“Your Highness, it is an honor to receive you in our humble home.” Duke Carlyle Trace waited by the front gate, his blonde hair drowned in a thick coat of gel as his perfect beard fell to the middle of his neck, hiding most of the light wrinkles age had so generously given. By his side stood his son with a far more stern, less amicable expression - he was being forced to be here, dealing with such a messy situation.
“Thank you for accepting my request on such short notice.” Blake smiled politely as he exited the carriage, his eyes focused on the young man at the back, whose lack of respect was clear as he hadn’t bothered to provide him with proper greetings nor give him a shred of attention. Surely, nobles were all the same egoistical men, people who thought little of the power of the royals; fools who portrayed themselves as immortal, as if the reaper would skip their turn just because they harbor far too many riches within their mansions and estates.
“Of course! It is our joy and pride to assist you.” The Duke’s endless blabber and flatter were like a sickening medicine, those who were far too sweet, causing the patient’s throat to run dry with its essence. To this man, this was a golden opportunity, a way to befriend the Crown Prince without instigating the Queen, which would allow his businesses to flourish - especially those whose existence were only known to a handful of carefully picked individuals. “Shall we?”
Once they entered the waiting room a row of servants dashed into the space all carrying silver trays of the most exquisite cuisine artistry and finest cups, all which soon would have some fresh coffee or warm tea in them. Carlyle seemed far too pleased with the polite smile Blake forced, as if he was truly enjoying being in the presence of such a rat, as if seeing his crooked smirk didn’t irk the desire to chop off that man’s head.
“You were very secretive in the letter you sent, Your Highness.” With a nod, the Duke signaled all the servants to exit the room, leaving the three men alone in a quiet, stuffed environment. The intense fragrances of freshly baked goods, strong black coffee and light verbena tea floated through the space, making it almost unbearable to distinguish what scent belonged to what item. “Well, what can we help you with?”
“I’m afraid I must ask you to leave, Duke Carlyle. It is of utmost importance that I speak to your son alone.” The Crown Prince drank a piece of the dark fluid flowing in the white cup, allowing the adrenaline to voyage through his nerves and into his stomach.
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“I understand. Then I’ll be on my way.” Still with a stamped smile on his face but clearly holding a grudge, the man rose his tired body and headed towards the door before shooting a warning glare to his heir. “Anything you require please let us know, we will make sure to accommodate you to the best of our abilities.”
And the door closed with a soft thud before footsteps echoed in the corridor. It was only when the chirping of the birds outside rung through, that it was known they were finally alone.
The Crown Prince glanced at the noble man who appeared uninterested in anything that was bound to be discussed as his mind wandered off somewhere, eyes focusing on the outer garden.
“What can I help you with, Your Highness? I’m not sure I’ll be of much help.” Bradley finally took the initiative, back leaning towards the sofa, completely carelessly.
Unlike his father, he had no interest in playing houses with royalty as his greed and lust lingered somewhere else, not in money nor power nor status, but in a challenge in the shape of a woman. All of these warnings, all of these cordial displays belonged to a game he had no interest to take part in. Which, to Blake, was the ideal scenario as it was clear Duke Carlyle and Alvin had some sort of arrangement beneath the surface, going far deeper than a mere upcoming marriage.
“New leads have come to light on the case of Millicia Swan, so I am investigating further.” The prince declared while placing his cup on the tableware, however, he became rather surprised with the sight that transpired in the expression of his host.
Bradley’s brows had furrowed down until they almost formed a single line and his pale lips pressed together, jaw completely clenched. “New leads? Isn’t it clear that won’t change anything? That peasant is guilty.”
“Not according to Lady Ophelia. Today morning she came into my office, pleading to release the prisoner as she lacked guilt.” Blake showed off a rather cordial smile understanding Catherine’s words were, as usual, completely correct.
It seemed like Bradley was far more infatuated by that girl then he seemed to realize, after all, only by the mention of her name his stance had completely changed. His expression had softened, and his gaze yearned for her, like a pitiful puppy waiting to be taken home by their master.
“Fascinating, isn’t it? Why would the daughter of a Duke care so much about a mere commoner?”
“Lady Ophelia is far more than meets the eye...” Bradley’s response was gentle as if a sense of nostalgia had washed over his being. “Well, what can I do to assist in this matter?”
“Please go through the events of that afternoon thoroughly. Don’t leave anything out, even if you consider such details minor or trivial.”