Chapter 547: Chapter-547
But behind the cover of his loose, white silk sleeves, his fingers traced the edge of the wood, and a slow, dangerously beautiful smile spread across his lips.
’She is absolutely magnificent,’ Samuel thought, his chest humming with a dark, exhilarating warmth.
Most women in the capital would have panicked upon hearing about a lethal poison tied to their family name. They would have rushed to the authorities or blindly burned the inventory in a fit of paranoia. But Heena? She had instantly understood his silent strategy, seamlessly adapted to the environment, and delivered a flawless, Oscar-worthy performance to sell the lie to the hidden spies in the walls.
She wasn’t just a military heir; she was a predator who knew exactly how to play the game.
Slowly, Samuel lowered the clipboard.
The pathetic, pouting expression vanished from his face as if it had been wiped away by a damp cloth. The hunched, foolish posture straightened, and the warm, lovesick light in his dark eyes hardened into the cold, bottomless abyss of a seasoned tactician.
The air around him instantly plummeted in temperature. The few servants standing closest to him subconsciously took a step back, suddenly feeling a suffocating pressure radiating from the man in white silk, though they couldn’t comprehend why.
"You heard the Madam," Samuel commanded.
His voice was no longer loud or whining. It was low, smooth, and laced with an icy authority that brokered absolutely zero argument.
"Move every single crate into my eastern courtyard. And do it quickly."
The laborers instantly snapped into action, scrambling like frightened mice to lift the heavy wooden chests and silk-wrapped bundles.
Samuel walked slowly through the chaotic maze, his dark eyes tracking every single movement. He didn’t just let them dump the goods randomly. He was meticulously, consciously designing the battlefield.
"The silks and porcelains go into the main hall," Samuel directed, casually pointing with his ink brush. "Stack the heavy grain sacks by the southern pillars to block the wind."
He walked over to a specific, unassuming cluster of cedarwood crates. The heavy, bitter scent of raw medicinal herbs wafted through the gaps in the wood. This was the target. This was the batch containing the Aurawood and the missing toxic roots.
"These," Samuel said softly, tapping the top crate with his knuckles. "Place these directly against the outer eastern wall of my courtyard. Under the old willow tree."
The head laborer blinked, wiping sweat from his brow. "My Lord, the eastern wall is right next to the outer alleyway. The night dew will be heavy there, and if it rains, the herbs might get damp."
Samuel turned his head slowly, locking eyes with the laborer. His gaze was entirely devoid of human warmth.
"I want them against the eastern wall," Samuel repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. "Do you have a problem with my architectural preferences?"
The laborer swallowed hard, a cold sweat breaking out over his neck. "N-No, My Lord! Right away, My Lord!"
Samuel watched as the men hauled the heavy cedar crates toward the eastern wall. It was the absolute perfect spot for a trap. It was far enough away from his bedroom to seem unguarded, shrouded in the dark shadows of the willow tree, and—most importantly—it shared a direct wall with the outer alley.
Any desperate thief looking to slip in and out quickly would see those crates sitting against the outer wall and think they had been blessed by the gods of fortune.
By late afternoon, Samuel’s courtyard looked less like a noble’s residence and more like a high-end wholesale market. The overwhelming, pungent scent of dried herbs, bitter roots, and floral teas hung heavily in the air, masking the scent of the expensive incense he usually burned.
Samuel stood alone under the sweeping branches of the willow tree, looking down at the stacked cedar crates.
He reached into his silk sleeve and pulled out a small, heavy iron padlock. He secured it onto the latch of the top crate—the one containing the Aurawood.
Click.
Then, using the heavy, brass-capped end of his calligraphy brush, Samuel delivered a sharp, brutally precise strike to the internal mechanism of the lock.
There was a faint crack of metal snapping inside.
To the naked eye, the heavy iron lock looked perfectly secure. But to anyone with a rudimentary lockpick and a bit of desperate pressure, the damaged tumblers would give way in less than ten seconds.
He didn’t want to make it too easy, lest the thief suspect a trap. But he couldn’t make it impossible, either. He had to leave a crumb of false hope to draw the rat fully out of the walls.
Samuel tucked the brush back into his sleeve, dusting off his pristine white robes. He looked up at the high walls of his courtyard, his dark eyes sweeping over the quiet roof tiles where the evening shadows were just beginning to stretch.
"Come and get it," Samuel whispered to the empty air, his lips curling into a ruthless, anticipating smile. "I will be waiting."
On the other side of the capital, a stark contrast to the chaotic, heavily guarded Vanguard estate, lay the serene and breathtakingly beautiful compound of the Prime Minister.
The carriage wheels rolled to a smooth, quiet halt inside the grand front courtyard.
As the carriage door opened and the Prime Minister stepped down, the bustling estate seemed to hold its breath. He was dressed in his pristine green-and-white silk robes, his dark hair cascading flawlessly over his shoulders. His handsome, ethereal face was illuminated by the soft glow of the courtyard lanterns, making him look less like a mortal man and more like a deity descended from the heavens.
The maidservants sweeping the stone paths immediately stopped their work. Their faces flushed a deep, violent shade of red just looking at him. Several of them lowered their heads, practically trembling with sheer infatuation as they dropped into deep, graceful bows.
"Greetings, Master," the servants chorused, their voices soft and entirely enamored.
The Prime Minister smiled. It was a perfect, gentle, and breathtakingly warm smile that easily blinded anyone who looked at it.
"Where is my lady?" he asked, his voice smooth and melodic. "Where is the Madam?"
A young maid, her cheeks burning bright red under his attention, stepped forward nervously. "Madam is resting in the Water Pavilion, Master."
"Oh? The Water Pavilion," the Prime Minister murmured, his smile widening slightly. "That is good. The evening breeze there is quite pleasant. Did she eat anything for dinner?"
The maid smiled shyly, shaking her head. "Yes, Master. Madam had some sweet pastries and snacks earlier, but she said she had no appetite for a proper meal."
The Prime Minister let out a soft, incredibly fond laugh. He shook his head, looking exactly like a helpless, hopelessly doting husband.
"Ha... eating snacks instead of dinner again, hmm?" he sighed gently. "It is not good for her health. And how many times have I told you girls not to give in when she asks for sweets before meals?"
The servants immediately lowered their heads, though they were all hiding highly amused smiles. "Our deepest apologies, Master. We will be stricter next time."
Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!
Use arrow keys (or A / D) to PREV/NEXT chapter