Chapter 235 - The Dark Duke of Arrark, Osbourne Gloomcrest (Patreon)

“Much better,” I nod approvingly as Opalina creates a windstorm of floral fragrances with her magic. Like an explosive gust, it bursts out the open door of our guest room and circulates throughout the entire floor, removing any lingering evidence of our perversion. Now that she and I are both fully dressed and Opalina has finished patching her sore muscles and her injured back up with her magic, we’re finally ready for my climactic business meeting.

“And not a second too soon- it’s ten minutes till one. Come here for a moment.” Opalina beckons to her side so that the witch can fuss with my hair and straighten out my outfit. While annoying, I know better than to deny her of her motherly impulses.

“Is there anything I need to know before I meet Duke Gloomcrest? You and Abigail have barely given me anything to go off of.”

“That’s not true. I’ve told you many times over that Osbourne is a spineless wretch. Are you saying you don’t trust my judgment?”

“It seems very biased,”

“It’s biased because I’ve known him for close to forty years.”

“And how exactly old are you?”

As she fixes my hair, Opalina does an exaggerated cough and looks away. “That’s not important. Anyways, I’ve already said as much that the hard part is already over. You’ve proven your worth to Solomon. From here on, all you need to do is do your best and don’t back down.”

“Very helpful.” I sigh, wishing I could get more of a reference to base my frame of attack around.

“I try.” The witch smiles, giving me a small kiss on the cheek. “Are you ready to go?”

“As I’ll ever be...” Turning towards the door, I tighten my hand into a confident fist. So much is riding on this business deal... renovations, an alchemy lab for Zutiria, a forge for Gwin, and more. I need to fight even harder than ever before, and I won’t back down until I get what I want. With my mind all made up, I ask my lover,  “I assume we’re meeting the Duke in his room?”

“That would be my guess,” She says, wrapping her arm around my own just like the night before.

I hesitate before teasing the witch, “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Last time we walked together like this, you got sent away.”

Opalina rolls her eyes and scoffs. “I would like to see Osbourne think he could try and order me around.”

“Very well then, let’s be on our way.” Giving Opalina a nod, I lead her out of the guest room and into the hall to face my destiny.

Something’s changed here since my breakfast chat with Abigail, and the implications are immediately apparent. Three large chairs are all placed in front of the door to the Duke’s bedroom. Solomon Drisford is sitting in the far right chair, his face as cold and close to expressionless as ever as he turns his head to notice us.

“Miss Hart, Guild Master.” The Count says, greeting us with grim cordiality as he pockets a small watch he was staring idly at. Today the old man is wearing an expensive gray suit with long coattails and fancy cufflinks, but his overall style hasn’t changed much since our dinner last night.

Before I can return Solomon’s courtesy and greet him, the witch makes an unexpected move.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Opalina sighs, breaking our linked arms and stomping off on her heels towards the Duke’s door. She ignores Solomon’s greeting and says to the man in the chamber, “Are you really not even going to speak to him face to face, you pathetic wretch?”

A deep, cold, and lonely voice echoes out of the bedroom, sounding less like a man and more like a dispassionate, monotone ghost. “I am frightened of him.” It utters like a gasp in the night.

The witch shakes her head at the Duke’s words before taking her seat on the left. She looks back at me as I stand here awkwardly realizing that my meeting with Duke Gloomcrest is going to be with his big chamber doors separating us. Solomon looks somewhat embarrassed about it, too, now that I get a better look at him.

He catches me eying him up and says, “Come, join us,” The Count extends his gloved hand to the empty chair. “You’re the man of the hour, are you not?”

“I hardly think so. I’m just a simple Guild Master, nothing more, nothing less...” I humbly try and deflect the spotlight as I take my seat and stare forward at the door. Eventually, I look to Opalina and Solomon for guidance on what the hell I’m supposed to say.

Opalina is too annoyed to be of much use, so Solomon takes it on himself to introduce his master. “It would be my honor to introduce you, Guild Master, to His Grace the Duke of Arrark, Osbourne Gloomcrest.”

Silence.

“His Grace, the Duke of Arrark, Osbourne Gloomcrest,” Solomon repeats, albeit much more bitterly.

Even more silence.

Solomon clears his throat, and then the sound of furniture being dragged across stone permeates throughout the hall. “Had to grab my seat.” Osbourne Gloomcrest explains as I hear him sitting down on a leather chair.

The Count closes his eyes in quiet frustration.

Looking to my left, I mouth to Opalina, ‘Are you kidding me?’ to which she promptly shakes her head.

“Guild Master,” The Duke says, drawing my attention straight back to the nerve-wracking presence on the other side of the door.

“Yes, Your Grace?” I say as politely as I can.

“Please, don’t call me that. I am a man the same as you, and you are not to treat me any differently.”

“Understood, thank you.” So he’s the humble type, not unlike Solomon, then. That’s a relief. I don’t think I could handle it if he turned out to be like Bertrand.

“Good.” He says before jumping straight into a panic-inducing conversational topic. “I would like to begin by briefly touching upon the events of the last night.”

I’m suddenly thankful for the door separating us as profuse sweat starts to shed from my brow to the point where Opalina feels the need to hand me a handkerchief. I’m ashamed of myself. My poker face is usually much better than this.

“No doubt Opal has told you of the feelings I had for her. I will fully admit I didn’t believe it when she told me about you, but I am now forced to confront the uncomfortable and slightly arousing truth. You are a fortunate man in more ways than one.”

