My Disfigured Duke Husband Helps Me Plot My Revenge
Chapter 276: Beginning of the End

Chapter 276: Beginning of the End

"I will get dressed, then I will go," Desmond responded, making sure his voice was devoid of irritation and confident.

How cruel the world was to take the opportunity to cuddle Leonor.

When he returned to the room to get into proper clothing, she was sitting up on the bed with her bare shoulders and breasts uncovered for the world to see. If the room was brighter, he knew there would be small marks of his love bites decorating her skin. He resisted a closer look knowing he would get carried away.

"What happened?" she asked, worried.

"Envoys sent to Eirenguard have been murdered," he admitted easily, knowing he could trust her discretion not to tell a soul. "Time to figure out the next steps. I have discussed with Stephano in the past about revealing the truth of my past. It may be a useful tool."

Leonor didn’t like that at all. She grimaced at the thought of his life becoming even less comfortable but he was loyal enough to Castille that any help to get them through this conflict was necessary.

"Even if I support your decision, I don’t have to like it," she admitted softly.

Before he could get dressed, he crouched next to the bed so he could wrap his arms around his wife and sponge out some of the comforting feeling she gave him. He could only move forward with her support and always had it even if he didn’t deserve it.

Leonor slid her hands into his loosening robe and squeezed him tightly with her fingers and palms pressed against his muscular back. She didn’t want to say out loud that she could have gone another round with him. Sacrificing sleep was worth the closeness.

He kissed her before he got dressed then again before he left.

Her eyes traveled far enough to watch him exit the room and he gave her one last glance and small smile before shutting the door. Guilt ate at her that all she could do was sleep but they would call her if she was needed.

The following morning when she woke up, she rolled over to see the bed still perfectly made on the side Desmond normally used. Reaching out, there was no hint of his warmth.

Worry rose from her stomach and into her heart.

+

The walk to the palace felt even colder than normal when Desmond’s source of warmth was being left behind in the bed he wished he could be lying in.

Worries that he may have to separate from Leonor for a time were eating away at him again. The entire reason he had clung to her so desperately was that he was certain that they might have to go through drastic measures and send Castille’s Eirenguardian connection back to his home country.

Even if he didn’t have many memories left, he still dedicated his sword skills to Eirenguard. His desire to keep using a sword in the orphanage was all because of the blood running through his veins. Things about him Castille benefitted from were not a product of his Castillian upbringing but the centuries of swordsmen who came before him.

The man gripped the sword he carried on his left hip when he was outside of his home in Montclair. Even the blade itself was forged to fit an Eirenguardian style more than what was taught in Castille.

For the orphans in Montclair, for the orphans he grew up with, and for those who died in Eirenguard, he was going to have to become more brave. That was his only option.

He wasn’t facing a dragon, but people. Leonor would be there for him on the other side no matter what he did.

With a determined expression and long stride, he made it into the palace quickly and didn’t bother slowing down until he was in the Royal Advisor’s meeting room. There he found Quinn and His Majesty both looking particularly miserable but he couldn’t question it further. Cian sat there quietly, looking tired and irritated at being bothered.

"What of the envoys?" he asked.

They were the first words out of his lips when he walked into the room and they seemed to burden King Stephano greatly. The red-headed monarch ran his fingers through his shocking hair and cast Desmond a look of pure anguish.

"Why don’t you see for yourself?"

Stephano gestured towards a push wagon that had been brought into the meeting room. It contained four wooden boxes.

Desmond knew what it was but he still walked forward and opened the lid of one box.

There was a head with a face he recognized and next to it was a finger containing his noble house’s sigil. The rest of the boxes were much of the same. Noblemen wore rings on different fingers and it was clear by the different sizes of the appendages in each box that had been so crudely cut off.

While Desmond only had one eye, his knowledge was still sharp. He turned towards the King.

"The fingers are cut crudely," he explained. "I’m led to believe they were cut off while the men were moving as torture perhaps. The clean cuts at the necks are a product of them being stunned enough to stay still. How they still look as horrified as the day they died is a mystery to me."

He felt sick thinking of how fresh their heads seemed.

"Magic," Quinn explained, finally speaking up. "There is a preservation spell over them and each box likely has a mana stone inside of it to keep the spell strong. However, I am not going to look and disturb the spell. The moment it’s taken off, it will start smelling like rotting bodies in here."

Desmond sat down on the other side of the king, heavily. His behavior would make one think he was defeated.

As others started coming into the meeting room, staying further away from the castle so they took a little bit longer, he made sure to keep his posture straight despite what he was feeling. It wouldn’t be good for them to lose faith in the war hero he was supposed to be.

It would be interesting to many that the war hero they thought he was had been struck in the worst way at the thought of leaving behind his wife.

His one achievement on the battlefield was enough to carve out his appearance and reputation for the rest of his life when all he wanted was a peaceful existence at Leonor’s side. While so angry about getting his abilities taken from him at the stiffness of the scarring on his body, his opinion had changed. He wanted to sink into the background and let someone else take over as the commander of his men while he managed the estate and nothing further.

It caused him to wonder if this was the greed of being a noble. He had finally made it to the top so it was time to coast and allow everyone else to do everything for him. It felt ridiculous.

The other men were told much of the same as they walked in to look at the wagon and how the heads were preserved.

It made for a heavy silence when the King looked towards the end of the table and saw a few missing spaces–the spaces where the men would have sat if they returned.

"Forgive me for interrupting your evenings. Well, perhaps mornings now," Stephano spoke up and leaned into the table.

He purposefully paused and rested an elbow on the table while pressing his hand into his mouth. It gave the appearance of someone stricken with grief. It was a good image to have when men important to him were slaughtered at the hands of an enemy.

"I know that you all attended the ball so you are probably running on lack of sleep, but this is something I feel we must talk about now," the monarch explained. "They have officially drawn the first blood and sent us a souvenir to boast their conquests."

Cian sat up straighter.

"If you could forgive me, Your Majesty," his deep voice carried easily throughout the large room. "It is not Eirenguard who drew the first blood. I would not be here begging for your grace and understanding if that were the case."

Stephano let out a sharp sigh and the room became tense. Even though Stephano hadn’t proven to be as hot-headed as one would think since he took over the throne, many were still on edge whenever he seemed he might explode.

"First blood of this specific conflict," Stephano corrected himself, choosing to keep his tone even. "Although one could argue that this conflict has stretched on for decades. I will bend to your words and agree with you. If you’re so keen to speak, then please tell me of a way to solve this."

Before Cian could speak up, Desmond held up a gloved hand and, with the other, he pushed the hood off of his head.

"Remove the enchantment from my eye, Your Majesty" Desmond requested.