Chapter 11: Bow-Down-Peasants Vibe

Vyan felt a twinge of nausea as Iyana walked closer. Her approach felt like a horror movie where the monster always knew where to find you.

Her hair, brighter than a freshly polished silver trophy, practically screamed, 'Look at me, I'm perfect!' while her uniform could have been ironed on the battlefield by a drill sergeant with OCD.

This was his first time seeing after that night. So, he braced himself for the impending confrontation.

"You didn't answer me. What are you doing here?" Iyana demanded, her face an unreadable mask. It was as if her emotions were on vacation, leaving behind a sign that read: 'Gone fishing, back never.'

As Vyan tried to come up with a suitable defiant response, she beat him to it.

"You didn't come here to talk to me, did you?" she asked, her voice visibly disgusted.

Vyan scoffed, his bravado barely masking the fear swirling in his gut. "Oh, definitely not. Conversations with you rank somewhere between having mosquitoes in a tent and a sock filled with wet sand on my list of preferred activities."

"Right, you mentioned how much you hate me."

Vyan bristled, "You act as if you didn't dabble in a little villainy yourself."

"Pray tell what I did." Her response was a masterclass in passive-aggressiveness; it was like being stabbed with icicles made of disdain.

But Vyan wasn't about to let her have the last word. "I don't recall signing up for twenty questions with the to-be crown princess," he shot back.

She gave him a frosty smile. "Oh, so you're still bitter about that little... incident?"

"Incident? That's one way to put it. I prefer 'catastrophic betrayal from my liege,'" he retorted, his sarcasm dripping like acid.

"Yes, because you are the picture of flawless decision-making."

He was about to respond when his eyes landed on the cigar dangling between her fingers like a guilty verdict. "Wow, the sweet scent of hypocrisy. You never did kick back that nasty habit, did you?"

He felt a new pang of betrayal, realizing that Iyana had been playing him like a fiddle made of trust issues all along. How could she have lied about something as important as quitting smoking?

It was almost as bad as finding out your childhood hero's secret power was the ability to disappoint you.

But Iyana was unfazed, her poker face smoother than a freshly carved ice statue. "And you never did learn when to mind your own business."

"Says the woman who has made a career out of sticking her nose where it doesn't belong," he taunted, his annoyance reaching critical levels.

Her eyes narrowed. "You know, for someone who claims to hate me, you sure are enjoying our conversation while standing here."

If it weren't for this stupid artifact taking so much time, I would have left already! he screamed in his head, but alas, he couldn't say it out aloud.

"Trust me. I would rather wrestle a pack of rabid squirrels than spend another second in your company," he spat out, lacing his words with venom.

"Yet here you are, clinging to my every word like a lovesick puppy," she sneered. "Get over me, please."

Vyan fought the urge to hurl something—preferably at her head. Maybe he should take Clyde's artifact and do it.

"Oh, I am already over you," he jeered. "And believe me, the only thing I'm clinging to is the hope that one day, justice will finally catch up with you, my la—Iyana."

"So you are now addressing me by name?" she remarked, her tone a cocktail of disgust and disbelief. "You are finally showing your true colors."

"I have been following in my former master's footsteps, after all," he shrugged, feigning nonchalance.

She scowled, "Anyway, what exactly are you doing here even? Trying to find your spine, perhaps? Especially after you cowardly ran away from our cell."

Vyan's jaw clenched so hard it was a wonder his teeth didn't shatter. "I am here for business, unlike some people I know who seem to have mistaken this place for their personal smoking lounge."

"Business?" An obnoxious laugh escaped her lips. "What business does a nobody like you have here?" As she asked that question, her gaze finally spotted Benedict behind him. "Who is this old man with you?"

As Vyan glanced at Benedict, he could practically see the steam pouring out of his ears, but as a butler, he was obligated to maintain an air of detached professionalism.

"Training to be a butler, Vyan?" she added. "Good career move. Running errands always suited you."

Vyan's frustration bubbled like a cauldron about to boil over. "He is my butler," he confessed through gritted teeth.

Iyana erupted into laughter, her hand landing patronizingly on his shoulder. "Oh, Vyan, you are going to slay me with your jokes."

"It's not a joke. I'm a member of the Ashstone family."

She laughed even harder, her eyes never meeting his, oblivious to the storm brewing within him. "Oh, my sweet idiot, the entire Ashstone family died fifteen years ago. You must have missed the news."

He knew revealing his lineage would grant him some immunity—at the same time, he knew Iyana would not believe it.

This way, even if she tried to drag him back for execution, thanks to the skewed justice system favoring nobles over commoners, he would be spared. It was about as fair as a game of cards with a cheater, but that was the hand he had been dealt.

"How desperate can you get?" she mocked.

Is that really the woman he had once loved? She was more repulsive than a moldy sandwich left in the sun too long.

"Well, it's been a joy seeing you, Vyan. I am glad you are still kicking," she said, reaching for his cheek with a mocking smile.

He swatted her hand away like it was a fly, not even dignifying her with a glance.

"I will catch you on the flip side, my dear Ashstone. But you might want to get out of here before my colleagues arrive. They might have your warrant. Wouldn't want you going back into the cell," she taunted before sauntering off with a condescending chuckle.

