Dysfunctional Grand Duchy

"What?" Lincoln exclaimed, his face paling as he tried to muster a convincing smile. "You are all making a grave mistake here."

"We wish it were so, but Doctor Harvey Ronald confirmed it. Lord Vyan was definitely poisoned," Colin shot back, his tone heavy.

"How does that translate to me being the one to do it? Preposterous! I have been doting on Lord Vyan like a mother hen for the past two months—" Lincoln protested.

"Yeah, because we all know what a stellar job you did with your own son," Clyde interjected with a derisive snort, prompting knowing glances from the assembled crowd. 

Everyone was well aware of Lady Clara's less-than-maternal treatment of Clyde, her husband's illegitimate but true heir, in favor of her own less-deserving child, for whom she somehow managed to snag the title of heir apparent, while Lincoln never did anything to help Clyde.

If a man could be deaf to his own child's cry for help all his life, who was to say he wouldn't go after an orphan's life?

Olivia cleared her throat, seizing control of the conversation. "It turns out the poison was found in the chamomile tea you gifted to Lord Vyan—the very tea he nearly kicked the bucket over," she stated matter-of-factly.

Lincoln's eyes widened in disbelief. "But how could there be poison in the tea?"

"Well, my lord," she turned her attention to Vyan, "if my information is correct, didn't Lord Magnus give you those chamomile tea leaves as a gift two months back?" Olivia asked pointedly.

"Yes," Vyan admitted.

"And have you been drinking it regularly since then?" Olivia pressed.

"Well, yes."

"Connect the dots, everyone then. Lord Magnus tried to off Lord Vyan so he could slide into his fancy shoes as the Grand Duke," Olivia concluded, leaving no room for doubt.

"No, no, no! There is absolutely no way any trace of that poison was found in that tea!" Lincoln erupted, his composure slipping faster than a banana peel on a slip-and-slide. 

He had bought that poison from the most reputable dealer in town, with a guarantee it would not leave a trace in the body or even when tested directly on the tea leaves!

"Oh, really? And how exactly are you so sure, Lord Magnus?" Vyan interjected, the room falling silent at his unexpected challenge. "It is almost like you have got some insider knowledge about how that poison works."

"I... um... well, you see, my lord... because I took every precaution to ensure your safety," Lincoln stammered, beads of sweat forming on his brow. "I would never dream of putting you at risk."

"What a noble excuse," the other vassals chimed in, their laughter filling the room like a flock of raucous geese.

"We cannot fathom how you could stoop so low, Lord Magnus," Colin scoffed.

"And to think, Lord Vyan is barely an adult and you are already plotting his demise. How utterly heartless," Olivia sighed with disappointment.

"It has got me wondering if you have been messing with the financial books as well," Arthur added, fueling the flames of suspicion.

"And that's not too far-fetched," Colin mused. "My lord, we formally request a thorough audit of the Grand Duchy's finances for the past fifteen years."

Lincoln's fists clenched, his anger reaching boiling point as he glanced desperately at his eldest son for support, only to be met with a smug smirk. 

That little twerp!

As if that weren't enough, Clyde couldn't resist adding insult to injury with a tongue click of mockery.

That was it. Lincoln's last nerve had officially been obliterated.

"Believe me, everyone! I am being set up like a game of mousetrap here! This is all Clyde's handiwork," Lincoln tried to accuse, his desperation visible as he tried to wriggle out of the tight spot he had found himself in. "The poison I used is cleaner than a whistle! There couldn't possibly be any traces left behind. This is clearly a—"

He cut himself off, realizing the colossal blunder he had just made. "No, no, scratch that! That was a slip of the tongue. I mean, the tea was totally poison-free when I had it tested—"

But it was too late. The damage was done, and Clyde knew it. 

With a smug grin, he mouthed "checkmate" to his father, who could do nothing but seethe with impotent rage.

Clyde was well aware that without his wife's guidance, his father was about as useful as a fork with tea. Sure, he could stick to a plan like a champ, but put him on the spot, and he was as likely to mess up as a toddler trying to juggle flaming torches.

That's why Clyde had orchestrated this little rendezvous, spinning a yarn about the vassals' eagerness to meet Vyan for the first time while simultaneously planting seeds of doubt about Lincoln's intentions. 

