“Samuel can’t have agreed to this,” Drake said.
“Samuel helped me come up with this plan. He denied your call to make him your successor. That is how I was able to speak to you despite the gravity of your so-called crime. Even when a manor lord is to be executed, they are still allowed to name their successor.”
All of this was sinking in, finally. He couldn’t deny it any longer. “But you had to agree to be shackled and accept an obedience fetish.”
“It was the only way to provide you the opportunity to absorb flutterstep, lord.”
His people really were fully committed to saving his life. He only wished he could thank all of them right now. But for the moment... what was he going to do?
None of this made any sense. None of this should be possible. His enemy had a rarity that could make people see things that weren’t real, but they couldn’t retroactively change what people saw. The Judge had told Drake she knew he wasn’t responsible for the sea gate.
And Lord Frostlight? She never would have confessed to a crime she hadn’t committed, especially one that would get her executed... and she had also told the Judge she hadn’t been involved in planting that sea gate in their private council. How could she change her story?
As Drake racked his brain for what he’d missed, his very first conversation with Sky in the central chamber of her manor all flooded back at once.
Her eyes narrowed once more. “Are you always this random?”
“Only when I’m taking a victory lap.” Still, there was no benefit to rubbing her face in the fact that he’d been right about Valentia’s innocence, and it also wouldn’t be very diplomatic. “But now that we can speak privately, I’d like to know what you think now that you have more information. Why did Oswell see Valentia murder Rodney when she didn’t?”
“One possibility would be you have found some way to change the memories of your blood thralls so they remember events differently than they occurred.”
Drake ground his teeth. Fucking fuckballs.
Sky had been right all along. She had to be right. The thrall they were facing couldn’t just change what people saw. They could change what people remembered.
Every time Drake knew where this dangerous rarity had been used before now, he and all his allies had assumed those people had seen an illusion. A trick. But instead, each of them had their memories of events changed after the fact.
That also explained how his enemies had managed to finally kill Lord Frostlight. They had changed Lord Frostlight’s own memories so she remembered placing that sea gate inside the Chamber of Council... and made sure she implicated him in the attack as well. After the noble court compelled her testimony through an obedience fetish. When forced to tell the “truth,” Lord Frostlight had given the false testimony she remembered.
This was the only possibility that accounted for all the ways he’d just been fucked. And now he was stuck in a room he couldn’t escape, with the entire noble court and even the Judge determined to execute him tomorrow for a crime he hadn’t committed, because they all remembered a reality that was different than what had actually occurred.
“Lydia?” Drake said. “I was wrong.”
When he told her what he’d just figured out, she looked faint. “You’re right, lord. This is the only thing that makes sense.”
“So can you tell the Judge that?”
“I am not allowed to see her. After we speak today, I will not see her again until your execution. Only I will be allowed in the courtyard for your execution. None of your other blood thralls may attend, and I will still be wearing this obedience fetish. That means I will not be able to speak, move, or do anything but later testify your execution was humane.”
He blinked at her. “Humane?”
“You will be beheaded.”
Which was the only way he could die while he had Samuel’s physical regeneration rarity. His enemies really had thought of anything. He was going to kill them so hard after he escaped.
“So how will you escape?” Drake asked.
“I won’t.”
Drake scowled. “No.”
“There is no way for me to escape, lord.”
“I’m not leaving you behind to be executed.”
“They will not execute me,” Lydia said. “Not immediately. I have committed no crime.”
“But once they see me flutterstep to freedom, you can bet they’re going to put two-and-two together and figure out you gave me your rarity. And once they know that’s possible, they’ll compel you to confess what you did with the obedience fetish.”
She smiled bravely. “Then you need simply prove my innocence before they come to a decision as to what to do with me.”
“And what if I can’t?”
“Then I will gladly die to protect you and our manor. The only way any of us will be safe is if you survive long enough to prove your innocence.”
“But I don’t need to stay alive to protect our manor! You’ll be fine without me! I can just... pass the title onto Samuel and go become a hermit somewhere!” Or look for a way back to his own realm.
“No,” Lydia said firmly. “We wish you to be our lord. No other. None of us is willing to accept that you must die, least of all me.”