Vyan ground his teeth so hard he thought he might shatter them, the urge to stomp on something nearly overwhelming. But then, just as he was about to unleash his frustration on the nearby artifact, it buzzed with the unmistakable presence of mana.

Some magical words appeared on its scale that Vyan was unable to read and so was Benedict—neither of them educated in the language of mages. Only Clyde would be able to tell.

Speaking of Clyde, Vyan had a bone to pick with him.

Because of his stupid errand, Vyan bumped into this abomination called Iyana, and now, his entire week was now ruined!

———

"Why the heck did you send us to check that lame area? And why did your precious artifact take eons to do its job?" Vyan exploded.

"First off, I never asked you to play tag-along with Benedict; that was your own brilliant idea. And secondly, my artifact isn't a miracle cream, it takes time to analyze magic, okay?" Clyde shot back.

"No way! Your gadget is as useful as a waterproof teabag, mark my words!" Vyan retorted.

"It's not defective, you drama queen—err, my lord," Clyde sighed. "But look on the bright side, at least you didn't have a mana meltdown. It could have turned your insides into an emergency medical case, you know? Instead, you just unleashed the most dangerous magical ability in your family's arsenal."

"Right, destructive magic. Why don't you tell me more—"

"Later! My old man and I need to have a little chat with you before the tutors start swarming in like bees to honey!" With that, Clyde steered Vyan towards the hall room.

As Lincoln greeted Vyan with all the warmth of a snowman in summer, they dove headfirst into business talk, bombarding Vyan's poor brain with so much information, it felt like a balloon about to pop at any moment.

"What? I need to learn how to walk?" Vyan gawked at the two men like they had just suggested he learn how to breathe underwater.

"Yes, my lord," Lincoln admitted sheepishly, his grin suggesting he found the whole situation rather amusing.

"Seriously? You're telling a twenty-year-old he needs a tutorial on putting one foot in front of the other?" Vyan's incredulity practically dripped from his words.

"You see, there's a certain finesse to noble walking," Clyde chimed in, painted with melodrama. "But fear not, my lord, you already have got a certain rugged charm to your stride. However, we are aiming for more of a 'bow-down-peasants' vibe. Got it?"

"This is beyond absurd," Vyan groaned, dramatically flopping back onto the couch.

"And lounging like that is precisely what you cannot do," Clyde added, with a disapproving sniff. "Posture, my lord, posture!"

Vyan sat up straighter. "I had no idea nobility came with a manual."

"Oh, there's a whole book of rules waiting to crush your spirit," Clyde grinned, the glint in his eyes rivaling that of a mischief-making imp. "You will absolutely loathe it."

"Why do I feel like you are making it ten times harder than it needs to be?" Vyan narrowed his eyes at the gray-haired troublemaker.

"I would never dream of it, my lord," Clyde replied, his innocence about as convincing as a fox in a henhouse.

"Let's not focus on this lunatic, my lord, and let me tell you something more productive," Lincoln interjected, shooting Clyde a warning glance. "Your tutors will start tomorrow."

Vyan took a sip of his chamomile tea, trying to appear composed despite the chaos of his thoughts. Tea was apparently the elixir of nobility, according to Benedict, so he was trying to get used to it.

"And I will be here too, making your life just a little more interesting!" Clyde piped up.

Vyan ignored him, savoring his tea as Lincoln laid out more details. It felt like his brain was once again doing somersaults trying to keep up.

"Was I really this clueless before?" He had been the top dog at the orphanage, but it seemed like being a noble required a whole new cupboard full of skills.

"Get used to it, my lord. This is just the warm-up," Clyde teased.

As much as Vyan hated it, these were all just stepping stones towards his goals. He couldn't just march up and take his title of the Grand Duke; he needed to meet the requirements for it in all ways. So…

"Bring it on," Vyan declared, determination blazing in his gaze.

From walking to wheeling and dealing, he would master it all. For his revenge, for his dignity, and for the simple pleasure of proving everyone wrong.

———

"Did he drink the tea you brought?" asked Clara Magnus, her voice laced with a sinister undertone.

"Yes, my dear. He didn't suspect a thing," Lincoln smirked, his eyes gleaming with malice as he approached his wife, who sat before the mirror, adorned with jewels that seemed to glow with an eerie light.

"Excellent," she purred, a wicked smile dancing upon her lips. "As he learns the ways of a noble, the chamomile tea he consumes daily will become his slow poison."

Lincoln's hands slid onto her shoulders. "And then, everything will be ours for the taking."

It was a law in Haynes that in the absence of an owner for twenty years, ownership of land automatically transfers to its manager.

"That wretched brat only needed to wait five more years, but he just had to return," Lincoln seethed. "Who would have thought he was still breathing?" he spat with contempt. "I mean, how dare he waltz back in and snatch everything from me, after I have ruled this Grand Duchy for so long?"

Clara's fingers intertwined with his, her smile twisted and unforgiving. "Patience, my love. Let the naive boy revel in the fleeting luxuries of his family. His time is running out. Not to mention, he will never get the chance to make his debut in high society."

Lincoln chuckled darkly. "Indeed, it's a cruel twist of fate, but Vyan Blake Ashstone will never live to enjoy his title of Grand Duke."