On the morning of the third day of the Emerald Celebration, Tales shoved aside the servants blocking his way and barged roughly into Jann's dining room.
"Your Highness Tales," said the Duke of South Bank, seated at the head of the table. He set down his utensils, elegantly wiped the corner of his mouth, and signaled with his eyes for the servants not to panic, but simply to close the door and leave. "I was just wondering when you would come looking for me..."
But Tales stared at him coldly. "Explain."
"Explain what?" Jann asked, his smile unchanged.
Tales carefully watched the duke's every move.
"One of my men died last night," the Prince said, his face blazing with fury. "His injuries were too severe, and we didn't even have time to call a doctor."
Jann's smile vanished. The hand holding his wineglass paused slightly.
"And you, Jann Cavendish, will pay the price," Tales said through gritted teeth, his eyes sharp as blades. "I swear it, in the name of Little Cloth Doll—in the name of Star Lake Fortress."
"Impossible."
The Duke of Iris thought for a moment before replying with a frown:
"Your ten subordinates, including Arendt and Bozdov's heir, as well as the captain of your Guard Team, returned to the Empty Palace in separate groups last night. Though they looked haggard and acted furtively, they were all intact. None of them was seriously wounded or on the verge of death! Even if there were injuries you didn't know about, that still isn't..."
Jann's eyes shifted, and his words faltered.
"Wait. You're bluffing?"
Tales raised a brow, walked to Jann's side, pulled out a chair, and sat down.
"So you knew all along," the Prince sneered. "From the moment I sent my men out until they returned to