The Archduke's Songbird-Chapter 325: Choosing Morality

The footsteps grew louder, echoing through the dim corridor like the march of fate itself. Hamilton’s heart pounded in sync with their rhythm, but he held his breath, sword raised, preparing for the inevitable.

Every muscle in his body was tense, coiled like a spring ready to strike. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He stood motionless, a shadow in the dark, hoping to catch the approaching men off guard.

But before Hamilton could make his move, a powerful hand clamped down on his wrist with a force that made his bones creak under the pressure. The grip was cold and unyielding, like iron forged in frost, and it sent a shiver down his spine.

His sword arm faltered, unable to move even an inch under the crushing weight of that hand. In an instant, the control he thought he had vanished, and his feet stumbled backward as the man stepped closer, pressing forward like an unstoppable tide.

Hamilton’s eyes flickered up to the figure looming over him. The man’s hair gleamed silver in the moonlight that filtered through the narrow windows, each strand shimmering like molten metal. His eyes, cold and piercing, glistened with an unsettling light, as though they reflected not just the moon but the depths of a sea untouched by warmth or mercy.

There was an oppressive aura about him, something ancient and primal, that made Hamilton’s chest tighten in fear. It was a presence that demanded submission, and for a fleeting moment, Hamilton wondered if he was staring into the eyes of death itself.

He forced himself to look away, to shift his gaze to the second man standing behind him. Blonde hair, blue eyes—Hamilton recognized the insignia on his chest plate, the familiar sigil of Ayberia. His heart stuttered as the realization hit him. The Crown Prince.

And if that man was the prince, then the one gripping his wrist with the strength of a lion could only be...

"The Grand Duke..." Hamilton whispered, his voice barely audible.

His mind raced, but instinct took over. Without hesitation, he let go of his sword and dropped to his knees before them. "There’s a group of women in the hall just down there," he said, his voice urgent. "Please, save them before the others find them."

For a moment, silence hung in the air, broken only by Hamilton’s ragged breathing. The Grand Duke—William—squinted, his gaze sharp as he scrutinized the kneeling soldier. There was fear in Hamilton’s eyes, yes, but there was also something else—something that flickered beneath the surface like a dying ember.

A sense of fulfillment, as if, despite his fear, Hamilton had found peace in doing something noble, something right.

"Are you by any chance Hamilton Lorca?" William asked, his voice calm but carrying an edge of curiosity. The name had been given to him by Jessamyn, and there was a distinct familiarity in the way this man spoke of protecting Ayberian women.

Hamilton’s head snapped up in surprise. "I... am," he stammered, his brow furrowing. "But how do you know, Your Grace?"

William chuckled softly, thinking of Jessamyn. Her spirit, fierce and untamed, lingered in his thoughts. "Jessamyn mentioned you," he said, offering his hand to Hamilton. "It seems you’ve been trying to do the right thing."

Hamilton hesitated for only a moment before taking William’s hand, rising to his feet. The gesture caught him off guard, this kindness from a man who could so easily have ended him. "Come with us," William said.

Hamilton followed them, his steps lighter but still uncertain. As they moved, he reached into his cloak and pulled out a letter, the one Jessamyn had entrusted him with. "She gave me this," he said, handing it to William.

William scanned the letter, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. So, Jessamyn was protected by Hamilton in the forest, and now she sought to return the favor. The world, it seemed, had an odd way of working things out.

"I’ll repay the favor Jessamyn owes you," William said, glancing at Hamilton with a rare warmth in his eyes. He felt an odd protectiveness over this man who had risked so much.

Louis watched the exchange quietly, deep in thought. Jessamyn’s influence ran deeper than he’d realized. She had a way of weaving herself into the hearts of others, and for that, he was both grateful and troubled. He could only hope she was safe, wherever she was.

As they moved through the halls, Hamilton helped William and Louis sneak up on the enemy soldiers stationed throughout the palace. One by one, they dispatched the guards with quiet efficiency.

The guilt gnawed at Hamilton’s insides with every strike. These were his comrades, men he had fought alongside, men who had trusted him. And yet, they had chosen the path of violence, obeying orders to slaughter innocents. Hamilton had made his choice as well, though it pained him. He had chosen to stand on the side of morality, even if it meant bearing the stain of betrayal.

With each enemy they felled, Hamilton’s resolve hardened. His mind wandered to his wife, heavy with their child, back in Altania. He hoped—no, prayed—that they would be spared from the consequences of his actions. His heart clenched at the thought of them suffering because of his decisions, but he knew there was no turning back now.

He explained about his wife to William and how she was an Ayberian noble.

"We’ll bring your family to safety," William promised, his voice steady with assurance. "You’ll have a place here in Ayberia."

"You have the King’s word," Louis added with a solemn nod.

Hamilton felt a wave of relief wash over him. For the first time since this nightmare began, he allowed himself to hope.

When they reached the doors of the throne room, two guards stood in their path, their eyes narrowing at the sight of William and Louis. The tension was immediate, thickening the air between them.

"Whose side are you on?" one of the guards demanded, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

"I’m on the side of fairness and justice," William replied, his voice cold and unyielding.

The guards scoffed. "The Kaiser family has lost their right to the throne. Ayberia needs change, and we intend to make sure it happens."

Seeing Louis standing behind William, the guards drew their swords, the metallic sound slicing through the heavy silence.

Without hesitation, William stepped in front of Louis, his body a shield between his nephew and the threat. The fight erupted with a ferocity that seemed to shake the very walls. William moved like a storm, swift and deadly, cutting down the guards with ruthless efficiency. Blood stained the marble floors, and the heavy thud of bodies falling filled the air.

When the last guard fell, William strode into the throne room, his eyes blazing with determination. The ministers inside turned, their faces pale with shock at the sight of Louis and William standing side by side. This was not the coup they had expected.