A soft, deliberate knock.
"Enter."
The young man lifted his head from a pile of papers. His eyes carried the fatigue of sleepless nights spent working. He stopped writing as the man entered.
"My lord," said the man, bowing slightly.
"What is it, Albert?" asked the young advisor, his tone edged with annoyance at having his concentration broken.
"The Duke requests your presence, sir. He says it's important."
"My father? Very well, I'll come at once."
The advisor rose from his desk and left his office behind. He headed to the stables, where his personal carriage awaited him. Climbing inside, he made his way from his workplace to the Duke's estate.
When he arrived at the royal manor, he didn't go straight inside. Instead, he walked through the vast garden. He passed under the shade of old trees until he reached a wooden gazebo, open on all sides, overlooking a small lake.
There sat his father, the Duke, on the ground itself—surrounded by scattered papers like the remnants of a disassembled war plan.
"What is it, Father?" asked the advisor in his usual practical tone, trying to ignore the strange sight before him.
The Duke raised his gaze, and there was a trace of reproach in his eyes.
"Would you not ask how I am first?"
"Ah… forgive me, Father, how are—"
The Duke interrupted sharply, without looking away from the papers.
"Someone is planning to kill you."
The young man's eyes widened, shock and anger mixing in his voice.
"What?! Who?"
The Duke stared at him with piercing calm, then said in a voice cold as frozen glass,
"Guess."
And with a motion of his hand, he dismissed him.
The advisor left the gazebo, heading back toward his carriage. As he walked through the wide halls of the estate, he caught sight of his mother, the Duchess, approaching.
"Ah, Mother! How are you?"
He took her hand and kissed it gently.
The Duchess smiled, her expression tender yet teasing.
"Oh, my dear boy, what brings you here?"
"Ah, you know how my work is," he replied lightly.
"Well," she said, "you should marry and give me grandchildren so I won't be left alone with your old father!"
He dodged the topic.
"I have urgent business now, Mother. And judging by what Father just told me, that day may never come."
Her face changed, worry seeping into her tone.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Go to Father. He'll explain it better."
He turned to leave, adding softly,
"Take care of yourself, Mother."
He boarded his carriage once more. The moment they were away from the eyes of guards and servants, his expression shifted completely.
He looked to Albert, who sat silently beside him.
"Albert, have you noticed anything suspicious lately?"
Albert frowned slightly.
"I don't think so, sir. Everything's been as usual."
Then, with concern, he added, "Is something wrong, sir?"
The advisor fixed his gaze on him—sharp, unwavering.
"Yes. Someone's trying to kill me."
He didn't wait for a response. Instead, he muttered under his breath, voice low and dangerous:
"Who's the bastard that wants me dead?"
Meanwhile, the Duchess stormed into the gazebo where her husband still sat.
"Who's trying to kill my son?"
The Duke gave the same weary, reproachful tone:
"Why does no one ask how I am first?"
"That's not important right now!" she snapped. "Answer me!"
The Duke sighed deeply.
"Ah… no one cares how I feel in this house."
Then he looked at her and said,
"Guess then, hmm?"
Her patience snapped.
"This isn't the time for riddles, old man!"
Finally, he gave in and revealed the name of the conspirator.
After a tense exchange of questions and half-answers, the Duchess demanded,
"What will you do now?"
The Duke replied coldly,
"It's your son's problem, not mine."
She stared at him, but he avoided her gaze, pretending to study the papers in his hands.
The Duchess turned to leave.
"Don't leave the capital," the Duke said suddenly.
"Not these days."
She left without replying.
Once she was gone, the Duke called softly,
"Garn."
A tall man entered and bowed.
The Duke wrote something quickly on a small sheet of paper, sealed it, and handed it to the servant.
"Take this to Trevan," he ordered.