There was a room— though it really wasn’t meant to be, but simply a space between the grinding gears. Parts of the machination had already slowed down, preparing for the final tick of the clock.
Ize and Ifeden looked to where Riker manifested through the seams at which the gears gave.
“Progress?” Ifeden asked.
“Not good.” Riker replied regretfully. The boy’s perseverance was noted, but they needed to be realistic— the results were far from what they hoped in these confines. “He’s yet to find the origin of Yor within himself. At this rate, more than half the month would go before he does.”
Ifeden frowned, mirroring his own insights. “He hasn’t been making any headway on the language either. At the current pace, perhaps a year is required.”
“We don’t have that kind of time!” Riker yelled in frustration.
“I know— It’s why we’ve called you here.” Ifeden looked to Ize, where she nodded. Riker was confused. “We’ll leave you with the boy for two more weeks. By cutting ours short by one.”
“What…” Riker blanked.
“Henry first and foremost, needs to survive Riker.” Ize said. “He can learn the language out there, by his own proofs. But here, you are the only one that can provide safe guidance.”
“Then what about your own lessons. Teaching the boy how to counter the other aspects of Thame?”
“We’ll have to leave the teachings to you.” Ifeden explained.
“Bull— I can’t guide him through without weapon control or illusions.”
“You're right.” Ize exclaimed a sigh. “But this is the best option for what we can come up with.”
“Words are less than experience, but they are better than nothing.” Ifeden said.
Riker looked between them— their resolution. His expression went to a heavy frown, “Fine. Have it your way.”
“We know you won’t let us down Riker.” Ize said, Ifeden nodded as they just stood their. Taking perhaps the only moment for themselves in centuries… or millienias…
How time got lost in their slumber.
Bastards. Riker thought, disappearing.
Returning double time to make sure this all was for something.
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“My Lord, your son is about to arrive the grounds.” Gerrit Reginald Joul; Captain of the Duke’s Guard commented after the arrival to Lukas’s study.
Lukas paused in his personal writings to the crown at the behest of his wife Kelsey. He almost wish he hated the woman more than when she was right as an excuse. But she had given him healthy two sons and daughters, and more than enough plays for their lineage to prosper over her birth family.
Conniving woman. Her secrets went deep and her mouth foul in the bedroom. But she was sweetest poison fruit on the land, given a moment to anyone but himself and she would have their unknowing favor in but days.
Its why they were succeeding, why they were rising over the other Dukedoms with the kingdom. Dancing on the proverbial sacred line of reverence surged their advantage.
If only his sons could have inherited her calculating silence. Then none of this faux showing would be happening.
“Which is to return first?” He asked, resting his golden pen for the time. A click had the end.
“Young Lord Berndt Dudley, My Lord.” The spry old man replied.
So the first son?… Luka’s kept his face straight but huffed out all his air. “Send him to my study immediately, and be sure none of the servants enter for the time.”
“My lord.” The man clasped his fist over his heart and let without a sound, even in his heavy armor.
It wasn’t long before the heir the apparent throne of the dukedom claimed, or so everyone thought— Kelsey’s idea— appeared, in the closed room.
“Father—“
“It’s Lord to you Young Berndt.” Lukas cut the boy off.
Berndt had a look upon his face, the man looked so much like his mother. Soft. And hard when they became angry. Only Kelsey kept to herself, instead his son bitched like a common woman. Disgracing the family name with his pompous proclamations before the crown that the entire family, branches and favors included had to make his words true and not arrogant.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“You’ve summoned me Lord Lukas?” Berndt stared.
“Why have you arrived before your brother and sisters?” He asked getting to the point.
“It was a short trip when their was only a need to convey your words and servants.”
“You will call them Knights Berndt, and not anything else.”
“Father—“
Lukas slammed his fist onto the table. “One more word of defiance and I’ll shall strip your name and cast you to the border!”
Berndt seized.
Lukas let wrangled and crackled his hands, playing with them till all were cracked. Staring at them for their importance, his callouses were beginning to show again. And the tiny hairs upon his knuckles needed another trimming. Thin as they were, visible was not invisible.
“Now, why?”
“There was little to done. I’ve stayed for the time, and had communicated with the Lords and heirs of the cities of your wishes. Promptly returning after everything was done.”
