A few days before Miguel and Giuseppe arrived at their respective destinations:
—Uffff… Yes… just like that… Deeper —groaned the man, his voice thick with pleasure as he stood near the edge of the bed, allowing the young woman before him to work on his swollen member. He was tall and heavily built, the sort of man whose very presence dominated a room before he even spoke.
As for the woman… "Woman" was perhaps too generous a description. She was young, painfully young. Barely eighteen, maybe less. Her figure had only recently lost the awkwardness of adolescence, and the fear trembling behind her wide eyes made it obvious she had never belonged in chambers such as these. She knelt on expensive carpets imported from southern kingdoms, wearing nothing except the thin shift that had already slipped from one shoulder.
—Further down. Further. Take it all in! —the man ordered impatiently, thrusting his hips forward with increasing force.
The young servant tried desperately to obey, though tears already glistened in the corners of her eyes. One trembling hand rested against his thigh as if searching for stability, while the other clutched helplessly at the fabric pooled around her waist.
—P-Please… my lord… slower… —she tried to plead.
But her "lord" had already sunk too deeply into his own indulgence to care about her discomfort.
—Ah… fuck… yes… just like that —he muttered, gripping her hair harder—. Good little thing…
—My lord… I can't breathe… —the young woman whispered weakly between gasps.
—You can breathe later. —He laughed darkly, continuing to push against her mouth—. Ah… there it is… I'm close…
His voice deepened into a rough growl as pleasure overtook him.
—Fuck… I'm coming… I'm cumming! Ahhh, yes… take every drop. Drink it all. Not a single drop wasted. —The Duke shuddered violently while tightening his grip around the servant's head.
The girl whimpered in disgust, her body trembling as she tried instinctively to pull away.
—Hmmm… mmph…
—Shhhhhh. Don't move. —His tone suddenly became calm, almost gentle, which somehow made it worse—. This is the best part. Now swallow. I want to see you swallow it all.
There was no room for refusal. Everyone inside the ducal estate knew the consequences of disobedience. Servants vanished. Guards carried scars. Maids whispered stories when they thought no one could hear them.
With watery eyes and shaking shoulders, the young woman forced herself to obey.
—Hm. Perfect. —A cruel grin spread across his face—. Now comes the best part of all. —he reached down, grabbing her by the chin and forcing her to look up at him—. Up onto the bed, little cat. I want you on all fours so I can split you open with my spear.
Fear crossed her expression instantly.
—My lord… please… reconsider… —Her voice trembled uncontrollably—. I have never lain with a man before tonight. Please…
The Duke's eyes slowly traveled across her exposed body, savoring the terror and humiliation radiating from her. —That only makes it better—. he murmured.
Before he could continue, however, a knock suddenly echoed through the chamber door.
—My lord, a letter from the Marquis of Narico. —called a guard from outside.
—Can't you see I'm busy?! —he roared toward the entrance with such fury that the servant girl nearly fell backward from fright.
Silence followed for a brief second. —My lord… it bears the Scarlet Seal. Urgent correspondence.
The Duke clicked his tongue in irritation. —Urgh! What a nuisance!—. He exhaled sharply, trying to suppress the anger building in his chest. —Damn Narico and his timing…
—Well then, little cat, fortune has spared you tonight. —he said with open disappointment—. Go. Now. If I require you later, I'll summon you again.
The young woman wasted no time.
She nearly stumbled while rushing across the luxurious chamber, snatching her discarded nightgown from the floor with trembling fingers. She dressed herself as quickly as possible, struggling to tie the fabric properly while tears blurred her vision.
When she finally opened the door, the armored guard standing outside did not even glance toward her. The moment she passed him and disappeared into the corridor, silent tears streamed down her face. Her shoulders shook violently as she hurried through the endless halls of the estate, trying desperately not to collapse before reaching the servants' quarters.
—Well then, what does my brother-in-law want now? This had better be important. —he muttered bitterly—. I was in the middle of a very delicate courtship.
The guard remained perfectly still.
