Chapter 270: The plans…

Damon was just a few steps from the door when the sound completely interrupted his movement, causing his body to react even before his mind could consciously process the situation. Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside with enough speed and weight to indicate urgency, and urgency in that kind of environment rarely came with good news for someone who shouldn’t be there. In a single fluid movement, he shifted out of direct line of sight to the entrance, sliding behind a tall bookcase laden with books and boxes of documents, positioning himself at an angle where his silhouette blended into the shadows cast by the dim lighting of the office, while he instinctively controlled his breathing, reducing any noise that could betray him at that critical moment.

The door opened with more force than necessary, slamming against the wall with a dry sound that reverberated through the room, and the figure that entered was far from possessing the elegant composure the duchess had displayed in the drawing room minutes before. Now there was something raw, angry, and uncontrolled in her every movement. Her steps were quick, uneven, and the sound of her heels against the floor echoed with an almost aggressive impatience as she strode toward the center of the room, breathing more heavily than usual, like someone trying to maintain an appearance of control while the situation was clearly beginning to slip out of her hands.

“Idiots… all of them…” she muttered, but her tone gradually rose with each word, transforming the murmur into something closer to an angry and venomous outburst, while her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “Different looks… whispers… too many questions… that wasn’t part of the plan.” She began pacing back and forth, passing dangerously close to where Damon was hiding, but without even suspecting his presence, as her attention was completely focused on what was happening outside, in the hall she believed she still controlled.

Damon, hidden in the shadows, observed everything with a slight, almost imperceptible smile forming at the corners of his lips, not out of arrogance, but out of silent confirmation that his actions had achieved exactly the desired effect. Doubt had spread. Her control was being strained. And, more importantly, she was beginning to react emotionally, which was always the first step towards making mistakes.

“These useless nobles start thinking for themselves for five minutes and already think they’re strategists…” she continued, now in a lower voice, but laden with contained irritation, as she stopped before the table and placed her hands on it with enough force to tense her arm muscles. “Something has changed… someone is interfering… someone is looking where they shouldn’t.”

For a brief moment, Damon considered the possibility that she had noticed his presence, but quickly dismissed it upon analyzing the direction of her gaze and the focus of her attention. No. This was growing paranoia. She sensed the change in the atmosphere, but still didn’t know its origin.

Then, with an abrupt movement, she reached into the inside pocket of her dress and pulled out a small, yet meaningful object: a dark orb, whose surface seemed to absorb the surrounding light instead of reflecting it, creating a subtly unsettling aura around it. Damon squinted slightly, adjusting his position for a better view without compromising his hiding place, while the duchess held the object firmly before her.

For a second, nothing happened.

Then, the surface of the orb rippled.

As if something inside it were… alive.

“Answer,” she said, now in a completely different tone, colder, more controlled, but still carrying the tension of someone being pushed beyond expectations.

A voice answered.

It didn’t echo naturally through the room.

It seemed to emerge directly from the object.

Distorted.

Loose.

But clear enough.

“You shouldn’t contact us unnecessarily,” the voice said, its calm demeanor contrasting sharply with the duchess’s evident irritation.

“Don’t tell me what I should or shouldn’t do,” she retorted immediately, her patience clearly already worn thin. “Something’s wrong. The guests are… different. Rumors are starting to circulate. About me. About him.” She made a vague gesture, clearly referring to her husband.

Damon watched every word with absolute attention.

Every detail mattered.

“Rumors are inevitable,” replied the voice from the other side of the orb. “You’ve been instructed to maintain control.”

“And I am!” she countered, but there was a crack there, a need for reassurance that shouldn’t exist in someone truly in control. “But someone is interfering. I feel it. His reactions are… out of sync. Not completely, but enough to be noticed.”

Damon tilted his head slightly, interested.

Then she understood.

Not everything.

But enough.

“Then adjust,” said the voice, simple, direct, as if it were trivial. “You have the means.”

Her hand tightened around the orb.

