CHAPTER 192: THE WEEK-LONG BREAK [11]

Alaric’s eyes opened slowly, though still heavy with sleep.

The morning light filtered through the gaps in the curtains, pale and soft.

The kind of light that came with early dawn.

He blinked. Once. Twice. Vision clearing gradually.

Grogginess clung to him like a thick blanket. His limbs felt weighted. Reluctant to move.

"Ugh."

A low sound escaped his throat as he pushed himself upright. The sheets fell away from his bare torso. Cool air hit his skin immediately.

He sat there for a moment. Just breathing. Letting awareness seep back in.

Then swung his legs over the side of the bed.

He stood and stretched his arms overhead until his spine cracked as he arched backward.

"Mmm..."

Relief washed through the tension spots.

He moved towards the washbasin and splashed cold water on his face. The shock of it drove away the last cobwebs of sleep.

Droplets ran down his jaw.

Dripped back into the basin.

He grabbed a cloth and dried his face with rough movements.

Then dressed in some simple clothes for now. Nothing formal. Just a loose shirt and pants.

His feet carried him to the window. He unlatched it. Pushed it open.

The morning air rushed in, fresh and clean. Carried the scent of dew-wet grass and earth.

The sun sat higher in the sky, already well past dawn. Probably mid-morning by now.

Golden light painted the manor grounds in warm hues. The gardens below were alive with color, roses, jasmine, morning glories climbing their trellises.

He breathed in deep. Let the floral fragrance fill his lungs.

Sweet. Slightly cloying. But pleasant.

A breeze stirred his hair. Ruffled the loose strands.

He stood there for another moment. Just taking it in.

Then turned away.

Time to face the day.

He opened the door and got into the hallway which was already bustling with activity. Maids moved past with linens and cleaning supplies. Servants carried trays toward various quarters.

"Good morning, young master."

A maid curtsied as she passed. Her eyes stayed properly downcast.

"Morning," Alaric replied easily.

His voice carried that casual warmth. The kind that made people comfortable.

Another maid rounded the corner. Saw him. Her steps faltered slightly.

"G-good morning, young master."

Her cheeks flushed pink. She clutched the duster in her hands a bit tighter.

Alaric smiled. Not smirking. Just friendly.

"Morning."

The pink deepened to red. She hurried past quickly. Nearly stumbled over her own feet.

He caught the whispered conversation behind him as he continued down the hall.

"Did you see him"

"He looks so sweet smiling like that—"

"I wanna be friendly with him too, its completely unfair—"

His lips twitched, but he didn’t stop.

With a soft sigh, he kept moving towards the dining room.

When he reached there, he walked through.

The space was bright with morning light streaming through tall windows. The long table was set for breakfast.

Selene sat at her usual position. Poised and elegant in a deep green morning gown. Her dark hair was pulled back in a simple but refined style.

She was reading something. A letter maybe. Her attention focused on the paper in her hand.

Alaric’s boots announced his presence against the floor.

Tap! Tap! Tap!

Selene looked up.

Their eyes met.

Then her cheeks colored. Pink bloomed across her usually composed features.

She looked away quickly. Set the letter down with more focus than necessary.

"Good morning," Alaric said as he pulled out his chair.

The wood scraped slightly against the floor.

"Good morning." Selene’s voice came measured. Controlled. But that flush remained on her cheeks.

Before he could open his mouth and make any infuriating comments, she clapped her hands twice.

Clap! Clap!

The sound echoed in the dining room.

Servants moved immediately. Carrying covered dishes, setting plates, uncovering food, pouring drinks.

Steam rose from fresh bread. Eggs. Sliced meats. Fruit arranged artfully.

The servants retreated after everything was placed. Bowed. Disappeared back through the door.

Alaric reached for the bread. Tore off a piece.

"Elina’s not coming?" He asked, looking at the empty seat near Selene, where the Scarlet haired girl usually sit.

Selene picked up her fork. Cut into her eggs with precise movements.

"She already had hers. Earlier."

Alaric’s brow raised slightly.

But he just nodded and focused on his own plate.

They ate in relative silence.

Finally, Selene set down her fork. Dabbed at her lips with her napkin.

The last servant entered. Collected the empty dishes with quick, efficient movements. Stacked them on a tray.

Bowed once.

Then left.

The door closed behind them with a soft click.

Leaving just the two of them.

Alaric leaned back in his chair. His fingers drummed once against the armrest.

"About Count Valtair."

Selene’s attention sharpened immediately. Her eyes focused on him.

"I’ll handle it." His voice carried certainty. Final. "You don’t need to worry about it. Just stay out of it."

Selene blinked.

Then her expression hardened.

"Are you out of your mind?" She leaned forward. Her hands pressed flat against the table.

"How can you possibly go against the Count? We’re just baron, Alaric." Her voice rose slightly. "He has resources. Connections. Military backing."

Her fingers curled against the wood.

"We need proper planning. Perfect strategy. My plan is almost—"

"We don’t have enough time for that."

Alaric cut through her words.

His eyes met hers steadily.

"Whatever you’re planning will take months. Maybe longer." He shook his head. "We don’t have months. The other houses are already circling. Every day we wait, our position weakens."

Selene’s jaw clenched.

"So what? You’ll just, what? Challenge him directly? That’s suicide."

"No." His lips curved slightly. Not quite a smile. But something colder.

"There are ways to handle this that don’t require open conflict. Don’t worry about this."

His voice carried quiet confidence. Certainty that left no room for argument.

"I’ll handle him."

He pushed back from the table. And stood slowly and deliberately.

His crimson eyes held Selene’s for another moment. Then he turned toward the door.

"He’s only a count."

The words came dismissive. Almost casual.

His boots carried him toward the exit.

He’s only a count.

The thought echoed in his mind. Almost amusing in its insignificance.

I’ve made kings kneel before me. Watched emperors beg for mercy. Toppled thrones and ended bloodlines.

His expression remained neutral. But something flickered behind his eyes.

What a mere count can do?