Duke Aldric of Vespera rubbed his temples as candlelight flickered across the mountains of parchment cluttering his desk.
The weight of governance never lessened, not even in the dead of night. He reached for his seal, stamping approval on a trade permit before tossing a noble's frivolous complaint into the fire without a second glance.
The flames devoured the parchment with a hungry crackle, casting long shadows across the stone walls of his study.
Then his fingers brushed against a leather-bound dossier, its cover embossed with a single, ominous word: Nothing.
He flipped it open, his eyes scanning the contents—only to snap it shut a moment later with a sound like a whip crack.
"Gods' blood!" he barked, his voice sharp enough to make his secretary jump. The poor man had been dozing in the corner, but he scrambled to attention, nearly upending an inkwell in his haste.
"Must I endure every sordid detail of this so-called Hero's escapades?" The duke shoved the report across the desk, his lip curling.
"From now on, a summary. A brief one. I don't need to know which orifice he favored last Tuesday."
The secretary bowed, clutching the offending documents to his chest like a shield. "Shall I have it sent to the king, my lord?"
Duke Aldric's smile was thin and humorless. "Oh, yes. His Majesty should absolutely experience this firsthand."
He scrawled a terse note—"For Your Eyes Only"—before sealing it with a stamp that bore the crest of Vespera. "Let him lose sleep over these antics for once."
As the secretary scurried out, the duke poured himself a generous measure of brandy, the amber liquid catching the firelight.
His gaze drifted to the bookshelf, where a small, dark shape perched among the leather-bound tomes. A rat.
With a blue ribbon tied around its neck.
The duke took a long, slow sip, his expression unreadable. "It is almost time," he muttered.
The rat twitched its whiskers but didn't flee.
Dawn was still hours away when another rat tapped at the stained-glass window, its snout clacking against the leaded panes. The duke unfastened the latch with a sigh, plucking the note from the rat's mouth before it could so much as screech. The parchment smelled faintly of jasmine and gunpowder.
"One week," it read. "The duke is to prepare accordingly."
Without hesitation, he held it to the candle's flame, watching the edges blacken and curl. The scent of burning paper mingled with the brandy's oak-and-smoke richness as the last of the words turned to ash.
His eyes lower in contemplation.
"Don't disappoint us."
The duke did not sleep well that night.
-----
The compound's gates trembled as Nyx's voice rang through the courtyard, bright and lilting, as if she'd merely been away on a pleasant afternoon stroll rather than vanishing for gods-knew-how-long.
"Little moth~!"
Regulus, who had been mid-way through a very important (and very delicate) negotiation with the kitchen staff over the theft of his favorite pair of socks, froze. The spoon he'd been brandishing like a courtroom exhibit clattered to the cobblestones.
He was at the entrance before anyone could blink, his boots kicking up dust.
Nyx stood there, resplendent as ever, her amethyst eyes gleaming with amusement. She looked him up and down, taking in his disheveled hair, the ink smudged on his sleeve, the faint bite mark on his collarbone that definitely hadn't been there when she left.
"Where the hells have you been?!" he demanded, his voice cracking somewhere between outrage and relief.
Nyx pressed a hand to her chest, feigning shock. "Why, little king, did you miss me?"
"I—! No! Maybe!" He dragged a hand through his hair, glaring. "You don't just disappear for—how long has it even been?!"
"Long enough, apparently," she purred, reaching out to flick the bite mark with her fingernail. "My, my. The maids have been busy."
Regulus swatted her hand away, his ears burning. "That's not—! Ugh!" He exhaled sharply. "You're impossible."
Nyx laughed, the sound like silver bells and shattered promises. "And yet you waited." She stepped past him, her skirts brushing his legs as she swept into the compound. "Come along, then. Tell me everything I've missed."
Regulus stared after her for a moment before groaning and following.
"You're buying me drinks after this," he muttered.
Nyx's grin was all teeth. "Oh, darling. I'll do far more than that."
Nyx strode through the compound like a storm given human form, her skirts swirling around her as maids scattered like leaves in her wake.
Regulus trailed behind, already regretting every life choice that led him to this moment.
"Alright," Nyx said, clapping her hands together. "Let's begin."
She stopped abruptly, causing Regulus to nearly collide with her. Before he could protest, she spun on her heel and jabbed a finger into his chest.
"First—the bite mark."
Regulus opened his mouth, but Nyx cut him off with a glare.
"No, no. I want her to tell me."
Her gaze locked onto a passing maid—a petite brunette who froze like a rabbit under a hawk's shadow. Nyx crooked a finger. The maid approached, trembling.
"L-Lady Nyx! You're back!"
Nyx's smile was all sweet. "Darling. Who bit him?"
The maid's eyes darted to Regulus, pleading for salvation. He sighed, rubbing his temples.
"Just tell her, Heather. She won't stop until she knows."
Heather swallowed hard. "It—it was Sister Ramia, mistress."
Nyx gasped, pressing a hand to her heart in mock scandal. "One of the twins?! Oh, this is better than I imagined."
She turned back to Regulus. "And where, precisely, were you when this happened?"
Regulus' jaw tightened. "The library."
