The Golden Duke’s Forbidden Lover

The First Lesson in the Redoubt

The venue selected for instruction was the castle's remote and tranquil library, an expansive chamber favored with an abundance of natural light. Yet, the vast space contained a mere scattering of sparsely populated bookshelves, the majority of the volumes bearing no traces of prior consultation—a stark testament to the fact that a distaste for letters was an inherited trait within the House of Valerius.

A cohort of retainers combined their efforts to convey a heavy slate blackboard upon a tripod, thoughtfully provisioning the scholar with colored chalk and a moistened cloth for his pedagogical convenience.

Harley stood with his hands properly sequestered behind his back, his delivery characteristically formal. "Pray to discern if any additional appurtenances are required for your office."

Ares scrutinized the articles arrayed upon the mahogany desk. While inkwells and quills were present in abundance, the supply of blank vellum was somewhat parsimonious. "If it pleases you," Ares replied, "I should require a more generous ration of writing paper whereupon to prescribe classroom compositions. That shall suffice."

Harley bowed in acquiescence, and a deft footman promptly executed the requisition. Consulting his pocket watch, the majordomo noted the hands converging upon the ninth hour—the exact juncture at which his duties required him to superintend the inventory of provisions arriving from the provincial granges.

"Professor Norcross," Harley intoned, "should any exigency arise during your instruction, you may command the nearest domestic; they shall satisfy your mandates with all celebrity. I shall take my leave."

Ares nodded. "My thanks for your meticulous arrangements, Master. I shall endeavor to acquit myself honorably of my charge."

With the departure of the solitary responsible adult, the preceptor was left alone with his two formidable antagonists.

"Young masters," Ares initiated, "pray repair to your respective stations; our studies commence now."

"My word, how dreadfully severe," Vincent and Victor chorused, sticking out their tongues in unison. Yet, exhibiting a temporary tractability, they complied and assumed their seats.

Ares examined the instructional texts currently assigned to his pupils. Issued by the Imperial Board of Education, the curriculum was of an advanced caliber—eminently suited for a centuries-old sanctuary of privilege like Wendover Public School, but wholly inappropriate for two youths possessing such fractured fundamentals. Consequently, he resolved to bypass the standard, impenetrable prose in favor of the foundational lyric poets.

"Turn your pages to the seventh folio," Ares directed, writing upon the slate. "We shall examine 'The Straying within the Rose Garden'. While traditional consensus characterizes this as a romantic pastoral composed by Eve Nicla to her beloved, the deliberate obfuscation of the subject has led contemporary scholars to categorize it as a manifesto of intent. The 'Rose Garden' serves as a metaphor for her literary aspirations—"

A sudden burst of derisive laughter fractured the lecture. The two brothers sat with bowed heads, exchanging conspiratorial whispers and stifled giggles.

"Master Vincent, Master Victor, your attention belongs to the blackboard." Ares allowed a microscopic sigh to escape his lips. "This composition represents a critical academic milestone; the entrance examinations routinely interrogate the works of Nicla."

Vincent upturned his face, his expression dancing with mischief. "Come now, Ares, proffer something of true interest. If you persist in inflicting such mortal tediousness upon us, you can scarcely censure our indifference." Beneath the desk, their fingers manipulated a mechanical toy, a faint click-clack of winding clockwork echoing through the quiet library.

Ares approached their station, his extended palm carrying an expression of quiet resignation. "My boys, I harbor no desire to enforce punitive measures, but those devices must remain in my custody until the conclusion of the hour."

"You truly desire it? Behold, it is yours!" Vincent countered with a cunning smile, thrusting a soft, yielding mass directly into Ares's palm.

An unctuous, chilling sensation instantly enveloped the scholar's hand. Glancing downward, he found his fingers clasped around a slick, palpitating amphibian. Under his involuntary grip, the creature let out an indignant croak, discharging a foul, viscous secretion that trickled between his fingers.

Vincent broke into a delighted cackle. "Have you found our companion to your liking, Ares?" Victor joined the chorus, entirely triumphant in the success of their strategy.

The frog contorted within Ares's grasp, its movements mimicking the erratic pulsations of a exposed heart, its translucent skin barely compressing the soft flesh beneath. It was coated in an ooze far more repellent than the synthetic slimes utilized in common alchemical jests.

The young imps were malicious indeed, yet they had fundamentally miscalculated his resolve; he harbored no squeamishness toward the natural world.

