Chapter Five

The following three days passed in a delicate balance of public normalcy and private war.

Elias attended meetings with his father, charmed visiting dignitaries who wanted to “express concern” after the attack, and played the part of the concerned heir. All while Adrian moved like a ghost through the household—quietly directing discreet inquiries, cross-referencing ledgers, and ensuring no one noticed how closely the two of them worked together.

On the evening of the third day, they met again in the library after midnight. The rest of the manor slept uneasily under doubled guards.

Adrian had laid out several ledgers and a stack of correspondence. His eyes were shadowed with fatigue, but his mind remained razor-sharp.

“Here,” he said, tapping a column of figures. “Three large withdrawals over the past eighteen months, routed through a holding company in the northern provinces. The name on the account is a shell, but it links back to your cousin Victor’s personal secretary.”

Elias whistled lowly. “Victor. Quiet, unassuming Victor. Always happy to stay in the shadows.”

“Too happy, perhaps.” Adrian rubbed his temple. “There’s more. One of the payments coincides with the date your mother’s physicians were changed during her final illness.”

The implication settled heavily between them.

Elias leaned back in his chair, staring at the flickering lamp. “Someone wanted me unstable. Easy to discredit. Easier to remove when the time came.” He laughed once, sharp and humorless. “They nearly succeeded.”

Adrian watched him carefully. “You speak as though you watched it happen.”

Elias met his gaze. The temptation to tell the full truth—to confess the death, the return, the crushing weight of foreknowledge—was strong. But not yet. The trust between them was still fragile, still growing.

“I’ve had a lot of time to reflect on mistakes,” he said instead. “And on the people who stood by me when no one else did.”

A long silence followed. The fire in the hearth had burned low, casting warm shadows across Adrian’s face. He looked impossibly tired, yet he made no move to leave.

“You carry too much,” Elias said softly. “I see it now. The way you manage the entire estate while my father pretends to rule and I… used to destroy. Why do you stay, Adrian? Truly?”

The butler’s shoulders tensed. For a moment, Elias thought he would deflect with duty again. Instead, Adrian spoke with quiet honesty.

“My father was a footman here before he died. I was twelve. Your mother took me in, gave me an education, and a place. I owe this family my life.” He paused, voice lowering. “But lately… the debts feel heavier. The secrets. The knowledge that things are wrong, and I am complicit simply by keeping the household running smoothly.”

Elias reached across the table and this time let his hand rest on Adrian’s. No gloves tonight. Skin against skin. “Then stop carrying it alone. We change things together. Starting with Victor.”

Adrian didn’t pull away. Instead, his fingers curled slightly, a tiny acknowledgment. The contact lingered, warm and charged, until the distant sound of a door closing somewhere in the manor made them separate.

“We should be more careful,” Adrian murmured, though his eyes said otherwise.

“Careful is what got me killed last time,” Elias replied with a crooked grin.

Adrian’s brows rose. “Last time?”

“A figure of speech.”

...----------------...

The next morning brought a new complication.

Victor arrived at the manor unannounced, claiming concern for the family after the “terrible attack.” He was a slender man in his thirties with a scholarly air, wire-rimmed glasses, and a perpetual slight smile that never reached his eyes.

Elias received him in the drawing room, Adrian standing attentively behind his chair like the perfect servant.

“Cousin!” Victor exclaimed, embracing him with false warmth. “I came as soon as I heard. Dreadful business. Have the culprits been caught?”

“Not yet,” Elias said cheerfully. “But we’re making progress. Interesting handkerchief found near the gate, by the way. Your crest.”

Victor’s smile faltered for the briefest second. “A coincidence, surely. Many items circulate at galas.”

“Of course.” Elias’s grin sharpened. “Stay for a few days, Victor. We could use your… insight into family matters.”

Adrian remained silent, but Elias could feel the tension radiating from him.

Later that afternoon, as Victor settled into a guest wing, Elias and Adrian walked the gardens under the pretense of discussing security.

“He’s testing us,” Adrian said quietly. “Watching how we react.”

“Let him watch.” Elias plucked a rose and twirled it absently. “I have a reckless idea. We feed him false information. Let him think I’m still the same chaotic fool. Draw out whoever he’s working with.”

Adrian stopped walking. “That’s dangerous. If he’s connected to the larger conspiracy—”

“Then we learn who wants the Ashcroft bloodline broken before the solstice.” Elias turned, stepping closer. “I need you to play your role perfectly. The impeccable, loyal butler who enables his reckless master. Can you do that?”

Adrian’s expression was unreadable, but his voice held a new intensity. “For you? Yes.”

The simple declaration carried more weight than either of them acknowledged. Elias felt the slow burn between them deepen—a glance held too long, the memory of hands touching in the library, the quiet understanding growing in the shadows of danger.

As they returned to the manor, a messenger waited with a sealed letter from the capital. It bore the royal crest.

Elias broke it open. His expression darkened as he read.

“They’re sending an envoy to ‘ensure stability’ in the Ashcroft house. A Lord Merrick. Known for digging up scandals and favoring rival families.”

Adrian’s jaw tightened. “The inheritance wars are beginning in earnest.”

Elias folded the letter, that familiar reckless fire lighting in his eyes. “Good. Let them come. We’ll be ready.”

But as they stepped inside, Elias caught a glimpse of Victor watching them from an upper window. The scholarly smile was gone.

The game had truly begun.

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