STVWDTD Chapter 24

This is Shameless. This is Utterly Shameless

It was the kind of early morning where good children were sleeping soundly. Noel was dead to the world, curled into his blankets. Diana dressed and stepped into the corridor, fighting off sleep.

A breakfast. The Duke had summoned her to breakfast.

At this hour? Her eyelids were heavy. Breakfast is supposed to be in the morning, not when morning is barely considering whether to exist yet.

"Ahhhhh—" She couldn't help it. The yawn escaped.

'How unrefined.'

'Right? No noble house, supposedly. Says she came from the battlefield crawling.'

'I heard she was born a commoner. Caught the Commander's eye in some war zone.'

The servants' voices followed the yawn like dogs after blood. The knight-guard at her heels exchanged a look—the kind servants wear when they've found a reason to be contemptuous.

Diana stopped walking. The footsteps behind her stopped too.

"Did something happen?" she asked.

One of the knights scratched his ear with the casual disrespect of someone who'd forgotten his oath entirely.

"Didn't you hear us talking?"

"Hear what exactly?"

The disinterest must have triggered something. The knight made no effort to elaborate, just gestured for her to move.

"Come on. The Duke is waiting."

Right. Of course he is. Diana kept walking, eyes moving across the corridor. Nothing visible—but the malice was there. Pressing against her from the walls themselves. From people she couldn't see.

Even the knights flanking her weren't bothering to hide their contempt anymore. They'd moved past it into something cleaner. Disgust.

"Where's Captain Daren?" she asked.

"Why are you asking us?"

"He'll be here at shift change. It's not like we'd know." One of them rolled his shoulders dismissively. "Just get moving. The Duke's waiting."

The knights exchanged looks—disappointed looks, Diana realized. They'd been hoping she'd cry. Break. Give them something to sink their teeth into.

Amateur hour.

Every servant assigned to her—weak or strong—carried that same thread of malice now. She'd burned the stones, the sachet. But the rot had already taken.

Why, though? Diana tilted her head.

The dining room door opened.

"Oh! There you are."

Irin was already seated, glowing with the kind of warmth that came from being exactly where she belonged. She gestured Diana toward a chair like she was the lady of the house. Like she owned the place.

"I wasn't sure if you'd slept well," Irin continued brightly. "Or if you even should be up this early. Tell me—what should I call you? I don't know your family. I don't know your name. I don't know anything about you, really."

Translation: You're nobody. Why are you here?

Diana settled into a chair. Said nothing.

"Oh, did I say something confusing?"

Irin's smile was all teeth. A napkin had fallen; one of the attendants hurried over with a fresh one, absolutely delighted to help.

"Of course, Miss. Whatever you need."

The servants' eyes were all on Irin now—warm, devoted, almost hungry with affection.

And Diana? Diana got the opposite. Barely contained hostility. The kind of look you gave something you wanted to scrape off your shoe.

Diana's lips tilted up. Interesting.

She was still wearing that expression when the Duke entered. Felice followed close behind.

"Ah, sister-in-law's here!" Felice smiled at her, genuinely warm. Then his eyes slid away from Diana entirely.

He was looking at Irin when he said: "Father's a workaholic. We have to eat at absurd hours because of it."

Diana nodded politely, ate her food. Let the world spin.

"Good morning, brother," Irin said softly, turning only to Felice.

Felice's mouth turned down. Actually turned down. Which meant—

Oh.

Irin was younger than Felice. Which made her younger than Diana, technically. And yet here she was, playing lady of the manor, focusing entirely on the heir like Diana was furniture.

Noel had explained most of this already—apparently Felice had been loose-tongued about their house guest. An earl's daughter sponsored by the Schwartz family. Two years in residence. Rude to Diana as a rule.

Diana watched Irin's delicate fingers work, noted the way every servant's jaw softened whenever she looked in their direction. And Irin noticed that affection. Let it happen. Encouraged it.

Very deliberately.

"Father," Diana said, setting down her silverware—no clink, no sound. "Do you know where your eldest is? I haven't heard from him in some time."

Irin's fork hit her plate. Clang.

She looked like she was going to choke.

