The knock came just as the afternoon light began to fade. It wasn't the sharp, demanding rap of Kessler's men. It was a single, polite tap, followed by another. The kind of knock that said, *We are here. You know why. Let's not make this difficult.*
Eli appeared in the doorway of the study, his face pale. He didn't have to say a word. I knew. The feeling I'd had in the market—the chill of being watched—had been a promise.
"The Duke of Blackwood requests your presence," Eli said, his voice flat. He emphasized the word "requests." It wasn't a request. It was a summons dressed up as politeness. Refusing wasn't an option.
"I'll be right down," I said.
My stomach turned. This was the part that actually mattered. The banquet had been a stage play with a large audience. This would be a private performance for the one person who mattered most. And he wasn't there to be entertained.
The carriage waiting for me was dark, polished, and unmistakably his. The ride was silent. No words were exchanged with the two guards who sat opposite me, their faces blank. I spent the entire journey rehearsing lies, discarding them, and then trying to piece together new ones. The banquet performance, the debt collectors, Isolda Verne—how much did he know? The [Silver Tongue] skill felt like a blunt instrument now, useless against a mind as sharp as Darius's. I couldn't talk my way out of this. I could only try not to trip over my own feet.
The Duke's manor wasn't a gothic castle spiking into the sky. It was a severe, clean building of dark stone and sharp lines, nestled in a part of the city where the streets were swept clean and the only noise was the rustle of leaves in well-tended gardens. Everything was orderly and controlled, just like him.
I was led not to a throne room, but to a private study. The room was large, but it felt intimate because of how little was in it. A massive mahogany desk, two high-backed chairs, and walls lined with shelves that held not books, but neat rows of ledgers and maps. No clutter. No wasted space. The air smelled of old paper and something faintly metallic.
Darius was not behind the desk. He was standing by the window, looking out over his perfect gardens. He didn't turn when I entered. He just let the silence stretch, letting me stand there, aware that I didn't quite belong in a place this controlled.
Finally, he spoke, his back still to me. "You are a resourceful man, Viscount."
It wasn't a question. It was an observation.
"I've had to be," I said. My voice was steadier than I expected.
He turned then. His silver-grey eyes met mine. There was no anger in them. No accusation. Just that cold, unnerving curiosity. "When did that begin?"
The question caught me off guard. It was so... specific. "Recently. A recent development."
"Your performance at the banquet was... unexpected," he said, walking around the desk and gesturing for me to sit in the chair opposite his. I sat. He remained standing. It was a small power play, and it worked perfectly. "You were always a devoted, if tedious, follower of the Prince. That sudden outburst of... theater... was out of character."
"I felt a test was in order," I said, choosing my words carefully, sticking to the lie. "To ensure the Prince was truly protected."
"Interesting," he said. He sat down, leaning forward slightly, his hands clasped on the desk. "Isolda Verne is not within your usual associations of tedious followers and sycophants. How did you come to her aid this afternoon?"
My throat went dry. He knew. Of course he knew.
"Her situation was brought to my attention," I said, trying to sound casual. "A merchant of her stature being inconvenienced by a minor clerk is bad for the city's commerce."
"Officer Grell has been unusually cooperative today," Darius continued, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "A coincidence?"
"I simply suggested he re-examine his filing system," I said. "It's amazing what can be found when one looks."
A ghost of a smile touched Darius's lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You negotiated with Baron Kessler's men this morning. That is also unlike you. The Viscount Damien I know would have hidden in his cellar until they broke the door down."
"I have been underestimated, Your Grace," I said, the line coming out smoothly. "I decided it was a habit I should break."
Darius leaned back in his chair, his gaze never leaving mine. The silence returned, heavier this time. He was watching me, analyzing me, peeling back the layers of my lies to see what was squirming underneath.
"Where did you learn to navigate the city's bureaucracy so efficiently?" he asked.
I met his stare. "I paid attention when no one thought I was."
He held my gaze for a long moment, then gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. "You were not always so observant. Your tutors complained."
My blood ran cold. Tutors? The original Damien had tutors? I had no idea. I couldn't react. I couldn't show a flicker of surprise. I just held his gaze, my face a mask of calm indifference, while my mind screamed.
"They often mistook silence for stupidity," I finally said, my voice low. "A common error."
Darius didn't look away for a long time. Then, he stood. The audience was over.
He walked to the door and opened it, dismissing me without a word. As I walked past him, he spoke again, his voice so quiet I almost missed it.
"Continue."
I didn't look back. I walked out of the study, through the silent manor, and back into the carriage. The entire ride back to my decaying house, I felt his eyes on me. I knew it was impossible, but the feeling didn't go away. I had survived. But I was no longer in the shadows. I was standing in the light, and the Ice Duke was studying every move I made.