The Duchess’s Prescription

Some time later.

Past midnight, in the most secluded part of the castle’s underground.

Olga, the Duchess’s most trusted maid, was leading a man cloaked from head to toe down a narrow stairwell.

The three flames of the candelabrum in her hand flickered, and the long wavering shadows seemed to foretell the foul deeds about to occur in that space.

The two passed through the narrow corridor, turned a corner, and reached the very last room.

Knock knock!

“It’s Olga. I’ve brought him.”

“Let him in.”

The Duchess’s voice was heard from inside.

Olga nodded and carefully opened the door.

Inside was a simple scene—just a small bed, desk, and bookshelf lit brightly by candles—with the Duchess seated within.

“Olga, wait outside. You know you’re my loyal maid, so close your eyes, ears, and mouth for now.”

“Yes, Duchess…”

Olga ushered the cloaked man inside and shut the door.

“Now it’s just the two of us. Indeed, it must only ever be two here.”

“……”

“What we have to say and exchange must be done in the darkest, most secret of places. You understand, don’t you? Show yourself now, Godrun.”

The man called Godrun threw back his cloak.

A dark indigo robe, many pouches tied at his waist, a bag slung over his shoulder. His bearded face was twisted and hideous, his head more than half bald.

“Godrun, the man most skilled with herbs in all of Nastrand.”

“To be called that is an honor, Duchess…”

Godrun answered in a rasping metallic voice, his red eyes gleaming.

As the Duchess said, Godrun was the Duchy of Nastrand’s foremost botanist and herbalist. In fact, across all of Nordenheim, few could rival his knowledge.

But as he always scoured mountains, mixing and testing poisons and herbs on himself, his skin and hair had become wretched beyond words.

He was known to be as difficult to deal with as his grotesque appearance suggested.

Thus a mystical image surrounded him; some even called him “the man who could kill an army with a single vial of poison.”

Godrun sat in the chair the Duchess indicated, staring at her. His lips, slack from missing teeth, glistened with greed.

The Duchess met his gaze and smiled slyly.

“First… you assured me you could prepare it right here?”

“Yes. I brought the ingredients. It only needs mixing. The victim will slowly weaken, and within a year all strength will be gone.”

“Show me.”

A short command.

At her word, Godrun drew four small vials from his pouch and poured them into a large bottle, mixing them all.

“As you requested, these are concentrated extracts brewed from various poisonous herbs. Their trait is tasteless, odorless. No one will detect them in food or drink.”

“So if you had brought plain water, we would still have no choice but to trust you?”

The Duchess’s sharp eyes gleamed.

But Godrun had anticipated even that question.

From the bag on his shoulder, where scratching noises had been coming, Godrun opened it.

“This is…”

Inside, a cat with its legs bound and a gag stuffed in its mouth.

“Now, let me show you how deadly this is.”

Godrun drew a tiny teaspoon from his robe, dipped it into the vial, and withdrew it. The spoon dripped with a viscous, transparent liquid, which he smeared inside the gagged cat’s mouth. Once he removed the cloth gag, the cat shook its head violently, meowing, then instinctively licked and swallowed the liquid.

But that was all. The cat kept meowing and struggled against its bonds.

“Hm…”

“I told you, the poison acts slowly… you’ll see for yourself soon enough.”

“Very well, I’ll trust you. You wouldn’t have come here so boldly with nothing.”

Suddenly, the struggling cat drooped its head, meowing weakly and blinking.

“Oh my…”

“Perhaps I should’ve used less… hahahaha.”

“Very well. Let’s talk about your payment. How much did you want, that you refused what I first offered?”

“I wanted to state my desire directly. If a Duchess of such immense power requests a poison like this, then surely there is someone you wish to dispose of… secretly, discreetly.”

“I don’t care for too many words.”

“Very well. I’ll be blunt about what I want.”

“Say it. Whatever can be given, I’ll give.”

“I want to have you, Duchess. Now.”

“……”

The air in the small room froze.

Godrun, the Duchess, and even Olga outside the door—who covered her mouth in shock—were all silent.

