The Prince in Question Is Not Stable

Chapter 74: Hidden Silhouette

A man was sitting on windsor rocking chair in the balcony on the floor above the banquet.

White hair, black eyes, a long beard and wrinkles, clear signs of the aged. He was wearing a black and brown coat, and gold chains hung from the pocket to the buttons of the coat. His back was hunched, even when he sat and stared at the scene of the County in a daze.

His cane was being held by a young butler who stood a few steps away from him. This section of the floor was particularly vacant.

This man was Winifred.

He looked at his butler, snapped his fingers twice, and gestured for the smoke. The butler nodded, took out a small wooden box, and selected a cigar, handing it to Winifred.

The butler snapped his fingers, and a small magic circle ignited the end of the already cut cigar, and Winifred took in a deep breath of the toxin.

He sat there for quite some time until the cigar was smoked completely.

After that, he threw the remaining away from the balcony, and took out a violet coloured envelope from his pocket.

"You know where to put it," Winifred said, handing the envelope to the butler.

"And give me that," he said, pointing at his cane.

That butler nodded, handed the cane to Winifred, and headed to the area where gifts for the guests invited to the banquet were kept within the royal Palace.

"Ugh..." He pushed himself up with the support of a cane and stood up slowly, and started walking towards the stairs.

He had been here since the moment Marcus arrived and was inside the private chambers with the Prince.

Winifred descended the stairs slowly. He was an elderly man, not an awakened.

The sound of the banquet rose as he moved lower. Conversation layered over conversation, footsteps carefully placed on each step, servants moving between them without a pause.

Only then did a knight approach him gave him a hand while he descended the stairs.

"Careful, Sir," the knight said.

"Thank you, son," Winifred replied.

"Always there for you, sir, I’ve heard the tales of your strategic moves, we’ve read your cases while we grew up for educational purposes," the knight said.

"It’s an honour,"

"Oh, how I appreciate that," Winifred smiled.

Then a passing noble noticed him.

"Lord Winifred." A slight respectful bow.

Winifred inclined his head in return, "It has been some time."

The exchange ended there. The nobles moved on, satisfied with their exchange.

Winifred walked along the edge of the hall, not into its centre. It gave him a clear view without placing him in anyone’s path.

Krells stood among his own. Winifred didn’t approach anyone; he just glanced around as nobles would greet him one by one, for the influence he once used to have.

Winifred watched one exchange, then another, then another, and then another. It might seem like he was the man every passerby acknowledged, but he still felt left out in the room.

Then...his gaze landed on a man standing slightly apart, along with his assistant.

Winifred, casually, paced alongside the edge of the room, but he intended to approach the man.

Arthur Curzon.

Winifred greeted two others along the way with brief words and a familiar tone to not hold them out of place, and as the flow of the room shifted, their paths aligned without effort.

Arthur noticed him as he came within range.

At the correct moment, Shervin, who was beside Arthur, whispered the identity of the old man in his ear.

"Lord Winifred," Arthur said, greeting him.

"Hmm...You seem like a new face, son," Winifred said.

"Arthur Curzon, just a merchant, Lord Winifred," Arthur replied, and handed his glass of wine to Shervin.

"I have heard your name...hmm..." Winifred thought for a while, and Arthur didn’t interrupt him.

"Oh, forgive me, I don’t seem to quite catch that in memory, but I’m sure you’re an able man, that is certainly irrefutable when I see you," Winifred said.

Arthur gave a small nod, neither accepting nor rejecting the compliment.

"You’re too kind, Lord Winifred."

"Hmm, Kindness is a habit I picked up after I retired," Winifred said, a faint smile resting upon his lips.

"When one no longer has responsibilities, one can afford to see people more generously," he said.

Shervin remained silent beside Arthur, holding the glass without drawing attention. He and Arthur did not suspect Winifred among the people who might’ve sent the letter at all.

He was just...too kind.

"A merchant, you said?" Winifred asked.

"Yes."

"That is good work," Winifred continued. "Difficult, but honest in its own way. Although one cannot hope to rival the Count of Rile in the matters of trade, that doesn’t mean you should think little of yourself."

Arthur’s gaze shifted for the first time. He glanced at the back doors of the hall where Marcus had gone when he entered the banquet.

It was a really brief glance.

Then his attention returned.

"A man like him is not someone I would compare myself to, Lord Winifred," Arthur said.