Ares offered a serene smile. With lightning clarity, he smeared the slick residue back onto Vincent's pristine sleeve, causing the freckled youth to holler in astonishment. Before Victor could retreat, Ares launched the amphibian with flawless precision, striking the younger twin squarely upon his padded vestment. "Victor, you shall not remain exempt from our laboratory experiment."

Victor instantly let out a shrill, maidenly shriek. "Good heavens! Brother, the creature has penetrated the linings of my waistcoat!" He clawed frantically at his attire, his features contorted in horror as he felt the webbed digits scraping across his bare skin, leaving a trail of cold, unctuous mucus. He thrashed about, desperate to divest himself of his garments.

Vincent, entirely unprepared for the preceptor's audacious retaliation, was infected by his brother's panic. He began tearing at Victor's vestments in a chaotic attempt to assist. "Victor, remain stationary! I cannot discern its position!" Turning wet, panicked eyes toward the tutor, Vincent cried out, "Ares, pray deliver us!"

The once-imperious scions of the Golden House stood thoroughly vanquished, resembling frost-bitten vegetation. Ares allowed himself a polite cough, pinned the flailing Victor by the shoulder, and deftly extracted the offending creature from the folds of his linen shirt. "Calm yourselves; the specimen is removed."

The moment the unctuous terror abated, Victor buried his face in his brother's breast, sobbing outright. Vincent winced under the blunt impact. "Mind your limbs, you clumsy brute!"

Ares surveyed his charges with calm authority. "Well, young masters, it appears that practical jests lose their savor when the trajectory is reversed."

The twins remained momentarily speechless, their breasts heaving with a combination of suppressed resentment and indignation. Yet, retaliation was barred for them; they could scarcely invoke their uncle's intervention, for such an appeal would inevitably result in their own confinement within the penitential chambers.

Ares, choosing this moment to proffer an olive branch, viewed their crestfallen countenances with inward amusement. "You have permission to perform your ablutions. Upon your return, we shall resume our exposition."

His extensive tenure within the parish schoolrooms had rendered him an expert in the governance of rebellious youth; he understood that to command obedience, a master must never betray vulnerability. One must dismantle their arrogance completely, yet swiftly provide a dignified path for retreat.

During the remainder of the instructional period, Ares conducted himself as though the entire farce had never occurred, returning to his blackboard with serene focus. Though Vincent and Victor remained largely indifferent to the nuances of poetry, they desisted from further sabotage, remaining entirely quiescent at their desks.

This microscopic concession to order was sufficient to leave the majordomo thoroughly staggered when he returned to observe the room mid-session. Having never witnessed the young masters exhibit such docility during hours of study, Harley's estimation of the new preceptor underwent an immediate, profound revaluation.

By the conclusion of the afternoon sessions, Ares had successfully mapped the specific academic deficiencies of both charges.

Dinner was taken in relative isolation, the long table occupied solely by Ares and the two youths. Garrick was conspicuously absent; the austere Duke had departed the citadel at the first light of dawn to superintend some undisclosed administrative emergency.

Returning to his sanctuary, Ares compiled a meticulous diagnostic ledger detailed with specific pedagogical interventions required to elevate the twins' performance. As his quill traced the final character upon the parchment, a piercing, unearthly cry shattered the midnight silence.

The scholar's hand jerked, nearly fracturing the delicate nib.

Parting the heavy velvet draperies, he peered out into the nocturnal gloom. Below, within the cleared perimeter of the courtyard, stood the white-gloved majordomo at the head of a solemn line of retainers, their faces taut with expectation. Ares followed the trajectory of their gaze toward the lowering heavens, his pupils contracting in sudden astonishment.

Two colossal, predatory gryphons, their pinions beating the frosty air with cataclysmic force, descended from the firmament, drawing an opulent black-and-gold carriage behind them. The monstrosities touched down precisely within the center of the flagstones.

Harley stepped forward to unlatch the portal, and the severe figure of Garrick Valerius emerged into the firelight.

As if sensing the hidden observer, the Golden Duke turned his head, his gaze sweeping upward to lock directly at Ares's window. Their eyes met across the expanse of falling snow. Within those heterochromatic depths, ancient ice and molten gold seemed to coexist—an alliance of extremes that seared itself onto Ares's retinas.

Ares offered a formal inclination of his head. The Duke rendered no acknowledgment, turning his back to vanish into the grand vestibule.

Some twenty minutes passed in unbroken silence before a low rap sounded upon Ares's door. It was the footman, Richard.

"Is there an emergency?" Ares inquired, opening the timber door.

Richard rendered a respectful bow. "Professor Norcross, His Grace requests your immediate attendance within his private studies."