Chapter 1340: The rat and the mice(3)

Marcus snatched the letter back, sliding the crisp parchment safely into his coat. He stared at the small scrap of paper that would soon grant him unhindered access to the private halls of his king’s greatest enemy.

As a simple scout turned field agent, Marcus wasn’t usually privy to the finer mechanics of high-level espionage, but he had to admit the Spymaster’s pre-mission intelligence was staggering. All he had to do now was stick to the script, grease the squeaking wheels of the household administration, and he would slide right past the gates like a babe into a cradle.

The poor bastards inside wouldn’t know any better. They couldn’t.

"You lie."

Marcus paused, his hand freezing over his lapel. "I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that?" He offered a thin, dark smile, feeling a chuckle bubble up that didn’t hold an ounce of actual mirth. "I could swear you just called me a liar, friend. Tell me, is that a hill you’re truly eager to die on today?"

He watched the sudden, pathetic spark of defiance completely drain from the old man’s face, melting away like early spring snow under a hot sun.

"I—I mean—it simply cannot be!" Sevar stammered, his voice climbing an octave. "If you want me to forge your entry into the servant registry, fine! I will do it! But there is absolutely no world where the great Lord Caul of Thythilis is complicit in a plot like this! Do not sit there and try to make a complete fool of me!"

Marcus didn’t say a word. He merely rose from his chair, his tall, broad frame casting a long shadow across the desk.

Sevar instantly scrambled back, his spine slamming hard against the wooden paneling of his wall. The master servant had evidently just remembered the brutal, bone-shattering punch Marcus had delivered to his gut a few weeks back. "I mean it!" the older man squeaked, raising his hands defensively. "It just makes no sense. Why would a grand lord like him ever do something so treasonous?"

Truthfully, Marcus would have gladly turned the craven’s guts inside out right then and there. But he had to remind himself that this was going to be a long-term relationship. He was about to do some incredibly nasty things inside this palace, and his only secure line of communication to the outside world was the shivering wretch standing before him.

He might as well get himself the pleasure to burn the piece of wood behind him, but what happened when the bridge crashed down too?

The stick was an excellent tool, but sometimes a man needed a carrot to keep walking.

While they may currently held Sevar’s wife and child hostage in a safehouse, fear alone wasn’t a perfect anchor. Would a man truly dare to jump from the high branch of a tree without some small reassurance that someone would catch him when he hit the ground? A desperate man pushed to the brink might do it for his loved ones, but neither Marcus nor the King was willing to bet the entire outcome on a coward’s desperation. Sevar needed to believe he wasn’t just a monster letting rats into his master’s house. He needed a psychological way out.

"Treasonous?" Marcus asked, his tone shifting into a smooth, mocking drawl as he leaned against the edge of the desk. "What exactly is it you think I am here to do, Sevar?"

The master servant remained tightly quiet. Of course he didn’t want to answer. He was already a traitor, actively unlocking the back door for a foreign spy; he desperately preferred not to think about the absolute rot he was helping unleash.

Marcus saw no need to feed the man’s burning regrets, so he decided to give him a grand cushion to land on.

"What do you think I am here for? To murder the Prince in his bed?" Marcus scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. "Do you truly think a single man capable of such a feat? Doesn’t he heave dozens of guards around him at all time? More importantly, do you honestly believe the esteemed Lord Caul would willingly turn his own darling daughter into a grieving widow? Do you think the man so utterly wicked?"

Again, a thick silence was his only answer. Marcus took his cue to shatter it.

"I will speak completely honestly with you," Marcus said, softening his voice and waving a hand as if his honesty was a gift. "Nasty, foul rumors have been making their way across the border to my lord’s ears. Disgraceful rumors about how the Prince is openly shaming his royal wife with low-born mistresses in full view of the court. Whispers that husband and wife sleep in entirely separate wings of the palace."

Marcus leaned in, his face contorting into an expression of deep, manufactured offense, as if the insults were directed at his own flesh and blood. "There are even vile reports of lords calling the princess, the noble, beautiful Seraphina,a ’barn with a barren field.’ They say petty lords are actively parading their young daughters before the Prince, hoping to replace her. Surely you do not believe such wicked lies about the Princess? About Lord Caul’s only daughter?"

Sevar stammered out a response as quickly as his panicked brain could assemble the words. "I—I would never! Her Grace is a vision of dignity!"

"Of course you wouldn’t," Marcus cooed, tapping the desk. "Because you are a good, honorable man. Aren’t you?"

"I... I regard myself as one, yes," Sevar muttered, though his voice sounded entirely unconvinced by his own resume.

"And so do I," Marcus lied smoothly, though he did so with far more self-respect and backbone than the creature across from him.

For a brief moment, the two men simply stared at one another in sham respect.

"All my grand lord sent me here to achieve," Marcus continued, spinning the web tighter, "is to carefully separate the chaff from the grain. He needs to see exactly what is true and what is false regarding his daughter’s treatment in this court. He has heard so many conflicting reports that a poor, worried father simply doesn’t know what to believe. Above all else, Lord Caul wishes to identify the specific bastards spewing these wicked slurs against her Grace, so that he may plan his maneuvers accordingly."