Lukas smiled, but not for his fool of a son. How his sisters better understood his words he’ll attribute to his wife’s blood, while the fool would more than likely just be pushed out in a few years.
After their victories. Maybe he’ll earn some merit to be not a soil of the Dukedom, but the history tells a lot about a man. And this one, he’ll only care for as a boy.
“Then well done.” Lukas said, Berndt bowing thinking this was the end. “But before you are to rest from your journey, please write a report on your insights into each lord, heir, and city that you’ve been.” Berndt’s head shot up, eyes struck with a much too late realization. “I would like it bound by each city name, and have it completed by the end of the day. Is that clear Young Berndt?”
“…Yes, Lord Lukas.” Trying to hide a voice, mulling over countless thoughts. The boy turned for the door.
But Lukas wouldn’t make it so easy.
“And be in the library for the remainder of the time. No guards, or servants. I want to hear your pure, unfiltered thoughts.”
Their was a pause in Berndt’s handle on the door. Before the boy went off and left him alone.
Lukas sighed, thinking of where he could put the boy when this is all off his shoulders. Best some lower house, or Merchant seeking to buy their own nobility through a daughter?
Either or, it was looking like he would need the child to be sent back to at least learn something of his position, now that he was of age.
Because, times as they were are troubling when your enemies are preparing as well as you.
Lukas leaned back in his chair, and just for a second, enjoyed himself, imagining all the wrongs he had yet to still right.
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Berndt was not well, he was furious! Why couldn’t he have his moment of rest— he was so fuckin’ tired of running around and keeping the hush-hush. And then when he was dozing on his feet, an heir to the Huffling Dukedom proclaimed with such a pompous existences about their territory that he wilted down the horse-faced child with his own proclamations.
If only he didn’t do it when one of the princesses was listening in, and joined the conversation. Screwing everything over his head twice over. The only solace he took was the brat had gone slightly pale as well. Casting them both into the proverbial fire— the dumb ass.
He was nearly pulling out his hair in recollection. Being stuck at the library with the guards at the entrance. Not budging for a single word, and shoving him back to the dusty room.
Though there were many windows, and plentiful light. He gazed at the empty parchment in dread.
How could father and mother still play their stupid games when he was to be the one to bear the weight of the patriarchal seat. As far as he was concerned, he already was. Running around, cleaning up messes and snuffing out rumors for all his family but his own. If only for the matter he didn’t care, especially when all the dunderheads that were his siblings.
Manfred; was too interested padding himself and makeup and keeping appearances to make any sound decision. Grace; danced around social circles as if a wandering merchant, or like her ploys to spreading her legs to every cohort she ever met. The only miracle was that not one of them made more than a whisper out side their cult of a group. And Maria; was the spoiled child, no one ever said no to her, and it showed. He proclivities weren’t to the bedroom, but a rampant build of chaos. They were lucky she didn’t set her games to their own lands, but a quarter of the Celiz’s Tobacco fields were caught a flame in her misgivings to toy with some local lord in the “shadows”.
Mother was slightly furious when she heard the news, that her supplies would be running a few weeks late.
It was the most delicate time he ever faced in the compound. Though another solace being he didn’t get yelled at once, but his siblings caught to a fire’s furry, and suffered enough to keep their proclivities absent for two weeks.
It was the most glorious time of peace he ever known.
But now, father bid him out of their land. To their lesser Lords, delivering proclamations so that his fumble could hold some truth to the crown. Only Berndt couldn’t see it, he had spared a few guards to the cities in order to keep himself a bit more informed; outlining their priorities and duties. Extending his network to other families under their rule.
Though it was a tiring, gathering and reviewing people who proved loyal, while keeping their mouth shut and stalk the shadows.
But at the rat of this empty sheet, it was looking like father would be having him do some fruitless punishment.
The thought ticked a vein. Brining a little more rage than he could handle to stay composed. His face scrunched, nearly grinding his teeth as his leg bounced restlessly.
He couldn’t stay cooped up here.
Berndt turned around and eyed the second floor. To the hidden hall, that not even his father knew existed.
If he wanted to play these games. He would not hold back as he had been so.
Berndt will not be questioned again, not by his father. Not even by his mother. He will take hold of what’s left and strangle this dukedom into a power no united front could stand against.