Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 268 - Two Hundred And Sixty Seven
The drawing room was draped in the heavy black velvet of mourning, a stark contrast to the white ribbons Marissa had torn down the day before. The air was thick with the scent of lilies and the quiet murmur of anticipation.
Beatrice, the Dowager Duchess, sat in her chair, her face grey with grief. She looked frail, as if the news of Derek’s death had finally broken the iron will that had held the family together for decades.
Carlos stood by the fireplace, dressed in a somber black suit that fit him a little too well. He looked solemn, but his eyes were bright, darting around the room, checking the clock, checking the door.
Ashlyn stood beside him, her hand resting on his arm. She wore a simple black dress, her face a mask of sisterly sorrow. But inside, her heart was racing. This was it. The moment of ascension.
The heavy double doors opened.
The Royal Herald walked in. He was a tall man with a booming voice, dressed in the gold and blue livery of the King. He carried a velvet cushion with a scroll resting on it. He was followed by two royal guards.
The Herald stopped in the center of the room. He looked around, his gaze sweeping over the family.
"Where is the Grand Duchess?" the Herald asked, his voice echoing in the silent room.
Beatrice looked up, her eyes watery. She dabbed at her face with a lace handkerchief.
"She is... still grieving," Beatrice replied, her voice weak. "She could not bear to be here. She is in her chambers."
The Herald nodded solemnly. He understood. Grief took many forms.
He cleared his throat. He picked up the scroll from the cushion. He broke the royal seal with a sharp crack.
"By the decree of His Majesty, King Alistair the Fourth," the Herald announced.
Carlos moved instantly. He went down on one knee, bowing his head in a display of humble obedience. Ashlyn watched him, a thrill of victory running through her.
The Herald continued, reading from the parchment.
"His Majesty proclaims Derek Thompson," the Herald read, "Grand Duke of Denver, Commander of the Northern Armies, and Savior of Strathmore."
Beatrice let out a small sob. Hearing his titles made the loss feel final.
"Who won the Mercia War," the Herald continued, his voice rising, "and saved the city of Strathmore from the plague through his wisdom and foresight."
He paused.
"For his service," the Herald declared, "he is awarded one hundred thousand gold coins from the Royal Treasury."
Ashlyn’s eyes widened. A hundred thousand gold. It was a fortune. It was enough to buy a kingdom.
"It is all going to be mine," she thought, her hands trembling with greed. "Carlos will take it. And I will control Carlos."
"Two hectares of prime land in the capital," the Herald added. "And he is promoted to the rank of General of the King’s Armies."
It was the highest honor a soldier could receive.
Carlos looked up. His face was a mask of tragic acceptance.
"Since my elder brother is no more," Carlos said, his voice thick with fake emotion, "I, as his only surviving male heir, shall receive this reward on his behalf. I will steward it for the family."
He reached out his hand, ready to take the scroll, ready to take the gold, ready to take the title.
"Who said I died?"
The voice came from the doorway.
It wasn’t a shout. It was a calm, deep question.
Carlos froze. His hand hovered in mid-air.
Ashlyn spun around. Beatrice gasped.
Derek stood there.
He was not a ghost. He was not a spirit. He was solid. He was real.
He was wearing his full dress uniform, the black coat pristine, the silver buttons shining. His arm was in a sling, hidden under his cloak, but he stood tall. He looked healthy. He looked alive.
He walked into the room. His boots made a heavy, rhythmic sound on the floor.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
He walked past Carlos, ignoring him completely.
He walked up to the Herald.
"I believe," Derek said, "that reward belongs to me."
The Herald stared at him, his mouth open. The guards looked at each other in confusion.
Derek smiled. He reached out and took the scroll from the Herald’s numb fingers.
"I accept the King’s generosity," Derek said.
Carlos scrambled to his feet. He backed away, his face draining of all color until he looked like a corpse himself.
"Derek?" Carlos whispered. "But... they said... the arrow... the cliff..."
"I’m sure you are surprised," Derek said coldly.
Beatrice stood up, her cane clattering to the floor. "Derek! You are alive!"
She rushed to him, throwing her arms around his neck, weeping with joy.
Derek hugged her back with his good arm. "I am here, Grandmother. I am safe."
Ashlyn stared at him. Her mind couldn’t process it. He was dead. He had to be dead.
"What is going on?" Ashlyn shrieked. "This is a trick!"
The Herald, recovering his composure, reached into his bag. He pulled out a second scroll. It was smaller, darker.
"I have another decree," the Herald announced. His voice was no longer celebratory. It was grim.
He looked at Carlos.
"Carlos Thompson," the Herald read.
Carlos flinched.
"Neglected his duties as Supervisor of Supplies," the Herald declared. "He abandoned his post during the plague relief. He was found drunk while soldiers died."
The Herald unrolled the scroll further.
"And," the Herald continued, "he recklessly sought merit by claiming credit for a victory he did not earn. He endangered the army by failing to secure the river barges."
The Herald looked up.
"He is hereby sentenced," the Herald pronounced, "to fifty heavy strikes. While tied to a pole in the public square. To be carried out immediately."
The color drained out of Carlos’s face. Fifty strikes. It was enough to cripple a man. It was a punishment for cowards and deserters.
"No!" Carlos cried. "Grandmother! Help me!"
Beatrice looked at him. She looked at Derek, alive and strong. She looked at Carlos, weak and treacherous.
She turned her back on him.
"Take him," she said.
The guards moved forward. They grabbed Carlos by the arms.
"Grandmother!" Carlos screamed as they dragged him away. "Please!"
Ashlyn stood frozen. She watched her husband, her ticket to power, being hauled away to be beaten in the street.
