Ilyin and Aden entered the office of the Duke of Winter, and as soon as they entered, Aden pulled Ilyin into a warm embrace. Cass, the representative from the Acid Company, greeted them with a deep bow, and Aden introduced him to Ilyin.
As Cass prepared to begin his report, Aden stopped him, placing her hands gently over Ilyin’s eyes. Aden whispered into Ilyin’s ear, her voice low and alluring, “Think of bad thoughts.”
Ilyin’s long lashes fluttered with confusion as she gazed up at Aden, whose hand was still covering her eyes.
“Bad people,” Aden continued, planting a brief kiss on Ilyin’s head. “Imagine those who have wronged you, stumbling towards their downfall. I am angry that they took away your ability to smile in the sun.”
Another kiss was pressed against Ilyin’s ear as Aden’s hand brushed it gently.
“Imagine them losing everything they have worked for, the power, the wealth, all the things they traded for your misery. Living a life without purpose, at the mercy of someone else’s will, not mine.”
Aden’s hand was a veil, shielding Ilyin from the world, but her warmth was a comfort. Ilyin knew who Aden was referring to, the Viscount Arlen, her father.
“Think of yourself,” Aden murmured, nibbling lightly on Ilyin’s ear. “I want to see you laugh in the sun, free from worries and unpleasant memories. Don’t you want to do the same?” Ilyin nodded unconsciously, drawn in by Aden’s soothing voice and warmth. Aden chuckled, “Let’s start small. Like dipping your toes into the water before taking the plunge. I want to see him suffer.”
His words were like a siren’s call, tempting and irresistible. Ilyin felt as if a mischievous demon had entered her mind, urging her on. Aden finally removed her hand and met Ilyin’s gaze. “Remember, he is insignificant and cannot harm you. He will never be able to hurt you again.”
* * *
Ilyin unfolded the letter, her eyes scanning the words written in a familiar scrawl. At first, the words seemed boastful, declaring Arlen’s reputation for producing the finest carrots, grown in the hot, humid climate. The letter started off as a boastful declaration, but as it progressed, its tone shifted to a pitiful one. The cool temperatures of this year had affected the harvest, and the writer of the letter, presumably the Viscount, was pleading for leniency, as they were bound to deliver more than their capacity allowed.
[This year, the temperature is somewhat cooler than normal, so the harvest of carrots is not the same as in previous years. For contract reasons, I know that I have to send more than the amount of carrots I’ve sent, but please be kind to ‘L’.]
Ilyin’s reading came to a halt as she noticed something amiss. “This isn’t my father’s handwriting,” she declared.
As the head of external affairs at Viscount Arlen’s estate, Ilyin was intimately familiar with the viscount’s writing style. But this letter, it was clear, had not been written by the viscount himself, but by his scribe.
Ilyin knew her father’s writing intimately, but the scribe’s script was unfamiliar. Yet, as she gazed at the careless, slanted strokes, recognition dawned. This was the same scribe she had encountered during her investigation of the northern distribution.
It was the scribe’s writing style. Ilyin remembered an article she had studied about the Acid Merchant before setting off for this place. The notes she had taken during her investigation were written in the same, unmistakable slant.
“What was the delivery of carrots from the Viscount’s estate?” Ilyin asked Cass, who she had met before and who assisted Milo in the heavy lifting at the Acid Merchant.
“About 45%, less than half of what was promised in the contract,” Cass replied.
Ilyin remembered the details of the contract and, with a quick calculation of the current market price of carrots, she came to a conclusion.
“It must be a major setback for the Viscount,” she muttered.
But Aden had a different take. “I don’t think it’s a blow big enough to bring him down. He’s still nobility after all. He won’t just crumble because of one bad harvest,” he said.
Ilyin chuckled, knowing the Viscount’s proclivity for frivolous spending. As soon as he had some extra funds, he was already thinking about what to buy next, leaving him with no savings and unable to run his estate in a profitable manner. This time wouldn’t be any different, especially since he had been making more connections with northern families. He would want the appearance of the Arlen mansion to be impeccable, squandering money on various unnecessary expenses.
“There won’t be much left in the Viscount’s treasury,” Ilyin said.
Despite the good quality of the carrots from the Arlen territory, they were not worth the price they were fetching at the top of the Acid Merchant.