She really meant that. Lydia truly would die for him, and while he had understood that concept abstractly since she’d flutterstepped in front of three crossbow bolts to save his life, it was always disorienting to be reminded of her loyalty. He wasn’t about to let her die, either.
But he also didn’t want to have his head cut off.
Drake hated the necessity of leaving Lydia behind while he ran off more than anything he’d had to do since he arrived in this world. But he also wasn’t going to question her decision to freely risk herself to protect him. He’d do the same for her, and refusing to let her risk herself like this... of her own free will... would make him a massive hypocrite.
“I’m not letting them execute you,” Drake said firmly. “I’m going to find a way to prove this rarity exists, that the noble court was tricked, and then I’m going to get you released.”
She smiled again, a warm smile that actually melted his heart a little. “I know you will, lord. These are words I believe.”
She was being too sincere right now. He couldn’t bear it. He glanced at the door. “We don’t have long. Better get this over with.”
“Then you will need to open my shirt, lord,” Lydia said.
Drake blinked. “Say what?”
“I am wearing a shift beneath this shirt. You will not compromise my modesty,” Lydia assured him. “However, I cannot take any action other than stand here. That is another compulsion that guard gave me through this fetish. You will have to open my shirt for me.”
“But...” Drake stared. “Why are we doing that?”
“We have hidden a small steel shard inside a bandage on my upper arm. Do you have any other way to cut your flesh or mine? To share blood?”
“No...?”
“Then please, lord.” She was looking increasingly desperate. “I recognize that this may be awkward for you, but we have little time.”
Still feeling like he was as much of a lecher as Lord Blackmane, and entirely uncertain about any of this, Drake carefully unbuttoned Lydia’s shirt about halfway down, revealing her bare upper arms. He was relieved to see she was, indeed, wearing a gray shift underneath, which, by this world’s fashion standards, was about the same as a sleeveless undershirt.
“Look to my left arm, lord. Samuel wound a bandage there. Remove it, but carefully.”
Drake saw it then. There was gauze wrapped around Lydia’s upper arm, hidden by the long sleeves of her outer shirt. He barely held back a grin, and only because he was worried Lydia might misinterpret the reason he was grinning.
That was clever, old man. Real clever.
Drake took a firm grip on the end of the gauze, an end that had obviously been left for him to find, and unwound the gauze. He gasped as he peeled it back to reveal a small but open wound. She was bleeding! Why was she bleeding?
“You will find a small metal shiv tucked inside the bandage,” Lydia said. “That should be sufficient to open your palm.”
So she had literally stuck a shiv in her own arm and walked around with it all this time. While she surrendered. While they put the fetish on her. While they marched her to here to his cell. The whole time she’d had a shiv in her arm, and she hadn’t even winced.
“You and Samuel really did think of everything,” Drake said quietly... and with no small trace of awe. The guards had likely searched Lydia for weapons, but not in her own arm. And since this little piece of steel wasn’t a weapon, not really, she could say she didn’t have any.
“Please, lord. Hurry.”
Drake found the shiv, a tiny sharpened stick of steel. A trickle of blood was even now coursing down Lydia’s arm, and he prayed her shirt would hide it. He jammed the shiv into his palm and grimaced at the pain, but he tore a nice big hole. He slapped his hand on her wound. Hopefully, he wouldn’t regenerate that quickly.
As he held his bleeding hand against her bleeding arm, he once again pondered all the ways he’d screwed this up. “I’m sorry.”
“Lord, this is...” She firmed her stance. “I am glad to do it.”
“Still, I should have anticipated this. I should never have left us in this situation.”
“I do not know how anyone could anticipate this, but you have proven ever nimble in the face of your opponent’s attacks. You will do so again.”
Drake had nowhere to look but her. He also had his bleeding palm resting on her bleeding arm, and that was going to feel weird and awkward no matter what happened. It wasn’t even sexy, just... not something he should be doing with his steward.
“Okay,” Drake said finally. “We’ve definitely mixed blood. So what do I do now?”
“Wrap the shiv in the bandage, then wrap the bandage back around my arm.”
Right. That made sense. He could do that. He was still doing his best to finish wrapping the bandage securely when a loud, firm knock rattled the door.