"Ah." The Duke glanced at Diana. Then Irin. Then back to Diana. "He's somewhere. We don't keep in touch."

"But surely you've had reports? The northern border conflict is supposedly resolved."

"It is," Felice interjected smoothly, sliding in like oil. "The Commander had his reasons. Probably got distracted somewhere. A beautiful woman probably caught his eye—it does happen to men, doesn't it, sister-in-law? A man like that wouldn't stray far from someone like you."

It was flattery, perfectly executed. The kind of thing Felice never said—and here he was, dispensing it like coins.

Irin's eyes went wide. She clearly hadn't expected it.

Diana caught the flattery, let it slide off her.

"So the eldest son hasn't sent word about anything? No letters?"

"We don't really correspond," Felice explained, almost apologetic. "The Commander takes everyone with him when he leaves."

Right. Diana had forgotten that detail. She'd actually been surprised when Daren stayed behind. It was practical, she supposed—having a second hand around made work easier. But she'd also let herself feel moved by it. Grateful. Like Rodrick was demonstrating he cared.

Like he'd chosen her.

"Ah, Father, I should probably keep the storehouse keys, shouldn't I? Since I'll be—" Felice gestured broadly, "—running things eventually? Sister-in-law can borrow them whenever she likes. You're going to be the lady of this estate anyway, so really, take your time exploring."

Irin went rigid.

Diana saw it—the exact moment jealousy crystallized into something harder. The younger woman's fingers went white around her fork.

The breakfast continued. Diana watched Irin slowly realize that she was losing ground. That somehow, without raising her voice or making any obvious play, Diana had become the center of the Duke's attention. His focus.

By the time the meal ended, Irin's carefully constructed mask had started to crack.

Diana excused herself, heading back down the corridors with her lips curled up in something that wasn't quite a smile. More like a predator watching prey realize it's been caught.

She doesn't have any real power here. Just borrowed influence and a pretty face. If I wanted to, I could dismantle her with a sentence.

The thought arrived without malice. Just fact.

Diana found Daren waiting outside her chamber, exactly where he should be.

"Captain Daren?" She approached—and didn't stop. Kept walking until she was close enough to study his eyes.

Daren backed up. Diana grabbed his arm.

They stood there, barely a breath between them. Her pink eyes searched his face, rapid and thorough.

"What are you—" Daren started, going stiff.

"The Commander will hear about this," a panicked voice in his head screamed. But underneath that panic was something else. Something that didn't quite sound like fear.

Diana stepped back, satisfied. "I was just checking something. Did I make you uncomfortable?"

"No, it's just—" Daren actually stammered. "I wasn't expecting—"

"Have you felt any urge to resent me lately? Any irritation? Anger?"

"No." Immediate, honest. No hesitation.

Diana smiled, genuine this time. "Good. That means you're clean, at least."

She watched the knights who'd escorted her earlier as they filed past Daren. They didn't even nod to Diana. Just to Daren. Then they left, radiating the kind of insolence that normally would have annoyed her.

Today it mostly made her curious.

So the malice spreads through the staff, but Daren's immune. Irin got in a dig with Felice and the Duke, but not enough to actually hurt her. Whatever's happening here, it's subtle. Layered.

She didn't know what scandal would bloom from it. Didn't know that servants had already begun whispering—first in the kitchens, then in the halls. That by nightfall, people would be saying things about Diana and Daren that made the original insult look tame.

Late night. The kind of dark that came when servants finished their final tasks and headed to bed. In a different wing of the estate, far from Diana's chambers, there was movement.

Irin's attendants lingered in her room, cooing.

"Isn't our Miss Irin beautiful, even in sleep?"

"Her heart is as kind as her face. She gave us jewelry, you know."

"In a dreadful place like this, with such a terrible Duke—she brings us light. We should work harder for her."

Diana moved through the shadows like water finding cracks, utterly silent. She was good at this—the kind of good that came from a family business built on assassination. Stealth was as natural as breathing.

The malice hung thick in Irin's chambers. But when Diana searched—really searched—she found nothing obvious. No spell-work. No obvious magical sigil.

Just servants. A lot of servants. All uniformly devoted.