The Duchess spoke first. Gazing at Godrun with a strange gleam in her eyes, she let out a long sigh. It carried no denial, disappointment, or fear—rather, something close to admiration.

“A man with such shameless ambition… it’s been a long time. I quite like it. Very well, I’ll permit it—just once.”

The Duchess rose slowly, her allure undimmed by age, ripened in full.

Godrun strode forward and seized her, throwing her onto the bed.

“Hahaha… I have no need for power or authority. My knowledge and skill can topple all of that. What I want is to embrace the one who possesses it.”

“Quite a fine ideal. A man with this much ambition always intoxicates me. A man’s worth is measured by what dream he chases and achieves.”

“Is that so?”

“Godrun, among the men I’ve seen recently, you hold the greatest dream—second only to my son. I like you.”

Godrun’s hand groped at her velvet skirt, his clumsy haste amusing the Duchess as she looked down at him.

“It’s an honor, hehehe…”

“Hm, is it?”

Godrun’s hand began undoing the Duchess’s bodice.

But the bodice, crafted with complex etiquette, was far too delicate. The Duchess carefully undid the hooks, buttons, and knots herself, sliding it down.

Soon their lust filled the cellar.

They were not the only ones lost in rapture. Outside, Olga leaned faintly against the wall, dizzy with excitement at the sounds of their coupling.

After some time, the Duchess pushed weakly against Godrun’s sagging back.

“How long do you mean to lie there? Get off me now.”

“Haa… f-forgive me.”

Overcome by both bodily and mental ecstasy, finally satisfied at achieving what he wanted, Godrun adjusted his robe and stood.

The Duchess, pulling her garments close, turned her gaze to the cat that had tasted the poison.

Astonishingly, while they were in the throes of passion, the cat had frothed at the mouth and died.

“Do you see?”

“Terribly potent… I’ll have to be careful with the dosage.”

“Does the Duke take anything regularly each morning?”

“Well… a glass of water upon waking? As for drink, he always has liquor.”

“Then dip a slender twig into this vial and stir it briefly in his cup of water. About once every two days.”

“Just that little?”

“Yes, so that his strength fades slowly. If you want it to last about a year, that will suffice.”

“Very well, Godrun. But tell me… how did you know the one I’d use it on was the Duke?”

“Isn’t it obvious? The one you kill slowly must be someone ever at your side… surely not the High Priest or the Prioress.”

“Quick-witted too. You’re a better man than I thought. In any case, with payment given, you may go.”

“Call for me anytime, Duchess. Then…”

Godrun gathered his belongings with a satisfied expression and bowed.

“Olga~!!!”

When the Duchess called, Olga, waiting outside, opened the door.

As Godrun stepped out, the Duchess raised a finger toward Olga. Olga nodded in understanding.

Olga shut the door, lifted her candelabrum, and motioned for Godrun to go up ahead. Godrun felt a flicker of unease but dismissed it and climbed first.

At that moment, Olga drew a sharp dagger from her bosom and drove it straight through Godrun’s throat.

“Guhhhk—khhhuhhhk!”

His eyes widened in shock. Gleaming with terror, they quivered as he looked down.

Olga twisted the blade sideways. The nerves in his neck snapped instantly.

Thud!

Godrun’s body slumped onto the stairs, lifeless.

“How amusing.”

The Duchess fixed her disheveled hair in the mirror, smiling in satisfaction as she gazed at the vials Godrun had left.

That amount was more than enough. To move new game pieces, the old ones had to be cleared. Only then could she play the entertaining match she had always envisioned.

“What a pity of a man. But what else? Had he lived, after fulfillment would come emptiness—or worse, twisted obsession. Better he died content.”

Knock knock knock!

Olga entered with a small knock.

“I disposed of him through the waterway connected to the cellar.”

“Well done. I always make you do such secret tasks.”

“I don’t mind, Lady Unsette.”

“That glass bottle—the clear one in the middle—is already mixed, so use that first. Each morning, stir a twig of it into the Duke’s water.”

“Yes.”

“You don’t ask why? Or what the poison is?”

“I have no need to know.”

At Olga’s words, Unsette smiled in satisfaction and nodded.

“Olga, you are ever reliable. I love you dearly so.”