Chapter 25: Abducted

Lucien took a slow, deep breath, mentally cataloging eighteen different ways to exploit the office’s antiquated double-entry ledger system to siphon the clerk’s pension fund into an offshore shell company in the neutral territories.

"Thank you for your tireless dedication to public service, Clerk Osbert," Lucien said with exquisite, razor-sharp courtesy. "May your tea forever be lukewarm and your quill nibs perpetually split."

Ten minutes later, Lucien was back inside the sanctum of the Everhart campus villa, collapsed face-down upon an oversized velvet ottoman in the solarium.

The retreat to full-time sloth was swift and merciless.

Within forty minutes, he had constructed an impenetrable fortress of comfort.

To his left sat a tiered silver platter piled high with flaky almond pastries, apricot tarts, and salted butter biscuits.

To his right, an insulated crystal flagon of spiced pear cider hummed with a gentle, localized warming rune.

Across his lap lay a quilted silk blanket, and propped against his knees was an obscure, three-hundred-year-old political satire that he was reading with unhurried dedication.

"This is it," Lucien mumbled around a mouthful of pastry, crumbs cascading down the front of his embroidered dressing gown like sweet, buttery snow. "They denied my registration. The law explicitly forbids me from doing anything productive. I am legally mandated to rot. If anyone knocks on that door, Rowan, inform them that I have transcended into a higher plane where physical exertion is considered a mortal sin."

Sitting on a low stool nearby, Rowan was frantically chewing his thumbnail down to the cuticle, his golden-brown eyes darting nervously toward the window. "Lucien... are you sure we’re safe here? What if that Crowe guy wakes up from his jaw surgery and brings his father? What if his father has a bigger rapier?! What if they hire an assassin who poisons the cider?! Is the cider safe?! Did you test the cider?!"

"Rowan, the cider was brewed by our family’s private estate chef and delivered by a courier who has served my father since the Goblin Insurrection," Lucien sighed, flipping a page.

"The cider is fine. The only thing currently in danger of dying is my boredom. Now sit down, eat a tart, and emulate the noble sea cucumber. Be flat and moist. Do not move around."

Rowan sniffled, looking down at an apricot tart with deep suspicion. "Can a sea cucumber survive an honor duel with an ancient ducal house...?"

Before Lucien could explain the resilience of marine invertebrates, the heavy double doors of the villa’s grand foyer vibrated open.

A terrifying, rhythmic thud echoed down the corridor, accompanied by the distinct, sharp scent of scorched ozone and the low, mechanical humming of high-voltage current.

THUD. THUD. THUD!

"LUCIEN!"

The roar was so loud it rattled the crystal pendants of the chandelier above them.

Lucien’s book slowly lowered. His eyes went dead.

"Oh, no," Lucien whispered.

The solarium doors swung open with a violent gust of wind, revealing the towering, broad-shouldered monolith that was Caelan Everhart.

His older brother was not wearing shirtsleeves; he was stripped down to a tight leather arming doublet, his forearms wrapped in linen sparring straps.

His hands were clenched into fists, the white knuckles looking like eager, miniature snakes, and across his back rested not one, but two iron training blades.

"There you are, you little slug!" Caelan boomed, his grin splitting his chiseled face with terrifying enthusiasm. "I’ve been scouring the campus for you! The servants said you went to the Registrar’s Office to pull some coward’s prank with cabbage farming?!"

"It was an administrative realignment, Caelan," Lucien said calmly, not moving an inch. "And as you can see, I am currently engaged in deep, spiritual convalescence. I have a delicate constitution. The doctors—"

"The doctors are old women who drink goat milk!" Caelan barked, striding across the marble floor with the terrifying momentum of an avalanche. "I heard what happened in the lower courtyard! The servants are whispering that you backhanded Damian Crowe so hard his ancestors felt the draft!"

Beside the ottoman, Rowan made a noise like a stepped-on squeaky toy and dove headfirst behind a potted palm tree.

Lucien didn’t even flinch. "It’s just a baseless rumor. A steam vent ruptured beneath Lord Crowe’s boots, and unfortunately, he tripped into the nearby fountain by himself. I merely offered him moral support. Do you really believe someone like me can beat up Lord Crowe? A person without any awakened power beating an awakened guy? You don’t believe it, do you?"

"Bullshit!" Caelan roared with delight, reaching down with one hand and seizing the collar of Lucien’s quilted dressing gown. "You broke his silver blade with your bare fist! My little brother! The unawakened bookworm! You’ve been hiding your actual physical conditioning from me, haven’t you?!"

"Caelan, wait, the pastry—"

With a single, effortless grunt of monstrous, A-Rank Awakened strength, Caelan hoisted Lucien off the ottoman like a sack of damp laundry.

The silver book tumbled to the rug; the pastry plate wobbled dangerously; and Lucien’s slippers slipped off his feet, leaving his wool-socked toes dangling pathetically six inches above the marble.

"Put me down, you oversized lightning rod!" Lucien deadpanned, dangling helplessly from his brother’s fist. "I am an invalid. I have no core. If you jostle me, my spleen will detach from my body."

"Your spleen is going to get a workout!" Caelan laughed, tucking Lucien directly under his left arm like an oversized leather briefcase and turning toward the courtyard exit. "You’ve spent an entire week marinating in butter! You’re stiff and soft! Even if the orb marks you as a civilian on Friday, an Everhart man must know how to properly throw a right hook! To the training grounds! Ten laps around the perimeter and fifty strikes against the iron pelts!"

"Rowan!" Lucien called out calmly as he was carried out the double doors. "Summon the Imperial Guards! Tell them a Duke’s son has been abducted by a feral gorilla!"

"I’M SORRY, LUCIEN! I CAN’T DO THAT!" Rowan wailed from inside the palm tree.