I try and mumble some sort of vague thank you, but Gloomcrest continues to speak. “While I mean it when I say that you terrify me, Guild Master, it is a good fear. In all my life, there’s only been one other man I’ve known who makes love with such ferocity and with such a lack of concern for what the world thinks of him. Yes, you remind me of the many nights I spent listening against my will to my dear friend Theostus having his way with ten or twenty camp followers when I served in his army during the Young Lion Rebellion. He terrified me, too.”

Thank the Gods that Sam isn’t here to listen to me being compared favorably to her father. I’m so stunned by this that I hardly know what to say in turn. “...Thank you, Osbourne. I’m humbled by your compliment and don’t deserve such a lofty comparison to His Majesty the King.”

“I must agree that it was rather nostalgic,” Solomon nods his head, agreeing. “I could hear your enjoyment from my study on the third floor.”

Opalina starts blushing with embarrassment to such a degree that I’ve never seen. It makes her look like a young maiden, if not for the distinctly disappointed and adult-like expression upon her face. Her eyes take a quick glance at me, and she sighs. “Get on with it. You’re embarrassing him.” The witch snaps at Duke Gloomcrest.

“He shouldn’t be embarrassed.” Gloomcrest returns, his voice quiet and serious. “He should be proud to have won the favor of a woman like you.”

She groans at his compliment, before shrugging a, “Fuck off, Osbourne,” out of her lips.

“I’ve done quite enough of that already.” He admits while rattling off a low series of laughs that hang openly in the air, creating a chaotic tinge of palpable darkness. “Guild Master, I thank you for awakening me to a brand new world of voyeuristic delight. I will not forget the kindness you have done for me until the day I join the Goddess below.”

“...You’re welcome,” I tell the Duke, bewilderment coloring my face.

“Yes, congratulations on finding yet way to be a pitiful pile of pathetic slime.” Opalina gives him a sarcastic round of applause. “Can we please move on, now?”

“Indeed before we proceed onto business matters, there’s something I would like to thank the Guild Master for. Something besides the awakening of new fetishes I never laid hidden in the depths of my mind.” My mind instantly panics about whatever worrisome topic the Duke is going to bring up next, “I understand my daughter has grown fond of you. This pleases me.” He exclaims in what sounds like a troubling vampiric hiss steeped in sadness.

I think I know where this is going. “...Yes, your daughter is charming by all accounts. I enjoy speaking with her and hope to continue admiring Abigail’s exquisite handwriting for some time to come.”

“You may marry her if you wish.” Duke Gloomcrest throws it out there, even faster than I expected him to. “Rather, I would prefer if you did. No one but Bertrand wants Abigail’s hand, and that is simply just not happening.”

The Duke laughs his creepy, haunting laugh and is joined in by Solomon shortly after. They both find the idea of giving Abigail away to the young Baron Brimley an uproariously farcical one. “I can think of no one better for my daughter than the same man who conquered the Nightshade and added her to his harem.”

“Don’t call me that,” Opalina’s eye twitches and her hands tear into her purple coat like she’s trying to claw her skin out of irritation. “But at least we’re in agreement regarding Abigail.”

The Crystal Sage called Opalina ‘Nightshade’ as well. I suppose I’ll have to ask her about that later when we’re alone, but I pretend not to notice it for now.

“I agree as well,” Solomon adds, nodding his head. “We have no political matches left, so even the whiniest of Arrark’s nobles wouldn’t object to a commoner marrying upwards here. Think on it.”

Well, at least this isn’t as bad as talking about my sex life. Regardless, I push on and try to pull the trio of matchmakers back to earth. “While I respect your generous offer, I have to say that such matters are not what I’m here for. I would prefer if we-” From behind the door, the sound of a bear roaring resounds.

“Somber,” The dark Duke mutters, and I hear him standing up from his chair and walking away. “Tell my beautiful, beloved daughter of marriageable age that I was only joking and take not a step forward. Remember who it was that bought you from that traveling circus all those years ago and who saved you from that cruel ringmaster. It was I who brought you home and gave you to my daughter to love and cherish. Begone, bear, and take your incredibly sharp claws with y-”

Somber growls as he takes steps towards the Duke of Arrark. Osbourne’s words don’t supersede the commands of the embarrassed Necromancer. At Abigail’s behest, the reanimated bear lunges and tackles her father. A powerful swipe is heard, as well as the wailing of a man in horrendous pain. The dead bear walks away afterward, creating a string of bony rattling noises as it shuffles off to be Abigail once more.

After a couple of seconds of painful silence, a flash of darkness creeps out from under the door. “Would you mind coming in here for a moment, Opal? I am in tremendous pain,” Osbourne says as he sits down again, blood slathering out from under the door.

“Of course. As long as my Darling gets to come in as well.”

“Ah, well...” The blood keeps expanding, threatening to touch the tips of my fancy dress clothes. “I suppose I can heal myself... It’s just been a long time since I’ve had to do such a thing.”

“Coward,” Opalina whispers as a flash of darkness replaces the darkness seeping out of the door’s cracks. I feel the familiar sensation of dark magic being cast, which naturally makes me think of Zutiria until it fades.

The Duke heals himself through whatever indistinct spell, but the blood remains, and I have no doubt it’s just going to linger there for the duration of our conversation. With all the understanding I’ve gathered in such a short amount of time, I now know why Opalina wasn’t worried about having such loud sex under the man’s nose.

Osbourne Gloomcrest seems to be a kind, well-meaning, but ultimately weak-willed man- the sort of person that any self-styled businessman like myself would eat alive if given a chance. Thanks to Opalina, that chance is here. Using my assertiveness to steer the conversation, I clear my throat and say, “Osbourne, you’ve called me here for a reason. Let’s get on that. We need to discuss the Duke of Dewhurst.”