Conspiracies like this didn't need ironclad proof; a little whisper here, a well-placed accusation there, and the vultures would come circling.

And besides, the chamomile tea had indeed been poisoned. So Clyde had not hesitated to mix in a little something extra, just to ensure the desired outcome.

"My lord, your verdict?" Arthur urged.

Vyan cleared his throat and declared, "On account of attempting to murder the sole heir of the Grand Duchy of Ashstone, Lord Lincoln Magnus is hereby going to relinquish his title as a count and pass it on to his current heir apparent, losing a thirty percent of his precious lands, and hand over ten thousand gold coins to House Ashstone."

Clyde couldn't help but furrow his brow. 

Why not just toss him to the wolves? he mused, echoing the sentiment of every other vassal in the room.

"Seems like a bit of a soft touch, doesn't it, my lord?" Colin chimed in, his smile carrying the weight of reluctance.

"I am fully aware. But let's just call it my way of saying 'thanks' to Lord Magnus for babysitting Ashstone while I was missing. At least he did not completely botch the job," Vyan reasoned, earning a surprised look from Lincoln.

Touched by the unexpected show of gratitude, Lincoln felt a warm fuzzy feeling stirring in his chest.

"Unlike some people around here, I am not one to forget a favor," Vyan continued, his words casting a sudden hush over the room as everyone caught on to the not-so-subtle hint.

"Anyhow, that is a wrap for today's episode of 'Dysfunctional Grand Duchy.' Thanks for tuning in, everyone," Vyan concluded with a flourish, rising from his seat and strutting out of the meeting hall, Clyde hot on his heels.

Once they were a safe distance from the meeting hall, Vyan whirled around to face Clyde, his frustration bubbling over like a pot of overcooked spaghetti.

"You! Could you not just yank my strings like some second-rate puppet show?" Vyan bellowed, his voice echoing through the corridor. "You are always preaching about not forgetting my place, but it seems like you are the one who keeps forgetting it. I am not some pint-sized pawn you can maneuver around to suit your agenda!"

"My lord—"

"No, stop! Today, I am the one who is going to do the talking," Vyan declared, cutting Clyde off. "You want to know why I spared Lord and Lady Magnus from the guillotine? Because I wanted to give you a taste of your own medicine."

Clyde's eyes widened, a flicker of surprise crossing his face.

"I could have easily handed out death sentences, but I knew that's what you and the others were hoping for. And I refuse to dance to your tune. Because you fucking used me. You fucking used me as a pawn in your twisted family drama!"

"You have got it all wrong—"

"Oh, spare me the excuses! Tell me. Did you or did you not approach me with the ulterior motive to stick it to your old man?" Vyan challenged.

As Clyde remained silent, Vyan got his answer loud and clear.

"I should have seen it coming," Vyan chuckled bitterly, shaking his head in disbelief. 

"Nobody does anything out of the kindness of their hearts. Just like your dear old father wanted to rule Ashstone, you wanted to wreck your family to gain back your inheritance, and meanwhile, the vassals wanted to get Lord Magnus out of their way to climb up the social ladder."

Clyde continued to be silent, his usual un-shut-uppable mouth tightly closed.

"I knew the vassals would be selfish, but you too, Clyde?" The disappointment in his voice stung Clyde.

"Did you honestly believe I would just roll over and play puppet for your little courtroom drama? Newsflash: I have got 'don't let anyone use you, not even for the tiniest reason' engraved on my brain, thanks to you," Vyan clamored. "So yeah, that verdict I handed down? Consider it a big, fat 'screw you.' You are welcome."

Being played like a fiddle grated on Vyan's last nerve. It reminded him of Iyana—how she duped him with her sweet smiles, making him think she actually gave a fuck. 

And turns out, Clyde was just as phony as her. 

Turning on his heel, Vyan gave Clyde the cold shoulder treatment. "Since I have served my purpose as your little pawn, I reckon you will be hanging up your mentor hat. Fine by me. I don't need you anyway. I will train by myself."

That was it. Clyde's role in his life was over. Or so he hoped.

"My lord, please, just hear me out once."