Chapter 402: The Mouse in The Party
Lord Garrick moved with unease through the castle’s dimly lit side corridors, his eyes constantly darting about, searching for anyone who might be watching him. The banquet hall, filled with music, laughter, and noblemen enjoying themselves, was a distant echo behind him now. He’d chosen to slip away early, unnoticed among the hundreds of guests, each focused on their own enjoyment. A drop of sweat rolled down his temple as he hurried forward, the sound of his boots muffled against the carpeted floor.
The castle seemed different at night, away from the banquet—the corridors felt endless, the walls narrowing with every step he took, as if closing in on him. Garrick hated the silence; it was unnerving, and it made his fear bubble up. His hands shook slightly as he adjusted his cloak, making sure it covered most of his face. He was a man with much to lose, and this meeting was a reminder of just how much danger he had put himself in. Still, he had no choice—he needed the money, and the promises he’d received from the Varzadians were too tempting to pass up.
The corridor twisted and turned, leading him into a more secluded section of the castle, a place where very few ventured, especially during festivities. It was perfect for what he needed—a private meeting, hidden away from prying eyes. He finally stopped in front of an old wooden door, its surface scarred and worn from years of use. He glanced around one last time, ensuring he wasn’t being followed, then pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The room was dim, a single candle flickering on the table in the center, casting long, wavering shadows across the walls lined with books. The air was heavy, thick with the scent of old parchment and dust. Garrick moved towards the table, pulling out the chair and sinking into it. He drummed his fingers nervously, his eyes flicking towards the door every few seconds, waiting. He hated waiting—it only gave him more time to think about all the ways this could go wrong.
After what felt like an eternity, the door creaked open. Garrick’s heart jumped in his chest, and his eyes snapped towards the figure that slipped inside, closing the door silently behind them. The figure moved with confidence, their steps light, their hood drawn low to obscure their features. But Garrick knew who they were—he recognized the way they moved, the air of quiet authority they carried.
The hooded figure approached the table, their gloved hands resting on the back of the chair across from Garrick before they finally sat down. For a moment, silence hung between them, the only sound the crackling of the candle’s flame. The figure spoke first, their voice low, almost a whisper.
"You were late."
Garrick swallowed, his throat dry. "I had to make sure I wasn’t being followed," he replied, his voice cracking slightly. "This place is crawling with people tonight."
The figure leaned back, their face still obscured by the hood. "You should be more careful. If anyone suspects—"