قناع خلف العاصفه

"I did not"

The light of the crystal lamps rippled above the long table, reflecting off the silver cutlery and giving the hall a quiet warmth despite its grandeur. The dark wooden walls were decorated with oil paintings of old sea voyages, while the distant roar of the engine crept in like a continuous whisper, reminding everyone that they were aboard a ship cutting through the ocean. The nobles sat around the table in disciplined silence, punctuated by faint whispers and the sound of forks and knives scraping.

At that moment, Adrian's father — a man with golden hair and a majestic face touched with a hint of tenderness — signaled to his wife with a quick gesture that neither Arthur nor Adrian noticed. It was a subtle signal, but perfectly understood by the mother, who smiled quietly.

"Adrian, come with me to greet Duchess Valtis." She spoke in a warm voice with a loving smile.

"But..." he tried to object, hesitating.

"Nathaniel, listen to your mother." The father's intervention was decisive, his tone calm but allowing no argument. Adrian did not object after that, but rose quietly and left the table with his mother.

As soon as they left, a brief silence fell. Arthur felt the weight of the stares, before the golden-haired man spoke, continuing to eat calmly:

"So... you're the boy who sneaks into my house."

Arthur was confused for a moment. "Excuse me... what are you talking about, sir?" He tried to evade, but the reply came unexpectedly.

"I'm afraid I'm quite sure you are that boy. But don't worry... you earned my respect when you refused to abandon Nathaniel and came with him. But may I ask you a question?"

Arthur had no idea what was happening. His identity had been exposed... and yet it was accepted. It seemed strange.

"Of course, Mr. Lawrence." He replied respectfully.

"I apologize in advance for my rudeness... where did you get the money to travel on this ship?"

The question was painful. A question that directly revealed his poverty.

Arthur lowered his gaze slightly. "I sold the house I inherited from my parents." He said in a quiet voice, his eyes filled with silent sorrow at the memory of that event.

"Oh... I'm sorry you had to do that. But... why didn't you just abandon Nathaniel?" The father was trying to reassure himself that his son was in safe hands.

Arthur raised his eyes steadily. "I couldn't do that... your son is my other half, and I can't live without him."

His answer was completely sincere.

Before the man could respond, the conversation was interrupted by a familiar voice, carrying a clear tone of displeasure:

"Father... who is this?"

Arthur stiffened immediately. It was the voice he despised... Victor.

"He's one of Nathaniel's friends." The father said calmly, sensing the rising tension.

Victor approached, casting a sharp look at Arthur. He was standing behind him, but recognition came quickly. He turned his gaze to his father, shocked.

"Do you know who this person is?" He said angrily.

"I told you, he's Nathaniel's friend." The father replied, sipping his tea.

"I remember the paint incident two years ago? I'm sure he's the one who did it!" His voice gradually rose, beginning to attract the attention of those seated.

The father placed his cup down quietly, looking at him with a cold stare. "You know... that would be a big problem, because I think this person is honest. And if he was the one who wrote it... then that means his writings are correct. Are you sure he was the one who wrote it?"

Victor froze. "But..."

The father cut him off with deadly coldness: "This person cares about your brother more than you do... and he has tact, unlike you. You know... I wish he were my son."

The words were like a harsh slap. The father showed no hesitation. He knew his words would hurt his son, and he had no problem with that. For him, his eldest son was the greatest failure of his life.

Tears welled up in Victor's eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He said in an angry voice: "Here he is in front of you... keep him as you wish." Then he turned and quickly left.

Arthur watched his retreat with concern. "You know this will cause hatred between us forever."

The father sighed quietly. "Let me tell you a little story... when Marin and I got married, we were just teenagers excited about the world. But we completely failed to raise our first son, so he turned out this way. You may hate him... but he had a difficult childhood. I hope you can forgive my son for what he's done."

The words were sincere and touched Arthur's heart.

At that moment, Adrian returned with his mother. Worry was clear in his eyes, as if he had sensed the tension from afar. They stopped in front of the table to greet them.

The mother smiled gently, trying to restore the calm atmosphere. "I think you two are busy exploring the ship... but you should go to sleep now."

Her voice was soft, while the hall lights gradually dimmed, signaling the end of an evening heavy with secrets and conflicting emotions.

---

"I'm going to the bathroom... wait for me, Arthur."

