The Devil's Duchess-Chapter 72: The Duke’s plan

The sun dipped lower by the time the forest path broke. The wide gates of the governor’s estate loomed ahead. Guards stood stiff at either side, but when their eyes caught the man striding forward in his dark cloak, they straightened and swung the gates open without a word.

Berith walked in like he owned the place. Marcella followed, she tried not to gawk at the sprawling manor of pale stone rising beyond the hedgerows.

They were met in the courtyard by a man with silver at his temples, his smile as warm as summer wine. His robes of deep blue flowed elegantly as he descended the steps.

"Duke Berith," he greeted with his rich voice. "At last, Velmira’s doors are honored by your presence. I feared you’d keep me waiting another week."

Berith inclined his head, ever the composed noble. "Governor Luthais. Business in the capital delayed me."

Luthais’ eyes twinkled, then drifted to Marcella, who stood just behind Berith, trying to decide whether she should curtsy or simply stand still. Her violet gown caught the light, making her appear both regal and out of place at once.

"And this," the governor said slowly, "would be...?"

Marcella’s lips parted, but Berith spoke first. His voice was calm, carrying no hint of hesitation. "My wife."

Marcella nearly choked on her own breath. Excuse me?

The governor’s brows lifted, then his smile deepened with delight. "Your wife? Ah! That explains why you finally came south with company. Congratulations, Duke. A fine lady indeed."

Marcella managed a polite smile, though inside her thoughts tangled in a knot. Wife? He didn’t even blink when he said it. How many times is this man going to rewrite my life without asking?

But Luthais had already turned, gesturing toward the arching doorway. "Come, come. You must be tired from the journey. My servants will see to your comfort."

He snapped his fingers, and a pair of attendants hurried forward. "Take the Duchess to her chambers. Ensure she has everything she needs."

"Right this way, my lady," one servant said with a bow.

Marcella followed. The chamber they led her to was more opulent than she expected: heavy drapes embroidered in gold, a wide canopied bed dressed in silks, and windows that opened onto the estate’s gardens.

When the servants withdrew, Marcella finally let out the groan caught in her throat. She threw herself onto the bed, sinking into the feathered mattress.

Marcella sat up after a while, wandering the room. Her fingers brushed along carved shelves, polished mirrors, the delicate porcelain vase by the window. A far cry from the chipped, broken porcelain she’d been painting days ago.

******

In the governor’s courtyard

Berith sat across from Governor Luthais at a tea table shaded by vines. Steam curled from the cups between them, but their voices carried weight heavier than the sweetness of jasmine tea.

"You’ve arrived at a difficult time," Luthais admitted, setting his cup down. The light in his eyes dimmed. "Velmira is not what it used to be."

Berith leaned back slightly, "I’ve heard of it from His Majesty."

"You heard them?" the governor sighed. "The last three nights, we’ve had youths vanish. Both male and female. No traces, no signs of struggle. All gone."

Berith’s eyes sharpened. "And the people?"

"They blame me." Luthais’ smile faltered, his hands tightening around the porcelain handle. "I can hardly blame them. Faith in the governorship has been waning for years, but this... this is the nail in my coffin. Families are leaving Velmira altogether, fleeing to Cardania or further south. Every wagon that leaves makes the others more desperate."

Berith considered him for a long moment, then asked, "What have you done so far?"

"I’ve doubled patrols, questioned merchants, offered rewards. But, nothing is working." Luthais shook his head, a strand of silver hair falling into his face. "The city looks at me and sees a failure. I fear if this continues, I’ll be governor of an empty city."

"Then we give them a reason to stay."

Luthais frowned. "And what reason can I offer, when even my guards fail to stop the disappearances?"

"You don’t," Berith replied, leaning forward. His dark cloak rippled with the wind. "I do. The people may not trust you, but they will trust me. A duke from Cardania, known for cutting down enemies without mercy. That fear works in our favor."

