Ascension Of The Villain

Vyan's deep sleep was rudely interrupted by a piercing, shrill voice. He rolled over, desperately trying to ignore it.

"Vyan, Vyaaan, Vyaaaaan," Clyde called out in a comical opera-like tone, standing beside Vyan's bed—or more accurately, Clyde's bed.

"Shuddap," Vyan mumbled, his words slurred with sleep.

Clyde's grin stretched from ear to ear. "Rise and shine, my dear lord. Miss breakfast and you will be fasting till dusk."

Vyan yanked the duvet over his head, blocking out Clyde as if he were a particularly obnoxious alarm clock.

"Don't ignore me like that," Clyde whined, his voice a blend of exaggerated distress and playful menace.

"…you … ex… ou…" Vyan's muffled voice emerged from under the covers, a jumbled mess of syllables.

"U? X? O? Dreaming of alphabets now, Vyan?" Clyde teased. "Most people your age dream of women—oh, but then again, maybe you're past that whole puberty phase—"

Before Clyde could finish his sentence, a pillow whizzed past him with deadly accuracy. Expertly dodging it, Clyde turned to find Vyan sitting up, giving him a look that could freeze lava.

"I asked, did you see Freya off to the carriage properly?" Vyan demanded, his voice as sharp as his glare.

Clyde nodded enthusiastically. "I even sent a knight with her for good measure."

"Good." Vyan then proceeded to dive back under the covers like a pro, ready to resume his slumber.

"Hey, what about breakfast?" Clyde prodded Vyan's shoulder as his friend buried his face in the pillow.

"Bring it to me," Vyan mumbled from his cocoon.

"Wow, what am I, your maid?" Clyde asked, feigning indignation.

"No, you are my best friend."

Clyde gasped, dramatically clutching his chest as though he had been struck by Cupid's arrow. "Why the sudden affection? You know I melt whenever you call me—" He gasped again, this time in mock outrage. "How dare you, you manipulative—"

"Well, won't you bring me breakfast in bed, my beloved best friend?"

Clyde could see Vyan's lips curling into a sly grin, knowing full well how weak Clyde was to that term. "Fine, just this once."

"And while you are at it, could you grab me a set of clothes from my tent too?" Vyan added, not even trying to hide his shamelessness.

"I swear, you are such an opportunist." Clyde chuckled merrily, thoroughly enjoying the turn of events. He couldn't help but enjoy how Vyan was finally embracing his role as a best friend, irritating Clyde just as much as Clyde had always annoyed him.

Clyde decided to fetch Vyan's breakfast first, mindful that the buffet might wrap up soon. The second day of the Monster Hunt was set to start at eight-thirty, and he had only ten minutes until the clock hit eight, which marked the end of time for breakfast.

As he briskly navigated the array of breakfast delights, loading the tray with Vyan's usual favorites, a group of ladies beckoned him over. Smiling, he sauntered toward them, ever the social butterfly, charming both ladies and gentlemen alike.

"Why the sudden summon, my esteemed ladies? How may I be of service?" Clyde asked with a flourish, his tone full of playful charm.

"We have heard some peculiar rumors, and we need your esteemed verification, Lord Magnus," Lady Gretchen began in a hushed tone, her face half-hidden behind a pale yellow fan.

"Ask away, my ladies," Clyde prompted, eyebrows raised in curious amusement.

"Is there a special lady in His Grace Vyan's life?" Lady Karen inquired, her eyes sparkling with gossip-fueled excitement.

Clyde arched an eyebrow, opting to listen more before commenting. The honest answer was, of course, Lady Iyana.

"We don't know if you have heard of it yet, but at the crack of dawn, Lady Mitchell saw a woman inside His Grace's tent," Gretchen continued, her voice dripping with scandal.

"Oh?" Clyde responded, his mouth forming a perfect 'O,' feigning cluelessness.

"According to Lady Mitchell's description, we think we have seen this woman around the festival," Gretchen added.

"Yes, a tall brunette who appears older than His Grace but dresses quite simply," Karen stated.

"Simple yet elegant," Priscilla remarked, her tone admiring.

"I wonder if His Grace prefers older women," Nicole mused thoughtfully.

"Even so, why would he go for a commoner?" Karen scoffed.

"How do we know she is a commoner?" Priscilla asked curiously.

"Well, if she weren't, we would know her, wouldn't we?" Karen replied, her tone tinged with disdain.

"That makes sense," Priscilla nodded. "But what do you think, Lord Magnus? Who could she—"

They all froze mid-gossip, realizing Clyde had vanished.

"Oh my, Lord Magnus must know something! That's why he ran off," Nicole gasped.

"Which means it must be true!" Priscilla exclaimed. "The Grand Duke has a lover!"

Clyde exhaled a relieved sigh once he reached outside his tent. Indeed, making a quick exit was the best decision, at least for the sake of self-preservation.

Denying the girls would have been pointless; it would only fuel their curiosity, leading them to think he was safeguarding some scandalous secret about his master. And the last thing he wanted was them stumbling onto the connection between Vyan and Iyana during their curious investigation.

Because let's face it: most of the noble ladies had gossip as their main hobby. It was practically their lifeline. Clyde wasn't saying he was against a bit of harmless gossip himself—he could enjoy a good scandal as long as it stayed in the realm of playful chatter and didn't cause anyone real harm.

This rumor, though, would have bothered Vyan if it was related to Iyana. But since it wasn't, Vyan wouldn't lose sleep over it. Therefore, Clyde could rather have a little bit of fun by teasing Vyan about it, maybe even Freya.

With a bemused shake of his head, Clyde pushed open the partially closed door to his tent. He was met with an unexpected sight, finding someone lounging by the bedside. Or maybe, just maybe, this rumor wasn't so harmless, after all.

"Lady Iyana?" Clyde murmured softly, noticing Vyan's head was still snuggled in his pillow, fast asleep.

"Good morning, Clyde," Iyana replied with an expression as cool as a cucumber. Her eyes flicked to the tray in his hand. "May I?"

In a flash of insight and with a grin, Clyde handed over the tray, taking a moment to bask in the fact that he loved being a wingman to his favorite couple.

With a jaunty wave, he waltzed out of the tent, humming a tune, leaving the potential chaos in their capable hands. He only hoped Iyana didn't strangle Vyan in his sleep out of her jealousy.

Once Clyde left, Vyan shuffled around and lay on his back, gazing at Iyana with half-closed, groggy eyes.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice soft and sleepy.

Iyana reached over and brushed a few strands of hair sticking to his forehead. "I had to check where you were."

"Why?" he mumbled.

She couldn't help but think how vulnerable and soft he looked at that moment, a stark contrast to the first time she had been in his bedroom, when he had pinned her down with hostility blazing in his eyes.

Her gaze fell on a stray eyelash on his cheek. She reached over to remove it, tenderly brushing his skin. Before she could retreat her hand, Vyan sleepily leaned into her touch.

"Your hands are so rough," he murmured.

A twinge of insecurity bubbled up in Iyana. Her hands, unlike those of most ladies her age, were rough and calloused—a testament to ten years of rigorous sword-wielding. Embarrassed, she was about to pull back when his palm came to rest atop hers.

"But I like them," he added, a small, serene smile on his face. "A lot."

Her heart skipped a beat at his whisper.

"You still haven't told me. Why did you come here?" he asked, his hand now gently caressing hers.

She averted her eyes and let the waves of her open hair cover her burning cheeks. "Why, you ask," she chuckled, feigning a mocking tone. "Because apparently, you are secretly married to an old lady with no social standing."

"Uh-huh, I see—wait, what?"

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