“What you are suggesting is treason!”

Jacques du Valais suppressed an annoyed sigh at the outburst from the portly, red-faced figure of Duke Marius Holbrecht, and made a deliberately unruffled show of lifting his wine goblet and taking a sip from the spiced vintage within. His eyes never left the squinted brown gaze of the Duke where he sat opposite him within the finely adorned study, and Jacques did not even deign to reply after he lowered his goblet. He had learned long ago that silence was power when dealing with those that were used to others babbling sycophantic nonsense, and an air of supreme indifference was the key to truly sending such individuals firmly onto the back foot.

In his head the Hierarch of the Grand Ascendancy in Stormharrow started counting down from ten while maintaining his look of subtly piteous indifference for the rotund nobleman, and focused on listening to the crackle and pop of flames in the gilded fireplace to the left. Seconds dragged between them, and just when Jacques thought that perhaps the other man would actually surprise him and go the proverbial distance; the Duke looked away and seemed to shrink down somewhat in his chair.

How disgustingly predictable these inferior, dirty-blooded southron specimens were.

“Duke Holbrecht,” Jacques began while setting down his goblet smoothly, “you were not called here out of any other reason than my own desire to see to it you are presented with an opportunity worthy of your storied legacy.” If inbreeding and irrelevancy were a storied legacy, at any rate. “Your House has long been a stoic pillar of Stormharrow’s political sphere, and known for advocating for the good of the country above all.”

The Duke looked back at him with a mildly mollified, but still indignant expression.

It required a surprising amount of self-control for Jacques not to sneer at the clumsiness of the facade, but he succeeded. Barely.

“My family have been supporters of House Karelian for genera—!”

“Indeed they have,” Jacques cut in smoothly and with a carefully controlled tone of authority, “and I would never look to question your honour, my lord. However as previously stated, there are concerns with the Princess’ fitness to ascend the throne — especially when one might consider the fact she has refused several perfectly amenable suitors for her hand, including your own most gallant son.”

That appeared to be the correct pressure point, and Jacques took note of the way the Duke both bristled at the reminder of the rejection and nodded firmly at the description of his son — an idiot as uninteresting and worthless as his pudgy father — in an exaggerated light. If nothing else the nobleman certainly adhered to Solarius’ tenets of filial love, though how Marius could feel anything but disappointment for such a pig-faced and immutably unintelligent offspring was a mystery to Jacques.

“Indeed…” The Duke agreed with some measure of recovered grace while he nodded along to Jacques’ words like the utter moron he was. “My Tomas is a wonderful scion of House Holbrecht. It was most uncouth for the Princess to refuse his earnest advances with such a firm repudiation. Most uncouth.”

Jacques wisely chose to hold his tongue on the matter, especially since he knew that the ‘wonderful scion’ in question had all but attempted to violate the Princess in some demented perception of ‘asserting his claim’, no doubt instilled in his less-than-capable brain by the same mouldering whoreson currently sweating his rotund arse off in Jacques’ good chair.

The upholstery deserved better.

“The Princess’ judgement has been clouded by her mother’s influence in such matters, I fear. The late Queen was indeed quite the warrior by any margin of examination—” which had of course been the only reason the heretic-blooded whore hadn’t been murdered earlier “—and a paragon of independent spirit, even after her marriage to our beloved King.” Jacques allowed a quiet sigh to escape his lips, in a performance of such minor intensity that on anyone with an above-average level of perception, the falsehood would have been blatant. On the Duke Hog—Holbrecht, however, it clearly had the desired effect.

The Hierarch worked hard to keep his loathing and contempt from surfacing.

“My only desire is to ensure the security of the Kingdom for the future, you understand. With the Princess gallivanting off into the Desolation for reasons known only to her own mind—” and the Royal Council, though Jacques had no intention of revealing her benighted Quest to anyone if he could help it “—and some few close advisors, we must look to the future and the preservation of the legacy and integrity of Stormharrow. Surely you can understand, as a man of such a prominent and long-lasting legacy, when it is necessary to take measures to ensure the greater good above the individual well-being?”