The governor stared, torn between relief and disbelief. "You would make yourself their shield?"

"I’ll make myself their bait." Berith’s lips curved, though there was no warmth in it. "Whoever is behind these abductions wants chaos, fear. They won’t resist the chance to strike at me if they see me vulnerable, in their streets. We use the panic as a snare—let word spread that the duke is searching Velmira himself. They’ll come for me. And when they do, we’ll have them cornered."

Luthais rubbed his temples. "Your Grace, that’s madness. Risking yourself—"

"Risk is necessary." Berith’s tone brooked no argument. "What matters is control. I’ll choose the ground, the patrols, the time. They’ll think they’re hunting me, but I’ll already have the trap laid."

Silence stretched, broken only by the soft clink of porcelain as Berith raised his cup and drank.

Later that evening, the governor’s estate hummed with restless preparation. Guards rotated through their patrols with unease, rumors spreading about the Duke of Cardania’s scheme.

Marcella had been given her own chamber, a luxurious thing, but she had barely spared it more than a glance. Velvet curtains, gilded mirrors, feather-stuffed cushions... all of it meant nothing when Berith had not even set foot inside.

Where was he?

Marcella drifted down the hall, trailing her fingers over the carved balustrade. The excuse she had given to the guards that she wanted to take a tour of the governor’s estate—was a flimsy one. In truth, she was searching.

"Your Grace is probably just sulking somewhere," Marcella muttered under her breath, though her voice lacked conviction.

The estate was not silent. Lanterns bobbed in the hands of servants, carrying trays, polishing banisters, ordering instructions. There was a hum of activity that didn’t belong to the ordinary routine of a noble household.

Marcella slowed near one of the side corridors, pausing by a row of high-arched windows that looked out over the courtyard. Voices drifted from the corner—a cluster of maids gathered in secret conversation as they polished silver trays.

"...the duke’s plan," one said, her voice tinged with awe.

"Madness, more like." Another maid scoffed, wringing a cloth in her hands. "To bait himself like that? He’ll get himself killed, and for what? To prove he’s fearless?"

"Watch your tongue," hissed a third. "That’s the Duke of Cardania you’re talking about. If he wants to put himself in danger for our safety, we should be grateful."

Marcella froze. Her stomach plunged.

Plan? Bait?

Her hands clenched in the folds of her gown, heartbeat thundering in her ears. She stepped forward before she could think better of it. "What did you just say?"

The maids startled, heads snapping toward her. Their faces blanched as they recognized her—the Duchess of Cardania. One girl nearly dropped her tray.

Marcella closed the distance in two strides, her violet skirts swishing against the stone floor. "Tell me," she demanded. "What plan? What is he doing?"

The first maid’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. "M-my lady, I—I shouldn’t..."

Marcella’s eyes narrowed. "Don’t play coy with me. You said the duke baited himself. Where is he?"

The second maid, braver than the rest, jutted her chin out. "It’s not our place to tell you, Your Grace. The duke gave his orders, and he doesn’t want you involved."

Marcella’s chest constricted. She forced a brittle laugh, though her voice trembled. "Not want me involved? What does he think I am, furniture to be left in some room while he throws himself to wolves?"

The maids exchanged uneasy glances. Their silence was answer enough.

Marcella stepped closer, her gaze blazing, and softened her tone just enough to slip past their defenses. "Please. I need to know. If he walks into danger tonight, I will not sit idly by. Not when..." Her throat closed around the words, but she forced them out. "...not when it’s him."

The youngest maid, barely more than a girl shifted from foot to foot before blurting, "They say the kidnappers will come for His Grace once word spreads. He’s... he’s using himself as bait."

Her vision narrowed, fury and fear coiling tight within her. Of course he would. Of course the infuriating man would throw himself headfirst with the arrogance of someone convinced death itself would bow to him.

A strangled laugh escaped her lips, laced with despair. "That fool."

The maids exchanged alarmed looks, but Marcella was already storming down the corridor.