“It’s not that simple! I can’t increase control in an environment like that without raising greater suspicions. There are influential people there. People who know how to recognize… anomalies.” Her voice trailed off at the end, almost as if she were being forced to admit something she didn’t want to.

There was a brief silence.

Heavy.

And then—

“Then speed it up,” the voice replied, now with a slightly firmer tone. “The plan doesn’t depend on perfection, only on completion. You’ve already made enough progress.”

Damon felt his own interest intensify.

Now came something important.

The duchess took a deep breath.

And then she said, with cold clarity:

“The plan will continue.”

She took a few steps around the room, regaining some of her composure as she spoke, as if the statement itself were a way of re-anchoring herself to the control she felt slowly slipping away.

“Soon, Arven will be under my complete control,” she continued, her voice now lower, yet laden with conviction. “And after that…” her lips curved into a smile that was neither social nor elegant. It was pure calculation. “The entire duchy will be mine.”

She paused briefly.

And then added:

“Including Mirath.”

The silence that followed was heavy.

Damon remained motionless.

But inside—

The pieces began to move faster.

This was bigger than it seemed.

Much bigger.

The voice in the orb responded after a few seconds.

“Don’t fail.”

Simple.

Direct.

And laden with an implicit threat.

The duchess didn’t respond immediately, but the grip on her hand betrayed her inner reaction.

“I don’t fail,” she said finally, with a firmness that seemed more an attempt to convince herself than the other side of the communication.

The orb then darkened again.

Silence.

She stood still for a few seconds, breathing slowly, as if reorganizing her thoughts before acting again, and then, with a swift movement, she put the object away.

“I’ll take care of this,” she murmured to herself, now in a more controlled tone, closer to the mask she wore in the hall.

Damon watched as she headed back for the door, her steps now firmer, more calculated, like someone who had made a decision.

And then—

She left.

The door closed.

The sound echoed.

Silence.

For a few seconds, Damon remained exactly where he was, motionless, making sure no one else was around, while his mind worked at full speed, reorganizing all the information he had just obtained. Slave purchases, weapons, potions, mind control… and now an open conspiracy to dominate not only Arven, but the entire duchy, including Mirath.

He then let out a low sigh.

And a small smile appeared on his lips.

“This got… interesting.”

Slowly, he emerged from the shadows.

Now there was no more doubt.

It wasn’t just a family intrigue.

It was something much bigger.

And he was right in the center of it.

Damon remained motionless for a few more seconds after the duchess left, not out of hesitation, but out of discipline, allowing the silence to settle completely in the room before even considering any movement, for he knew that mistakes rarely happened due to lack of skill, but rather due to excessive haste after critical moments. His eyes scanned the office one last time, mentally noting every detail that could be useful later, from the position of the documents to the exact location where the orb had been kept, as if he were drawing an invisible map within his own mind, something that could be revisited at any time, should he need to return there under even more dangerous circumstances.

With a smooth and calculated movement, he moved away from the bookcase that had served as a hiding place, discreetly adjusting his clothes to remove any sign of disarray that might betray him, and then walked to the door with light, yet firm steps, like someone who belonged in that environment. Before opening, he lightly pressed his ear to the wood, capturing only the silence of the corridor beyond, indicating that the duchess had already moved far enough away to no longer pose an immediate threat. Only then did he carefully turn the doorknob and slide out, closing the door behind him without making any perceptible sound.

The corridor was empty, illuminated only by a few torches fixed to the walls that cast elongated shadows on the stone floor, creating an atmosphere very different from the brightness and noise of the main hall. Damon didn’t hesitate to resume his movement, following the path he had previously memorized, taking advantage of the less busy routes that Morgana had carefully prepared, passing through service corridors and secondary intersections where the presence of guests would be considered unusual, but not impossible, should someone catch a glimpse of him. Even so, he maintained the same absolute control over his posture and pace, making each step feel natural, almost casual, as if he were simply exploring the mansion out of curiosity.

