They erased my family, Caelan read the passage, staring at the final entry in Duke D'Lorien's journal. The elegant script still carried the weight of desperate discovery: "Every legitimate claimant eliminated, every ancient right extinguished, until only their chosen families remain."
Three days later, the Duke was dead.
The charm brooch lay on his desk where Seraphina had left it, silver catching afternoon light like an accusation. She'd arrived too late for whatever had happened with Marcus. He shook his head at the unfortunate timing.
Too late. Always too fucking late.
Garrett's footsteps echoed through the corridor as he approached the study door.
"My lord," he said, settling into the chair across from Caelan's desk. "The investigation into Duke D'Lorien's death is complete."
Caelan looked up from his correspondence, noting the weight in Garrett's voice. "Show me."
The documents Garrett spread across the desk told a story of systematic destruction that had taken years to orchestrate. Witness testimonies that had been buried beneath layers of bureaucratic misdirection. Payment records showing bribes distributed three months before the Duke's death, not random corruption, but surgical precision in purchasing silence. Medical records that had been altered after the fact, transforming a clear case of poisoning into natural heart failure.
"The physician who signed the death certificate," Garrett began, pointing to a faded document. "Dr. Matthias Cordwain. Twenty-year veteran, impeccable reputation, family man with three children. Disappeared with his entire family six days after the funeral. Their estate was sold to a holding company traced back to House Vessant."
Caelan studied the physician's original notes, detailed observations about symptoms consistent with Thornspike poison, then a second version with those references carefully removed and replaced with descriptions of cardiac distress.
"They didn't just kill him," Garrett continued, producing another ledger. "They destroyed his credibility first. Look at this, six months before the assassination, Duke D'Lorien's closest allies began receiving offers they couldn't refuse. Lord Blackmere, his childhood friend and military advisor, was offered exclusive trading rights in the eastern provinces. Lady Castille, who managed his political alliances, received a marriage proposal for her daughter to House Vessant's third son, along with a dowry that would secure her family's fortune for generations."
The ledger showed payments disguised as legitimate business transactions, each one precisely calculated to purchase loyalty while maintaining the appearance of normal commerce. Garrett traced one entry with his finger.
"Duke D'Lorien's food taster, Willem Thorne, served the family for fifteen years. Two weeks before the Duke's death, he received word that his sick mother required expensive treatment. House Vessant anonymously provided the funds through a charitable foundation. Thorne was replaced by Henrik Voss, who lasted exactly three days after the Duke's funeral before disappearing."
"Thoroughness," Caelan observed grimly. "They eliminated every witness who could testify to the real cause of death."
"More than that, my lord. They isolated him strategically." Garrett spread out what appeared to be a timeline. "For eight months prior to the assassination, every letter Duke D'Lorien sent to potential allies was intercepted and replaced with subtly altered versions. The Duke thought he was asking for support against growing political pressure. His allies received requests that sounded increasingly paranoid and desperate, painting him as unstable."
Caelan examined samples of the doctored correspondence. The forgeries were masterful, maintaining the Duke's handwriting and speech patterns while subtly shifting the tone from reasonable concern to barely controlled panic.
"They made him look like a madman writing conspiracy theories," Caelan said, understanding the elegance of the trap. "So when he died, everyone assumed the stress had finally broken him."
"Exactly. And the timing was perfect. Duke D'Lorien had been investigating his wife's lineage, specifically why Lady Adrianne's family history had been systematically erased from official records. He'd discovered that references to her bloodline had been removed from genealogical archives, noble registries, even temple records dating back to her great-great-grandmother. His research was getting too close to discovering what they'd worked so hard to hide."
Garrett produced a leather portfolio marked with the D'Lorien seal. "These are his private notes, hidden in a vault his assassins never found. He'd identified seventeen noble families with legitimate claims to imperial succession who had suffered mysterious deaths, failed investments, or scandalous downfalls over the past two decades. All connected by a web of financial transactions leading back to a consortium of houses led by Vessant and a much more powerful house whose identity he was still investigating."
The implications crystallized with horrifying clarity. This wasn't about Seraphina's inheritance or even her family's wealth. They were systematically eliminating anyone whose bloodline represented a threat to the current power structure.
"The Duke's final entry," Garrett said quietly, pointing to elegant script dated three days before the assassination. "He'd realized the scope. 'They're not just stealing our assets, they're rewriting the future of the empire. Every legitimate claimant eliminated, every ancient right extinguished, until only their chosen families remain to shape succession law.' He knew they were coming for him."
Garrett paused, frowning at another document. "There's something strange here, though. A record that doesn't fit the timeline, payment to a house that supposedly refused their offers. Either my information is incomplete, or..." He looked up grimly. "Or they planted false evidence to throw off anyone investigating later."
Caelan absorbed the weight of systematic genocide disguised as political maneuvering, complicated by the possibility that some of their evidence might be deliberately misleading. "How many families have they destroyed?"
"In the past twenty years? At least thirty-seven houses with imperial bloodline connections have been eliminated through assassination, engineered scandal, or financial ruin. The D'Loriens were simply one of the most prominent targets because of their military connections and political influence."
