A short man with long, pointed ears, wearing inconspicuous green clothing that could easily be mistaken for typical commoner attire, and chestnut hair, sat upon a small wooden throne in the center of an equally small hall built entirely from wood. His soft facial features, at first glance, made him seem like a rather kind fellow, but his green eyes almost always betrayed boredom. Nikolai was practically yawning as he listened to the report of Pyotr, Count Crown—an elderly, slightly plump man dressed in a lavishly embroidered white and green doublet. On the back of the doublet were two emblems: a tree with roots and a crown—the coat of arms of the Duchy of Wood—and the same tree, but now only with the crown, without roots—the coat of arms of the County itself. He had graying hair, a small bald spot, and a little goatee. Crucially, like many inhabitants of the Duchy, he had long ears. There was nothing in his report that the young Duke didn't already know, and his greatest desire was to end this stupid meeting and go to sleep. He could see the dissatisfaction with their Duke's behavior written on Count Crown's face, but the elderly man apparently possessed immense patience.

  "And so, what is your opinion, Your Grace?" Pyotr asked the Duke. Nikolai shifted his bored gaze to the Count and tried to get more comfortable on his ancestors' wooden throne, but it clearly lacked cushions. Due to the prolonged sitting on this instrument of torture—he couldn't call it anything else—his back ached.

  Worrying about his back slightly more than his answer to the Count, Nikolai continued to fidget in his chair, then, unable to bear it any longer, shouted, "Alena, for crying out loud, bring a couple of cushions for this chair!"

  Count Crown's face began to boil with anger at how his own Duke disregarded him, especially in front of his men. Behind him stood Vasily, Viscount Mole—his right-hand man—and Philip, Baron Beech, regarding whose matter this small report was being made. These two, also not young men but not as old as the Count, silently waited for the Duke to settle himself more comfortably.

  When the servant finally brought a cushion, Nikolai promptly placed it behind his back and closed his eyes with satisfaction. He quickly recalled what the Count had been telling him and replied:

  "The death of Baron Star doesn't affect us at all. We will continue delivering timber and supplies throughout the kingdom as before."

  "But, Your Grace," the Count began, surprised and slightly irritated, clearly realizing it would be difficult to get through to the young man. "Charles, the late Baron Star, purchased part of the lands for the construction of this very railway! That's why we stopped cultivating the fields on those lands he acquired."

  "Then approach the current Baron Star to request permission to cultivate those fields if they're not currently in use," Nikolai said wearily. This squabble with the old Count promised to drag on for a long time, and he was already tired of it.

  "Your Grace, how can you say that?" Pyotr reacted emotionally. "Working on someone else's lands without permission is..."

  "Then ask for permission," Nikolai interrupted the old man.

  "But they might refuse us!"

  "Let them refuse."

  "But, Your Grace! Then they'll bring their own people here!"

  "Well, let them bring them."

  "What are you even saying?!!" the old Count shouted, then quickly composed himself, remembering that the Duke was still higher in status and position than Pyotr himself.

  Nikolai sighed wearily, watching the Count's reaction, and practically lay down in his uncomfortable wooden throne, throwing his legs over its arms. Talking to this old fogey was always difficult. Maybe he should replace him? There was a perfect reason now. What do you know? Not a bad idea.

  "Lord Pyotr, how are your children doing? If I'm not mistaken, you have two daughters? Anastasia and Angelica? Fine, we'll get back to that later. Do I really need to explain why we're doing all this?" the Duke said from his reclining position, observing how red the Count's face was becoming.

  "No, Your Grace, Duke of Wood," Viscount Mole suddenly interjected. "An influx of new workers from the Star lands will increase our sales turnover and the volume of services for them."

  *Finally, someone competent. How did my father tolerate this old fool of a Count? Ah, yes, how could I forget*, Nikolai thought to himself, inwardly rejoicing at the positive response.

  "Correct, Lord Vasily. It's no wonder you are Count Crown's Viscount. Perhaps you should have been promoted long ago?" Nikolai smiled, watching Pyotr's reaction.

