My Bratty Wife
Chapter 219 - Two Hundred And Nineteen

Chapter 219: Chapter Two Hundred And Nineteen

The silence in Byron’s study was profound, broken only by the faint crackling of the logs in the fireplace and the ragged, terrified breathing of Brook, still collapsed near the body of his former master. Evan lay still, his eyes wide and vacant, the dark stains of blood stark against his pale skin, a grotesque mask of his final moments.

Elias stepped silently back into the room, his gaze sweeping over the scene with professional detachment. He looked from Evan’s body to the whimpering wreck of Brook, then turned his impassive eyes to Byron, who sat calmly on his seat, swirling the last drops of the amber liquid in his glass – the clean one.

"My Lord," Elias asked, his voice low and steady, betraying no emotion, "what are your instructions now?"

Byron didn’t look at Brook. His gaze remained fixed on the amber liquid in his glass. "The narrative requires a conclusion," he said softly. "Kill the other one." He flicked his gaze towards Brook, a look of utter dismissal. "Make it look convincing. An accident on their way to the palace, perhaps? A carriage mishap on the cobblestones, a tumble down an embankment. Ensure the damage aligns with such a story. Lord Evan’s ambitions finally caught up with him in a rather mundane way. If you make a mistake again this time, you will be next."

"As you wish, My Lord," Elias replied with a slight inclination of his head. There was no judgment, no hesitation, merely acceptance of the order.

Hearing his fate sealed, Brook’s terror erupted into frantic pleading. "No! Please, My Lord Byron! Mercy!" He tried to scramble backwards, away from Elias, but his broken leg made movement agonizing and futile. "I won’t say anything! I swear it! I have information... things Lord Evan didn’t tell you... please, spare me!" His voice cracked, dissolving into desperate sobs. "Please don’t kill me!"

His pleas fell on deaf ears. Byron seemed completely unmoved, turning his attention instead to his hand, studying the ring he wore. Elias stepped forward purposefully, grabbing Brook firmly by the arm. The aide cried out, a raw sound of pain and ultimate despair, but Elias began dragging him inexorably towards the door, his grip like iron.

"I have a family!" Brook wailed, his voice fading as he was hauled out of the study. "Please... mercy..."

The heavy oak door closed with a soft click, cutting off the final pleas. Silence descended once more, deeper this time, weighted by the finality of death given and death ordered.

Byron slowly finished the last sip of his whiskey. He held the empty glass for a moment, his gaze distant. Then, his eyes focused on the ring adorning his right ring finger. It was a heavy signet ring, crafted from dark, almost black wood, intricately carved with the sigil of a raven clutching a serpent – the emblem of the Blackwood lineage, duchess Leah’s gift to him. He ran his thumb over the smooth, cool surface, a thoughtful, almost melancholic expression briefly crossing his features before vanishing as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual mask of cool control.

He placed the empty glass back on the tray beside the poisoned one. The work was done.

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(Present day... few hours later)

Sunlight streamed through the tall windows of the modest chamber assigned to Ryan within the palace complex. The air felt lighter today, the suffocating tension of the past week finally easing. Davis stood behind him, carefully helping him into his formal coat. The intricate silver buttons felt solid and familiar beneath Davis’s practiced fingers.

Just hours earlier, the King’s council, after the news of Evan’s death and reviewing the evidence – or lack thereof – presented against Ryan concerning the whispers of treason Evan had so carefully seeded, had dismissed the case entirely. More than that, King Albert immediately reinstated him, tasking him once more with the grim duty of uncovering the identity of the sole person murdering the kingdom’s nobles.

"There," Davis said, smoothing the dark blue fabric over Ryan’s broad shoulders. "Ready, Your Grace."

Ryan straightened, adjusting the fit. He felt weary down to his bones, the ordeal of suspicion and confinement having taken its toll, but relief washed over him in a cleansing wave. He was free, his name cleared, and he had a purpose again. While buttoning the sleeve of his coat, a button glinting in the light, he turned his thoughts homeward.

"How is everyone at the estate, Davis?" he asked, his voice quiet. "Has there been any trouble in my absence?"

"All is well, Your Grace," Davis replied reassuringly. "The staff maintains order, and everything proceeds as it should. They will be greatly relieved to hear the council’s decision."

Ryan nodded, a knot of anxiety loosening in his chest. "And the Duchess?" he asked, his voice softening further. "How is my wife?"

"She is fine too, Your Grace," Davis said. "Resilient as ever. She sends letters occasionally, asking after your health."

Ryan paused, his hand hovering over the last button. "Does she... does she know what happened? About the accusations? The hearing?"

