CHAPTER 71: CHAPTER SEVENTY ONE

The Golden Swan was alive. The main hall, two floors below, thrummed with a vibrant energy. The sound of instruments and raucous, drunken laughter was a muffled, pulsing beat that was felt more than heard, even in the sound-proofed luxury of the private room.

Derek lounged in a high-backed, crimson-velvet armchair, one long leg casually thrown over the armrest. He stared, unseeing, through the one-way-glass window at the smoky, swirling kaleidoscope of dancers on the stage below. A half-full glass of wine was balanced lazily on his knee. He was the very picture of the bored, dissolute Grand Duke, a man indulging in the pleasures of the establishment he had so scandalously gifted to his mistress.

His posture was relaxed, but his mind was as tight as a bowstring. He was not here for the dancing, or the wine. He was here to wait.

A soft, hesitant knock echoed from the door.

Derek’s body tensed, but his lazy expression did not change. He had been waiting for Ian. He slowly, languidly, sat up, placing his wine glass on the table. He put the charming, indulgent smile on his face, the one he reserved for Senna.

"Who’s there?" he called out, his voice warm and inviting.

"It’s Senna, Your Grace," a voice, as sweet and soft as a fragile bird, replied from the hall.

"Ah, Senna," Derek purred, his smile widening. "Do come in."

The door opened. It was not Senna, not at first, but her personal maid, who entered, bowed deeply, and held the door open. Senna then glided in. She was a vision, dressed in a simple but exquisitely cut gown of emerald green silk that clung to her dancer’s body. She carried a heavy, lacquered tray, laden with steaming, fragrant dishes.

The maid bowed again and backed out, closing the door softly, leaving Senna alone with the Duke.

She smiled at him, a warm, intimate expression, and carried the tray to the small table in front of him. "I had the kitchens prepare a few of your favorites, Your Grace," she murmured, her movements graceful as she began arranging the small, porcelain dishes—spiced duck, steamed fish and vegetables. It was a domestic, almost wifely, act.

"You are too good to me, Senna," he said, his voice a low, appreciative rumble.

She finished, her gaze soft and full of concern. "I heard the young master, Ryan, was ill for a while," she said, her voice soft. "Is he better now? I was so worried."

Derek’s smile remained, but it became a little cooler, a little more distant. "With his mother caring for him, he is much better now."

Senna, who had been about to sit in the chair opposite him, froze. Her practiced, gentle smile faltered, a small, visible crack in her perfect composure. "Mother?" she repeated, the word a small, confused sound.

"Yes," Derek replied, his voice calm, as if this were the most normal thing in the world. He leaned back, the picture of a proud family man. "We are all very fortunate. Thanks to Marissa’s medical skills, Ryan was pulled back from death’s door. She is quite remarkable."

The blood drained from Senna’s face, only to be replaced by a quick, hot flush. Marissa. Not just a Duchess. Not just a title. But Mother. A healer. A heroine. She had saved the boy. She had forged a bond with him, a bond that Senna, a mere mistress, could never hope to break.

She recovered quickly, her smile returning, though it was now a little too bright, a little too brittle. "That is wonderful news, Your Grace. Truly." She gestured to a beautiful, wrapped box her maid had left by the door. "I... I had actually bought some rare medicines for him from a Northern trader. A tonic for strength. Please, give them to him when you leave, Your Grace. With my warmest wishes for his health."

She was trying to compete. To show that she, too, was caring, thoughtful, and had access to valuable things.

Derek gave her a kind, indulgent, and utterly dismissive smile. "He is just a child, Senna. What would he need so many medicines for?" He waved a hand, a lazy, final gesture. "Besides, your thought is kind, but it’s too late. Ryan has already gone to the outer estate."

Senna’s smile tightened. She had been shut out. Her gift, her gesture, her attempt to insert herself into his family life—it was all useless. She was not just too late; she was irrelevant.

Before she could form a reply, the door to the room burst open.

Ian, his face grim, his breathing heavy, strode into the room, his boots loud on the plush carpet.

