Poison!

"Master Harry, please, do not attack!" a voice called out from the gates.

Harry's brow furrowed in confusion. He pulled his reins and brought his horse to a halt, studying the figures in the distance. "Who dares to speak to me like that?" he muttered under his breath.

The figure stepped forward, calling out again. "Master Harry, please, my lord... Alfie wishes to see you. He asks that you come and speak with him."

Alfie?

Harry's frown deepened. Alfie, the last remaining legitimate heir to Baron Ethan, who had fled after Reggie's death, was offering to meet him? The timing was strange; just when the siege was about to begin. What was Alfie playing at?

"Alfie wants to see me?" Harry repeated, his voice laced with disbelief.

Maro, beside him, raised an eyebrow. "This is strange. The boy who ran... now he wants to talk?" He snorted. "What does he think he can say to you now?"

Harry glanced at his lieutenant and then back at the figures at the gates. It didn't make sense. Alfie had no power left, and yet he was offering a meeting? It could be a trap, or it could be an attempt at negotiation.

After a moment of silence, Harry's eyes gleamed with a calculated glint. "Maybe it's worth listening to what he has to say. If he's willing to surrender, it will save us some bloodshed."

He turned his gaze to Maro. "Hold your position, but be ready. If this meeting is a trick, we'll strike immediately. But if he wants to talk… let's see what he has to offer."

Maro gave a grunt of agreement, his hand resting on the hilt of his weapon. "Understood, Master."

Harry rode forward, his horse's hooves echoing softly in the evening stillness as he made his way toward the gates. The figures at the entrance, though still distant, began to part, allowing him a clear path.

As Harry approached, he could feel the weight of the moment. His entire life had led to this point, the moment when he would claim his inheritance, when he would step into the role he was born for. But now, as the gates creaked open before him, there was an odd tension in the air. Was Alfie truly surrendering? Or was this a final attempt to challenge his authority?

Harry's eyes narrowed slightly, but his composure remained unshaken. Whatever game Alfie was playing, Harry was prepared.

As the army loomed on the horizon, poised to attack, their charge suddenly slowed to a halt. The soldiers, tense and battle-ready, fixed their eyes ahead, their breath held as the possibility of negotiation emerged.

Inside the sprawling manor, a storm brewed within the hearts of those waiting.

"Did you memorize everything I just told you?" Madam Glenda's voice was sharp, her piercing gaze locked onto Alfie. Her tone carried an urgency that left no room for argument.

"I remember," Alfie replied, though his voice faltered. Under his mother's intense scrutiny, his stiff expression betrayed his unease. He hesitated before adding, "But… Mother, are we truly going to do this? Using such… despicable means?"

"Despicable?" Madam Glenda's eyes narrowed, her tone biting. "What nonsense are you spouting, boy? In this world, there is no such thing as noble or despicable. There is only success or failure." She leaned closer, her voice low and fierce. "Have you thought about what will happen to us if Harry breaks through that gate?"

Her words sliced through the air, her intensity unrelenting. "He'll kill your wife and your friends, strip you of your title, seize your lands, and leave you to die a brutal, meaningless death. Is that what you want?"

"No… no, it won't come to that." Alfie shook his head, his voice shaking but resolute. "Harry isn't that kind of man. If he wanted me dead, he would have done it long ago. He hasn't. That means there's still a chance. If we surrender, I believe he'll let us go."

He met his mother's eyes, his sincerity evident. "We can leave this manor, take our loved ones, and start anew somewhere else. I'll talk to him, and I know he'll listen."

Madam Glenda's voice lashed out like a whip. "Foolish boy!" she snapped, cutting him off. "If you abandon this land, you may as well be dead! Everything you have; your wife, your comfortable life, depends on your status and wealth. Without your title, without your territory, how long do you think you'll last? Will you lower yourself to serve another lord? Scrounge for scraps as a wandering knight? You're Ethan's legitimate heir, not some illegitimate whelp like Harry. This land is yours by right, and no one will take it from you!"

She took a deep breath, steadying her fiery resolve before continuing in a cold, calculated tone. "Take the food. Offer it to him. He's your brother, and he won't suspect you. Slip the poison into his drink. Once he's gone, his army will fall apart, and this nightmare will be over. Do you understand?"

"I…" Alfie's words faltered as he met her unyielding gaze. For a long moment, silence stretched between them, the weight of her words pressing on him like a millstone. Finally, he sighed and nodded reluctantly.

Moments later, Alfie stepped out of the manor, his heart heavy with the weight of his decision. The air outside was thick with tension as he approached Harry, who sat astride a black horse. His brother was calm and composed, his sharp features and commanding presence striking even in the shadow of war.

"Harry… my brother," Alfie said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Harry turned his gaze toward him, his expression unreadable. Clad in a dark robe, he looked every inch the warrior-turned-leader he had become. His calm demeanor betrayed no sign of hostility, but neither did it offer comfort.

