I Died and Became a Noble's Heir

Chapter 123: Where’s Jack?

”Jack!” Octavia’s voice echoed through the marble corridors of the Kaiser estate, sharp enough to cut crystal. ”Jack, where the hell are you?”

She paused at the intersection of two hallways, listening for any response that wasn’t the distant clatter of servants or the soft whisper of morning breeze through open windows.

Nothing.

Octavia tried to quell the growing knot of irritation in her stomach. Three trade contracts needed his signature, two diplomatic responses required his personal seal, and a merchant delegation from House Meridian was arriving within the hour expecting to negotiate directly with the heir of Sorne.

And Jack had simply vanished.

She spotted Celeste gliding down the hallway ahead, humming something that sounded suspiciously like a drinking song set to a funeral march.

”Celeste,” Octavia called, quickening her pace. ”Have you seen our brother this morning?”

Celeste paused mid-hum, her expression shifting into that particular brand of innocence that meant she was either completely blameless or deeply involved in whatever chaos was unfolding.

”Jack?” she said, as if the name required careful consideration. ”No, I haven’t seen him since... Well, not since he was held up in his room for a couple of days, I suppose. Why? Has he done something wonderfully scandalous without me?”

HONK!

Both sisters froze as a sound like a dying trumpet split the air behind them.

Octavia turned slowly, half-expecting to see a herald announcing some catastrophic news.

Instead, she found herself staring at what could only be described as a bird having an identity crisis.

The creature stood nearly three feet tall, with a neck that curved like a question mark and feathers that seemed to have been assembled by someone who’d never actually seen a bird before.

Its beady black eyes fixed on Celeste with the devoted intensity of a lovesick poet.

HONK!

”What,” Octavia said carefully, ”is that thing?”

Celeste reached into a small pouch at her waist and scattered breadcrumbs across the marble floor. The bird immediately began pecking at them with the enthusiasm of a creature that had discovered the meaning of life in flour and grain.

”It showed up a couple of days ago,” Celeste said with studied casualness. ”Won’t leave me alone. Rather like a very large, very loud puppy, actually.”

Octavia’s gaze drifted to her sister’s throat, where something new caught her attention.

A delicate silver chain supported a pendant that looked like a vibrant sunrise.

”And that necklace?” Octavia’s voice carried the tone of an interrogator who already knew the answer. ”I don’t recall seeing it before.”

Celeste’s hand moved instinctively to the pendant, her fingers tracing its edges with unconscious care.

”This? I... Well, it came with the bird, actually. Tied around its neck with a little ribbon.”

”Don’t be coy,” Octavia said, stepping closer. ”It’s from Bartram, isn’t it?”

Celeste’s laugh was like silver bells with a touch of mischief.

”Maybe,” she said, batting her eyelashes with theatrical innocence.

”But it’s so pretty, and it matches my eyes perfectly. Would it be terribly wrong to appreciate beautiful things, regardless of their source?”

Octavia rubbed her temples, feeling a headache building behind her eyes.

”I don’t have time for your romantic adventures. I need to find Jack before the Meridian delegation arrives and discovers that Sorne’s heir has apparently evaporated into morning mist.”

She hurried away, leaving Celeste to commune with her honking admirer.

The search took her through Jack’s study, where his desk remained exactly as he’d left it.

The training yards were empty except for guards practicing their morning drills.

The kitchens yielded nothing but the cook’s assurance that the young lord hadn’t appeared for breakfast.

’How does a person simply disappear from their own home?’ Octavia wondered, growing more frustrated by the minute.

It was only after checking every conceivable location that she realized she’d forgotten the most obvious place.

Jack’s bedchamber.

She approached his door with the cautious optimism of someone who’d already been disappointed multiple times that morning.

Her hand grasped the handle, turned it slowly, and pushed the door open just wide enough to peer inside.

One glance was enough.

Octavia closed the door with the careful precision of someone defusing a bomb.

”What are you doing?”

Annabelle’s voice made her jump.

Her youngest sister had appeared beside her with the silent grace of a ghost, sketchbook tucked under one arm and curiosity bright in her eyes.

”Annabelle,” Octavia said slowly, ”do you know why there are a dozen chickens in Jack’s bed?”

Annabelle’s eyebrows rose. ”A dozen chickens? In his bed? That seems... excessive, even for Jack.”

”See for yourself,” Octavia said, stepping aside.

Annabelle opened the door with the confidence of someone who assumed her sister was exaggerating.

The chickens began to cluck immediately, a rising chorus of indignant complaints that suggested they’d been disturbed from important business.

Several of them had made themselves comfortable among Jack’s pillows, their feathers creating a bizarre contrast against the deep blue silk.

Others had claimed the space near the foot of the bed, apparently using his abandoned boots as nesting boxes.

Annabelle closed the door with the same careful precision Octavia had used.

”That’s...” she began.

”Deeply concerning,” Octavia finished.

”I was going to say ’artistically interesting,’ but your way works too.”

A burst of laughter drifted around the corner, followed by the distinctive clink of coins changing hands. The sisters exchanged glances and moved closer to investigate.

”Three silver says he brings musicians next,” one voice was saying.

”Musicians?” Another voice scoffed. ”He’s already hired bards. I say he escalates to trained animals. Seraphina’s got the smart money on exotic gifts.”

”Seraphina always has the smart money,” the first voice grumbled. ”She’s already won a gold coin from yesterday’s pool.”

Octavia and Annabelle looked at each other with the dawning realization that their household staff had apparently turned Bartram’s courtship of Celeste into a profitable entertainment venture.