She's not casting the malice herself, Diana realized. The servants are generating it. But how? And why?

Magic existed. Diana had lived in it long enough to know the bones of spellwork. But Irin didn't smell like a mage. Didn't have that particular resonance.

So either Irin was hiding an enormous amount of natural power—which Diana would have sensed—or something else was moving the pieces.

Diana made a final sweep of the room, found nothing, and slipped back out into the halls.

Let it simmer a bit longer. Watch. Wait.

She didn't know that a jewel box under the bed was screaming with magic. That the spell woven into it was actively blinding her, keeping her eyes from landing on the stone tablet hidden inside. That the answer had been right there the whole time.

Rodrick arrived at the edge of Schwartz territory with a decimated military escort. Soldiers in rough shape. Knights with the hollow look of men who'd been pushed past their limits.

He walked past the greeting committee without comment.

The honor guard knew better than to gossip. The fact that the Commander looked like something that should be caged was routine. Normal. Expected.

"The Duke was looking for you," one of them reported.

"Why."

"He ordered us to track your location. Keep tabs on your movements."

Insane. Rodrick's eyes went flat with something that looked like madness but was really just the bottom of his patience falling through. He's losing it. Doing things he'd never do.

The Duke's spies had already come and gone—Rodrick knew exactly where he'd been and what the northern border situation entailed. Diana had apparently asked about him. Had apparently needed him enough that the Duke put out orders.

The Duke was playing dress-up with commands he'd never give normally. Making a show of it. Making sure other people saw him moving mountains for her.

Rodrick didn't like it. But he also had more pressing problems.

The marbling-mind drug was failing. His control was fragmenting. Normally he'd need blood and violence—hunted beasts, torn throats, anything to burn off the excess madness building pressure in his skull.

But there was another option now.

Diana. Just holding her would be enough.

He crossed into the castle to a fanfare of horns. The horses—massive things, bred for war—moved like one organism. Dangerous. Poisonous. A perfect match for their rider.

The head of household came out first.

"Welcome back, Commander."

The escort dismounted. Rodrick swung down from his saddle with the ease of someone who spent half his life on horseback. The winter light caught him mid-dismount, and for one stolen moment he looked like something out of a fever dream.

Sharp features. Beautiful face half-buried under an atmosphere so suffocating it made the air hurt. Intensity and beauty dancing the line between seduction and violence, creating something that was purely decadent.

Diana felt it like a physical blow.

Her heart—her traitorous heart—just stopped.

Then started again, hard enough to hurt.

She didn't think. Didn't analyze. Just moved.

"Rodrick!"

The thick fur Felice had tried to wrap around her shoulders? She ignored it. Sprinted across the open ground like something feral.

The expression on Rodrick's face when she hit him was shock. Genuine shock. But only for a second.

Then he smiled. Closed his eyes. And pulled her into him like she was oxygen and he'd been drowning.

"---" he said, which wasn't a word, just a sound. A feeling.

Warmth flooded through him. The chaotic roaring in his blood quieted. Settled. The manic pressure that had been building for weeks started to drain.

Diana fit against his chest like she'd been designed that way. Like her body understood something his conscious mind was still trying to process.

"I missed you," she murmured into his coat.

Rodrick didn't answer. He was too busy absorbing her curse—drawing it in through every point of contact, feeling the empty places inside him suddenly full.

It was nothing like the marbling drug. The effect was instantaneous and absolute. His thoughts, which had been splintering into increasingly hostile fragments, suddenly coalesced again. Focused. Became his own.

"How long has it been?" Diana rambled, because apparently her mouth had decided to work independently of her brain. "Why were you so late? Don't tell me you got distracted by someone else—"

Rodrick wanted to shut her up. Knew if he didn't, he'd do it the way his body was demanding. The way that would cause a genuine scandal.

The words escaped anyway: "Diana."

His voice came out rough. Raw. Like he'd been screaming.

"Hmm? What?"

She'd pulled back just enough to look at his face. Big mistake. Her pink eyes were bright with something that made his spine ache.

"Can I kiss you?"

The question hit her like a second blow. Same impact. Same catastrophic effect on her heart function.

She answered by grabbing his face and showing him.