An Evil Day in the Life of the Evil Duke

In a precise gesture repeated over decades, Keillweist pulls up my arms a mahogany red coat, fabric pinched between his gloved fingers. Standing still, I refrain from moving until he adjusts the ruffle over my black jacket.

“For today’s breakfast, my lord will have fried eggs and sausages, served in a few minutes. An Onyx tea will be brewed with it, so that you’ll be able to judge for yourself the quality of the latest harvest.”

    Ahh, yes. One of the finest varieties of black tea cultivated in Oneixium, the place I rule. Of course, even breakfast is duty.

    I turn towards the mirror, taking a few steps closer to it. A step behind me, my butler combs my mid-long crimson hair, tying it back with a moss-green ribbon adorned with gilding.

    Each time he speaks, his fluffy moustache keeps quivering, in default of hiding his lips.

“I placed freshly received letters on your desk. Ohh, and the inhabitants beg you to give them more time to pay the levy.”

“Wonderful. Let them beg.” I brush off.

    Leaving my bedroom, I walk down the corridor. Every whisper ceases on my way, every word is choked at the sound of my footsteps on the willow floor. The maids, not daring to do anything else, turn to me and bow.

    A faint smirk passes over my expression as I note their stiffened shoulders. I was right. Spending the previous days in my mansion helped me focus and replenish my evilness. Paperwork can do wonders. Almost no more intrusive thoughts linger in my mind, allowing me to focus on important matters like Gallghaid’s escape. The ineptitude of the guards of Emphrellaig is simply revolting.

“One week and still no result…”

    A golden frame engraved with cursive patterns.

    As I bypass a huge painting embedded in the wall, I briefly glance at it with a frown.

“…I’ll make sure to handle this my own way.”

༻❦︎༺

    A silver plate is placed in front of me the moment I take my place at the table. A long table in a large dining room. Large enough for the domestic who served me to seek solace along the wall. Only my butler dares to stay a few steps away, straight like the oak he thinks he is.

    Index finger hooked around the handle of the finest porcelain, I take a sip of tea. I always find that it tastes better in a cup of this set. I took it as a war trophy from a certain fallen duke’s estate. A noble I praise myself for trapping into a false accusation of worshipping Satan.

    A smirk on my lips, I savour the taste of the infused black leaves. Ahh, yes, a terrible crime in a kingdom considering a mere angel’s feather as a lucky charm able to bring prosperity to a whole household. It’s been ages since they showed themselves for the last time. Still, these divine creatures lose, from time to time, a feather which falls upon our lands.

    The faint sound of the cup back on its plate echoes throughout the whole dining room. About to pick a sausage with my fork, that’s when I notice a fact that makes me frown with dissatisfaction.

“Bring the man who cooked this.” I order.

    Hearing no footsteps yet, I turn a sharp look at the confused domestic glued to the wall.

“Now.”

    This time he jumps, remembering he’s not part of the tapestry, to stumble out of the room and down the corridor. Unbewildered by the situation, Keillweist remains true to himself, his hands intertwined against his back.

    By the time the servant returns, more footsteps echoing, I’ve taken another sip of tea.

“You called me, my… my lord?” The hesitant voice of the cook utters.

    I gesture for him to come closer.

“Tell me, what do you see on this plate?”

    The cook leans in closer at my words, glancing down.

“Fried eggs and sausages, my lord.”

“Is that so?” I calmly note. “Because all I can see is a yolk slowly spilling onto my plate.”

    Making it obvious, I wave the tip of my knife at the point of the damaged egg bleeding on the silver crime scene.

“…I’m sorry my lord.” The chef mutters, gripping his toque tighter between his fingers. “But… It tastes the same.”

    The domestic gasps.

“Oh, it tastes the same.” I repeat.

    Slowly, I stand up from my seat, knife still in my hand. I take a few steps in the opposite direction of the cook, not adding a word.

    Slowly, I turn around and circumvent the table. At each of my footsteps, I can see the blond cook’s shoulders stiffen as I approach him from behind.

“What makes a fried egg delightful is the moment you cut it yourself, the moment you see the precious yolk threatening to escape it fully, the one you hurry to bring it to your lips before it coagulates.” I lean into the chef’s back, my free hand pressed against his neck while I bring the knife’s blade impossibly close to his right eye. “Tell me, would your eye feel the same if I made it so that the filling comes out of that modest cavity? I guess you wouldn’t mind then.”

    At my whisper in his ear, the cook lets out a yelp. The foolish one… He shakes so much that he’d risk the blade cutting his eyeball without my diligent help.

“For..forgive me my lord!! This won’t happen again…” The words almost choked mid-way.

    Without a word, calm and expressionless, I glance at him. Close enough to see the sweat rolling down his temple.

“Keillweist.”

“Yes, my lord.”

    I step away from the poor man, observing the flat of my knife as I run it along my gloved fingertips.

“You have my authorisation to export the newest harvest of Onyx tea. Ohh, and make sure to hire a competent chef this time.”

“Yes, my lord.”

    As I sit back, I can hear the cook fall to his knees with a thud.

༻❦︎༺

    Mercilessly scribbling on parchment from the tip of my quill, I pause to rub the bridge of my nose. I’ve been spending hours completing the registers and replying to the letters I received from other nobles. Today, mainly requests relative to trades, more or less legal.

“How many times will I have to tell the count that I have no corpses to sell for his necromancer hobby… Ughh.”

    I still have to write a letter to the Viscountess Seighpragh… I resume scribbling.

“Her mercenaries will come in handy to track a certain fugitive. She owes me a favour anyway. It isn’t like she can deflect my request.”

    At the thought of having to deal again with that man, my features grow more irritated.

    Gallghaid… He was the one I had the most difficulty sending to jail. I somewhat regret not having snatched the life out of him. But dirtying my hands for him seemed like too much of an honour for him. It doesn’t matter though, all rats have their weaknesses…

    Knock, knock.

“Come in.” I prompt.

    As my butler passes the threshold, I fold the letter.

“Nice timing, Keillweist.” I begin, dripping a few drops of wax over the envelope, stamping it with the symbol of the Luphor family. A spark inscribed in a crescent moon. “Make sure this letter reaches the hands of the Viscountess Seighpragh.”

    Keillweist steps closer as I hand him the envelope, the wax still warm.

“My lord, your guest is in the living room. Tea will be ready in a couple of minutes.”

“Thank you, Keillweist. You’re always doing a-”

    I stop mid-sentence. My gaze directed at a bunch of papers I’m ordering, I pause to glance at my butler.

“Which guest, Keillweist?”

    The announcement sounds exotic. The last time a guest showed up, it was to discuss some evil business. But everything was planned beforehand. Showing up without an invitation at a duke’s mansion? It isn’t exactly correct etiquette. A rookie way of asserting malfeasance, maybe? I won’t be surprised if it is again a magic potions’ merchant. They’re plethora these days.

“I still have to make use of the last ones I acquired, though.”

“The Marquessa Ambrillia.” My butler replies, frowning ever so slightly.

    Gasp.