The Count’s eyes were teary and red from the excruciating pain radiating through the side of his head.

He stared up at the Marquis in pure disbelief, his chest heaving as a terrifying realization began to settle in. It sounded as though his name had been explicitly tied to the purchase of the black powder, which shouldn’t have been.

From the very beginning, the anonymous individual who had approached and assisted him had solemnly promised to execute the transaction without ever leaving a paper trail back to the Devereux family. Those zealots had been from the kingdom he visited, so there was no way Vincent would have known who they were unless he was speaking the truth.

Did his name really show up as the purchaser?

The realization hit him like a physical blow. He should have known better than to trust a complete stranger simply because the man claimed to be an enemy of Vincent. He had been a fool, and now he was bleeding out on his own foyer, in front of his servants, his wife, and the household he had spent years building.

"What are you doing?!"

The Countess suddenly raised her voice, the sheer terror finally overpowering the fear that had kept her silent. The sight of her husband being mutilated broke through her previous restraint.

"You cannot simply march into our home and treat us this way!" She cried. "We welcomed you with all the respect owed to your station, and this is how you repay us? Haven’t you done more than enough damage to my family?!"

Vincent slowly shifted his cold, dead gaze to the woman, and the silence that returned to the foyer was heavy and absolute. The Countess instinctively kept her back straightened, desperately clinging to the last remnants of her dignity. But despite her efforts, she could not seize the trembling in her hands as the weight of the Marquis dark stare settled upon her.

"Are you lecturing me?"

The deceptive softness of his tone sounded like he was genuinely questioning how she had arrived at the conclusion that she possessed the standing to reprimand him. The Countess’ breath caught in her throat when he took a single step forward. The movement was enough to make her instinctively retreat.

"Tell me," he continued, his tone calm and measured, "when your husband funded fanatics and supplied them with black powder to infiltrate my estate and endanger the lives of my household, did you give him one of your little lectures as well? I haven’t even killed him yet and you’re already causing a scene."

The Countess froze at that, and the Count’s face went completely pale.

"Marquis."

The voice that spoke cut through whatever thought was running through Vincent’s mind. That voice was deeply familiar, and when the Marquis turned around just to be sure, his eyes narrowed as he recognized the newcomer.

Standing just inside the grand entrance, having only just returned to the manor, was the Count’s eldest son and heir, Viscount Julian. Julian was a man who practically personified aristocratic restraint. He possessed sharp, patrician features, with cool hazel eyes that remained entirely unblinking. His straight dark, chestnut hair was meticulously combed back from his forehead, leaving not a single strand out of place despite his travels.

His tall, lean frame was clad in a perfectly tailored traveling coat, unwrinkled and immaculate, looking every bit the picture of effortless nobility.

Even after stepping into a foyer that looked moments away from descending into chaos, not a flicker of surprise crossed his face. Instead, he stepped forward and stopped a respectful distance away, before executing a flawless, low bow to the Marquis.

"Forgive my unannounced return, Lord Vincent," Julian said, his voice smooth and entirely devoid of panic. "And please accept my greetings. Though, it appears I have arrived in the midst of a..rather grave matter."

"It’s you."

Vincent eyed the young man for a moment longer than necessary. The last time he had seen Julian had been during their teenage years.

The Count looked up at his eldest son who had returned home, his eyes bloodshot and desperate, but his son’s cool gaze lingered on him briefly, and there was something faintly disapproving in it, like he was silently judging him for his monumental foolishness.

Then, without comment, he shifted his attention back to Vincent.

"I am not fully aware of what has transpired here," Julian began, maintaining a respectful distance, his hands clasped calmly behind his back. "However, judging by the measures already taken, I can only assume that my father– or perhaps my family as a whole –has crossed a line that should never have been approached."

His tone remained composed, neither defensive nor accusatory.

"I would never presume to offend the Marquis, and I understand that some transgressions are too grave to be overlooked."

He paused, glancing briefly at the pool of blood expanding on the marble floor, before meeting Vincent’s dark gray eyes with unblinking resolve.

"However, I ask that you stay your hand from taking his life. If my father is dragged before the royal court, it will undoubtedly bring public disgrace, yes, but it will also turn this into a protracted political spectacle, one that will drag both your name and that of the Marchioness through the mire of high-society gossip."