“Open up!” a guard bellowed.
“We’re still talking!” Drake wrenched the bandage tight, then grimaced as Lydia sucked in her breath. “Sorry!”
“My shirt, lord. You must button my shirt.”
“Shit! Right!”
The door rattled again as the guards forcefully banged on it. “Open this door! Now!”
“One second!” Drake shouted. “Hold your fucking horses!”
He was still fumbling with Lydia’s hopelessly complicated shirt—stupid buttons—when, to his shock, the first of the bolts in the door slid back on its own accord. Magic? Then another bolt, then another. He was never going to get this done in time. They were going to get busted!
“Kiss me,” Lydia ordered fiercely.
“What?” Drake yelped.
“I give you my consent to kiss me!” A lock slammed open. “They will think—“
Drake kissed her just as the door flew open, and the moment their lips touched was far more electric than he expected. This wasn’t right! She was his steward, he was her manor lord, and he wasn’t supposed to—
“Stop that right now,” the guard said with disgust.
Drake broke their impromptu kiss and glared at the man. He didn’t have to fake his anger. Nor, in retrospect, was he surprised at the anger on the guard’s face. What must he think, seeing Drake like this with a woman bound in place with her shirt half open?
The guard marched forward, face twisted with concern. “Did he—”
“Nothing my lord has done was done without my consent,” Lydia interrupted angrily. “Tend to your own business.”
The guard paused in surprise, then glowered at them both. He didn’t come closer. His steward, bless her, had stumbled upon the one situation that would make the guards feel too awkward to investigate more closely. At least Lord Blackmane was good for something.
Setting absurdly low expectations for the average manor lord.
Drake numbly finished buttoning up Lydia’s shirt and then stepped back. The guard immediately approached and patted her down, respectfully. He wasn’t so embarrassed he wouldn’t search her for hidden weapons.
Yet there was no weapon for the guard to find, and the gauze blended in with the rest of Lydia’s shirt. The guard’s scowl made Drake feel like a lecher, but at least the man didn’t question him. After seeing this, he couldn’t blame this guard for thinking he was a prick.
“What did you discuss?” the guard demanded.
“Samuel is my successor,” Drake told Lydia. “Tell him I haven’t changed my mind.”
“I will tell him, lord,” Lydia said quietly.
“What else did you discuss?” the guard demanded. “Lydia, tell me all that you discussed with your manor lord while we were gone.”
“I compel you not to do that,” Drake said.
Lydia gasped. She ground her teeth and trembled in place. She was choosing to obey his blood pact compulsion, which was just powerful enough to let her resist the obedience fetish... but it was hurting her. It might even be killing her. It was killing him to watch her suffer.
Yet Drake kept his face calm and cruel. He smirked at the guard. “That is my business.”
The guard glared in obvious fury, glancing between a trembling, suffering Lydia and a smug-looking Drake. The man’s disgust was evident... disgust Drake now felt about himself.
“Do you have orders to torture and kill my steward?” Drake asked. “Because otherwise, you’re going far beyond the call of duty here.”
“Order her to speak of your counsel,” the man demanded.
“No,” Drake said. “Withdraw your order.”
Lydia coughed. Drool ran down her chin as her legs wobbled. He belatedly reached out to grab her before she fell. She was trembling so hard it made him want to scream.
“You’re not getting this out of her,” Drake said coldly. “I’ll let her die first.”
Lydia said nothing. She didn’t look to be aware of them at the moment. Drake only wished he could bear this pain in her place... but he couldn’t break first. Everyone in his manor, and even Lydia, needed him to be cruel now.
“Lydia,” the guard said coldly. “I withdraw my prior order.”
She gasped and collapsed. Drake caught her, supported her, and helped her back to her feet. “Talk to me,” he said quietly. “Can you hear me? Are you hurt?”
Still trembling, she offered a fierce smile. “I will live, lord.”
Drake could only stare at her in close-mouthed awe. Lydia wasn’t just his steward or his friend. She was... special. She was the most loyal and determined person he’d ever met.
“Lydia, step outside,” the guard ordered.
She stumbled outside without another word.
