Chapter 156: The Ruler Of The Tunnels
"Look at me... Sylvia... please..." Aldric’s voice broke the silence, low, unsteady.
Her breath hitched, a sob threatening to escape. Her nose flared, her cheeks flushed, and yet she forced words through her tightening throat. "Why are you doing this?" The sound came half-broken, torn between fury and grief.
Her fists curled, shaking. "Either act like you always used to... or like the brute you’ve shown yourself to be. Don’t..." her voice cracked, "don’t oscillate. I can’t..." She sniffed, another sob slipping past her guard. "I won’t fall for you again. I almost... but you..."
She shoved against his chest, but he did not move. Instead, his lips found her face wherever they could: her temple, her damp cheek, the corner of her jaw, desperate, insistent, as if by sheer closeness he could undo her words.
Sylvia broke then, sobbing openly, striking his chest with all the strength she could muster. Each blow trembled against him, her grief spilling into every motion.
"I don’t want to lose you, Sylvia," Aldric said, his voice rough, aching. His hands caught her, held her, not to restrain but to keep her from crumbling. "I want—"
Her fists faltered. Exhaustion overtook her, and she sagged against him, still trembling, still crying. In all her anger, she could only lean on him. His arms closed around her tightly, almost fiercely, as though shielding her from a world only he could see.
"I..." he began, the words poised on his lips... when the door to the princess’s chambers opened.
Sylvia flinched, twisting away from him. She pressed herself to the wall, frantically wiping her tears with shaking hands. Aldric stepped back at once, his jaw tight, his fingers hurriedly fixing his clothes.
Leroy emerged, eyes ahead, mask unreadable, yet not unseeing. His gaze flicked once to the steward and then to his wife’s favorite maid, lingering just long enough to catch Sylvia’s trembling composure. One brow rose almost imperceptibly.
Aldric straightened, shoulders squared, his expression neutral. He knew exactly what Leroy was weighing, waiting for: if Sylvia would speak. If she were to reach out for help.
But Sylvia said nothing. She bit her lip hard, forcing stillness into her face.
Leroy’s attention slid from her to Aldric, heavy and sharp. "Come to my study." His tone carried no question. Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked down the hall.
For a long breath, silence pressed between them. Then Aldric glanced at Sylvia, the faintest trace of softness breaking through the steel in his eyes. He reached out, gently patting her head, a fleeting, tender touch, as if he was saying that he still loved her, before stepping away.
She was no longer crying. At least, not where he could see.
And without another word, he followed the prince.
-----
Hadrian stirred when the iron cage creaked open. The sound alone was enough to make his muscles tighten, bracing for what always followed. Pain.
He no longer heard Elyse’s voice. Perhaps he had only imagined it earlier, his battered mind conjuring comfort where there was none. His vision blurred now, too. Was it whether from disease festering in his wounds, the endless blows, or simply because his eyes had finally given up...? He couldn’t tell.
He only knew that his world had shrunk to darkness, filth, and the sour stench of his own body.
Dignity had been stripped from him long ago. Beatings, hunger, mockery, the cage... each had chipped away at his will until he scarcely remembered what it felt like to be the Grand Duke, to command respect with a single glance. He was no more than an animal now, and it gnawed at him.
But one thought burned through the wreckage of his mind: they will not break me.
He lifted his head when the man entered, draped all in black, face hidden beneath cloth and shadow, whip dangling from his hand like an extension of his will. He inspected it with casual care, as though it were a beloved tool rather than an instrument of torture.
Hadrian’s cunning brain sparked anew with a plot. He didn’t see Lazira or Leroy around for a long time. That only meant...
Hadrian’s lips cracked into a grim smile. "How much does she pay you? Lazira?" His voice was a rasp, but his tone carried the sharpness of a blade dulled by rust but not forgotten. "Everyone has a price. Tell me yours."
The man in black said nothing.
Silence... Hadrian took his silence as interest, as approval. A negotiation. The one arena where he had always triumphed.
"I can double it," Hadrian pressed. His mind clawed for leverage. "Triple it. A man like you... skilled, loyal...you deserve more than scraps from her table. Come to me. When I walk free, you’ll have wealth, land, men of your own. You’ll never answer to another again."
Still, the man said nothing. Only the faint rattle of leather shifting against his gloves.
Hadrian’s heart beat faster. Desperation clothed itself as confidence. "Jewels. Gold. I have vaults that no one doesn’t even knows exist. Enough to buy kings, enough to make you one."
For the briefest moment, Hadrian thought he saw hesitation in the man’s stillness. Hope sparked. He leaned forward, filthy hands reaching for him. "All I ask is your loyalty. I’ll give you the world."
Since the man was still silent, Hadrian’s lips curved. "Or, is it women you want? A woman? Tell me who it is and I’ll get you."
The answer came swiftly and brutally.
The whip cracked against his back, tearing through grime and scabs, reopening wounds until fresh blood ran hot down his spine.
Hadrian screamed, his body buckling, but another lash followed, harder than the first. Then another. The man did not pause, did not relent, each strike carrying a message more searing than the pain itself.
I am not for sale.
By the fourth lash, Hadrian understood.
This man served Lazira not for coin, nor comfort, nor power. His silence screamed louder than words: he followed her for something deeper, darker, unshakable.
And for the first time, Hadrian felt a fear that no amount of wealth could soothe.
-----
Leroy sat back in his chair, the heavy oak creaking faintly beneath him. The air in his study was still, thick with the scent of ink and parchment, broken only by the faint crackle of the hearth. He reached for the silver-coated bear on his desk, its cold weight grounding him as his fingers traced the ridges of its polished surface.
When his eyes finally lifted, they locked onto Aldric.
The steward stood like a shadow before him, shoulders squared, jaw tight, his expression giving nothing away.
"Speak," Leroy said at last, his voice measured, but threaded with the steel of command. He rolled the silver bear slowly in his palm, as though testing its weight; testing Aldric. "No evasions. No riddles. I want everything. Who you are. What you are. And how it is that a man entrusted with my household ended up ruling the tunnels beneath this city."
The words landed heavy, like stones thrown into still water, rippling into the silence that followed.
Leroy leaned forward, the silver bear glinting in his hand, his green eyes narrowing with dangerous calm. "You’ve stood too close to Lorraine. Closer than any man I’d ever allow. And I tolerated it because she trusted you. I trusted you." His tone darkened, deliberate. "But if I discover your loyalty lies anywhere else, Aldric, I will bury you myself beneath those tunnels you claim to rule."
The air between them sharpened, two wills circling in the quiet chamber.
For the first time, Aldric’s composure faltered, just a flicker, a shadow across his face. He didn’t expect Leroy wanted to talk to him about it. Leroy saw it. Pressed it.
"So," Leroy murmured, voice low, menacing in its restraint. "Tell me who you are before I decide for you."