  "Goodness, no, Your Grace, Duke of Wood. His Grace, Count Crown, is an excellent administrator and has achieved considerable heights," Vasily replied courteously, still not raising his head towards the Duke.

  The Viscount was not as ornately dressed as the Count; he wore a rather simple green doublet without any remarkable embroidery, except for the coats of arms—one was the Crown family crest, the other the Viscount's own family crest: a small mole's face on a shield. Nikolai saw that everything in the Viscount's behavior aimed to be unremarkable and unobtrusive, as if he himself didn't want unnecessary attention drawn to him. But understanding the situation had forced him to defend his Count.

  *Commendable loyalty, albeit to the wrong person*, Nikolai continued reflecting. The young man sighed wearily to himself and said aloud:

  "It's gratifying to see such loyalty, Lord Mole. You should be proud of your subordinates, Lord Crown."

  "Of course, Your Grace," the Count said through gritted teeth, suppressing all his anger directed at the Duke.

  "Excellent. Then send a letter to Baron Star requesting permission to cultivate the land he purchased. I'm sure you'll handle that splendidly," Nikolai smiled lazily. "Do you have any further questions, my Lords?"

  Silence was his answer. After it, the Duke continued:

  "Then, with this, I propose we consider this meeting adjourned," Nikolai declared solemnly, without changing his lazy posture. "Ah, yes, I almost forgot. Count Crown, please inform your second daughter, Lady Angelica Crown, that she is to present herself at the Wood residence. I understand the journey to your city of Crown may take some time, so you need not rush back; I will await her here regardless. Also, convey to your first daughter, Lady Anastasia Crown, my sincere congratulations on her upcoming wedding to the first son of Lord Isao, Count Wolf. They say Lord Kiyoshi is a worthy young man, and your daughter will be truly happy."

  Count Crown froze at these words and seemed to pale slightly, but then continued his path towards the exit with his small retinue of Baron and Viscount. Few knew about his eldest daughter's wedding to the Wolf family, considering he had arranged it through the Royal family of Crow. But that was half the trouble. Why would this lazy Duke need his younger daughter? Nikolai could read approximately all these thoughts simply from the expression on the Count's face. These old-school people, who had lived their entire lives on this land, lacked the ability to control their emotions.

  Nikolai was glad his father had sent him to the Royal Academy of Crow, to the Scientific Corps. There, the young man had gotten to know how the noble sons and daughters of other distinguished—and not so distinguished—families behaved. And it was there he had met *her*. She was of unearthly beauty and had simply captivated the young man with a single glance. Nikolai, who was the third son in his family, could never have dreamed of touching such a beautiful flower. She was the one who told him he would make a fine Duke, at which Nikolai had only laughed nervously. But her response was a gentle smile. Was this akin to a prophecy? Or was their destiny predetermined from above? Or perhaps it was love? Nikolai still didn't know the answers to these questions, but meeting her had taught him to read people's emotions better and to hide his own. And she was far too good at it.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Therefore, almost all of his subordinates in the Duchy were an open book to him, especially old people like the Count. Nikolai knew exactly how to behave and what to say to provoke such people. All his behavior—the lazy posture, simple clothes, discourtesy—was done for one purpose: to make the old Count lose his temper at him. That would give the Duke the opportunity to officially remove the old fool from his post. And he had learned about the Count's daughter's wedding through *her*.

  Simply put, the plan had worked.

  In a week or two, Angelica Crown would arrive, and then Nikolai would make her Countess Crown, stripping Pyotr of power. And he wouldn't have to lose a talented man like Viscount Mole, as he would still serve the Crown family. Short-sighted people like the old Count only hindered the development of the Duchy and the Kingdom.

  When the Count and his people finally left the reception hall of the Wood residence, Nikolai could finally allow himself to rise from the incredibly uncomfortable wooden throne. At least here he didn't have to feign discomfort, because this seat of torture truly was a nightmare.

