Count Stanley Valadon sat in the manor's drawing room, drumming his fingers against the armrest. He was waiting, waiting for news of a young baron's unfortunate death. When Edward walked through the door, very much alive and smiling, Stanley's composure cracked.
"Uncle," I greeted him pleasantly. "When are you returning to your territory?"
He recovered quickly, though I could see the tension in his shoulders. He coughed. "Well, by tomorrow I should be departing."
I let my smile widen as I moved closer. "Well, Count Valadon, how was the drink yesterday?"
Stanley startled, his eyes narrowing slightly. Had this boy discovered something?
"Yes, I had a good time," he replied carefully.
"That's too bad," I said, my tone casual but laced with something darker. "I had a horrible time, Count."
"What happened, Edward?" He pretended to be concern, but I could see the calculation behind his eyes.
"There was poison in the wine, Count."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Stanley's face remained neutral, but his knuckles whitened as he gripped the armrest. "But… how are you alive if we drank the same wine?"
I watched him squirm for a moment before delivering my blow. "If you don't want to be arrested for attempted murder of your nephew, you'd better be leaving, now."
Stanley was stunned. Yesterday this boy had been a frightened puppy, trembling at the thought of noble society. Now he stood before him like a predator ready to tear out his throat. But there was no way evidence existed. He'd been meticulous.
He sat down slowly, trying to regain control. "What kind of evidence you have?"
I laughed, a cold sound that echoed my past life and settled into the sofa across from him. "See, that's interesting, count. Anyone else would first ask 'what murder attempt?' or 'what poison?' But you, you went straight to asking about evidence." I leaned forward, my expression hardening. "Almost like you already knew exactly what I was talking about."
The Count's face paled. Had he really just been caught by a seventeen-year-old kid?
I released the killing intent I'd honed over three decades in the underworld. The air grew heavy, oppressive. Stanley's breath caught as he looked into my eyes, eyes that had seen too much death, ordered too many executions, survived too many attempts on my own life.
"Do I look like a child who would die from poison?" My voice was quiet, deadly.
Stanley couldn't speak. This wasn't the same person from yesterday. This was someone else entirely, someone dangerous. Had he been played? Had his amateur nephew, who'd never even entered noble society, somehow deceived him from the start?
Before he could formulate a response, I continued. "I think you know the consequence of the murder attempt. Shall we negotiate now?
The pressure was unbearable. Stanley found himself unable to think clearly, unable to mount any defense. This boy, no, this man had completely seized control of the situation. But he knew that there could be no evidence. So, the count calmed down and asked, " You should not accuse your uncle without any evidence."
In truth, I had no physical evidence. I'd entered this body mere hours ago. But I'd spent decades reading people, manipulating criminals, breaking men who thought themselves untouchable. The system had given me fragments about the family dynamics, and the original Edward's memories filled in the gaps. The rest was pure intimidation, an art form I'd perfected long ago.
Seeing the count still had not backed down, made me think he do have guts to play till the end. I replied him with a single sentence, "Widow's Kiss, a nightshade extract."
I watched his face drain of color.
The confidence he had was entirely shattered into pieces. It was a tasteless, undetectable. The only way to knew was by having a poison tester or after death the blood stain left by them. The count had planned to clear the blood stains and there was no way a country side baron could find the poison name.
He knew he couldn't escape now and asked, "what you want?"
Time to extract my payment.
"How about we negotiate?" I suggested, my tone shifting to something almost businesslike. "Some gold coins for the evidence and poison attempt. If you're not interested, I'm sure your younger brother would love to discuss it with me instead."
Stanley felt his world tilting. His younger brother had been circling like a vulture for years, waiting for any excuse to challenge his position. If evidence of attempted familial murder reached him, Stanley would lose everything. Kingdom law was absolute: kill a family member and your name would be struck from the noble registry, your title confiscated, your lands seized.
"How much do you want?" The words tasted like ash.
I met his eyes with the cold calculation of a man who'd negotiated with drug lords and arms dealers. "Five thousand gold coins."
"What five thousand gold coins"
"Take it or leave it." I leaned back, completely at ease. "Your brother gets the information for free. I'm being generous by giving you the option to buy my silence."
The ultimatum hung in the air. Stanley knew he was trapped. He couldn't afford to lose his title and land just because, he'd failed to kill a nephew who'd held the title for less than a day. The humiliation would destroy his standing among the nobility.
"Bring the magic contract papers," he ordered his butler through clenched teeth.
Minutes later, Stanley signed the contract with a heavy hand and shoved it across the table. "Sign it and give me the evidence."
I took the contract, examined it carefully, then folded it and tucked it into my jacket. "I'll destroy the evidence once the money arrives in full. Don't worry, count, I don't play double games."
Another lie. But he'd never know.
Stanley's glare could have melted steel, but he said nothing. He stood abruptly and stormed from the room.
In his chambers, Stanley bellowed at his servant, the one who'd prepared Edward's wine. The man fell to his knees, begging for mercy.
"Drag him to the carriage," Stanley ordered the guards. "Throw him in the basement once we reach my territory."
He paced furiously. That smug face. That impossible confidence. And he'd known the poison's name, Widow's Kiss. Only assassins and poisoners used that term. How could that boy possibly know?
His mind turned to larger problems. The King was dying, and the royal family was tearing itself apart. The Crown Prince had died of disease months ago, and now the remaining princes were slaughtering each other for the throne. Civil war was inevitable.
The King's cursed laws had made everything complicated, territorial wars required legal justification now, mountains of paperwork, official declarations. But with chaos coming, Stanley could expand his holdings under the cover of conflict. He needed troops, needed gold, needed to position himself for the aftermath.
Once the new Crown Prince was crowned and order restored, he'd deal with the brat. Permanently.
Stanley climbed into his carriage and departed before evening, just as Edward had commanded.
I watched from the window as the Count's carriage disappeared down the road. One problem solved.
"System, remind me to replace all the servants," I muttered. "They're all compromised."
"Noted."
I smiled. The Count thought he'd return to settle the score later. What he didn't realize was that I had no intention of giving him that chance. This was a new world, a new life, but I was still the same man who'd built an empire from nothing.
And I'd learned long ago: you don't wait for your enemies to strike twice.
You eliminate them first.
To be continued....