"Forgive my intrusion, Your Grace," he said, his voice a low, urgent rumble.

Derek’s entire demeanor changed in an instant. The lazy, smiling lover vanished. His body went rigid, his eyes sharpening, becoming as cold and hard as polished steel. This was it. This was the real reason he was here.

Ian stopped, his gaze falling on Senna. He did not speak. He simply looked at his master, the message clear. This is confidential.

Derek immediately knew. He turned to Senna, but he forgot to put his mask back on. His voice, when he spoke, was not the soft, kind purr from before. It was the flat, cold, and absolute command of the Grand Duke. "You will go out first."

Senna, startled by the sudden, chilling shift in his tone, flinched as if she had been slapped. She saw the man he truly was, the man she was not allowed to know.

Realizing his mistake, Derek softened his voice, the "kind" mask slipping back into place, though it was now ill-fitting. "Please, Senna. Wait for me outside. This is a dull, estate matter."

"Of course, Your Grace," she whispered. She curtsied low, her eyes downcast, a perfect, obedient mistress. She glided from the room, her heart a cold knot of humiliation and a new, dawning fear.

The moment the door clicked shut, Derek was on his feet. "Speak."

Ian stepped forward, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword, his voice a low, excited whisper. "Commander Leon has news, Your Grace. Real news. He has left his post at the northern border. He says the clues he found, the ones about the massacre of your father’s regiment, are solid."

Derek’s hands clenched into white-knuckled fists.

"He wants you to meet him," Ian continued. "Tomorrow, at dawn. At the abandoned monastery on the outskirts of the city. He says he cannot go to the palace. He says he cannot trust anyone but you."

Derek was silent for a long moment, his mind racing. After all these years. After all the lies, the waiting, the bitter, patient planning. Finally. "I will be there," Derek said, his voice a low, hard promise. "See to it that he is not followed."

Senna came down the grand, curving staircase of the Golden Swan, her face a perfect, smiling mask, nodding graciously to the wealthy patrons who bowed to her. She was the mistress of this grand establishment, a woman of power, a woman envied by all.

But inside, she was seething. The humiliation of his cold, sharp dismissal burned. And the word "Mother," spoken in his voice, echoed in her mind.

Marissa. Marissa. Marissa.

At the bottom of the stairs, her personal maid was waiting, her arms full. In her hands, she held the large, beautifully wrapped box of rare, expensive medicines for Ryan.

"My Lady," the maid said, curtsying. "The gift. What should I do with it, now that the young master is gone?"

Senna stopped. She looked at the box, at the gift she had spent a small fortune on, the gift that was supposed to show her care, her value. It was now a useless, hollow mockery of her position.

"He already has his mother’s care," Senna spat, the word "mother" tasting like acid on her tongue. "Why would he ever need my gift?" She turned, her green silk dress swirling around her. "Throw it away."

"My... my lady?" the maid stammered, shocked. "But... it is worth so much..."

"I said, throw it away!" Senna snapped, her voice a low, furious hiss. "I don’t care. Get it out of my sight."

"Yes, my lady," the maid whispered, scurrying away, her face pale with fear.

Senna stood on the steps, her hand gripping the carved banister. She watched the celebration, the music and laughter but she felt none of it. She felt only a cold, sharp, and unfamiliar fear.

This Marissa, she thought, her mind racing, her nails digging into the polished wood. She hasn’t even been in the estate for long. But not only did she win Ryan’s trust, she also, somehow, ruined that vicious, jealous cat Lorena. She had hated Lorena, but Lorena had been a useful, if annoying, rival for Derek’s time. Now, that rival was gone, executed. Lorena spoiled all my plans to get close to Derek, and Marissa just swept her off the board.

And now... now she has complete control of the household.

Senna’s eyes narrowed, a new understanding dawning in her mind.

She is not a simple woman. And she is in my way.

She turned, her smile returning, but this time, it was not the warm, practiced smile of a hostess. It was the cold, sharp, and dangerous smile of a rival.

"Looks like I need to meet her."