  "Alena, come," he called to the servant who had been standing behind the throne all this time. She had long red hair, gathered in a neat ponytail, and fair skin that seemed to have a very faint greenish tint. She was dressed in a simple brown dress with a green apron. The girl bowed slightly to the Duke and then followed him.

  They walked deeper into the Wood residence until they stood before a tree trunk that grew right inside the house—or rather, the house itself was built around this tree. Nikolai touched the bark with his hand, and he felt warmth, as if touching a living person. After a few seconds, as if responding to the Duke's call, the trunk trembled slightly, and then the bark parted in different directions, revealing a small passage in the trunk leading downwards.

  The Duke stepped confidently forward into the darkness, and his servant followed him. Then a slight movement was heard as the passage closed behind them, plunging the tunnel into complete darkness. But in this gloom, Nikolai's eyes seemed to glow with a green light. The young man took confident steps in the darkness, never slowing his pace. Remarkably, the servant also followed her lord, never stumbling or slowing down, not even reaching for the person in front of her.

  Their journey wasn't too long. After about five minutes, they found themselves in a small earthen cave, completely enveloped by tree roots. In the middle of this cave grew a small tree with white bark, which emitted a faint golden glow, dispersing the surrounding darkness. Behind the treelet, one could see a wooden throne similar to the one in the reception hall. On the throne sat a figure that seemed like a wooden statue. But as soon as Nikolai entered the confines of this small underground chamber, the statue's eyes slowly opened, and a faint flicker was still visible within them. Its lips moved slowly, uttering:

  "Y-y-o-o-u."

  "Hello, Father," Nikolai said, not slowing his pace as he moved towards the glowing tree.

  The wooden Lord Gregory, former Duke of Wood, silently watched his son. He couldn't move, except to occasionally shift his lips and move his eyes, observing what was happening.

  When Nikolai finally reached his destination, the girl following him also stopped. The young man knelt down and began to gently loosen the soil near the small tree, until his hands unearthed a small, ornate wooden knife. It looked more like a toy children would play with, only painted and skillfully made.

  The Duke began to speak in a language unknown to ordinary people. As soon as he uttered the first words, the glow dimmed slightly, and his father closed his wooden eyes. During his speech, it felt as if darkness itself was creeping into this dungeon, trying to engulf everything in its dark embrace. After a few minutes, Nikolai finished his incantation, and the patterns on the knife he held in his right hand began to glow with a green light. The young man drew the wooden blade across the palm of his left hand, leaving a cut from which blood immediately began to flow. He stood up and began to walk around the small tree, watering its roots with his blood. After a couple of minutes, he stopped this action and turned to the girl, who had been standing and silently watching him:

  "Is this enough?"

  Instead of an answer, she nodded. Nikolai poured the still-flowing blood onto the patterns of the knife, covering the green glow with his red fluid, and after a few seconds, it extinguished. Clenching his left hand into a fist and then unclenching it, the Duke looked at it and confirmed that no trace of the wound remained—not even a hint of a scar. He buried the knife again at the base of the tree when a female voice behind him distracted him:

  "What do you desire, young master?"

  Nikolai knew it was still too early to answer; he had to complete the ritual first. Sitting back on his knees, he began to speak again in the unfamiliar language, closing his eyes, trying to detach from reality. Into his ears rushed a countless stream of sounds: someone's voices, the rattling of cart wheels on the pavement, the cawing of a crow, the rustle of leaves, the strike of a blacksmith's hammer on metal, and many others. Through this cacophony of noises, the young man slowly began to filter out the unnecessary ones, concentrating on human voices, until the voice of Count Crown became as clear as if Nikolai were in the same room with him.

  "That little bastard," Pyotr was saying. Unfortunately, the Duke couldn't see the Count's face, but from his tone alone, it was clear how displeased he was. "What does he think of himself?! He became Duke only because his older brother Arseniy went missing, and his other brother Yaroslav was executed."

