The Grand Duke's Son Is A Heretic
Chapter 224

The narrow street bustled with life under the cloudy gray sky. Iron lanterns flickered dimly, casting long shadows across cobblestones slick with last night's rain.

Carriages rolled past slowly, wheels clicking over uneven stones. The buildings on either side leaned close, old brick and dark wooden frames stained by time.

Chimneys smoked faintly, and the scent of coal, old metal, and musty wool filled the air. Vendors shouted out their wares—fabrics, tools, strange spices—while men in top hats and women in shawls pushed through the press.

Amid the crowd, a woman with long purple hair tied in loose waves walked with a steady gait, her violet cloak rippling behind her. Her piercing eyes scanned the area, sharp and observant, taking in the bustle and the quiet whispers of hidden things. She was flanked by a few silent guards clad in dark coats, their eyes constantly shifting.

She halted before a small, almost forgotten corner shop with a weathered wooden sign: "Old Tooth's Spirits & Bottles." The place looked rundown, with cracked windows and a crooked door. Yet something about it drew her in.

The bell above the door gave a lazy ting as she stepped inside.

Rows of dusty glass bottles lined crooked shelves. The air was thick with the smell of aging oak and old smoke. Behind the counter stood an old man with a long graying beard, two golden teeth flashing as he smiled lecherously.

"Welcome, lovely lady," he crooned, his tone drenched in mock charm. "To what pleasure do I owe you?"

The purple-haired woman's eyes narrowed slightly, her lips tightening in disgust. His greasy gaze lingered far too long. Her guards tensed, already reaching toward their coats, but she held up a single hand, stopping them.

She stepped forward with quiet authority and flicked a small silver ring toward the man.

He caught it smoothly. The ring clinked lightly in his palm.

The moment he looked at it, his demeanor changed completely.

Gone was the perverted smile and the slouching, bumbling posture. His back straightened. His eyes, once lazy and mocking, sharpened like a blade. His body now radiated precision and alertness. He looked like a completely different person—leaner, younger, more dangerous. His pot-bellied frame now seemed to be part of a clever disguise.

A brief silence followed. Even her guards seemed momentarily stunned.

'What a great actor,' she thought, her mind already turning. 'If only I had such men under my command...'

The man gave a curt nod and reached beneath the counter. He pulled out a thick bottle of black-glass liquor, uncorked it, and handed it to her with both hands.

"Take this to the table at the far wall, My Lady," he said, now with crisp formality. "The man there will show you the way."

She walked over without a word. At the far table sat a hunched figure wrapped in an old coat, his hat low over his face. As she approached, he took the bottle, turned it over in his hands, and then stood.

Without speaking, he walked to the farthest bookshelf, slid the bottle into a concealed groove between the dusty tomes, and stepped back.

A deep click echoed.

The shelf trembled… then slowly swung open, revealing a narrow, black corridor descending into the dark below. A cold gust drifted out from the passage like a whisper from the underworld.

The woman looked at it calmly, then turned to her guards.

"Stay here," she ordered.

"But My Lady—"

She raised a brow.

"Do you think I'm so weak I can't handle myself?"

"Uh…" They paused, their throats tightening. None of them dared to finish that sentence.

She stepped forward, her heels clicking softly as she passed the threshold. The dim light vanished behind her as the passage swallowed her whole, sealing her inside.

…..

The underground path led into a vast, dimly lit chamber carved from ancient stone. Cold torches lined the walls, their blue flames flickering quietly, casting long, eerie shadows. The scent of old parchment, oil, and damp earth lingered in the air. Tables stacked with maps, sealed boxes, and documents filled the corners, while armored men and robed figures moved in hushed coordination.

At the center stood a tall man with sharp features and a rigid posture, his long dark coat swaying slightly as he turned. His face was clean-shaven, and his sharp jawline and cold, silver eyes gave him a knightly, disciplined air.

The moment he saw the purple-haired woman approach, he stepped forward with grace and fell to one knee, pressing a fist to his chest in salute.

"My Lady Adele Veydrin, eldest daughter of Grand Duke Veydrin," he said respectfully, his head bowed. "It is my honour to receive you."

Adele gave a small nod, her face calm. "How are you, Sir Benard?"

He rose to his feet and answered with quiet pride. "Everything is going smoothly under the grace of the Third Prince, My Lady."

Without a word, Adele took a seat on the nearby velvet-lined chair, crossing one leg over the other. Her eyes swept the chamber briefly before settling back on the man.

"Have the things arrived?" she asked curtly.

Benard hesitated for just a breath. "It will take some more time, My Lady. The routes have become… unstable lately."

Adele leaned slightly forward, her gaze sharpening. "Then why didn't His Highness oversee something this important himself instead of pushing it to me?"

Benard's proud face dropped slightly, a shadow crossing his features. He bowed his head low and said with a sorrowful tone, "His Highness had planned to, but due to some unforeseeable circumstances, he chose to prepare other matters ahead of time."

Adele's eyes narrowed. "Where is he now?"

"I am just a humble servant, My Lady. How could I possibly know His Highness's exact movements?"

Adele's lips curled into a faint sneer. Liar, she thought. She wasn't naive.

She understood exactly what the Third Prince was doing. By pulling her into this operation personally, he was binding her name and future to his cause. Once she stepped into this circle, she couldn't back out—whether the marriage alliance succeeded or not.

It wasn't the crown Adele was after anyway. The title of Empress might sound grand, but she knew what it truly was—a cage wrapped in gold, where one couldn't move unless the Emperor allowed it.

What she truly wanted was the Duchy. Veydrin. Her home, her power, her roots. As long as the Veydrin family kept their promise of loyalty and stayed out of the Emperor's chair, the Empire would continue to turn a blind eye to whatever she built.

She tilted her head toward Benard. "Pass a message to him."

Benard straightened, bringing his heels together. "Yes, My Lady. Please speak your will."

"Tell him—I don't care what he's planning, but he better not fail and drag me down with him."

Her voice grew colder.

"And he better not try any tricks behind my back. My presence in this affair must remain hidden—or else..."

With that final word, Adele's aura suddenly flared.

A deep, invisible pressure descended like a storm. A gust of wind surged from her body, whipping around the chamber. The torches flickered violently, and documents scattered off nearby tables. The air trembled under her presence, heavy and suffocating.

Benard's knees buckled slightly as he gritted his teeth. His body shook under the pressure, and sweat dotted his brow. Still, he managed to bow lower.

"I-I will comply—No! I will personally ensure your message reaches His Highness before the day ends!"

Adele watched him for a moment longer, then calmly withdrew her presence. The air lightened immediately, the wind dying down.

"Good," she said simply, her tone like iron wrapped in silk.

Benard remained bowed, breathing heavily, silently thanking the gods above that she hadn't gone further.

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