Chapter 53: A Dangerous Game

"I assume the food meets your standards?" Flio asked, his voice cracking like a dry twig. He was puring a glass of wine for Cherion.

For some reason, Flio was the one who attended to him. He was standing with his shoulders hunched, looking for all the world like a man waiting for a ceiling tile to crush him

"It doesn’t taste like sawdust and disappointment, if that’s what you’re asking," Cherion replied, popping a piece of the chicken into his mouth. He chewed slowly, savoring the richness. "It’s almost like the kitchen staff remembered I have a pulse. Or maybe they just ran out of the grey sludge they usually save for me."

Flio let out a breath that was half-sigh, half-shudder. He set the wine glass down with a trembling hand. "Lord Cherion, I must apologize. Deeply. For everything. The recent ’lapses’ in your hospitality have been addressed. Quite violently, I’m afraid."

Cherion raised a brow. "Violently?"

"He dismissed Soren. Personally. I’ve been in the Duke’s service since he was a lad, and I’ve seen him cut down enemies without blinking, but the look on his face when he called me to his study this morning... I’ve truly never seen him that livid. He stripped Soren of his job on the spot. No severance. No references. Just a cold command to vanish before his head followed suit."

Cherion paused, the fork halfway to his lips. Relief flickered in his chest, a warm, fluttering thing, but right behind it trailed a strange, sharp pang of disappointment. He hadn’t expected the hammer to fall so quickly.

"He’s gone?" Cherion asked, his voice flat. "Just like that?"

Flio blinked, clearly baffled by the lack of celebration. "Yes. Dismissed. We are already vetting a replacement, someone with a backbone and a soul, I can promise you that. But My Lord... why do you look like I’ve just told you the circus is leaving town?"

"It’s just..." Cherion sighed, leaning back in his chair and tapping his fingers against the table. "I was kind of curious to see what he’d try next. You know? I was waiting for him to graduate to something more creative. Maybe hiding my shoes? Spilling ink on my only good robe? It was becoming a game of psychological chess, Flio. And His Grace just flipped the board."

Flio stared at him. He looked like he wanted to check Cherion for a head injury. "A game? Lord Cherion, the man was... no.. Why in the gods’ names didn’t you say anything to us?"

Cherion huffed a laugh, a dry, cynical sound that felt far older than his current body. "And say what, exactly? ’Excuse me, Your Grace, the butler is being mean to me’? Please. I know how this works. I’m the disgraced fiancé from the Capital. I’m the ’villain’ in everyone’s mind here. If I’d complained about cold meals and damp logs, I would’ve just looked like a spoiled, difficult brat. I’d be the boy who cried wolf to a man who already didn’t trust me."

Cherion’s gaze drifted to the fireplace before continuing, "You don’t report someone just because they make you feel bad. Feelings aren’t evidence. You wait. You wait until they get so comfortable in their malice that they make a monumental, undeniable mistake right in front of the people who sign their paychecks."

"You were using yourself as bait," Flio murmured, horrified.

Cherion took another bite of chicken.

Bait felt aggressive.

He chewed thoughtfully.

Okay, yes. Technically speaking, he had allowed a man who was very obviously, painfully, catastrophically in love with his boss to spiral in his general vicinity.

Honestly, it hadn’t taken divine insight to figure out what was happening. Soren had not exactly been subtle.

But in his defense, he had been busy. Like end-of-the-world busy.

A curse. Healing magic. A duke who occasionally looked like he was one ominous breeze away from foreshadowing his own funeral.

At first, he’d genuinely thought Soren just distrusted him because he was an outsider. Fair. Cherion was the disgraced former fiancé shipped in from the Capital like a suspicious parcel marked Handle With Resentment. If anyone was going to get the cold-shoulder treatment, it would be him.

But then...

Ah.

There it is.

Servant in love with master.

There was the look, and Cherion had seen it quite a few times. Also, how Soren reacted when he learnt about Cherion and Zarius’s sleeping in the same room.

If anything, he was mildly impressed it had taken this long for the realization to click into place.

But again, he was busy.

After dinner, the walk back to his room felt different. The air was warmer, the torches seemed brighter.

Once inside, Cherion locked the door and slumped onto his couch. His memories went back to the Light Scroll. It was the magical contract he and Zarius had hammered out in the study.

Upon checking the final result, Zarius added some things that Cherion himself didn’t expect would be there. Something about how he would be under House Valtrane’s protection.

"Absolute protection," Cherion whispered. "Rights as the fiancé."

He let out a short laugh. Zarius hadn’t just signed a medical contract, he’d signed a decree. He’d turned Cherion into a ’High-Priority Asset.’ It was pragmatic, of course. Zarius needed him alive to keep the curse at bay. It was a business move.

And yet, remember the glowing gold letters, Cherion couldn’t help but feel a flicker of something that wasn’t just safety. It was... acknowledgment. For the first time since he’d woken up in this world, someone had put a fence around him. Someone had decided he was worth protecting.

He leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of the room and the fullness of his stomach lull him into a rare sense of peace.

"Good evening, Lord Cherion."

Cherion’s eyes snapped open. The smile died on his face like a guttering candle.

He spun around, his heart leaping into his throat with such violence it made him gag.

Soren was standing there, by the door he was sure he had locked.