Adrian said as he rose from the table with a light swiftness, then headed toward the corridor without giving Arthur a chance to reply. His golden hair moved with his steps, and he disappeared behind the restaurant door, leaving a strange emptiness behind.

Arthur followed his departure with his gaze for a moment, before a quiet voice interrupted him.

"So... what do you plan to do once you reach London, Arthur?"

Frank was speaking in a measured tone, his eyes not looking directly at him, but at some distant point, as if thinking of something deeper than the question itself.

Arthur raised his head slightly, then said after a slight hesitation: "I'll think about that when we arrive."

Frank exchanged a brief look with his wife, before saying with clear seriousness: "If you want... I can hire you. As a personal assistant to Nathaniel."

Arthur froze for a moment. The offer was not simple. It was like a path opening before him suddenly after a long darkness.

"I'll consult Adrian first... I hope you can give me some time to reply." He said calmly, but he realized that this answer could shape his entire future.

"You have until we disembark." Frank replied, while his wife nodded in agreement.

Silence followed.

The restaurant music was quiet, soft, fading as the guests left one by one. Plates were removed, chairs were rearranged, and the night began to impose its weight on the place.

A minute passed.

Then a second.

Then a third.

The slowness of time became annoying... and Adrian did not return.

Arthur furrowed his brows, then rose suddenly.

"I'll go check on Adrian."

"Go." said Frank with a quick nod. "We'll return to our room."

Arthur nodded and left.

The corridor leading to the restrooms was a bit far from the restaurant, relatively narrow, with dim lighting. The sound of his footsteps alone echoed between the wooden walls.

And suddenly—

A sharp scream rang out.

A violent, torn scream, hitting all the ship's walls.

Arthur stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening.

Most passengers didn't pay attention, thinking it was just a fight or a passing accident... but Arthur and Frank recognized the voice immediately.

It was Adrian's voice.

Frank rushed off in a random direction, trying to trace the scream, but the ship was large and the corridors similar.

Arthur... was closer.

He ran.

He ran as fast as he could.

His heart pounded violently against his chest, his breath was short, and fear began to choke him.

He turned around a sharp corner—

Then stopped suddenly.

The scene before him froze the blood in his veins.

The body of a teenage boy lay on the floor.

Blood flowed from his body, spreading over the wooden planks.

And beside him—

Adrian.

Lying motionless.

His golden hair stained with blood, his head bleeding, his eyes closed.

In front of them stood a tall man, wearing a dark coat and a heavy cloak. His back was facing Arthur, and he could not see his face.

Arthur lunged toward him immediately.

But the man turned and ran.

The sound of his footsteps was strange... not ordinary shoes, but wooden clogs?!

Arthur didn't care.

He stopped.

Turned around.

And knelt immediately beside Adrian.

He put his ear to his chest... directly over his heart.

A beat.

Then another.

Arthur exhaled with a trembling sigh of relief.

"Adrian..."

But he did not wake up.

Blood flowed from his head, his golden hair stuck to his face, his breathing weak, traces of tears clinging to his pale face.

After a few minutes, people began to gather.

Victor was among them.

He shouted as soon as he saw the scene: "Seize him! No doubt he's the one who did this!"

He meant Arthur.

Arthur didn't blame him... anyone seeing the scene would think the same.

"Wait... I didn't—"

He didn't finish.

Two men pounced on him, grabbed him tightly, and pulled his arms behind his back.

He did not resist.

He could have broken free, he believed... but he didn't.

Any resistance would make him look guilty.

Finally, Frank arrived.

His face was pale, his eyes searching wildly... until they fell on Adrian.

"Sir...!" Arthur cried. "Please tell them I didn't do this!"

But Frank did not reply immediately.

He rushed to his son, knelt beside him, and lifted him with extreme care, as if holding something fragile that might shatter.

"I'll come to you after I check on him." He said in a tense voice, without looking at Arthur.

Then he left quickly.

Arthur was dragged violently through the corridors.

The door was thrown open.

A cold, dark, narrow storage room.

He was pushed inside.

His hands were raised up.

They chained him to an iron ring in the ceiling.

His feet rose slightly off the ground, the chains pulling cruelly at his wrists.

And he was left alone.

Darkness surrounded him.

And the last thing he saw... was Adrian's bloodstained face.

The door slammed shut behind them violently

The wooden walls shook, and the echo reverberated in the narrow space like a muffled drumbeat. Then silence settled. A heavy silence, as if pressing on the chest, until the sound of Arthur's breathing became clear in the place.