The Duke, much to Jacques’ blithe and callous amusement, had actually started nodding along to the line of peddled horse manure with such serious consideration that the Hierarch silently offered a prayer of thanks to Ethyria. The Goddess of Fortune had clearly been shining on him to deliver him such an easily puppeted buffoon of a man, let alone a Duke!

“I suppose I… I suppose I can see the reason you would be so willing to discuss this openly with me, your holiness, but I must still object to the nature in which you—!”

The Hierarch sighed. It appeared the Duke would require more convincing.

“Brightborough Gardens.” He interrupted coldly.

The Duke stopped dead as if he’d been struck, with his mouth hanging open and silent.

Had it not been such a serious moment, the Hierarch would have snorted.

“H—How do you know th—! How do you—?”

“Be at ease, my lord. I have no immediate intention of advertising your little foray into the forbidden, though I daresay the knowledge of your menagerie of imported slaves—” he smiled thinly while he interrupted himself “—forgive me, your menagerie of exotic guests would be less than popular with the King’s justice. He does have rather stringent views on such practices, as we both know.”

The Duke had slumped back into his comfortable chair with the look of a frightened, angry, and impotent man-child and Jacques almost let himself enjoy the moment. Almost.

If it had been an opponent that was cunning instead of simply being too stupid to know when to sit and play the good puppet, he might have allowed himself to relish in the victory. As it was however, manipulating and twisting Duke Holbrecht was like punching a fat child in the face and stealing their noonday sweets.

Amusing but not satisfying.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“What do you want?” The Duke asked hoarsely.

“My lord Duke,” Jacques said with a sympathetic look while applying his priestly mask, “it is not for me to want, but to serve the will and interests of the God of Light and His Faithful flock. You are part of His flock, are you not?”

“Of—Of course.” The Duke responded like a frightened and chastised boy.

“Most excellent.” Jacques said with a patronising smile. “Then that means that I will keep your little operation, and the identities of those that sample your imported wares between just the two of us, and in return you will…?”

“Support the…”

“I cannot hear you, my lord.” Jacques said with a carefully curated hint of reprimand.

“Support the candidate you put forward as the new heir-apparent pro-tem, should the—” the Duke swallowed “—the worst happen to the Princess during her foray into the Desolation.”

“Very good.” Jacques said with a smile he didn’t feel. “Now I fear I’ve kept you far too long from your most important affairs in the city proper.”

“Y—Yes.” The Duke said while he attempted to rouse himself. “Important… Important affairs, and all that. Yes. Indeed.” Marius all but leapt up from his seat. An impressive speed for a man that looked as if he dined on blood-tainted whores, instead of simply putting more fat and ugly little bastards in them. “I shall take my leave, I think, Hierarch.”

“Indeed my lord,” Jacques replied with a gracious and fractional nod of his head. “Your visit was most flattering for myself and the Ascendancy of Stormharrow.”

“Of course.” The Duke said in a voice that barely hid the fear Jacques could feel seething beneath the surface of his psyche. It was the first truly enjoyable part of the entire interaction, in truth. “May Solarius bless and protect you, your holiness.”

“And may His Light guide you in the Path, your grace.” Jacques replied in rote.

The Duke turned then and made his way across the Vrelken-hide carpet, stopping only to glance fearfully at Commander Elenoir before opening the door and, blessedly, departing Jacques’ presence entirely.

The moment the door closed behind the waddling figure of Marius Holbrecht, the Hierarch let his expression of mildness drop and his features twisted in repulsed disgust. “The stench of that fool of a man will infect this room for days now. Even with his little bathhouse he reeks of sweat and cheap parfum.”

Elenoir said nothing from her position near the door, and kept her golden eyes trained on him in silent and indifferent patience. Waiting for orders, no doubt. His gaze locked with hers, and though temptation flared in both his mind and beneath his robes; Jacques dismissed the impulse toward indulgence with a small exercise of will. It was hard, but necessary for the plan.

She would always be there later, after all.

“Whom is next?” He asked instead while refilling his goblet.

“The Duchess Bridgerton.” Elenoir informed him with mechanical coldness.

