The heavy oak door slammed open, hitting the stone wall with a loud bang that rattled the glass roundels overhead.
The messenger collapsed onto his knees, his breath ragged and wet as he dragged himself across the Flanders carpet.
His tabard was soaked through with a filthy grime of dried sweat, road mud, and stiffening blood.
“My Lady…” the man wheezed, his fingers tearing into the rug’s wool fibers as he fought for air.
His eyes were bloodshot and wide with raw terror.
He threw a quick, panicked glance toward Father Luik, then to the handmaidens lining the wall.
“Lady Pulchra… please. The news from the eastern road… I was told to bring it to your ears alone. Clear the room. I beg you.”
Pulchra didn’t flinch.
She stood tall by the bed, her fingers digging firmly into Julian’s shoulder.
The vibrant red hair framing her face caught the morning light, but her eyes were cold stone.
“Say what you came to say,” Pulchra said, her voice steady despite the tension tight enough to snap.
“We don’t keep secrets in this house, and there is no privacy between family. Whatever news you have of Dan, you say it right here. Now.”
The soldier swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his filthy throat.
He looked around the chamber one last time—at Father Luik, who had narrowed his sharp eyes and pulled his robes tight; at Luna, who was shrinking into Julian’s side; and finally at Julian himself.
Julian sat motionless on the edge of the mattress.
Beneath the surface, the overwhelming blue-prints of the Technology Tree hummed in the back of his mind like a quiet machine, but right now, his focus was entirely locked on the bleeding man at their feet.
“Lord Dan…” the messenger choked out, the words sounding like gravel in his throat.
“He was on the high trade road… five days back. Right as the supply line crossed into the rocky pass… inside the Vane family’s territory…”
“Go on,” she demanded.
“An ambush!” the soldier blurted, breaking into an ugly, desperate sob.
“A whole force of them… mercenaries! No banners, no crests, armor scorched black with soot to hide who sent ’em. They dropped from the cliffs before our front line could even pull their swords. Heavy bolts, pitch, fire down the narrow trail—”
Luna gasped, slamming her hands over her mouth, all the color draining instantly from her face.
“What about my father?” Julian asked.
His voice wasn’t the weak, breathless murmur of a sick bedridden boy.
It was flat, calm, and direct.
Father Luik’s head snapped slightly toward Julian, his eyes taking in the strange, sudden composure of the young heir.
The soldier kept his head low, staring at the floor.
“They went straight for Lord Dan, young master. They knew our exact line of march. Rolled heavy boulders to cut the caravan in half and trap the main guard away from the Lord’s coach. It was a slaughter… two-thirds of our knights… cut down in the dirt.”
A suffocating quiet hit the room.
Near the door, one of the servant girls let out a quiet whimper, her hands shaking so hard the bronze washbasin she held rattled against her apron.
“Two-thirds?” Pulchra whispered.
Her hand squeezed Julian’s shoulder so hard her knuckles turned stark white.
“Two-thirds of our guard… dead?”
“Dead or scattered in the rocks, My Lady,” the soldier wept, blood leaking from his split lip.
“The captain fought like a madman to haul Lord Dan out of the fire and into the woods with what few men were left. When they sent me to ride for help, the rest were surrounded, making a last stand. And the local watchtowers inside the Duchy of Vane… they just watched, My Lady. They saw the smoke. They heard our horns. They didn’t move a single boot.”
Father Luik stepped forward, his dark green velvet robes rustling over the stone floor.
His fingers idly smoothed the green jade stone hanging at his chest.
“The Duchy of Vane,” Luik said softly, his voice devoid of any panic, entirely focused on the situation.
“An ancient house with a noble title, drowning in debt, watching a family of upstart merchants hold more gold, silk, and fine glass than the Duke will ever see in his life.” Follow the newest chapters on novelping(.)com.
“Are you saying the Duke set this up, Father?” Pulchra’s tone flared with a sudden, dangerous heat.
“I am saying nothing, Lady Pulchra,” Luik replied smoothly.
“I am simply describing the neighborhood. A broke lord, a rich neighbor passing through a narrow gap, and anonymous sellswords operating right under the local guard’s noses.”
Julian processed every word.
A chokepoint strike.
Scrubbed armor.
Deliberate negligence from the local rulers.
A textbook hit meant to decapitate the estate.
He looked up at Pulchra.
Her face had shifted from pale shock to a hard, cold mask, though her trembling hands betrayed her.
The Falcon family’s wealth—the very thing that bought them luxury no king could match—had finally put a massive target on their backs.
And with his father missing in hostile woods, their guard butchered, they were suddenly wide open.
Nobody moved.
Nobody spoke.
The sweet smell of the oat porridge on the bedside table was completely gone, replaced by the copper stench of dried blood and sweat.
The morning sun streaming through the expensive glass windows no longer felt warm.
The air in the room plunged, growing bitterly cold as the quiet reality sank in: the walls protecting the Falcon Estate had just been torn down.