"Different scale and different field," he added.

Winifred gave a small nod, as if he agreed without thinking too deeply about it.

"Hmm...that is fair," he said. "Though it’s less about the field, more about the dealer."

He adjusted his grip on the cane again.

"I’ve seen merchants become nobles, and nobles lose themselves in trades they never understood."

Arthur didn’t reply to that.

"The count has made quite a name for himself," Winifred said, almost as if blurting out his thoughts. "That sort of rise...always draws attention."

"Some admire it, some grow curious."

Arthur’s eyes rested on Winifred for a moment.

"Curiosity is natural, Lord," he said.

"Yes," Winifred replied. "It is."

"But it is also...expensive, if one isn’t careful." A faint smile appeared on his face.

A servant passed behind Winifred, offering fresh glasses. Shervin took one without interrupting the flow of their conversation.

Winifred glanced at Shervin as he took the glass, and then back at Arthur.

"You seem like a careful, spirited young man; it should serve you well," he said.

"Well, I won’t keep you any longer, son; these evenings pass quickly if one lets them." He added.

Arthur inclined his head, "It was a pleasure meeting you, Lord Winifred."

"The pleasure is mine, son," Winifred replied.

He stepped aside, making space without drawing attention, and continued along the edge of the wall.

Winifred...looked for his next important piece. He did not change his pace at all. The crowd would shift in small ways around him as he walked slowly, greeting every noble.

His eyes moved once across the room and settled on a brute in a black suit, along with his daughter, who had chestnut hair and wore a beautiful black dress.

Mordrak Krell, along with Ailsa Krell.

The Duke stood firm among his retainers; his shoulders were broad, his posture was rigid and battle-ready. Even in a gathering meant for diplomacy, he carried himself like a man still on the field.

He was...Winifred’s next target.

Despite being the one who stirred up the whole board, assassinated Elowen and many people, and controlling the whole narrative without revealing his presence, and influencing even the duke to go against Vahns, all while hiding his identity, Winifred approached the Duke without altering his expression.

Some nobles intercepted him briefly along the way, a word here, a nod there, a greeting there. Nothing quite slowed him down.

When he reached within the range, Krell had already noticed him.

"Lord Winifred," Mordrak spoke. His tone was deep, sending vibrations into the marrow of Winifred, but it was still respectful.

"Duke Krell, it has been some time." He spoke.

Winifred, of course, knew everyone, and barely anyone would get past him without greeting him.

"I heard about your losses," he said, "It was unfortunate.

"War rarely leaves room for anything else," Mordrak replied.

Winifred gave a small nod.

"Yes...it takes more than it gives," he said.

His gaze drifted upon the hall, and then back at Mordrak. To look in his eyes, Winifred was forced to crank his neck up.

"This is quite a gathering. I did not expect to see so many familiar faces." He said.

"The first Prince has his reasons," Mordrak replied.

"I’m sure he does."

No one spoke for a while.

"Ailsa?" Winifred then looked at the girl behind Mordrak.

"Greetings, Lord Winifred," Ailsa bowed slightly in respect.

"The last time I saw you...you were just a baby, you would punish anyone who tried to pinch your cute cheeks back then," He said with a laugh.

"...Uhm", Ailsa didn’t say anything to that.

"Kids will always remain kids in my eyes, even your father used to be one of my students," He said, and Ailsa looked at Mordrak.

Mordrak didn’t refute it, but he didn’t nod either.

"Anyhow...enjoy the banquet little, one, you may leave," he said,

"Yes, Lord Winifred," she bowed and took her leave.

Mordrak watched her leave for a brief moment before returning his attention.

"You’ve raised her well," Winifred said.

Mordrak just listened to him.

Winifred sighed and looked at the doors in the back of the banquet.

"The Count has not returned yet," he said.

"I’ve been hearing his name quite often tonight, it seems...he has made quite an impression."

"Men like him tend to," Mordrak said, despite the fact that he resented Marcus for spoiling his rebellion.

Winifred looked at that expression, and then back at the door.

"Hmm...I suppose they do." He said.

Again...the silence followed.

"I was not present for the events in your territory," he continued. "Only heard fragments after the matter was settled,"

The more Mordrak listened, the angrier he was getting, but somehow, that anger was diverted to Marcus, who didn’t even glance at him when he entered the banquet.

[A/N: Winifred, The Professional Gaslighter.]