The guard looked him over with distaste that was even greater than it had been before. “Your execution will take place in a few hours. Normally we’d place an obedience fetish on you, but since you can speak words you do not believe, including your own name, the Judge suspects it might not work. We won’t be depending on it.”
“I wouldn’t,” Drake agreed.
“We will, however, arrive with a small army capable of killing you a dozen times over. We will execute you right inside this room if you do not agree to meet your end with dignity.”
“Oh no,” Drake said. “I sure would hate to be executed.”
The guard scowled. “If you have any honor at all, you should think of your manor. The Judge has accepted that they were not involved in this foul business, and Samuel Marcos is known far and wide as a fair man. Lord Frostlight swore to that before she died. So when Samuel becomes Lord Gloomwood, they will finally have a manor lord worthy of the title.”
So the Judge had offered that, at least. If he fucked up his escape despite all the help he’d been given, Samuel and his manor would survive. That actually made Drake feel better about this whole situation. It took the pressure off.
“Also,” the guard added, “if you do resist your lawful execution, the Judge will give the order to raze your manor to the ground. Along with everyone inside it.”
So that was why the Judge had offered to leave his manor unharmed. To the noble court and everyone else, she appeared benevolent, but she was also literally holding Drake’s whole manor hostage in hopes it would compel him to let himself be executed peacefully.
She was a hardass... but it was a good play. He could respect it. “I won’t resist.”
“I wish I could believe you believed that.” The guard stepped backwards out the door. “There is one last matter before I leave. Despite your crimes, you are entitled to a last meal.”
Drake chuckled darkly. “Of course I am.”
“So what shall I have our cooks prepare you?”
“I’ll take steamed crabs from The Swollen Net.” That was the best seafood place in Korhaurbauten, according to Samuel. “And some of those pastries from the bakery outside the capital. Sweeney’s, I believe it’s called?” He hadn’t gotten to eat any pastries.
The guard nodded. “I will have them delivered to your room in an hour or so. Enjoy your last morning, Lord Gloomwood.”
Drake offered his most predatory smile. “Hey, you too.”
“Samuel can’t have agreed to this,” Drake said.
“Samuel helped me come up with this plan. He denied your call to make him your successor. That is how I was able to speak to you despite the gravity of your so-called crime. Even when a manor lord is to be executed, they are still allowed to name their successor.”
All of this was sinking in, finally. He couldn’t deny it any longer. “But you had to agree to be shackled and accept an obedience fetish.”
“It was the only way to provide you the opportunity to absorb flutterstep, lord.”
His people really were fully committed to saving his life. He only wished he could thank all of them right now. But for the moment... what was he going to do?
None of this made any sense. None of this should be possible. His enemy had a rarity that could make people see things that weren’t real, but they couldn’t retroactively change what people saw. The Judge had told Drake she knew he wasn’t responsible for the sea gate.
And Lord Frostlight? She never would have confessed to a crime she hadn’t committed, especially one that would get her executed... and she had also told the Judge she hadn’t been involved in planting that sea gate in their private council. How could she change her story?
As Drake racked his brain for what he’d missed, his very first conversation with Sky in the central chamber of her manor all flooded back at once.
Her eyes narrowed once more. “Are you always this random?”
“Only when I’m taking a victory lap.” Still, there was no benefit to rubbing her face in the fact that he’d been right about Valentia’s innocence, and it also wouldn’t be very diplomatic. “But now that we can speak privately, I’d like to know what you think now that you have more information. Why did Oswell see Valentia murder Rodney when she didn’t?”
“One possibility would be you have found some way to change the memories of your blood thralls so they remember events differently than they occurred.”
Drake ground his teeth. Fucking fuckballs.
Sky had been right all along. She had to be right. The thrall they were facing couldn’t just change what people saw. They could change what people remembered.
Every time Drake knew where this dangerous rarity had been used before now, he and all his allies had assumed those people had seen an illusion. A trick. But instead, each of them had their memories of events changed after the fact.
That also explained how his enemies had managed to finally kill Lord Frostlight. They had changed Lord Frostlight’s own memories so she remembered placing that sea gate inside the Chamber of Council... and made sure she implicated him in the attack as well. After the noble court compelled her testimony through an obedience fetish. When forced to tell the “truth,” Lord Frostlight had given the false testimony she remembered.