As he approached the areas closest to the ballroom again, the sounds of the party began to gradually return, first as a distant echo, then as a steady murmur, and finally as the same vibrant flow of conversation, laughter, and music he had left behind. Damon adjusted his expression even before crossing the last bend in the corridor, allowing a slight air of sophisticated boredom to take over his face, as if returning from an uninteresting pause, and then reintegrated himself into the environment with the same ease with which he had disappeared, taking a new glass of wine from a passing servant who didn’t even look directly at him.

His eyes, however, were already searching for her.

Morgana.

He didn’t take long to find her.

She was moving through the ballroom with the same impeccable elegance as before, but there was something different now, something more focused, more directed, like someone who had already made a decision and was simply executing the necessary steps to achieve it. For a brief instant, their eyes met, and that was enough. No words were exchanged, no exaggerated gestures were made, only a slight, almost imperceptible movement of her hand, indicating the direction of one of the side corridors.

Damon didn’t respond immediately.

As always, he waited.

He let a few seconds pass, twirled the glass slightly between his fingers, looked away as if he had lost interest in something ahead of him, and only then began to move, leaving the group he was with without drawing attention, following a path that seemed random to any outside observer, but which, in reality, led him exactly in the direction indicated by Morgana.

He entered the hallway a few moments after her.

The time difference was enough that it didn’t seem like they were together.

But small enough that they wouldn’t lose each other.

The sound of the party faded again as they advanced, replaced by the controlled silence of the mansion’s interior, until Morgana finally slowed her pace and turned onto a more secluded corner, stopping only when she was sure they were completely out of sight and ear.

Damon approached without haste, but this time there was no need to maintain the same level of disguise.

“You found something,” Morgana said before he could even speak, turning to him with attentive eyes, her voice low but full of expectation.

Damon let out a small sigh, as if mentally organizing where to begin.

“More than I expected,” he replied, leaning slightly against the wall, keeping his tone equally low but firm. “This isn’t just family manipulation. It’s much bigger.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

“Explain.”

He didn’t beat around the bush.

“She has a hidden office in one of the inner wings. Documents. Lots of them. And they’re not subtle.” He paused briefly, observing her reaction before continuing. “Slave purchases. On a large scale. Detailed records.”

Morgana’s expression hardened immediately, but she didn’t interrupt.

“Weapons too,” Damon continued, now with a slight hint of restrained contempt. “Not for defense. Stockpiling. Accumulation. Planned.”

She crossed her arms, her body becoming more rigid with each word.

“Potions,” he added, tilting his head slightly. “Some I recognized. Others… not. But none of them had a benign purpose.”

The silence between them grew heavier.

But he wasn’t finished yet.

“And then I found a letter,” Damon said, now with a slightly more serious glint in his eyes. “Something specific. Clear references to a method of mind control. Not theoretical. Applied.”

Morgana’s eyes blinked once, slower than usual.

“Control… by my father,” she murmured, almost as a confirmation to herself.

Damon nodded slightly.

“Consistent with what we saw in the hall. The glitches, the delays, the empty responses. It’s not natural behavior. It’s active maintenance.”

She looked away for a moment, absorbing it.

But Damon continued.

“It’s not just that,” he said, his voice becoming slightly lower. “She’s not alone.”

This made Morgana look back immediately.

“What do you mean?”

Damon uncrossed his arms, becoming a little more serious.

“She was talking to someone. An orb. Direct communication.” He paused briefly before continuing. “I couldn’t identify who, but… the dynamic was clear. She responds to someone.” Her eyes narrowed even further.

“She… answers?”

“Yes.” Damon tilted his head slightly. “And this someone doesn’t seem patient.”

Silence returned.

Heavier now.

“And there’s more,” he added.

Morgana already seemed prepared for the worst.

“She confirmed the plan.”

A pause.

“She wants Arven.”

Another.

“And then… the entire duchy.”

Damon then looked directly into her eyes.

“Including Mirath.”

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