“Ah, the dowager whore.” Jacques remarked idly while looking down at his now-refilled goblet. “How many Adventurers has she rutted with at our last count?”

“The Eyes of Light reported she has apparently taken both a goblin and a selkie to her bed,” the Commander reported flatly. “We also have reports of her nephew, the Baron of Colswin, though that is unconfirmed.”

“Oh? Now that is useful.” Jacques said thoughtfully. “I suppose I can just use Empathic Edict to twist the truth from her, though the bitch is known to be wily. Mm.” He looked up at Elenoir. “Pressure points?”

“Her daughter, Larelle, is currently studying with the Ascendancy’s Healers in the Cathedral. It would not be difficult to ‘lose’ her to the Roughs in the southern slums of the city proper. It is unlikely a woman of her breeding would ever recover or be seen as worthy by upper society after a night of being at the mercy of the criminal elements there.”

“How devious of you, Commander.” Jacques remarked with sardonic mirth. Then again given the woman’s origins as a noblewoman of Bordèaux herself, near the heart of the Ascendancy; it made sense she would know exactly how to threaten to ruin the Duchess’ legacy. After all, the dowager was well-documented to put far too much stock on the prospects of her progeny. Her daughter was perhaps one of the few things the shrewd bitch actually, truly loved.

The husband she’d murdered certainly hadn’t been among the number.

Perhaps he could even arrange to sample the little heiress himself.

His eyes trailed along Elenoir’s armoured figure, and he smiled in self-satisfaction. He did rather enjoy the taste of proper breeding, especially when it took some time to… soften the resistance of the meat, so to speak. His hand shifted subconsciously to the leather crop next to his leg against his desk, and he touched the handle idly.

“What of the agents with the Karelian brat’s little expedition?”

“They are making contact as required,” the Commander answered flatly.

“Is there anything of worth to report?” Jacques pressed.

“No. She has engaged herself in battle, and reportedly acquitted herself admirably enough, but there is no progress beyond a deeper drive into the Desolation. It is unlikely we shall hear anything substantial for weeks yet.”

The Hierarch leaned back in his seat and stared at the fireplace in thought. The Princess was a problem, but he could handle her easily enough… one way or another. “Are your Anointed ready to sally out once I give the word?”

“Yes. I have also requested reinforcements from the lesser orders, in case of issues with the local garrison during your move to replace the Princess. Should it be needed, I will have close to fifteen thousand of the Solari Militant at hand to suppress resistance.”

“You think my plans will fail?” Jacques asked with a flicker of cold anger.

“No, your holiness. It is my duty to account for your safety, and I do not see a reason to be lax in that regard.”

It was a clean response. Too clean. Too easily delivered. She was mocking him.

The raven-haired whore was mocking him.

His eyes turned to the crop again, and he resolved to add steel studdings to it at some point.

He would see how haughty the bitch acted then, Third Temper or not.

“The things I must do for righteousness…” He lamented to himself quietly while lifting his goblet to take a sip of his wine.

“Very well Elenoir,” he said when he lowered the goblet, and after carefully obfuscating his seething thoughts. “Send in the Dowager.” He hesitated for a moment and then smiled, “and investigate who accompanied her. If it’s either a goblin or selkie, task your most capable subordinates into making them comfortable. I have no doubt that they have many things to divulge to willing ears, and some of the Paladins under your banner fit the same look as the Dowager, with firmer bodies besides.”

He suppressed a smile at the momentary sharpness of Elenoir’s gaze, the firming of her lips, the lock of her jaw, and the vein that stood out on her neck while every aspect of her being sought to revolt against his orders. He watched her struggle with her desire to unleash upon him and, as always, saw the moment her oath and bonds took effect and the fight went out of the black-haired beauty like air from a punctured lung.

“It will be as you say, your holiness.” The woman responded flatly, saluted, and left.

Jacques glanced down at his crop when she did, and frowned in thought. Perhaps he’d graduate to steel-studded that night instead. He indeed had a duty he could not take lightly. Elenoir was still far too rebellious. Too willful. He’d need to beat that out of her until she properly embraced the blessing of her station.

He had a duty to deliver her from her own sin, after all, as a Priest of Solarius.