This was the only possibility that accounted for all the ways he’d just been fucked. And now he was stuck in a room he couldn’t escape, with the entire noble court and even the Judge determined to execute him tomorrow for a crime he hadn’t committed, because they all remembered a reality that was different than what had actually occurred.
“Lydia?” Drake said. “I was wrong.”
When he told her what he’d just figured out, she looked faint. “You’re right, lord. This is the only thing that makes sense.”
“So can you tell the Judge that?”
“I am not allowed to see her. After we speak today, I will not see her again until your execution. Only I will be allowed in the courtyard for your execution. None of your other blood thralls may attend, and I will still be wearing this obedience fetish. That means I will not be able to speak, move, or do anything but later testify your execution was humane.”
He blinked at her. “Humane?”
“You will be beheaded.”
Which was the only way he could die while he had Samuel’s physical regeneration rarity. His enemies really had thought of anything. He was going to kill them so hard after he escaped.
“So how will you escape?” Drake asked.
“I won’t.”
Drake scowled. “No.”
“There is no way for me to escape, lord.”
“I’m not leaving you behind to be executed.”
“They will not execute me,” Lydia said. “Not immediately. I have committed no crime.”
“But once they see me flutterstep to freedom, you can bet they’re going to put two-and-two together and figure out you gave me your rarity. And once they know that’s possible, they’ll compel you to confess what you did with the obedience fetish.”
She smiled bravely. “Then you need simply prove my innocence before they come to a decision as to what to do with me.”
“And what if I can’t?”
“Then I will gladly die to protect you and our manor. The only way any of us will be safe is if you survive long enough to prove your innocence.”
“But I don’t need to stay alive to protect our manor! You’ll be fine without me! I can just... pass the title onto Samuel and go become a hermit somewhere!” Or look for a way back to his own realm.
“No,” Lydia said firmly. “We wish you to be our lord. No other. None of us is willing to accept that you must die, least of all me.”
She really meant that. Lydia truly would die for him, and while he had understood that concept abstractly since she’d flutterstepped in front of three crossbow bolts to save his life, it was always disorienting to be reminded of her loyalty. He wasn’t about to let her die, either.
But he also didn’t want to have his head cut off.
Drake hated the necessity of leaving Lydia behind while he ran off more than anything he’d had to do since he arrived in this world. But he also wasn’t going to question her decision to freely risk herself to protect him. He’d do the same for her, and refusing to let her risk herself like this... of her own free will... would make him a massive hypocrite.
“I’m not letting them execute you,” Drake said firmly. “I’m going to find a way to prove this rarity exists, that the noble court was tricked, and then I’m going to get you released.”
She smiled again, a warm smile that actually melted his heart a little. “I know you will, lord. These are words I believe.”
She was being too sincere right now. He couldn’t bear it. He glanced at the door. “We don’t have long. Better get this over with.”
“Then you will need to open my shirt, lord,” Lydia said.
Drake blinked. “Say what?”
“I am wearing a shift beneath this shirt. You will not compromise my modesty,” Lydia assured him. “However, I cannot take any action other than stand here. That is another compulsion that guard gave me through this fetish. You will have to open my shirt for me.”
“But...” Drake stared. “Why are we doing that?”
“We have hidden a small steel shard inside a bandage on my upper arm. Do you have any other way to cut your flesh or mine? To share blood?”
“No...?”
“Then please, lord.” She was looking increasingly desperate. “I recognize that this may be awkward for you, but we have little time.”
Still feeling like he was as much of a lecher as Lord Blackmane, and entirely uncertain about any of this, Drake carefully unbuttoned Lydia’s shirt about halfway down, revealing her bare upper arms. He was relieved to see she was, indeed, wearing a gray shift underneath, which, by this world’s fashion standards, was about the same as a sleeveless undershirt.
“Look to my left arm, lord. Samuel wound a bandage there. Remove it, but carefully.”
