Chapter 18: A Rotten Idea

Rhode had barely crossed the study threshold when hurried footsteps sounded on the marble behind him.

“Third Brother, a moment.”

Vincent caught up, smiling behind his monocle. The smile was like a face stamped on a coin: precise, respectable and never losing its value.

Rhode turned with a carefree grin. “Oh, Second Brother?”

Vincent brushed imaginary dust from his shoulder, affectionate as any brother. “The sun rose in the west today. You came to report your work to Father of your own accord. I listened for a while and nearly thought I’d mistaken you for someone else.”

Rhode scratched his messy red hair and laughed. “Don’t tease me. I finally got a proper assignment from Father, so I thought I’d show my face. Otherwise someone might say I draw my allowance without working.”

“How did the interrogation go?” Vincent changed tack lightly. “Did the elves give you trouble? I hear the general has a terrible temper and killed many of our men on the battlefield.”

“The dark-skinned one? She’s still hanging. I never had her let down; she’s like a mad dog. But honestly, Brother, the queen is something else. Her figure puts Spring Breeze House to shame.”

Vincent laughed and patted his shoulder. “Always thinking about women. Did you only look at them, or ask anything else? Why did they rebel, for instance? You’ll need something for the report.”

Rhode waved, looking sincere. “Who cares? They’re rebels; just kill them. I spent the morning deciding how to approach them, and then…” He lowered his voice, leaned closer and looked embarrassed. “Honestly, Brother, don’t laugh. I drank too much last night. I wasn’t up to it today. I spent half the day there and didn’t dare do anything. If word gets out, where will I put my face?”

Vincent stared, then laughed for real. His shoulders relaxed and wrinkles gathered behind his monocle. “So that’s why you’ve changed and come to report to Father. You’re worn out and using business as an excuse to save face.”

Rhode coughed, tacitly agreeing.

Vincent reached into his clothes and drew out a small pouch. He poured several dark-brown pills into Rhode’s hand. “You should have said. Have you finished the previous supply? Don’t be shy about asking your brother.”

At the sight of the pills, memories surged up. His predecessor had taken them for more than half a year, receiving a fresh supply from Vincent every month. Each time they made him energetic enough to manage several women. The prince had considered Vincent a brother who truly understood him.

Now, holding the pills, Rhode felt a chill. How naive had his predecessor been? All three brothers were caught in a struggle for power. How could a powerless prince swallow medicine of unknown origin supplied by his brother? His body was drained, his dark circles deep, his back aching after a few steps. Who could say the pills had nothing to do with it?

He concealed his alarm. “You’re a true brother!” He clutched the pouch, his voice trembling with manufactured delight. “I was worried. There are only two left at home, and I couldn’t bear to take them. This is just what I needed!”

Vincent smiled more deeply at his apparent eagerness. “Don’t be stingy. Come to me whenever you run out. Take the case slowly and restore your health first. The elves aren’t going anywhere.”

“Exactly!” Rhode tucked the pouch away. “Once I’ve recovered, I’ll go back to the prison and… heh.”

They smiled at each other, one apparently guileless, the other with a meaning of his own.

“I have accounts to review. I’ll look into the warden and settle that grievance for you,” Vincent said, tucking the ledgers under his arm and heading east along the corridor.

“Take care, Brother! Drinks another day!” Rhode called. Vincent raised two fingers without turning. Rhode headed toward the southern gate. After three steps apart, both smiles vanished. Vincent’s expression cooled, and Rhode’s foolish look disappeared.

Outside the gate, the outrageously decorated carriage was still waiting. Rhode emerged to find two guards crowding Hongye beside it. Wrapped in the black cloak, she had retreated against the door. A bearded guard blocked one side while a thinner man pulled her arm.

“Don’t be shy. Everyone knows the girls in the Third Prince’s residence have special talents. We’re colleagues, aren’t we? Show us what you can do.”

“That’s right. Standing guard in this cold is miserable. Keep us company and warm us up.”

Hongye clutched her cloak with one hand and tried to pry the thin guard’s fingers from her arm with the other. Her face was red, but she couldn’t break free. “Let go! Both of you, take your hands off me!”

Rhode saw everything from the palace steps: her fear and her desperate effort to protect herself.

“Don’t be shy, girl. Everyone knows what the Third Prince likes, so why pretend you’re proper—”

“Go to hell!”

Before the thin guard finished, a kick sent him flying. He landed face-first and scraped along the stone. Rhode lowered his leg and brushed his trousers.

“One hundred strokes of the military rod.”

Both guards froze. The bearded one snapped to attention, face white. The thin man scrambled to rise, his elbows slipping. “Your Highness! I deserve death,” the bearded guard stammered.

“One hundred strokes,” Rhode repeated as casually as if ordering food. “Get back to camp and receive them now. If they miss one, I’ll come and deliver it myself.”

“Mercy, Your Highness! We were only joking—”

“Do I look as though I’m joking?”

The bearded guard’s lips trembled. At last he hauled up his dazed companion and fled.

Hongye leaned against the carriage shaft, catching her breath, her cloak displaced. She wrapped it around herself again without looking at Rhode. “Come on,” he said. “Get in.”

The carriage left the square, the escort reforming outside. Inside, Hongye curled in the corner with her chin buried in her cloak, looking at her knees. Rhode rubbed his fingers, scratched his head and looked at the ceiling before finally speaking.

“Does that happen often?”

“Not in front of you.”

“What about behind my back?”

“Mostly they just make remarks. We girls are careful; they haven’t dared touch us.” She pulled the cloak tighter. “We’re careful. Serving you is unavoidable; we can’t dodge the punishment if we refuse. That doesn’t mean we enjoy selling our bodies.”

She looked up, eyes reddened but dry. “Of course it’s your fault.”

Rhode opened his mouth. She was right. His predecessor had made every woman in the residence a joke to men outside. A maid in his service carried a filthy label; anyone felt free to make remarks because her master didn’t care.

He had enjoyed himself at Spring Breeze House without listening to the rumors outside his walls. Even if he heard, he didn’t care: it wasn’t his face being lost. But the women had to endure those assumptions whenever they bought food, ran errands or waited by his carriage. In the public’s eyes, a Third Prince’s maid was merely a human toy.

Rhode clenched his fist and released it. *Useless bastard.* He turned the words over in his mind.

He still intended to enjoy women in the future; otherwise his predecessor would have had all the wealth and he would have transmigrated for nothing. But things had to change. The women he was with should be treated with respect. Anyone who dared gossip could have their mouth slapped with a shoe. The capital must no longer think his residence a pleasure house whose women were free for anyone to paw at.

Coming from the prince with the worst reputation in the capital, the thought was both lecherous and oddly grand.

After a long silence, he said, “If this happens again, don’t waste your breath arguing.”

Hongye turned. “What?”

“Tell them you’re carrying my child. See who dares touch a hair on your head.” For now, his scoundrel reputation was the most effective protection he had.

The carriage fell quiet. Hongye’s expression moved from confusion to disbelief, then to something between gratitude and disgust. “Your Highness, do you think that rotten idea is particularly clever?”

“Just tell me whether it would work.”