Davis shook his head slightly. "No, Your Grace. As you instructed before this began, I informed her only that the King had summoned you urgently regarding the investigation into the nobles’ deaths, requiring your extended presence at the palace. She believes you have been deeply involved in that matter all this time."

A deep sigh escaped Ryan, carrying with it the last traces of his immediate worry. He hadn’t wanted Suzy burdened with the fear and uncertainty of his situation. He reached out and tapped Davis firmly on the shoulder, a gesture of gratitude and trust. "Good. Thank you, Davis. You’ve managed things well." He squared his shoulders. "Let’s go home."

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Their carriage ride back towards Ryan’s estate was initially quiet, the rhythmic clip-clop of the horses’ hooves on the cobblestones a soothing sound after the tense stillness of the palace chambers. Ryan leaned his head back against the squabs, allowing himself a moment to simply breathe.

As they rounded a familiar bend on the main road leading out of the city proper, however, they saw flags ahead – the distinct blue flags used by the King’s investigators. Several official carriages were parked haphazardly, and a crowd of onlookers was being kept back by uniformed city guards.

"What’s going on up there?" Ryan murmured, leaning forward to peer through the carriage window.

As they drew closer, the scene came into sharp focus. A luxurious private carriage, overturned and heavily damaged, lay in a ditch by the roadside. It looked as though it had veered off the road at speed, hit the uneven embankment, and tumbled violently. Splintered wood, shattered glass, and torn velvet upholstery littered the ground.

Ryan recognized the carriage’s crest instantly – the ostentatious symbol of Lord Evan.

"Stop the carriage, Davis," Ryan commanded, rapping sharply on the roof.

Before Davis could fully react, Ryan had the door open and was stepping out onto the road. He waved dismissively at a guard who moved to intercept him, flashing the ducal signet on his finger. The guard recognized him immediately and stepped back, offering a salute.

Ryan approached the wreck, his eyes taking in the chaotic scene. Investigators were carefully examining the carriage, the ground, the trajectory. He nodded a greeting to the Chief Investigator, Master Hemlock, a grim-faced man he knew well.

"Your Grace," Hemlock acknowledged, surprised to see him. "We were just sending word to the palace. A full detail on the terrible accident that happened this morning."

Ryan’s gaze swept over the wreckage. It looked brutal. The carriage was smashed almost beyond recognition on one side, wheels broken, axle snapped. It certainly looked like a fatal tumble. His eyes then found the two bodies laid out on tarps nearby, awaiting transport.

He walked closer, his boots crunching softly on the gravel. The first body was Brook, Evan’s aide. Ryan recognized him despite the state he was in. Brook was covered in blood, his limbs twisted,one leg in particular was twisted at an unnatural angle – injuries consistent with being thrown violently inside the tumbling carriage. His eyes were closed, his face contorted in a frozen wince of pain.

Then Ryan turned his gaze to the second body. Lord Evan.

Evan lay strangely still compared to Brook. There were no obvious signs of the violent trauma that had clearly afflicted his companion. No broken limbs, no major lacerations visible on his exposed skin or through his torn, expensive clothing. Yet, his face... his face was a horrific sight. Dried blood crusted around his eyes, his nostrils, his ears, and smeared darkly around his mouth and chin. It wasn’t the sort of bleeding Ryan would expect from impact injuries in a crash like this. This was different. This suggested something something deliberate.

Ryan knelt beside Evan’s body, his sharp eyes examining the pattern of the bloodstains, the lack of corresponding external wounds. He remembered reports from physicians, whispers of rare and terrible poisons that caused internal hemorrhaging, forcing blood out through any available orifice. Poisons favored by assassins who wanted to leave a terrifying, unmistakable message, or by those who wanted death to look like a sudden, violent illness.

He looked back at the wrecked carriage, then at Brook’s mangled corpse, then again at Evan’s strangely intact body with its mask of blood. The scene screamed ’accident’, meticulously staged to look like one. Brook’s injuries sold the violence of the crash. But Evan... Evan didn’t fit.

He rose slowly, his mind racing, piecing together the discrepancies. The timing – just few hours after Ryan’s hearing, where Evan’s machinations had failed. The specific, horrific state of Evan’s body contrasted with Brook’s. The lack of fatal impact wounds on the man who supposedly died in a violent crash.

A cold certainty settled in Ryan’s gut. He turned to look back towards the city, towards the palace, his expression hardening.

"This wasn’t an accident," he murmured softly to himself, the words almost lost in the breeze, but his conviction was absolute. Evan had been murdered. Poisoned. And someone had gone to great lengths to make it look like anything but. His investigation had just started all over again.