Drake saw it then. There was gauze wrapped around Lydia’s upper arm, hidden by the long sleeves of her outer shirt. He barely held back a grin, and only because he was worried Lydia might misinterpret the reason he was grinning.
That was clever, old man. Real clever.
Drake took a firm grip on the end of the gauze, an end that had obviously been left for him to find, and unwound the gauze. He gasped as he peeled it back to reveal a small but open wound. She was bleeding! Why was she bleeding?
“You will find a small metal shiv tucked inside the bandage,” Lydia said. “That should be sufficient to open your palm.”
So she had literally stuck a shiv in her own arm and walked around with it all this time. While she surrendered. While they put the fetish on her. While they marched her to here to his cell. The whole time she’d had a shiv in her arm, and she hadn’t even winced.
“You and Samuel really did think of everything,” Drake said quietly... and with no small trace of awe. The guards had likely searched Lydia for weapons, but not in her own arm. And since this little piece of steel wasn’t a weapon, not really, she could say she didn’t have any.
“Please, lord. Hurry.”
Drake found the shiv, a tiny sharpened stick of steel. A trickle of blood was even now coursing down Lydia’s arm, and he prayed her shirt would hide it. He jammed the shiv into his palm and grimaced at the pain, but he tore a nice big hole. He slapped his hand on her wound. Hopefully, he wouldn’t regenerate that quickly.
As he held his bleeding hand against her bleeding arm, he once again pondered all the ways he’d screwed this up. “I’m sorry.”
“Lord, this is...” She firmed her stance. “I am glad to do it.”
“Still, I should have anticipated this. I should never have left us in this situation.”
“I do not know how anyone could anticipate this, but you have proven ever nimble in the face of your opponent’s attacks. You will do so again.”
Drake had nowhere to look but her. He also had his bleeding palm resting on her bleeding arm, and that was going to feel weird and awkward no matter what happened. It wasn’t even sexy, just... not something he should be doing with his steward.
“Okay,” Drake said finally. “We’ve definitely mixed blood. So what do I do now?”
“Wrap the shiv in the bandage, then wrap the bandage back around my arm.”
Right. That made sense. He could do that. He was still doing his best to finish wrapping the bandage securely when a loud, firm knock rattled the door.
“Open up!” a guard bellowed.
“We’re still talking!” Drake wrenched the bandage tight, then grimaced as Lydia sucked in her breath. “Sorry!”
“My shirt, lord. You must button my shirt.”
“Shit! Right!”
The door rattled again as the guards forcefully banged on it. “Open this door! Now!”
“One second!” Drake shouted. “Hold your fucking horses!”
He was still fumbling with Lydia’s hopelessly complicated shirt—stupid buttons—when, to his shock, the first of the bolts in the door slid back on its own accord. Magic? Then another bolt, then another. He was never going to get this done in time. They were going to get busted!
“Kiss me,” Lydia ordered fiercely.
“What?” Drake yelped.
“I give you my consent to kiss me!” A lock slammed open. “They will think—“
Drake kissed her just as the door flew open, and the moment their lips touched was far more electric than he expected. This wasn’t right! She was his steward, he was her manor lord, and he wasn’t supposed to—
“Stop that right now,” the guard said with disgust.
Drake broke their impromptu kiss and glared at the man. He didn’t have to fake his anger. Nor, in retrospect, was he surprised at the anger on the guard’s face. What must he think, seeing Drake like this with a woman bound in place with her shirt half open?
The guard marched forward, face twisted with concern. “Did he—”
“Nothing my lord has done was done without my consent,” Lydia interrupted angrily. “Tend to your own business.”
The guard paused in surprise, then glowered at them both. He didn’t come closer. His steward, bless her, had stumbled upon the one situation that would make the guards feel too awkward to investigate more closely. At least Lord Blackmane was good for something.
Setting absurdly low expectations for the average manor lord.
Drake numbly finished buttoning up Lydia’s shirt and then stepped back. The guard immediately approached and patted her down, respectfully. He wasn’t so embarrassed he wouldn’t search her for hidden weapons.
Yet there was no weapon for the guard to find, and the gauze blended in with the rest of Lydia’s shirt. The guard’s scowl made Drake feel like a lecher, but at least the man didn’t question him. After seeing this, he couldn’t blame this guard for thinking he was a prick.