Nyx's eyes sparkled with unholy glee. "The library? Little king, you degenerate." She whirled toward the nearest bookshelf and called out, "Ah! You there!"
A maid shelving scrolls glanced as Nyx descended upon her.
"Did you see anything scandalous in here recently?"
The maid's face turned pink. "I—I—"
"Out with it."
"...They were behind the philosophy section."
Nyx clutched her chest as if struck. "Philosophy?! The audacity! The hypocrisy!" She spun back to Regulus. "Using the pursuit of wisdom as a cover for your pursuit of flesh—I'm appalled. And yet, impressed."
Regulus groaned. "Can we not do this?"
"Absolutely not." Nyx was already marching toward the kitchens. "Now. The socks."
Regulus paled. "That—that's not relevant."
"Oh?" Nyx paused, glancing over her shoulder. "Then why is there a petition from the kitchen staff about quote 'inappropriate use of produce'?"
Regulus opened his mouth—then shut it.
Nyx's grin widened. "Ohhhh. This is so much worse than I thought."
---
By the time they reached the courtyard, Nyx had assembled a full report of Regulus' escapades—gleaned from a mix of terrified (amused) maids, smug twins, and one very disgruntled chef who refused to look at eggplants the same way again.
Nyx collapsed onto a bench, fanning herself with a stolen document labeled "Incident Report (Do Not Show the Duke)."
"By the abyss, little moth," she breathed. "You've been busy."
Regulus crossed his arms. "Are you done?"
Nyx tapped her chin. "Hmm. Almost." She leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "Now. Tell me about Circe."
"What about her?!"
Nyx's laughter echoed through the courtyard, bright and merciless.
Nyx's interrogation had left no stone unturned—no scandal unexposed. But just as Regulus thought the torment might be over, the sharp click of heels on marble announced a new player entering the game.
Circe stood in the archway, her silhouette framed by the setting sun. The usual warmth in her amber eyes had cooled to something dangerous.
"Well, well," she purred. "If it isn't Lady Nyx, returned at last."
Nyx stretched like a cat, grinning. "Circe, darling. Miss me?"
Circe's smiled. "Oh, desperately."
The maids had formed a loose circle around them, caught between terror and fascination. Even the twins—usually so bold—had gone quiet.
Nyx twirled a lock of hair around her finger. "What would you like to know, Mistress?" The title dripped with mockery.
Circe's gaze flicked to Regulus, then back to Nyx. "Let's start with the obvious. Where did you go?"
Nyx sighed dramatically. "Business. Boring business. Not nearly as fun as whatever he's been up to." She jerked a thumb at Regulus.
Regulus, who had been inching toward the nearest exit, froze.
Circe's expression went blank.
Then—
She laughed.
"Where do you think you're going my King?" Circe said. "Let me show her how far you've come."
She stepped back with a twirl, then turned on her heel. "Remia. Ramia. Bring the ledger."
"The ledger, mistress?"
Circe didn't look back. "The one with his tallies."
Regulus paled. "What."
Nyx, for the first time, looked genuinely intrigued. "Oh? Do tell."
Circe finally glanced over her shoulder, her smile saccharine. "Let's just say... we've been keeping records."
The twins scurried off, returning moments later with a thick, leather-bound book. Circe took it, flipping it open with deliberate slowness.
"Ah, here we are. Incident Reports." She cleared her throat. "'Day 17: Master Regulus caught in the wine cellar with—'"
Regulus lunged. "NOPE."
He snatched the ledger, hurling it into the nearest fountain. The maids gasped. Circe arched a brow.
Nyx burst out laughing. "Oh, this is gold."
Circe sighed. "That was a copy, my King."
Regulus ordered the ones who gathered to return to their duties, in order to spare himself of the humiliation.
-----
As night fell, the three of them sat in Circe's quarters—Nyx lounging on the divan, Circe sipping tea like nothing had happened, and Regulus staring blankly at the wall.
Nyx swirled her wineglass. "So. Are we going to talk about the real reason you're mad?"
Circe didn't look up. "I'm not mad."
"You punched a hole in my forehead with your 'not angry' glare."
"That never happened."
Regulus groaned. "Can we not?"
The air shifted in respons to his words.
Regulus, sensing the mood, stood. "I'm going to go... not be here."
Neither woman stopped him.
"Just don't go fighting, okay?" he said, rubbing the back of his neck.
"And Nyx—we still have unfinished business." His lips curled into a smirk.
"I'll show you a far more impressive massage. So great, you'll never want to leave my side."
Nyx barked out a laugh, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Ha! I hope so." Her eyes gleamed with challenge. "But I highly doubt you can please me into submission."
Circe, still seated with her teacup, arched a brow. "Oh? Is that so?"
Nyx shot her a look. "You stay out of this."
Circe merely smiled.
Nyx stretched languidly, like a cat considering its prey. "Well then, little king," she purred. "Prove it."
Regulus folded his arms. "Not here."
Nyx tilted her head. "Why? Afraid of an audience?"
His gaze flicked toward the doorway, where no fewer than five maids were shamelessly eavesdropping. One of them—Remia—had the audacity to wave.
"You still have a conversation to finish. I will deal with the eavesdroppers while waiting for you."