  "Quiet, Your Grace," came the voice of Baron Beech, who hadn't uttered a single word during the meeting. "He is, after all, our Duke..."

  "Oh, shut up, Philip," the old Count snapped. "It's sickening enough without you rubbing salt in the wound. Tell me, why the hell did you sell part of your territories without my knowledge?"

  "But the Duke..."

  "You don't understand, Philip. You should have come to me first, and then I would have approached the Duke. Why did you decide your lord is a nonentity? And didn't my family grant you the right to rule part of MY lands? If it weren't for all this, we wouldn't have this stupid problem with the sold land that we can do nothing about and that no one will touch anytime soon."

  "Forgive me, Your Grace," Baron Beech said dejectedly.

  "Fine, forget it. What do you think, Vasily?" Pyotr waved off the Baron, addressing his assistant.

  "I would prefer to discuss this upon arriving at your estate. They say the very trees whisper to the Wood family," Viscount Mole said quietly.

  "Oh, for heaven's sake, Vasily, those are just old sayings and superstitions. You yourself saw how Gregory used to send spies to eavesdrop on conversations around him, and this little bastard hasn't even thought of doing that," Pyotr waved his hand dismissively. "Instead of believing in fairy tales, tell me what you think."

  "The new Duke needs to be eliminated," the Viscount said very quietly. Nikolai heard the Baron gasp in surprise. "The Wood family still has a younger daughter, Lady Elena. She is currently studying at the Royal Academy of Crow and, upon her brother's death, could become Duchess. Dealing with her would be much more convenient than with this man. Your Grace, Count, I simply do not understand what goes on in this Duke's head. Unlike his father, he behaves childishly and just doesn't care about anyone around him. With such a person, we cannot prosper."

  Silence ensued for a while, and Nikolai strained with all his might to listen to this very absence of sound, despite all that gathering of noises being somewhere nearby. Then, the Count finally continued speaking:

  "That's too radical, but overall, I support your idea. We need to secure the support of Lady Elizabeth, Countess Root. We must approach the matter a bit more delicately, so contact her Viscount, Lord Vladimir. I think he'll consider the proposal first. Maybe we don't even need to kill the brat, just force him to renounce the ducal title. The insolent boy."

  "But what if the Duke finds out? We could all be executed for treason!" Baron Beech said fearfully.

  "I'll have you executed for treason if you don't shut up, Philip," the Count snapped again. "Good Lord, keep your filthy tongue inside your mouth. This little brat doesn't care what's going on around him, so by the time he figures it out, it'll be too late."

  The Baron was heard hiccuping, but he didn't utter another word, not daring to contradict the enraged Count.

  "And so," Pyotr continued, "Vasily, upon returning to our city, write letters to Viscount Butterfly. I'll deal with this stupid task the Duke assigned us. We still need to create the appearance of work. And you, Philip, will help me. And God forbid you hide anything from me again."

  After that, the Count switched to talking about the county's pressing affairs, and Nikolai stopped listening, returning to the abyss of boundless sounds. He began to speak the words unknown to men again, and the sounds started to recede, plunging the world around him into silence.

  "Listen and watch everything Viscount Mole does," the Duke said wearily, rising from his knees but still not turning to face his servant.

  "May I devour him?" uttered the one he called Alena, in a rather sinister voice, as if it didn't come from the mouth of a young girl.

  "Him—no. But someone else, to intimidate him—yes. Whom—decide for yourself," Nikolai waved tiredly. Then he slowly leaned towards the little tree and touched it with his lips. He felt as if he were aging several years, though visually it didn't show at all. After that, he stood up and turned around, meeting the gaze of his sweetly smiling servant. She didn't answer him, merely offered a small bow and headed towards the cave's exit. As he was about to leave this small dungeon himself, he heard a voice from the other end of the chamber:

  "K-k-i-i-l-l-l t-t-h-h-e-e-m-m a-a-l-l-l."

  *Of course, Father. They will definitely pay for deciding to oppose the Wood family*, Nikolai thought to himself and left the chamber.