—My lord, after reading the message himself, the Grand Scribe Martin instructed me to fetch Your Grace immediately and without delay.
…
—Here I am, Martin! —the Duke announced loudly while pushing open the doors to the private council chamber—. Was dragging me from my chambers truly necessary?
Inside waited only one man. Martin, the Grand Scribe. He immediately bowed deeply.
—Yes, Your Grace, Duke. —he replied respectfully—. News has arrived directly from the Marquis, and it concerns matters vital to your lordship's plans.
—I'm listening. —said the Duke as he poured himself wine.
Martin carefully unfolded the sealed letter resting on the table.
—First… the assault on the city of Pastto failed.
—Nothing unexpected there. Alban, that bastard, proved nearly two decades ago during the border wars that he understands warfare far better than most lords.
—Indeed, my lord. —Martin nodded—. However… the second matter is considerably worse.
Now the Duke looked up.
—Go on.
—The Marquis's forces suffered a devastating defeat during Alban's counterattack led by Pastto's city guard.
The Duke's expression darkened instantly.
—How devastating?
Martin hesitated only briefly.
—More than half were lost.
BAM.
The Duke's fist crashed against the heavy wooden table with explosive force, rattling candles and scattering documents across the chamber floor.
—Fucking idiot! —he shouted furiously—. That incompetent fool delays our northern plans by months!
Martin remained silent.
The Duke began pacing across the room like a caged beast.
—We need that steady supply of infidel mercenaries. Worthless animals, all of them, but useful animals. No one throws themselves into death more eagerly than them. Perfect cannon fodder.
—Yes, my lord. —Martin agreed cautiously— And that brings us to the third matter.
The Duke stopped pacing.
—There's more?
—Yes. —Martin swallowed carefully—. In order to avoid delaying the harvest, the Count placed his son in command of a convoy meant to return their surviving people to the villages. However, during the journey, Alban's men also destroyed the rearguard the Marquis had left behind to protect the retreat… along with a mercenary group hired for the operation.
The chamber fell silent.
Then:
—AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!—The Duke exploded in rage. In a violent sweep of his arm, he hurled maps, goblets, books, and inkpots from the table. One silver candlestick narrowly missed Martin's head.
The old scribe raised his arms instinctively to shield himself while the Duke continued destroying everything within reach.
Furniture toppled.
Glass shattered.
…
Nearly a full minute passed before the Duke finally calmed enough to stop kicking overturned chairs like a madman. Breathing heavily, he sat down again.
—Fine. —he muttered coldly—. Our broader plan remains intact. Failing to seize the mine near Pastto changes nothing regarding the other iron mines. According to the latest projections, by year's end we should still control nearly thirty percent of the kingdom's iron supply.
—Exactly, my lord. —Martin answered immediately—. With that degree of control, we can manipulate the price of the kingdom's most vital military resource before the next war against the Empire.
The Duke nodded slowly.
—And while prices rise, we finance the campaign to place the First Prince upon the throne. At the same time, we deny iron to our rivals.
—Precisely.
—But we must proceed carefully. Neither the faction of the Second Prince nor the Count himself can realize the true value of the mine they possess. If they discover it, they could stabilize the market against our inflation and ruin months of political maneuvering.
—My thoughts exactly, my lord.
The Duke leaned back heavily in his chair.
—Gods… just thinking about it makes me want to kill him. After all the political maneuvering we carried out to reduce the number of soldiers the Count could legally command… after sacrificing noble autonomy so the King could feel safe playing soldier with his shiny new royal army… this fool throws everything away in a single failed campaign.
Martin remained calm.
—We still possess many cards to play, my lord.
—Hmm… yes. You're right.
His expression hardened once more into that cold mask of aristocratic authority.
—Arrange a banquet at our estate. Invite all our allies and their representatives, assuming they remain within the capital. Tell them the Duke of Susa invites them to a special evening.
Martin bowed deeply.
—It shall be done as Your Grace commands.
—Good.—The Duke rose slowly from his chair.—We must organize our thoughts before the next council of nobles.
The machinery of conspiracy continued moving forward.