Ilyin and Aden entered the office of the Duke of Winter, and as soon as they entered, Aden pulled Ilyin into a warm embrace. Cass, the representative from the Acid Company, greeted them with a deep bow, and Aden introduced him to Ilyin.
As Cass prepared to begin his report, Aden stopped him, placing her hands gently over Ilyin’s eyes. Aden whispered into Ilyin’s ear, her voice low and alluring, “Think of bad thoughts.”
Ilyin’s long lashes fluttered with confusion as she gazed up at Aden, whose hand was still covering her eyes.
“Bad people,” Aden continued, planting a brief kiss on Ilyin’s head. “Imagine those who have wronged you, stumbling towards their downfall. I am angry that they took away your ability to smile in the sun.”
Another kiss was pressed against Ilyin’s ear as Aden’s hand brushed it gently.
“Imagine them losing everything they have worked for, the power, the wealth, all the things they traded for your misery. Living a life without purpose, at the mercy of someone else’s will, not mine.”
Aden’s hand was a veil, shielding Ilyin from the world, but her warmth was a comfort. Ilyin knew who Aden was referring to, the Viscount Arlen, her father.
“Think of yourself,” Aden murmured, nibbling lightly on Ilyin’s ear. “I want to see you laugh in the sun, free from worries and unpleasant memories. Don’t you want to do the same?” Ilyin nodded unconsciously, drawn in by Aden’s soothing voice and warmth. Aden chuckled, “Let’s start small. Like dipping your toes into the water before taking the plunge. I want to see him suffer.”
His words were like a siren’s call, tempting and irresistible. Ilyin felt as if a mischievous demon had entered her mind, urging her on. Aden finally removed her hand and met Ilyin’s gaze. “Remember, he is insignificant and cannot harm you. He will never be able to hurt you again.”
* * *
Ilyin unfolded the letter, her eyes scanning the words written in a familiar scrawl. At first, the words seemed boastful, declaring Arlen’s reputation for producing the finest carrots, grown in the hot, humid climate. The letter started off as a boastful declaration, but as it progressed, its tone shifted to a pitiful one. The cool temperatures of this year had affected the harvest, and the writer of the letter, presumably the Viscount, was pleading for leniency, as they were bound to deliver more than their capacity allowed.
[This year, the temperature is somewhat cooler than normal, so the harvest of carrots is not the same as in previous years. For contract reasons, I know that I have to send more than the amount of carrots I’ve sent, but please be kind to ‘L’.]
Ilyin’s reading came to a halt as she noticed something amiss. “This isn’t my father’s handwriting,” she declared.
As the head of external affairs at Viscount Arlen’s estate, Ilyin was intimately familiar with the viscount’s writing style. But this letter, it was clear, had not been written by the viscount himself, but by his scribe.
Ilyin knew her father’s writing intimately, but the scribe’s script was unfamiliar. Yet, as she gazed at the careless, slanted strokes, recognition dawned. This was the same scribe she had encountered during her investigation of the northern distribution.
It was the scribe’s writing style. Ilyin remembered an article she had studied about the Acid Merchant before setting off for this place. The notes she had taken during her investigation were written in the same, unmistakable slant.
“What was the delivery of carrots from the Viscount’s estate?” Ilyin asked Cass, who she had met before and who assisted Milo in the heavy lifting at the Acid Merchant.
“About 45%, less than half of what was promised in the contract,” Cass replied.
Ilyin remembered the details of the contract and, with a quick calculation of the current market price of carrots, she came to a conclusion.
“It must be a major setback for the Viscount,” she muttered.
But Aden had a different take. “I don’t think it’s a blow big enough to bring him down. He’s still nobility after all. He won’t just crumble because of one bad harvest,” he said.
Ilyin chuckled, knowing the Viscount’s proclivity for frivolous spending. As soon as he had some extra funds, he was already thinking about what to buy next, leaving him with no savings and unable to run his estate in a profitable manner. This time wouldn’t be any different, especially since he had been making more connections with northern families. He would want the appearance of the Arlen mansion to be impeccable, squandering money on various unnecessary expenses.
“There won’t be much left in the Viscount’s treasury,” Ilyin said.
Despite the good quality of the carrots from the Arlen territory, they were not worth the price they were fetching at the top of the Acid Merchant.