Marcus felt a sudden spike of pride for Spymaster Lucius; the bastard truly was a genius. Marcus couldn’t have crafted a more beautiful lie if he had a year to think on it.

"The Lord of Thythilis is every bit as loyal to the crown as a grand lord can be," Marcus said, his voice dripping with honeyed righteousness. "But he is also a father. Surely, Sevar, that is a sacred condition you and he share? You understand the lengths a father will go to protect his child, do you not?"

Sevar nodded slowly. The heavy irony of the statement wasn’t lost on him, but the lie worked like a charm. The terror in his eyes began to recede, replaced by the desperate, eager relief of a man who had just been handed a righteous excuse for his treason.

Helping a father protect his daughter, now wasn’t he the hero of the fable?And what men didn’t desire to be the hero?

"That is all this is, then," Marcus concluded, straightening up and offering a final, reassuring nod. "I assure you, by placing me inside, you are performing a grand service for Her Grace. You are proving your loyalty to justice and truth. And I likewise assure you that Lord Caul is a fervent follower of such noble ideas. He holds nothing but immense respect and love for those who assist him in his hour of need. Above all else, a father never forgets the men who came to his aid when his daughter’s honor was on the line."

There, Marcus thought as he watched the tension finally drain from the master servant’s shoulders. Do you see the lovely way out I’ve built for you, you shivering bastard? You certainly won’t have to worry about becoming a bloated corpse floating down the river after this is all over. Oh, no. Definitely not. We are all such remarkably godly people...

"What exactly will be required of me... for Lord Caul?" Sevar asked, his voice trembling slightly less now that his treason had been safely repackaged as a father’s righteous crusade.

"Not much, namely. Some small, quiet services," Marcus replied, brushing a speck of dust off his sleeveless white linen. "For now, your only task is to march me up to the head butler, deliver my recommendation letter, and put in a thoroughly glowing word about my character. Perhaps you can complain about a certain tedious duty in the whatever forsaken wing that you’ve been desperately wanting to assign to someone else. I don’t care which administrative tool you use, you can even have me clean the privy after feasts, Sevar. My lord expects me to be in the personal service of the princess as soon as humanly possible."

Marcus half-lied. In a warped, roundabout sort of way, whatever chaos he unleashed inside these walls could technically be counted as a service to Her Grace. To be sure.

"I will see it done, then," Sevar murmured, his fingers tightening around the forged parchment.

Marcus did his absolute best to keep his wolfish grin entirely hidden. "My lord will remember the help. From here on out, you won’t need to worry about much more. Keep to your own business. In public, order me around like you would any other low-born cur. Shout at me if I make a mistake, and snort in disgust even when I do well. You can even slap me around if you are known to do that. Everyone else in this palace must look at me and think, ’Oh, just another faceless bastard,’ whenever their eyes chance to lay on me. Is that clear?"

It was. Sevar nodded slowly.

"In the weeks to come, while we labor together beneath this roof, you will occasionally receive letters and other small parcels from the outside," Marcus continued, his voice dropping to a gravelly murmur. "Keep them locked away. Keep them safe. And inform me the very moment they arrive. They will always be accompanied by a distinct blue ribbon, so that you may instantly know not to let your prying eyes gaze at the contents. I will retrieve them off your hands the second you bring me word."

"What type of things?" Sevar asked, a lingering trace of suspicion returning to his brow. "What kind of correspondence?"

Marcus merely shrugged, leaning back with an air of complete, military indifference. "The grand lord did not see fit to inform a simple agent like me of their nature. Which means, by extension, I am not fit to say them to you."

Before the master servant could spiral back into anxiety, Marcus stepped forward and placed a heavy, reassuring hand firmly on the man’s shoulder. The grip was firm, just enough to remind Sevar of the consequences of betrayel, yet gentle enough to feel like a pact.

"Abide by these rules, Sevar, and I assure you on my life that all will go exceptionally well," Marcus said, his voice dropping into a warm, steady purr. "You are doing the right thing for your princess, and more importantly, for your own blood. When this business is concluded, you won’t just be spared the noose, you will be rewarded with more silver and security than a master servant could ever dream of accumulating in a lifetime of scrubbing floors. I am sure my lord as need of good men in his service.

Play your part, and you’ll be a protected and rich man with a loving family."

Bodies floating in the river...

He patted the man’s shoulder one last time, letting the silence settle like a binding contract. Sevar took a deep, shuddering breath, looked down at the crisp red wax of the Thythilis seal, and finally gave a solid nod.

Deals with devils are usually done with smiles.

"Follow me,then" Sevar said, "To the head butler."

Marcus dropped his chin, slumping his broad shoulders back into the pathetic posture of a clumsy stray, and trailed dutifully a step behind.

’’After you sir’’

A wolf entering a barn with its doors swinging open.