"And Lady Adrianne?" Caelan asked quietly.
"Died of illness approximately six months before her husband's assassination," Garrett replied matter-of-factly. "Natural causes, according to all records. Though the timing was... convenient for the conspirators. With Lady Adrianne gone, Duke D'Lorien was more isolated, easier to target."
"There's more," Garrett continued quietly. "About what Duke D'Lorien discovered regarding this shadow consortium's true scope. The D'Lorien assassination was just one part of a much larger plan. They've been systematically eliminating bloodlines connected to the old imperial succession for decades."
"And Seraphina?"
"The final piece. With Duke D'Lorien dead and his daughter married into House Vessant, they would control both the D'Lorien assets and bloodline. The marriage contract shows they planned to keep her isolated and powerless, eventually arranging for her to die in some 'unfortunate accident' once she'd produced an heir to legitimize their claim. Clean, legal, permanent control of the bloodline."
Caelan absorbed this, mind racing through the implications. The conspiracy was even broader than he'd suspected, spanning decades and targeting dozens of families.
The weight of this knowledge settled in Caelan's chest like a stone. Seraphina was already carrying the weight of survival, the pressure of expectations, the constant threat of discovery. Learning the full scope of the conspiracy that had destroyed her family would be devastating.
She deserves to know, his conscience argued. She's fighting blind while her enemies see everything.
But not today, he decided, even as the choice felt like cowardice. Not until she's stronger.
He told himself it was protection. But it felt too much like the same failure that had left the charm brooch unused on his desk while Marcus fell under Evelyne's influence.
"Secure these documents," he told Garrett. "Full encryption. Tell no one what we've discussed."
"And the Duchess?"
Caelan was quiet for a long moment, weighing truth against protection. "Later. When she's stronger."
After Garrett departed, Caelan remained in his study, staring at the evidence of systematic destruction. Every page confirmed what he'd suspected but hoped wasn't true, that Seraphina's enemies had been planning her family's annihilation since she was a child.
The scope of it was breathtaking. And the fact that she had somehow survived and was now fighting back made her both incredibly brave and incredibly vulnerable.
She deserves to know. But not today.
When he finally made his way back to the main office where Seraphina waited, his expression was carefully controlled. She looked up from the window where she'd been standing, afternoon light casting shadows across her face.
"That took longer than expected," she observed, studying his expression with those sharp eyes that missed nothing.
"Bureaucratic complications," he said, settling behind his desk. "Nothing that can't be managed."
But she was watching him too carefully, reading the tension he thought he'd masked. "What kind of complications?"
The directness of her question caught him off guard. For a moment, he considered telling her everything, the depth of the conspiracy, the systematic elimination of her family, the full scope of what she was up against.
She has enough burdens. Let her focus on the battles she can win now.
"Administrative matters," he said finally. "Property transfers, documentation issues. Tedious but necessary."
Seraphina tilted her head slightly, that calculating look he'd learned to recognize. "You're troubled by administrative matters?"
She knows I'm lying. But he held to his decision. "Some complications are more complex than others."
The silence stretched between them, filled with unspoken questions. Caelan could feel her analyzing his evasion, weighing whether to press harder or let it pass.
"I see," she said finally, her tone carrying a sharp edge he recognized as barely controlled irritation. "More secrets for my own protection, I assume?" She gathered her cloak with movements that were perhaps a touch too precise. "How thoughtful of you to decide what I can and cannot handle."
The words hung in the air with pointed criticism. She wasn't fooled by his deflection, and unlike her usual strategic patience, this time she was making her displeasure clear.
That choice will be a mistake, some part of his mind warned. Withholding this will cost more than sharing it.
But the decision was made. "I appreciate your patience."
Seraphina nodded, gathering her cloak with fluid grace. "I should return home. Alaric will expect a full account of my afternoon charitable activities."
As she moved toward the door, Caelan felt an unexpected urge to call her back, to reconsider his choice. The truth sat heavy in his chest, demanding release.
Instead, he watched her leave, already wondering if his protection would ultimately prove to be its own form of betrayal.
The Vessant estate was quieter than usual when Seraphina's carriage approached the main entrance. No bustling servants, no evening activity in the courtyard. The halls were too still. Not hushed... expectant. Like something had already arrived before her.
She climbed the stairs to her chambers with measured steps, each footfall echoing louder than it should in the unnatural silence. Her mind catalogued the wrongness, missing servants, doors that should be open standing closed, the particular quality of stillness that preceded deliberate confrontation.
Whatever Caelan had withheld from her, whatever secrets he'd deemed her too fragile to bear, suddenly felt less important than the immediate calculation that someone was waiting for her. Someone who had cleared the usual obstacles from their path.
Later, he'd said. There's always a later that never comes.
She pushed open her bedroom door and froze.
Alaric sat in the chair beside her dressing table, perfectly still in the gathering twilight. No lamp was lit, leaving his face in shadow, but she could feel the weight of his attention like a physical presence.
"Hello, wife," he said quietly. "We need to discuss your afternoon activities."
The door closed behind her with a soft click that sounded remarkably like a trap being sprung.