CHAPTER 137: CHAPTER HUNDRED AND THIRTY SEVEN

The Golden Swan was now bustling with noise as patrons began to swarm in, but for Derek, the world had narrowed down to the woman standing next to him and the deed in her hand. He was just about to offer her his arm to walk out of the dance establishment when a shadow fell across them.

Brooke, the silent, dark-clad aide of the Crown Prince, stepped into their path. He didn’t look at Marissa. He looked only at Derek.

"Your Grace," Brooke said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. He bowed stiffly. "His Highness, Crown Prince Liam, requests your presence. Immediately."

Derek’s smile didn’t fade, but his eyes hardened instantly. He felt the cold trap snapping shut. He had been having too much fun. He had let his guard down.

He turned to Marissa. He kept his voice light, but his eyes sent her a warning.

"It seems my cousin wants a chat," Derek said with a casual shrug. "Family obligations. Go home, Marissa. Ian will escort you. I will pick you up when I am done."

Marissa looked at Brooke, then at Derek. She saw the tension in Derek’s jaw. She nodded once, understanding the code. Go. Be safe.

"Do not be long, Your Grace," she said calmly. She turned and walked away, Ian falling into step beside her, her hand gripping the black fan tightly.

Derek watched her go for a second, ensuring she was safe, before turning back to Brooke.

"Lead the way," Derek said.

Brooke led him towards the private room. They climbed the stairs in silence. Brooke opened the door to the private room and stepped aside.

Derek took a breath. He loosened his posture. He let his shoulders slump slightly. He put on the mask of the "skiver"—the lazy, charming, slightly incompetent Duke.

He walked in.

The room was dim. The curtains were drawn, allowing only thin slivers of light to cut through the gloom. Prince Liam sat at a low table. He wasn’t drinking tea. He was polishing a dagger.

It was a small, wicked thing, the blade curved and gleaming. Liam ran a soft cloth over the steel, back and forth, the metal singing quietly. He didn’t look up when Derek entered.

Derek stopped by the door. He swept into a low, flamboyant bow, perhaps a little too deep, a little too clumsy.

"Your Highness," Derek announced, his voice booming with fake cheer. "Thank you for gracing us with your presence outside the palace! I didn’t know you were in the city. Forgive our unpreparedness. We apologize."

He stayed bowed, waiting for permission to rise.

Liam stopped polishing. He held the dagger up to the sliver of light, inspecting the edge.

Without a word, without a warning, Liam flicked his wrist.

Thwip.

The dagger flew across the room.

It was a blur of silver. It flew past Derek’s head, so close that the wind of its passing stirred his hair. It almost grazed his cheek, a phantom touch of cold steel.

THUNK.

The blade buried itself deep into the wood of the doorframe, right next to Derek’s ear.

Derek didn’t flinch. He didn’t gasp. He held his bow for a split second longer, his heart hammering against his ribs like a war drum. It was a test. A test of nerves. If he had flinched like a coward, Liam would despise him. If he had caught it or dodged like a soldier, Liam would expose him.

He had to be the fool who was too slow to react.

Slowly, Derek raised his head. He looked at the dagger vibrating in the wood next to his ear. He widened his eyes, feigning a delayed, drunken shock.

"Oh!" Derek exclaimed, putting a hand to his chest. "Your Highness! That was close!"

He laughed, a nervous, braying sound.

"Forgive me, Your Highness, for the poor hospitality," Derek babbled, acting as if the dagger throw was a punishment for bad manners. "I should have prepared a better welcome."

Liam stared at him. His blue eyes were cold, searching for a crack in the mask. He didn’t smile.

"I have heard," Liam said softly, his voice smooth and dangerous, "that a fugitive entered your dance establishment recently."

Derek blinked, looking confused. "A fugitive?"

"Yes," Liam continued, picking up a second dagger from the table. He began to polish this one, too. "He entered the Golden Swan, and then he vanished completely. He is still nowhere to be found."

Liam looked up. His gaze locked onto Derek’s.

"Could there be fugitives hiding here, cousin?" Liam asked. "Is your establishment catering to traitors now? Are you running a sanctuary for enemies of the crown?"

It was a direct accusation. Liam was talking about the spy. He was talking about Commander Leon’s contact.

Derek’s mind raced. He had to play the businessman. The greedy, apolitical owner.

"Your Highness," Derek said, spreading his hands in a gesture of innocence. "This is just an entertainment center. It is a place for wine, for women showing their talents, for music. I don’t ask my customers for their criminal records."

He took a step forward, trying to look earnest.

"Had I known your men were searching for someone specific," Derek lied smoothly, "I would have cooperated fully. I would have turned the place upside down myself. Business is bad when soldiers are breaking down doors."

He shook his head sadly.

"My wife... she made quite a scene during the raid," Derek added, using Marissa’s performance as cover. "She chased everyone away. It was a disaster for profits."

Liam listened. He watched Derek’s face. He saw the greed. He saw the concern for "profits." But he wasn’t convinced.

Liam stood up. He held the second dagger by the blade.

"Profits," Liam murmured.

Suddenly, he threw it.

This throw was different. It wasn’t a warning shot. It was aimed directly at Derek’s shoulder. It was fast. Vicious.

If Derek didn’t move, he would be impaled. If he blocked it, he would reveal his training.

Derek’s body reacted on instinct. The soldier inside him screamed MOVE.

He twisted his body. It was a fast, fluid motion, a pivot on his heel.

Whoosh.

The dagger sliced through the air where his shoulder had been a millisecond before. It missed him completely. It clattered against the wall behind him and fell to the floor.

Derek froze in his twisted position. It was a fast, fluid motion, a pivot on his heel.

Whoosh.

The dagger sliced through the air where his shoulder had been a millisecond before. It missed him completely. It clattered against the wall behind him and fell to the floor.

Derek froze in his twisted position. He realized what he had done. He had moved too fast. He had moved like a warrior.

He looked at Liam.

Liam was smiling. It was a cold, satisfied smile. He had seen the reflex. He had seen the speed.

"Caught you," Liam’s eyes seemed to say.