The duke's obsession with the three princes

Chapter 12: The Duke's Purpose

The palace, despite its towering spires and regal corridors, had an eerie stillness in the dead of night. The grand halls echoed with the soft shuffle of servants and the occasional creak of ancient wood, but tonight, something far more sinister lingered within the shadows.

Alaric sat in the king's private study, his lithe frame draped elegantly across a velvet armchair. A crystal goblet filled with rich red wine rested on the small table beside him, the flickering candlelight casting odd, distorted shadows across his angular face. His ever-present smirk danced upon his lips as he gazed across the room, where the king stood, pacing slowly, deep in thought.

“You’ve been rather quiet tonight, Your Majesty,” Alaric finally broke the silence, swirling the wine in his glass lazily. His glasses caught the light as he raised the goblet to his lips, taking a slow sip.

The king stopped his pacing, turning to face the duke. His face was unreadable, his eyes dark with unspoken thoughts. “I brought you here for a reason, Alaric. And yet, I find myself wondering if that was a mistake.”

Alaric chuckled, a soft, almost melodic sound. “A mistake? Oh, I doubt that, my dear king. After all, you called upon me precisely because of my reputation. You need my expertise.” He set the goblet down with a soft clink. “Let’s not pretend that this visit was solely for pleasure.”

The king frowned, his eyes narrowing. “I asked you here because there is unrest in my kingdom. Whispers of rebellion. And I need someone who can… manage things quietly.”

Alaric’s smirk widened. “Ah, so it’s not about your precious sons, then?”

The king’s expression darkened. “They are not your concern. You are here to deal with the threat to my crown, not to indulge in your twisted obsessions.”

Alaric stood, adjusting his glasses as he approached the king, his demeanor shifting into something more serious, more calculating. “You’ve always underestimated me, Your Majesty,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You see me as nothing more than a cunning rogue, someone to handle your dirty work. But I am far more than that.”

The king stared at him, his jaw tightening.

Alaric leaned in slightly, his voice a conspiratorial murmur. “You’ve built your kingdom on fragile alliances, on a shaky foundation of promises you can’t keep. The nobles are restless, your advisors are questioning your every move, and your sons…” He paused, letting the silence hang heavily between them. “Your sons are not as loyal as you might think.”

The king’s hands clenched into fists, his voice low. “What do you mean?”

Alaric straightened, walking slowly around the king as though he were circling prey. “They are young, impressionable. Alistair, for all his stern demeanor, harbors doubts about your leadership. Damien, well… let’s say his reckless behavior could be easily manipulated in the hands of someone more… resourceful.” He stopped in front of the king again, his eyes gleaming behind his glasses. “And Cedric, poor, sweet Cedric. He would crumble under the right pressure.”

The king’s face hardened. “You will not touch them.”

Alaric laughed softly. “Oh, but I don’t need to touch them, Your Majesty. You see, I’m not here to seduce your sons—though, that has been quite the entertaining diversion.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping even lower. “I’m here to secure your throne. And to ensure that when the dust settles, you owe everything to me.”

The king’s eyes flashed with fury, but he remained silent, his thoughts whirling. Alaric was dangerous, yes, but he was also a necessary evil. The unrest in the kingdom was growing, and the crown needed someone like the duke to quell the flames before they spread out of control. But at what cost?

Alaric stepped back, the smirk returning to his lips. “I will take care of your little rebellion, as promised. And in return, I expect the freedom to… indulge my curiosities while I’m here.”

The king’s jaw tightened, but he gave a curt nod. “Deal with the rebels, and you’ll have your freedom. But if you lay a hand on any of my sons—”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Alaric interrupted, though the gleam in his eyes suggested otherwise. He turned on his heel, his cape fluttering behind him as he made his way to the door. “Goodnight, Your Majesty. Pleasant dreams.”

As the door clicked shut behind him, the king sat heavily in his chair, his mind racing. Alaric was a devil in human form, but for now, he was a devil the king needed.

---

Alaric made his way through the darkened halls of the palace, his thoughts far removed from the conversation he’d just had with the king. The rebellion was real, but it was not what truly interested him. No, his true focus was elsewhere.

The three princes.

Alaric’s obsession with them had begun innocently enough—an attraction to their beauty, their youth, their unguarded vulnerability. But now, it had grown into something far more potent. They fascinated him in ways he hadn’t expected. Alistair’s strength, Damien’s recklessness, Cedric’s innocence—each one was a puzzle, a challenge he was eager to unravel.

As he entered his chambers, his cat, a sleek black creature with piercing green eyes, curled up on the windowsill. He had named the cat Venom, a fitting companion for a man like him. The cat yawned lazily as Alaric approached, rubbing its head against his hand as he sat down at his desk.

Pulling out a small leather-bound journal, Alaric began to write, his thoughts flowing effortlessly onto the page.

The eldest, Alistair, remains unmoved by my advances, but I can see the cracks beneath his stoic exterior. He is fiercely protective of his brothers, a weakness that can be exploited.

Damien is wild, unpredictable. His arrogance makes him reckless, but it also blinds him to the dangers around him. He sneaks out frequently—something I can use to my advantage.

And Cedric… sweet Cedric. He is afraid of me, yes, but there is something else beneath the surface. Something tender, fragile. He could break so easily with the right pressure.

Alaric paused, adjusting his glasses as he leaned back in his chair. This game, this delicate dance between him and the princes—it was intoxicating. But there was more at stake than mere amusement.

He smiled to himself, the candlelight casting long, jagged shadows across his face. The palace was a web, and he had woven himself into its very center. Now, all he had to do was wait for the right moment to strike.

And when that moment came, not even the king could stop him.