Waiting in a luxurious sitting room with dedicated staff ready to take care of his every need, he should have felt better than this. Since stepping foot in Cralin’s Rest, Garva’s closest major port to Hetnia, Colin had been treated exactly as a man of his rank should.
The local Baron even gave him face by personally coming down to the docks to greet him and take over the hosting of Count Luster-Treon and the Admiral. His men had been given leave to use the local garrison’s supplies and granted decent quarters to stay while they waited for Duke Garva or a representative of his to deal with this mess.
Technically, Colin was supposed to report directly to Garva’s Admiral, one Yonder Garva, but since the man was the Duke’s brother and was known to only act with his express approval, he had cut the middlemen out and directly contacted the real power in the region.
Colin knew it’d be difficult to properly convey the reasons for his mutiny. Admiral Dunster was sure to speak against him and had likely already started poisoning every ear at his disposal, but Duke Garva was known to be a just and unfeeling man. He had a reputation for using every weapon in his arsenal to hold the western border against the barbarians and had gone so far as to redeem convicted criminals if the situation called for it.
That, more than a strategic closeness, had been why he had chosen to sail here.
If there was anyone with sufficient authority to pardon him who would listen, it would be Duke Garva.
But that didn’t mean he expected to be treated as a high noble during his wait. He had even prepared a tent for his use should the local Baron refuse to host him for fear of the Admiral's wrath!
All that being treated this well did was fuel Colin’s paranoia, which he realized wasn’t exactly a good state of mind to be in when he was finally supposed to meet the Duke—this morning, to be precise— but he couldn’t help it.
Word had come the previous evening, while he was eating his supper alone in the dining room of his assigned quarter under the too-watchful eyes of the Baron’s servants, that the Duke had arrived in the city.
It was late enough that a meeting wasn’t likely, but Colin had insisted a bath be drawn so he could clean up should he be called to answer for his actions.
As an exasperated butler had told him, the Duke had not sent for him, but that hadn’t stopped Colin from spending the night awake, pacing back and forth in his bedroom.
After another bath that morning, a messenger arrived bearing a single man with a bloodied sword between two rocks as a standard, which identified him as belonging to the ducal household. The messenger invited Colin to luncheon with the Duke.
Which led to the current situation. Him, forcing his nerves down and actively stopping his legs from bouncing with anxiety, in an empty, opulent sitting room.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity but was likely little more than half an hour, a maid entered the room, bowing demurely. “Rear Admiral, the Duke will see you now if you’ll follow me.” And with that, she turned around and left, her footsteps making no sound on the marble floor.
Colin hurried to follow her, his longer legs allowing him to catch up quickly. He nervously adjusted his uniform and checked his medals but did not ask the woman if he looked good. In his experience, they never answered honestly.
The maid led Colin through a series of lavishly decorated hallways adorned with intricate tapestries and paintings depicting past victories and coastal landscapes. The Baron’s villa was almost unimaginably rich, showing just how different life was in Garva. Even minor nobles held wealth that only the highest in Hetnia could dream of.
As they approached the garden, a flowery scent grew stronger, mingling with the salt-tinged breeze wafting in from the nearby sea.
Finally, they stepped out into the sunlight, and Colin found himself in a meticulously maintained garden. Roses of every color bloomed in organized beds, their petals gleaming with dew. A long table had been set under a canopy of ivy-covered trellises, set with fine porcelain and gleaming silverware. The dishes alone likely cost as much as the townhouse he had been so proud of, but it was the two men seated at the table who commanded Colin’s attention.
Duke Garva was exactly as Colin had seen in his textbooks at the naval academy, if a bit older—stern, with salt-and-pepper hair that framed a face marked by years of command. His muscular frame was imposing even in repose, and his surprising height only added to the air of authority he exuded. He sat straight-backed in his chair—one that Colin noticed was significantly more ornate and taller than the two others at the table— his brow furrowed in what seemed to be a permanent expression of severity. There was a handsomeness to him, but the unyielding nature of his gaze overshadowed it.
Beside him, Dunster twitched slightly at Colin’s arrival, his jaw tightening. The Admiral’s eyes were sharp with distrust, but he remained seated, his hands clasped tightly on the table. Colin had expected worse, given that Dunster had tried to attack him several times during his captivity, and the man’s restrained posture now suggested he was barely holding back the impulse to do so again, but somehow, he refrained.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Colin approached the table with deliberate calm, feeling once more like a recruit being punished for something not his fault. He greeted both men with stiff politeness. "Your Grace, Admiral, thank you for seeing me.”
Duke Garva nodded curtly, indicating the chair opposite him. "Rear Admiral Masters, sit.”
A butler he hadn’t noticed stepped forward and smoothly pulled Colin’s chair back. He sat down, maintaining a composed expression even as his heart raced. The tension wasn’t overt; no indication of this being anything but a formal meal had been given, but to Colin, this luncheon would be the most important test he had ever taken.
The first course was brought out by silent, efficient servants, who only ever spoke to explain the dish and left with the stealth of an Expert rogue—a fine, cold vegetable soup garnished with herbs and served in delicately painted bowls. The Duke motioned for them to begin eating, and Colin followed suit, carefully sipping the chilled broth. The flavors were subtle and refined, but his mind was too preoccupied to appreciate them fully.
“I trust your accommodations were sufficiently adequate, Masters?” The Duke asked after dabbing his mouth.
“Absolutely, Your Grace. The Baron was a gracious host.”
"Good." The Duke’s eyes bore into him, assessing. “As news from Hetnia is becoming scarcer by the day, I’m curious to hear about the Revolution and this Leonard Weiss. Your actions were... unconventional, to say the least. But I’d like to understand why you felt they were necessary.”