”Come on,” Octavia muttered. ”We still need to find Jack, and now I have questions about why our servants are operating an illegal gambling ring.”

”Technically,” Annabelle said, falling into step beside her, ”is gambling illegal if it’s happening in our own home?”

”Don’t help them find loopholes.”

They made their way toward the main hall, where Octavia hoped their father might have some insight into Jack’s mysterious absence.

Instead, they found Duke Alaric seated in his favorite chair, a piece of parchment in his hands and an expression of profound puzzlement on his face.

”Father?” Octavia approached with the caution reserved for potentially explosive situations. ”Is everything alright?”

Alaric looked up, his eyes focusing slowly as if returning from some distant contemplation.

”A letter,” he said, holding up the parchment. ”From King Eric himself.”

Octavia felt her stomach drop. Royal correspondence was rarely good news, and never convenient. ”What does it say?”

”Your mother and I have been summoned to court,” Alaric said, his voice carrying the weight of someone who’d just been handed an unwelcome burden.

”We’re to present ourselves to His Majesty in twenty-four days.”

”Summoned?” Annabelle echoed. ”That sounds ominous.”

”It sounds political,” Octavia corrected, her mind already racing through the idea.

”Someone wants you away from Sorne. The timing is too convenient with everything else that’s been happening.”

Before Alaric could respond, a new sound drifted through the open windows. Music, but not the refined melodies typically heard at noble gatherings. This was more enthusiastic, more... theatrical.

The three of them moved toward the windows that overlooked the main courtyard, where a scene was unfolding that belonged more in a street festival than a ducal estate.

Bartram stood in the center of the courtyard like a conductor before his orchestra, his arms spread wide in a gesture of magnificent confidence.

Around him, a collection of musicians wielded instruments with the enthusiasm of people being paid extremely well to ignore their artistic dignity.

Above them, leaning gracefully over her window sill with the pose of a maiden from a classical painting, Celeste watched the performance with apparent delight.

”My beloved Celeste!” Bartram’s voice carried clearly across the courtyard, rich with romantic fervor. ”Did you enjoy the songbird and necklace I sent? Tokens of my undying affection!”

Celeste pressed a hand to her heart with theatrical appreciation. ”Oh, Bartram! I absolutely adore them both! The necklace is beautiful, and the songbird is... so very musical!”

Octavia glanced at Annabelle, her voice dropping to a whisper. ”It’s not a songbird. It’s just a dumb bird that honks for food.”

Annabelle covered her mouth to stifle a giggle.

”Should we tell her?”

”Should we tell him?” Octavia countered.

Below them, Bartram gestured grandly to one of his hired bards, who stepped forward with the ceremonial gravity of someone about to deliver a royal proclamation.

”And now,” Bartram announced, ”I present an original composition! A love poem crafted specifically for the radiant Lady Celeste!”

The bard cleared his throat and began to recite in a voice trained for maximum dramatic impact:

”Oh fairest flower of Kaiser’s hall,

Your beauty makes the angels call,

Your laughter like the morning dove,

Please accept this token of my love!”

Celeste clapped her hands together with apparent delight. ”Oh, Bartram! It’s wonderful! So... poetic!”

”Might I be so bold,” Bartram called up to her, ”as to invite you for drinks this afternoon? Perhaps we could discuss literature... and other matters of mutual interest?”

”I’d be delighted,” Celeste replied, her voice carrying just the right amount of maiden-like enthusiasm. ”I find myself quite thirsty, actually.”

Lady Genevieve appeared beside them at the window, having approached with the silent grace that seemed to run in the family.

She observed the scene with the expression of someone watching a particularly entertaining tragedy.

”Octavia,” she said quietly, ”you should probably accompany them to ensure we don’t have to explain to House Dorian why their heir died of alcohol poisoning in our courtyard.”

”Mother,” Octavia protested, ”surely Bartram isn’t that foolish.”

Genevieve’s smile was sharp as winter steel. ”My dear daughter, that man just challenged Celeste to a drinking contest without realizing it. He’ll be unconscious before she’s properly warmed up.”

As if summoned by their conversation, a young handmaid approached Seraphina near the edge of the courtyard and discreetly handed her a small pouch that clinked with the distinctive sound of coins.

”She’s won again,” Annabelle observed with something approaching admiration. ”How does she keep predicting his moves so accurately?”

”Experience,” Genevieve said dryly. ”Seraphina has an excellent understanding of human folly. It’s what makes her so valuable.”

Octavia sighed, watching as Celeste descended from her window perch to join Bartram in the courtyard. The bards struck up a celebratory tune.

”Well,” she said, ”at least someone in this family is easy to locate. Now if we could just figure out where Jack has disappeared to...”

”He’ll turn up,” Genevieve said with the confidence of a mother who’d raised three children through various phases of inexplicable behavior.

”He always does. Usually with stories that make us question our decision to let him leave the estate.”

The honking bird had somehow made its way to the courtyard and was now waddling in circles around Bartram’s feet, apparently having decided that anyone who brought musicians was worth investigating.

HONK! HONK!

Bartram looked down at the creature with confusion. ”What... what is that?”

”Your songbird,” Celeste said sweetly. ”Isn’t it lovely?”

The bird looked up at Bartram with beady eyes and released another magnificent honk that sent the musicians scrambling to adjust their tune to accommodate the new addition to their ensemble.

Octavia closed her eyes and tried to imagine explaining any of this to the Meridian delegation.

”I need wine,” she muttered.

”It’s not even noon,” Annabelle pointed out.

”I’m aware of the time,” Octavia replied. ”The wine is medicinal.”