whispered.
"Lord Nicodeim, the minister has left."
A pause.
Then, a soft chuckle.
"Oh?" Nicodeim's smirk was visible even in the dark. He leaned slightly forward, watching Dreymore's retreating figure with interest. "Then it seems they're finally making their move."
The figure beside him nodded. "Yes, my lord."
Nicodeim stretched his fingers, a glint of amusement in his eyes.
"Good. You did well. I'll handle the rest." His smirk deepened as he turned away, slipping into the shadows.
The game was set. Now, it was his turn to play.