His arms were stretched above his head, and the metal chain pulled tight to the ceiling forced his shoulders into a painful angle. Numbness began to creep into his fingers, while the pain concentrated in his shoulder joints like a needle slowly turned inside the bone. Every small attempt to move his body was met with the friction of metal, and a faint buzzing sound that multiplied the feeling of helplessness.

Time passed meaninglessly.

Minutes? Perhaps more. Hours? He no longer knew.

Then—

Footsteps.

Steady. Heavy. Approaching with deliberate slowness.

They stopped in front of the door.

The key turned slowly, the metallic scraping sound sharp in the silence. The door opened, and a thread of yellow light spilled inside, revealing the dust suspended in the air.

Victor entered first. Behind him, a person in black clothes with a silver badge — a naval policeman, Arthur assumed.

The door closed, and the room returned to its semi-darkness.

Victor approached unhurriedly. His steps were quiet but laden with threat. He stopped a step away from Arthur, tilting his head slightly as he watched him.

He said in a low, cold voice: "I won't repeat my questions many times. Where were you?"

Arthur raised his head with difficulty. His breathing was irregular, but his gaze remained steady: "In the restaurant."

"And when did you leave?"

"After Adrian was late."

The policeman exchanged a quick look with Victor, but the latter didn't acknowledge it. He took another step closer.

"And you found them... like that?"

"Yes."

"And who did this?"

"A man."

"Who is he?"

Arthur hesitated a brief moment: "He was running away."

"You didn't see his face?"

"No."

Victor smiled a faint smile devoid of any warmth.

Then suddenly — his fist flew toward Arthur's stomach.

The air was immediately cut from his lungs. His body bent despite the chains, and the chain shook violently until its metal rings screamed.

Victor said it with terrifying calmness: "You're lying."

Arthur didn't reply.

A second blow to his ribs. His body shook, and the metal clanked above him.

"Confess."

"I... didn't..." The voice came out hoarse.

A third blow, stronger, to his chest. His head snapped back, and his body hung for a moment before regaining its balance with difficulty.

The policeman intervened quietly: "Sir... perhaps—"

"Be quiet." Victor said without looking at him.

He grabbed Arthur's shirt and pushed him back violently until the chain was fully taut. He whispered near his face: "You were obsessed with him... weren't you? You didn't like someone else being near him... so you killed him, then tried to kill Nathaniel."

Arthur slowly raised his head. His eyes, despite the exhaustion, remained hard: "I didn't... touch him..."

A hard slap. His head turned to the side, and a drop of blood fell on the wooden floor. But this time, he slowly turned his head back and looked directly at Victor without lowering his gaze.

Victor's face tightened: "Still pretending to be strong?"

Then the blows rained down — to the stomach, to the chest, to the shoulder. The chain shook violently, and the sound of metal filled the room like a repeated bell.

Arthur's breathing grew heavier, but his facial expression did not crumble. His eyes were half-closed, but he kept staring at Victor with steadiness.

Victor approached and grabbed his chin roughly: "Confess... and this will end."

Silence.

Then Arthur said in a faint but clear voice: "I won't... confess... to something... I didn't do."

Rage flared on Victor's face.

He raised his hand to strike him again — but at that same moment, Arthur tensed his body with sudden force. Despite the pain tearing at his shoulders, he raised his leg with all the energy he had left.

A direct hit.

His foot struck Victor's face with force. Victor stumbled back a step, then another. He put his hand to his face, completely surprised by the blow.

A tense silence fell. Even the policeman's eyes widened.

Arthur was breathing with difficulty, his chest rising and falling slowly, but he managed to raise his head slightly. He said in a hoarse voice: "Are you done?"

Victor's face tightened, his eyes blazing with anger. He stepped forward as if to attack, but the policeman moved quickly and put his hand in front of him: "Sir... enough. If he dies, we won't get a confession."

Victor continued to stare at Arthur for long moments. His breath was sharp, his jaw clenched.

Then he spat on the ground near him: "We'll see how long you last."

He turned sharply and opened the door. He left. Closed it firmly.

Darkness returned.

Arthur remained hanging in the silence. His breath heavy, his body trembling with pain. But despite that — his gaze remained sharp. Steady.

He was not broken.

But all that occupied his mind was: how is his little angel doing?

---