I was calmly slipping into my long coat, preparing to head to the Temple of the Goddess Ueis as I had planned.
I adjusted the sleeves forward and back a few times until they sat perfectly, then—exactly as I had done every day for the past year—I ran the comb quickly through my hair with little care and returned it to the drawer.
I glanced at myself in the mirror and immediately noticed something irritating.
"…It seems I really should comb my hair more thoroughly."
So I retrieved the comb once more and repeated the same hurried motion until my hair finally looked presentable. This time I didn't bother putting it away neatly; I simply set it on the table beside the mirror. I gave my coat one last shake, but just as I turned toward the door, the Master of Ceremonies entered together with the Head Butler.
Both of them stared at me. I stared back.
They bowed their heads in unison. When they straightened, Frederick Clayton—the Head Butler—spoke quietly.
"Are you going somewhere, my lord?"
I blinked once.
"I told you I was going to the cathedral today. You didn't forget, did you?"
In that moment Frederick lifted a hand to stroke his white beard thoughtfully before replying,
"Then allow me to prepare myself as well."
I gave him a small smile. He stepped back quietly, then hurried toward the stairs.
I knew he had almost certainly forgotten, though I had no way of proving it.
I was about to leave the room when the Master of Ceremonies held out an envelope in front of me.
I glanced at the letter, then at his face, sighed, and asked,
"And what is this now?"
He held the envelope before himself, opened it carefully, and said,
"An invitation to a wedding, my lord."
My eyes widened involuntarily.
I forced my voice to remain steady.
"A wedding? Whose wedding? And why has the whole city been so quiet about it?"
The Master of Ceremonies looked at me for a moment, then offered an exaggeratedly polite smile.
"If you wish, my lord, I can read the letter to you."
I raised both hands to my eyes and rubbed them wearily.
"Very well…"
I returned to the desk and sat down in the leather chair.
"Hand it to me."
He passed the letter over gently.
At first I intended to read it while holding it, but I suddenly felt that would look too casual. So I placed the letter flat on the desk and read it line by line in silence.
"The Baron's Letter"
Montagu Manor
Carlton House Terrace
London
My Lord Duke of Manchester,
I hope this letter finds Your Grace in the best of health and spirits.
It is with the greatest pleasure and deepest respect that I, Romeo Harrington, Baron of Harrington, have the honour to invite Your Grace to the wedding ceremony of myself and Miss Juliet Ashford, daughter of Viscount Ashford, which is to take place tomorrow at St. Mary's Church, Mayfair, at eleven o'clock in the forenoon.
Your presence would bring great honour to our humble union and be a source of immense joy to both families. We understand the many duties of Your Grace, yet we dare to hope that you might grace us with your attendance, even if only for a brief moment.
A modest reception will follow at Ashford House. Should Your Grace honour us with your company, please do inform my steward so that arrangements may be made.
With the utmost respect and anticipation,
Romeo Harrington
Baron Harrington
𝑅𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜 𝐻𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑡𝑜𝑛
A simple wax seal had been pressed at the bottom.
I stared at the letter a moment longer, then—without meaning to—spoke aloud in a rather loud voice.
"There's… a spelling mistake in this!"
The Master of Ceremonies glanced at me.
"My lord, he is, after all, a very young baron."
I lifted my gaze to meet his eyes.
"Bring me a sheet of paper and a fountain pen…"
He stared at me for a second.
"Are you truly attending, my lord?"
I gave a small smile.
"In any case… the names sound very familiar."
He tilted his head slightly, then walked to one of the side tables in the room, retrieved a sheet of paper, returned, and slid it gently across the desk toward me.
I exhaled.
"I said a fountain pen or quill as well. Have you forgotten?"
The Master of Ceremonies pointed calmly to the corner of my own desk.
"My lord, both the fountain pen and quill are right there on your desk."
I looked where he indicated, saw them, and pressed a hand to my forehead.
"Don't pay too much attention to the signs of sleep deprivation…"
Just as I reached for the pen, a voice whispered clearly in my left ear:
"Deception."
I jerked my head sharply to the left—nothing was there.
I turned to the Master of Ceremonies, who was now watching me with faint concern.
I forced an awkward smile.
"It's nothing. I just thought a fly passed by my ear."
He smiled politely and straightened again.
I picked up the fountain pen and began writing.
"Montagu Manor…"
A few minutes later I reread what I had written, making sure I hadn't overdone it.
"Elias's Reply"
Montagu Manor
Carlton House Terrace
London
Baron Harrington,
I have received your kind invitation to the wedding ceremony of yourself and Miss Juliet Ashford tomorrow at St. Mary's Church, Mayfair.
I shall attend, accompanied by the Duke of Liverpool.
Please make the necessary arrangements.
Elias Montagu
Duke of Manchester
After reading it aloud once more to myself, I added a simple signature at the bottom.
𝓔𝓵𝓲𝓪𝓼 𝓜𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓾
Then I pressed the Montagu family seal beneath it.
I handed the letter back to the Master of Ceremonies.
"Send this to Baron Romeo."
He nodded, turned toward the door—and at that moment Frederick Clayton entered.
"Everything is ready, my lord."
The Master of Ceremonies gave a small smile and left.
I rose slowly from the leather chair and gave my coat one final shake to dislodge anything that might have clung to it.
I walked toward Frederick. When I reached him he bowed and gestured toward the corridor.
Without pausing I hurried into the hallway. Frederick lagged a step behind, then quickened his pace to catch up before slowing again to walk respectfully at my back.
As we descended the stairs I said to him,
"Send a messenger at once to the Duke of Liverpool's residence. Inform him that I will call on him shortly after I arrive."
Frederick nodded in confirmation.
We reached the second floor. I quickened my pace again; Frederick hurried to keep up.
When we reached the top of the main staircase, the grand hall on the first floor came into view.
My eyes met those of someone below.
The servants stood in neat ranks. The Security Advisor had his hands clasped behind his back. Three men in formal government attire bearing police insignia stood in the center of the hall.
The moment they saw me at the top of the stairs, the man in the middle raised his hat slightly in salute, then replaced it.
"Your Grace the Duke… if I may have a word—"
Before he could finish, I descended the stairs calmly and said,
"I have no time at present."
I passed them without breaking stride. Frederick followed close behind.
In that brief moment of passing, I sensed anger—or perhaps hatred—radiating from the central figure, but I paid it no mind and continued on.
The Security Advisor offered me a small smile as I went by. The servants dispersed.
When I stepped outside and reached the wide steps connecting the manor to the street, William Helms—my chief advisor—was waiting beside the carriage, checking his pocket watch.
As I descended the steps and approached, William smiled. Frederick opened the carriage door.
As always, I took the left seat; William and Frederick sat opposite on the right.
The carriage began to move.
I spoke quietly to Frederick.
"Change course to Senry—the Temple of Heavenly Laws."
Frederick nodded, tapped on the glass behind him, and said to the driver,
"Westminster Abbey."
The carriage turned at the first junction, now heading toward Westminster Abbey.
I gazed out the window.
The aristocratic mansions of Carlton House Terrace stood proud in the sunlight, every one of them radiating the quiet arrogance of nobility.
Or perhaps that was simply how I saw them.
Suddenly the same strange voice returned—this time in my right ear.
"Deception."
I slowly raised a hand toward my head.
Frederick asked gently,
"Is something wrong, my lord?"
I opened my eyes again and replied,
"No… just a slight headache."
Then I turned my gaze back to the window.
As always, I hated even the shortest journeys.