Julian reasoned, his tone smooth and deeply pragmatic.

"Allow me to handle this matter internally, Marquis. I will personally ensure that my father relinquishes his authority. Furthermore, I am prepared to sign over whatever financial preparations, properties, or supply lines the county must forfeit in order to make restitution for the damages caused. Let me penalize my family under your terms, without involving the crown."

He brought his hands forward and lowered his head in a pleading bow.

Vincent seemed to genuinely acknowledge the man’s words, his dark eyes locked on the young Viscount for a long, silent moment. At last, he lowered his blade, much to the collective, shuddering relief of everyone in the foyer.

"Well, this worked out rather well for everyone, didn’t it?" Vincent’s voice dropped with a layer of sharp, dangerous mockery as Elias stepped forward and seamlessly took the blade from his hand. "Fine. I’ll indulge in this arrangement, only because you’ve impressed me today."

"Thank you, Marquis."

Julian offered his appreciation, his voice remaining perfectly steady as he rose from his bow.

With one last, cold glance at the half-collapsed bleeding Count on the floor, Vincent turned around and took his leave, his heavy footsteps echoing out of the manor alongside his men.

Only after the heavy front doors swung shut, and the Marquis had truly departed, did Julian finally allow the mask of perfect composure to crack.

He immediately dropped to one knee beside his father, paying no mind to the blood staining his traveling coat, and helped him up to his feet.

The Countess rushed forward as well, her hands shaking as she supported her husband’s weight from the opposite side.

"Fetch the doctor," Julian ordered, his sharp hazel eyes snapping toward the chief aide, who practically bolted out of the foyer to fulfill the order.

Later on, inside the manor’s private medical wing, the Count’s gruesome injuries were finally being treated by the family physician. The older man’s face was pale and slick with perspiration as the wound was cleaned and bandaged.

For perhaps the first time since the Marquis had brutally cut his ear, the reality of his permanent mutilation sunk in. This was an injury that would painfully remain with him for the rest of his life.

Julian watched the treatment in silence, his arms folded across his chest as he leaned against the wall.

The chamber was quiet save for the physician’s movements and the occasional pained sound from the Count.

"I come home after many years away, and this is the first thing I walk into."

Julian rubbed a hand across his face, his voice low and laced with absolute disbelief and irritation.

"Honestly, why would anyone in their right mind choose to get on the Marquis’s bad side?"

"It is not your father’s fault," the Countess shot back, her voice trembling with a mixture of grief and anger as she looked up at her eldest son. "You know how the Marquis is. He leaves nothing but chaos in his wake wherever he goes. Just look at what he did to your father."

"And what about what Father did?"

Julian countered smoothly, his hazel eyes narrowing as he looked down at his mother.

"He tried to infiltrate the home of the very same Marquis you just described leaves chaos wherever he goes. Father is fortunate he only lost an ear. Had I not arrived when I did,I am convinced that the outcome would have been far worse."

The Countess opened her mouth to argue, but Julian continued.

"Logically speaking, I find no fault in the Marquis’s actions. He did what he did to protect his household, and I did what I did to protect mine."

A bitter laugh came from the doorway.

"So we should congratulate you?" William leaned heavily against the doorframe, his expression dark. "Let me guess, we should all applaud the mighty viscount for swooping in to save the day."

"Yes, precisely what I was busy insinuating," Julian didn’t hold back, his blunt response catching everyone off guard. His gaze shifted toward his younger brother, cool and relentlessly judgmental.

"At least I did something. What did you do?"

The question landed like a hammer.

"You were present from the beginning, were you not? Yet you let things escalate to this point. Are you that terrified of the Marquis that you can’t engage in a simple conversation with him? You stood there and watched our father suffer, yet I am the one being criticized for cleaning up the aftermath."

"That’s enough!"

The Countess looked between her sons, tears gathering in her eyes.

"This is neither the time nor the place for this. You are brothers, for goodness’ sake."

Taking a shaky breath, she turned to Julian. "Julian, dear, you have only just returned home. You must be tired. I’ll look after your father. Why don’t you go to your quarters and get some rest?"