And there it is. He’s giving me a chance to explain. I almost expected to be thrown in a dungeon and be left there to languish forever, but I shouldn’t relax yet. I need to convince him without pushing too hard, or the polite tone might disappear. It’s my best protection at the moment.
Colin took a moment to compose his thoughts. He knew that honesty was his best chance here, especially since the Duke was a known Master with decades of political experience. He’d be able to tell the truth from a lie or misdirection in a second, even if Dunster wasn’t there to act as counterfactual. "Leonard Weiss is unlike any foe I’ve ever encountered. The power he wields is beyond what I thought possible, to put it mildly. I witnessed him single-handedly bring down a King Vasily Airship. The man is a force of nature, Your Grace. To stand against him with the resources we had would have been suicide.” This was the riskiest sell, paradoxically. Duke Garva’s family had held the Death Pass against impossible odds for centuries. Would he understand?
The Duke’s expression didn’t change, but Colin could see the gears turning behind his eyes. He then turned to Admiral Dunster. "And what is your assessment, Admiral?”
Dunster, who had remained silent until now, glanced at Colin before speaking. His voice was tight with barely suppressed anger. "I can confirm the Rear Admiral’s account, Your Grace. Weiss is very dangerous. But that does not justify abandoning one’s post.”
Colin almost let out a sound of surprise. He had been expecting stiff resistance to everything he said, but the man he considered a wasteful wretch acted like a proper soldier.
Is it just because the Duke doesn’t tolerate lying and acting out? Or is he preparing something to surprise me?
Unfortunately, there were no apparent answers to his questions, so Colin decided to just be ready for anything.
Duke Garva’s gaze returned to Colin, but his tone remained neutral. "And yet you did just that. From what I’ve seen, you’re not a fool, Masters. You know the consequences.”
Colin met the Duke’s eyes squarely. "I do, Your Grace. But I believed then, as I do now, that it was the only way to preserve the lives of my men and the Navy’s strength so that we could organize an operation to destroy the rebels. Weiss’s power is too great to be met head-on with the forces we had, not to speak of the army he brought along. I chose what I believed was the only sensible path.”
The second course arrived, interrupting the conversation briefly as the servants placed the plates before them. Succulent and rich hammerclam steak was served, paired with superior algae sauté—a delicacy from the deep seas Colin had only tasted once and still remembered fondly.
He noticed the Admiral’s faint grimace as the Duke’s preferred local wine was poured, but Dunster kept his thoughts to himself.
They ate quietly for a few moments, though Colin remained tense, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Duke Garva finally broke the silence, his tone still unreadable. "And what of the city now? What have you done to ensure the city's security under Weiss’ control?”
Colin set down his fork, sensing this was a crucial moment. More than strictly adhering to protocol or insubordination—for which there would surely be a punishment, but might be lighter than expected—the man seemed to care about outcomes. "The city is safe, for now. Weiss has shown himself to be as much a strategist as a warrior. He contacted the Archmage and Guildmistress to set up a bloodless takeover, which is what convinced me to go through with it. Treon was already his, but this way, I was able to prevent a massacre.”
The Duke leaned back slightly, digesting his words. "And you still believe that allowing him to take over without a fight was the correct choice?”
"I do," Colin said firmly. "It was the only choice that offered any hope of retaking the city. Weiss was unstoppable with our limited means, Your Grace. I saw no other way.”
The rest of the courses were then served as the Duke thought about what Colin had said—an array of fine cheeses followed by the peculiar and unsettling Living Beehive, a delicacy that buzzed faintly with life as they ate it with spoons. The wine continued to flow, though Colin noticed that Dunster merely sipped at his glass, clearly not enjoying the Duke’s favored sour vintage.
Colin felt a small glimmer of hope as the meal drew to a close. The Duke had listened, and despite the tension, there had been no outright condemnation. He believed he had made a convincing case. Just as he was beginning to relax, Duke Garva casually gestured with his hand.
Colin barely had time to register the movement before he felt an invisible force binding his hands and feet. He struggled instinctively, but the bonds were unyielding. A suppressing collar was fastened around his neck, cutting off his access to any magical abilities. Panic surged through him, and he tried to stand up, but his limbs failed him.
He slumped in defeat, realizing resistance was futile.
Admiral Dunster’s laughter rang out, loud and mocking. "Look at you, Masters. This is the only possible consequence of mutiny. Did you really think you'd get away with it?”
Colin stared at the ground, his mind reeling. He had known the risks, but he had hoped…
"Enough," Duke Garva's voice cut through Dunster's laughter like a knife. The Admiral fell silent, though a smirk still played on his lips.
Duke Garva turned his cold gaze to Dunster. "You wanted to retake Treon, did you not, Admiral?”
Dunster straightened, all traces of amusement vanishing. "Yes, Your Grace. With respect, allowing Weiss to hold the city is madness. He is poised to win against Pollus now, and if he does, Hetnia will fall.”
The Duke’s eyes hardened further. "The King has decreed this conflict to be an internal matter within Hetnia. We are to observe, not interfere.”
"That’s insanity," Dunster protested. "Weiss is a threat to the entire kingdom! If he consolidates his power—“
"Enough," Garva interrupted, his voice icy. "The King has his reasons. If Weiss succeeds, it will allow him to cleanse Hetnia thoroughly when he retakes control. Do not forget your place.”
Dunster's face reddened with shame, and he cringed back at the Duke's coldly furious look. "Yes, Your Grace," he muttered, lowering his eyes.
As his vision faded to black, Colin's last sight was Admiral Dunster’s humiliated expression, overshadowed by Duke Garva’s stern, unyielding gaze. The darkness swallowed him, and he wondered if he would ever see the light of day again.