Chapter 13: “Old Dogs, Old Scars”

Knock. Knock.

The door of Duke Armond von Reingarde’s study echoed with two firm knocks. The Duke’s head butler, still attentive despite the late hour, opened it promptly. In the dim orange glow of lamplight, Jade stood in the doorway. It was already well into the evening, and Duke Armond sat behind his broad desk, a stack of documents and ledgers spread before him.

Jade stepped inside with a nod of thanks to the butler. Typically, at this point in the night, Jade would wait respectfully for the Duke to finish his work, then deliver his daily report on Lady Celestia’s progress. Only after that would the Duke pour them both a modest drink to unwind, a sort of daily ritual they happened to have fallen into over the past two weeks.

Tonight, however, Jade dispensed with the usual formalities.

Without waiting for an invitation, he strode across the office toward a polished cabinet where crystal decanters and wine bottles glinted.

The butler’s eyebrows shot up at the breach of decorum, but he knew better than to speak out of turn. Duke Armond himself paused mid-writing, pen hovering above paper as he watched Jade.

Jade swung open the cabinet door. He selected a bottle that was one of the better vintages and grabbed two glasses. Crossing to the small table near the unlit fireplace, he dropped heavily into one of the leather armchairs facing it. With a sigh, he set the glasses down and uncorked the bottle.

Jade didn’t bother with the pretense of pouring slowly; he filled his glass nearly to the brim, then immediately took a swig.

Behind him, Duke Armond raised an eyebrow at his daughter’s instructor’s unprecedented behavior. The Duke’s stern face had a flicker of wry amusement beneath the surprise. He set aside his pen and leaned back in his chair, arms folding over his chest. “Perhaps I have been too lenient with you, Sir Jade,” the Duke remarked, voice laced with dry sarcasm. “Most would consider helping oneself to a Duke’s private reserve a rather bold affront. Another noble might see it as grounds to toss you in a dungeon for the night.”

Jade let out a short, humorless chuckle. He swirled the wine in his glass, gaze fixed on the dark red liquid. “Bah. You can go ahead and throw me in your prison if you like,” he replied, tone equal parts exhaustion and defiance. “Frankly, I’ll sleep fine in a cell. But I needed a drink after what I did to your daughter today.”

The blunt retort hung in the air.

Duke Armond’s faint smirk faded, replaced by a more serious expression. At a slight nod from the Duke, the butler quietly excused himself from the room, pulling the door closed to ensure privacy. The soft click of the latch was the only sound for a moment.

Jade stared into his wine and took another swallow. The Duke rose from behind his desk; papers and duties forgotten, he moved to join Jade by the fireside seating. Duke Armond claimed the other armchair opposite Jade, then reached for the second, empty glass that Jade had set out.

Jade obliged silently, tipping the bottle to fill the Duke’s cup halfway. Armond lifted it to his nose first, inhaling the wine’s aroma out of habit, then he too took a deep drink.

For a while, neither man spoke. The only sounds were the soft crackle as Duke Armond took the liberty of nudging the logs in the fireplace with an iron poker, trying to coax a faint flame to life, and the gentle clink of glass whenever either of them set a cup down.

Jade’s gaze was distant, fixed on the small fire as if searching for answers in its flickering light. The Duke studied him quietly. In these past two weeks, Duke Armond had come to know Jade as a disciplined, respectful man. Rough around the edges, yes, but someone who understood boundaries. To see him so agitated that he cast aside etiquette entirely was telling.

And of course, Armond knew exactly what had transpired on the training grounds that afternoon. He had given his permission for it, reluctantly, after much deliberation.

“How is she?” the Duke finally broke the silence, his deep voice gentling with concern despite the neutral phrasing.

Jade exhaled slowly through his nose. “Physically fine,” he answered. The response was technically what the Duke had asked, but it was not really an answer at all.

Armond set his glass on the table. He repeated quietly, “How is my daughter?”

Jade ran a thumb along the rim of his wine glass. He should have expected that the Duke would want reassurance beyond the obvious. “She’s handling it better than I’d hoped.” He turned to face the Duke fully, expression conflicted. “But even so, Your Grace, even with your blessing for this ‘lesson’—” he practically spat the word, “—it left a sour taste in my mouth.”

In the firelight, the Duke’s eyes looked older, shadowed by the weight of years and responsibilities. “Do you regret doing it?” he asked after a pause.

Jade opened his mouth, then hesitated. Did he regret it? Part of him did, he had forced a young girl, barely on the cusp of womanhood, to stain her hands with blood. Celestia might have been remarkable in her resolve, but she was still the Duke’s daughter, raised in privilege. Jade had dragged ugly reality right into her sheltered world this day. Yet another part of him, the hardened survivor and veteran, knew it was necessary.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and a memory came unbidden: Celestia standing amid three corpses in the late afternoon sun, her face speckled with blood… and smiling. A chill prickled the back of his neck at the recollection of that eerie, unintended smile. Jade wasn’t sure if he should tell the Duke about that particular detail, or if he had heard about it from another source already.

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Finally, Jade answered in a low voice, “No. I don’t regret teaching her the lesson itself. But I hate that it had to be done.”

Duke Armond had his own internal conflicts; the very thought of Celestia facing such a trial tore at him. When Jade had sent a letter, requesting to conduct a “final test” of Celestia’s resolve, Duke Armond had nearly forbidden it outright. Who would wish such a thing upon their child? But Celestia’s determination to climb the Tower even after her bethrothal with the Imperial Prince cancelled, had forced his hand.

If a controlled lesson in ruthlessness now might save her life later, he knew he had to allow it, even if it pained him.

The Duke leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “I understand,” he said quietly.

Jade nodded slowly. He poured himself another full cup of wine and drank, welcoming the dull burn in his throat. Duke Armond lifted his own refilled glass and sipped more slowly.

After a long moment of heavy silence, Jade spoke again, “The thought of my child ever going through even a fraction of what I’ve lived through… it terrifies me. Do you know how old I was when I first took a life, Your Grace?”

Armond shook his head silently.