He had been waiting, but not naively. When Madam Glenda proposed that Harry enter the manor to negotiate, Harry had refused outright. He was no fool. Though confident in his strength, he saw no reason to risk walking into a trap. The advantage was his, and he intended to keep it that way.

Alfie stood frozen, torn between loyalty to his brother and obedience to his mother. He opened his mouth to speak but found that no words came. The weight of the poison hidden within his belongings seemed to burn a hole in his resolve.

What could he say to the brother who had once been his ally, the brother he was now being urged to betray?

Madam Glenda had been confident in her plan. She believed Harry's nature, practical yet sentimental; would make him trust Alfie implicitly. After all, Alfie had always been the honest, friendly one, the kind of man no one would ever suspect of treachery.

Who would imagine that such a kind soul could carry poison in his pocket?

But her plan had a fatal flaw. This wasn't a casual meeting in some safe manor; it was a battlefield. Swords clashed, shields rang, and soldiers filled the space between life and death. No one in their right mind would sit down for a drink, let alone accept wine brought by an "enemy."

And Harry? He was far from naive. He never played by anyone else's rules.

---

As Alfie approached, clutching the bottle tightly, Harry's sharp eyes immediately caught the peculiar scene. He raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Wine?" he asked, his voice tinged with amused curiosity. "Brother, I didn't take you for a sommelier."

Alfie stiffened. "It's… a gift," he stammered, forcing a smile onto his pale face. "A peace offering."

Harry chuckled, his tone dripping with skepticism. "How thoughtful." He motioned lazily with his hand. "Maro, take it."

A hulking soldier stepped forward, his shadow falling over Alfie like a stormcloud. Alfie's grip on the bottle tightened involuntarily.

"Wait—" Alfie began, but before he could finish, Harry's voice cut through the tension like a blade.

"Such a strong reaction, Alfie," Harry said, his smirk deepening into something more dangerous. "Could it be there's… an extra ingredient in this wine?"

Alfie's breath hitched. He forced a laugh, but it sounded hollow. "Of course not! Harry, you're joking."

"Am I?" Harry leaned forward in his saddle, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement and menace.

Maro grabbed the bottle effortlessly, his expression unreadable. Then, as if it were routine, he motioned to his men, who began patting Alfie down.

The indignity of the search made Alfie freeze. His mind raced, but his body wouldn't move. If he resisted, he would confirm their suspicions. If he complied, he would lose any chance of the plan succeeding. The weight of his mother's expectations bore down on him like a vice, but he couldn't bring himself to move.

When the search turned up nothing else, Maro handed the bottle to Harry, who accepted it with the air of a man savoring a private joke. He swirled the wine lazily, his gaze never leaving Alfie's face.

"So jumpy, brother," Harry remarked, his voice laced with mock concern. "One might think you have something to hide."

"I don't," Alfie replied, his voice barely above a whisper. He swallowed hard. "I came here to talk, nothing more."

"Talk?" Harry tilted his head. "Is that what this is about? A heart-to-heart between brothers?"

"Yes," Alfie said, his voice more earnest now. "We are brothers, Harry. Whatever has happened between us, that's the truth. Can't we resolve this peacefully?"

Harry laughed, a low, mirthless sound. "Like we resolved things with Reggie?"

Alfie's breath caught. Harry's expression darkened, the mention of their older brother a pointed dagger in the conversation.

"Don't misunderstand," Harry continued, his voice cold. "Reggie was my brother too. My *best* brother. And look where that got him."

The weight of Harry's words crushed the fragile hope Alfie had tried to hold onto. The bottle of poisoned wine now seemed like a cruel joke in his hands, a desperate gambit doomed to fail before it even began.

"Madam Glenda thought I'd drink this," Harry said, holding the wine up to the light as if examining it for flaws. "She underestimates me, as usual. But I have to thank her. If nothing else, she always keeps things… entertaining."

Alfie's confusion broke through his fear. "What are you talking about? What favor are you repaying?"

Harry's smile was razor-sharp, his tone mocking. "Oh, didn't she tell you? She gave me a breathing technique once, a long time ago. Or at least, she tried to. Funny, isn't it? A woman like her doing something so selfless."

Alfie's heart sank. He didn't know the story Harry was alluding to, but he could tell the mention of it was dripping with venom, not gratitude.

"Enough of this," Alfie said desperately, his voice cracking. "Harry, please; stop all of this. We can fix this. We can leave the past behind. You don't have to do this."

For a moment, Harry studied him, his expression unreadable. Then, he chuckled, shaking his head. "Leave the past behind?" He leaned forward, his voice low and biting. "Alfie, the past *is* why we're here."

He straightened, signaling to his soldiers. "Now, be a good brother and wait. I have work to do."

And just like that, Harry turned away, leaving Alfie standing alone, clutching the remnants of a plan that had already fallen apart.