“What did you discuss?” the guard demanded.
“Samuel is my successor,” Drake told Lydia. “Tell him I haven’t changed my mind.”
“I will tell him, lord,” Lydia said quietly.
“What else did you discuss?” the guard demanded. “Lydia, tell me all that you discussed with your manor lord while we were gone.”
“I compel you not to do that,” Drake said.
Lydia gasped. She ground her teeth and trembled in place. She was choosing to obey his blood pact compulsion, which was just powerful enough to let her resist the obedience fetish... but it was hurting her. It might even be killing her. It was killing him to watch her suffer.
Yet Drake kept his face calm and cruel. He smirked at the guard. “That is my business.”
The guard glared in obvious fury, glancing between a trembling, suffering Lydia and a smug-looking Drake. The man’s disgust was evident... disgust Drake now felt about himself.
“Do you have orders to torture and kill my steward?” Drake asked. “Because otherwise, you’re going far beyond the call of duty here.”
“Order her to speak of your counsel,” the man demanded.
“No,” Drake said. “Withdraw your order.”
Lydia coughed. Drool ran down her chin as her legs wobbled. He belatedly reached out to grab her before she fell. She was trembling so hard it made him want to scream.
“You’re not getting this out of her,” Drake said coldly. “I’ll let her die first.”
Lydia said nothing. She didn’t look to be aware of them at the moment. Drake only wished he could bear this pain in her place... but he couldn’t break first. Everyone in his manor, and even Lydia, needed him to be cruel now.
“Lydia,” the guard said coldly. “I withdraw my prior order.”
She gasped and collapsed. Drake caught her, supported her, and helped her back to her feet. “Talk to me,” he said quietly. “Can you hear me? Are you hurt?”
Still trembling, she offered a fierce smile. “I will live, lord.”
Drake could only stare at her in close-mouthed awe. Lydia wasn’t just his steward or his friend. She was... special. She was the most loyal and determined person he’d ever met.
“Lydia, step outside,” the guard ordered.
She stumbled outside without another word.
The guard looked him over with distaste that was even greater than it had been before. “Your execution will take place in a few hours. Normally we’d place an obedience fetish on you, but since you can speak words you do not believe, including your own name, the Judge suspects it might not work. We won’t be depending on it.”
“I wouldn’t,” Drake agreed.
“We will, however, arrive with a small army capable of killing you a dozen times over. We will execute you right inside this room if you do not agree to meet your end with dignity.”
“Oh no,” Drake said. “I sure would hate to be executed.”
The guard scowled. “If you have any honor at all, you should think of your manor. The Judge has accepted that they were not involved in this foul business, and Samuel Marcos is known far and wide as a fair man. Lord Frostlight swore to that before she died. So when Samuel becomes Lord Gloomwood, they will finally have a manor lord worthy of the title.”
So the Judge had offered that, at least. If he fucked up his escape despite all the help he’d been given, Samuel and his manor would survive. That actually made Drake feel better about this whole situation. It took the pressure off.
“Also,” the guard added, “if you do resist your lawful execution, the Judge will give the order to raze your manor to the ground. Along with everyone inside it.”
So that was why the Judge had offered to leave his manor unharmed. To the noble court and everyone else, she appeared benevolent, but she was also literally holding Drake’s whole manor hostage in hopes it would compel him to let himself be executed peacefully.
She was a hardass... but it was a good play. He could respect it. “I won’t resist.”
“I wish I could believe you believed that.” The guard stepped backwards out the door. “There is one last matter before I leave. Despite your crimes, you are entitled to a last meal.”
Drake chuckled darkly. “Of course I am.”
“So what shall I have our cooks prepare you?”
“I’ll take steamed crabs from The Swollen Net.” That was the best seafood place in Korhaurbauten, according to Samuel. “And some of those pastries from the bakery outside the capital. Sweeney’s, I believe it’s called?” He hadn’t gotten to eat any pastries.
The guard nodded. “I will have them delivered to your room in an hour or so. Enjoy your last morning, Lord Gloomwood.”
Drake offered his most predatory smile. “Hey, you too.”
