Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 226 - Two Hundred And Twenty Five

As soon as Carlos strutted away, clutching his golden token like a scepter of kingship, the heavy silence returned, suffocating and tense.

Derek watched his brother go, feeling a mixture of pity and rage. Carlos was walking into a trap, carrying the rope that would hang them all, and he was smiling about it.

Derek turned back to Prince Liam. He didn’t let his anger show. He forced a wide, grateful smile onto his face, bowing low with a flourish that bordered on mockery.

"Prince Liam’s concern for my family truly comes one after another," Derek said, his voice dripping with polite sarcasm that only he and Liam understood. "First the visit to my humble establishment, now this commission for my brother. It is such a great favor. I will forever remember it. The Thompson family is in your debt."

Liam smirked. He enjoyed the game. He enjoyed seeing Derek forced to swallow poison and call it wine. He enjoyed the sight of the powerful Grand Duke dancing on his strings.

"I hold great respect for Theodore Thompson," Liam said suddenly. His voice was smooth, cultured, and devoid of genuine feeling. But the mention of the dead brother was a deliberate strike, a precision cut designed to bleed.

"When he died from an enemy ambush years ago," Liam continued, watching Derek closely, "I grieved deeply. It was a loss for the whole kingdom. A tragedy. He was a promising young man, cut down before his prime. He didn’t even get to see his son before he died. Such a tragedy."

Derek froze. His head was still bowed, hiding his face.The name Theodore was a sacred wound. Hearing it from the mouth of the man he suspected of ordering the ambush, the man who had likely signed the death warrant, made his blood boil. His composure faltered. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the leather of his gloves creaking under the pressure. He remembered the box that had come home. The flag. The sword. The silence.

He slowly lifted his head from the bow. His face was pale, his jaw tight. His eyes were dark, burning with a fire he struggled to contain.

He tried to regain his composure, to put the mask of the dutiful subject back on, but the anger bled through. It was in the sharpness of his gaze, the low, dangerous rumble of his voice.

"Theodore’s death," Derek said, locking eyes with the Prince, "I dare never forget. It is etched into the stones of this house. Just as I won’t repeat that tragedy. History has a way of correcting itself, Your Highness. And ambushes... they work both ways."

Liam looked at him. He saw the fire in Derek’s eyes. He saw the threat. He realized, perhaps for the first time, that the "fool" might have teeth.

"Then I wish His Grace," Liam said, his voice laced with venom, a challenge wrapped in a blessing, "a triumphant return. May your strategy be sounder than your brother’s. And may you avoid the... accidents... of war."

Derek stared at him. He wanted to draw his sword. He wanted to end it here, in the courtyard, and let the chips fall where they may. But he smiled. A cold, soldier’s smile.

He bowed again, stiffly."Thank you for your wishes, Your Highness," Derek replied. "I won’t let it go to waste. I will bring victory home. And I will back in one piece."

Liam nodded once, dismissing him. He turned, his cape swirling around him like a dark cloud, and climbed into his black carriage. The door shut with a heavy thud, and the royal procession rolled away, leaving Derek standing alone in the cold morning mist.

He took a deep breath, calming his racing heart. He watched the carriage disappear, marking the path it took. He turned and walked back inside, heading toward the bustling activity near the wagons.

Marissa was there.

She was standing by the last wagon, a figure of calm authority amidst the chaos. She was organizing the soldiers who were struggling with a heavy trunk filled with medicine packets—the result of her foresight, her secret knowledge of the future plague.

"Be careful with that!" Marissa called out, her voice sharp and authoritative. "Watch your head! That crate is fragile! If you drop it, you waste lives!"

She pointed to the wagon bed, directing the placement."Make sure it is kept in a dry place," she instructed the quartermaster, a grizzled old soldier who was listening to her with surprising respect. "Cover it with the oilcloth immediately. If it gets wet, the herbs will rot, and it is useless."

She picked up a small packet from an open crate to demonstrate."A packet is enough for one person," she explained loudly so the soldiers could hear. "It must be boiled in clean water. Taken three times a day for adults, and two times for children. Do not waste it. This is not tea. It is life."

The soldiers exchanged confused glances as they tied down the trunk."Why do we need so much medicine?" one whispered to his mate, wiping sweat from his brow. "Is the Duchess expecting us all to get the flux? We are going to fight, not open a hospital."

"Who knows?" another muttered, pulling the rope tight. "Maybe she thinks we are soft. Or maybe she knows something we don’t."

They didn’t understand why they needed to carry enough medicine to treat a whole territory. But they obeyed. They saw the way she stood, the way she commanded, and they respected it.

As the last trunk was loaded into the wagon and the ropes were tied tight, securing the lifeline of the army, Derek approached.

He walked up behind Marissa. He didn’t speak. He didn’t announce himself. He just wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back against his chest. He embraced her. The courtyard was busy with the final preparations, but for Derek and Marissa, the world had shrunk to the small space between them.