My Disfigured Duke Husband Helps Me Plot My Revenge
Chapter 238: Just Like His Father

Chapter 238: Just Like His Father

The King’s request put an immediate bad taste in Desmond’s mouth.

He no longer cared about the identity aspect. Considering he was a no name person before he was the duke, many knew that he had a lack of noble background. He was only in the position because of his merits in battle.

His desire to be a Castillian rather than an Eirenguardian lay entirely in the people he surrounded himself with. He wanted the union between he and Leonor to be beneficial to her and to have a husband from a fallen kingdom wouldn’t elevate her status as he wanted to. In terms of King Stephano, people wouldn’t trust him if they found out Desmond originated in Eirenguard. His name was already unusual enough. The only evidence they lacked was his red eyes, light blonde hair, and pale skin. Luckily, or unluckily, the scarring took care of much of his appearance.

He wasn’t a prideful Eirenguardian because he was pulled from that environment at such a young age. The only thing he kept with him was the sword fighting, but, even then, he had to work at it nearly every day when those in the orphanage weren’t paying attention to him or he would have lost it.

He was certain he was less skilled than true Eirenguardians because of his lack of immersive training that he should have gone through as he was a teenager.

If the King no longer cared how it would reflect on him if Desmond came out as an Eirenguardian, Desmond’s final hang-up was Leonor.

He didn’t want her to be dragged down because of him. All he wanted for her was a comfortable life and not having to deal with political battles.

He thought that one day people might learn more about him, but with the threat of war hanging over their heads, it wasn’t the time. Castillians still hated Eirenguardians and it would only get worse as word traveled that the king was quietly padding the southern borders with men.

Desmond gave the topic of becoming a diplomat a good amount of contemplation. He even took a sip of the seemingly thick and overly strong alcohol that had been given to him.

Each sip felt like his throat was being burnt again, but it was numbed the more he drank.

He considered the fact that he was lucky he didn’t turn to alcohol when he was originally burnt because it would have been too easy to numb himself.

Realizing his thoughts were going astray, Desmond set down the glass.

"I can’t do that," he said. "This decision feels like a last-ditch effort when we’ve played all of our hands. We are firmly at the beginning."

Stephano hated to admit that Desmond was right. He was jumping to extreme measures because he didn’t know what else to do.

Strengthening the borders was only his first measure. He wanted to ensure that Castillians were safe first and foremost.

"Then will you be understanding when we’re attacked and I have no choice but to allow for bloodshed?" Stephano asked. "Will you remain by my side and still be able to separate me from my father?"

Desmond knew his jaw was tense and he was certain it wasn’t making him easier to face. He tried to relax himself and let the alcohol affect him as Stephano wanted it to.

In a daring move, he took a bigger gulp than previous and he grimaced.

The thought of his likely relatives being slaughtered never got easier. He had moved past the mental trauma of watching such horrors as a child but it didn’t make it any easier to face. It stung no matter how impartial he was supposed to be in politics.

He didn’t want to have to face any of it, but if he was meant to bring his men to the South and had to witness people bearing a resemblance so similar to when he was younger, he didn’t know how he would handle it then.

"I will never consider you the same as your father," Desmond said. "This is a decision you’re making because your hand is forced. Your father killed my family in the first place because of greed. The kingdoms could have forever lived in harmony but he was the one who cast the first stone."

Instead of a response, Stephano simply sipped the alcohol as well. It was easier for him to face than Desmond considering he was used to it. He had been stealing it from his father ever since he acquired the taste for alcohol.

The King placed the glass down firmly and it caused a bit of the liquid to splash out onto the desk. As Stephano wiped it away with his sleeve, there was a dull spot on the otherwise extremely polished desk that happened because of the alcohol eating away at the finish.

"Do you know why this desk is so shiny?" Stephano suddenly asked. "My father spilled this alcohol on it so often there were splotches all over it by the time he died. I am more similar to him than I ever want to admit."

That was a haunting thought to Stephano.

Desmond could see the King self-imploding. Trying to support Stephano’s desire for a casual environment and a conversation rather than a King barking orders at his loyal subject, Desmond tried to pull him out of his head.

"If you were at all like your bastard of a father, Leonor would still be in Burien suffering under a man who felt comfortable behaving such a way under your father’s rule," Desmond admitted. "The work you have put forth hasn’t been for nothing. Remind yourself that we are only at the beginning of a proper conversation about this battle."

Stephano’s golden hazel eyes were set on Desmond and it was clear he was taking in the information even if it was devoid of a verbal response.

Desmond continued.

"My advice might change," Desmond admitted. "For now, it’s to continue quietly strengthening the border but understand that you haven’t had all the facts revealed and you haven’t heard all the opinions from the experienced officers all throughout the kingdom."

Stephano’s eyebrows knit together as if the advice was a pain to handle.

"Why can’t my wisest advisor live in the capital?" Stephano asked.

"From the moment we went through the external wall, I remembered I couldn’t stand this place," Desmond admitted with a light smile.