The door was pushed open, and an elderly man in a dark gray suit, with graying hair, bowed as he stepped in with steady footsteps.
It was Milton, the old butler of Viscount Brooke’s family.
The assembled nobility, upon recognizing him, secretly let out a sigh of relief.
Count Sirius even discreetly patted his chest, while Baron Harris quietly retracted his slightly trembling hand beneath his cloak.
Milton, somewhat apprehensively, repeated the information he had just learned: "Lord Louis has dispatched a messenger to convene a meeting of the nobility at dawn tomorrow in the council hall."
He paused, glanced at the somewhat rigid faces of the attendees, and added, "It was also said that no unauthorized absences would be tolerated."
With just a few words, it was as if cold water had been poured onto a blazing furnace, instantly snuffing out the remaining warmth in the room.
Count Sirius moved his lips, but in the end, said nothing.
No one spoke up.
Viscount Brooke’s expression remained unchanged, and he simply nodded lightly, saying, "Understood, Milton. Go and inform the messenger that we will attend punctually."
Milton bowed again and said, "I shall take my leave."
As the elderly figure slowly departed and the door closed again, the people in the room no longer felt relaxed or animated.
They were, of course, prepared; Louis’s summons was not unexpected.
Since returning from the battle of Frost Halberd City, it was certain he would reorganize the situation and consolidate order.
And their "meeting" tonight, in some sense, was also a gamble to set the tone in advance and gain an advantage before then.
"It’s about time," Viscount Brooke said calmly, "We’ve talked enough today, let’s leave it at that. Everyone should return to rest and prepare for tomorrow’s formal council."
He did not smile.
Because he knew this was only the beginning of the game.
The nobility rose one after another, either silently or deep in thought.
No one mentioned the ball, etiquette, or gossip anymore; only the flames of their own calculations remained in their eyes.
They left quietly, as if afraid that if they lingered a moment longer, the Lord of the Red Tide might see through every thought in their hearts through the wooden door.
In the room, only Viscount Brooke remained.
The candle flame flickered slightly on the silver candlestick, casting faintly visible smiles on his face.
He slowly paced to the window, looking out at the silent street under the Red Tide night, as if seeing the nobility with their own concerns gradually disappearing into the winter night.
"Heh... as expected."
He slowly sat down, his fingers tapping the table, the petition draft that Viscount Roland didn’t accept yet was already "implicitly accepted" still lying there.
He was in no hurry to collect it; rather, he admired it like a piece of fine craftsmanship, staring at it for a long time.
"Old Roland, soft but still a useful old bone. As people age, they fear losing power... just a little push, and they know where to stand.
Harris... ambitious but lacking in skill, a good hawk dog. Sirius, on the other hand, young and impetuous, emotional, easily manipulated.
As for the others... cold when needed, incited when needed. Chess pieces don’t need to be smart, just useful."
He leisurely took off his cloak, placing it on the high-backed chair beside him, then poured a glass of warmed red wine from the cabinet, gently swirling it.
"Louis... you’ve indeed saved many people, but you’re still too young."
He drank the wine in one gulp, a hint of a conceited smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Those who gain power at a young age always think that what they hold is theirs."
"Not understanding that true power is something you unearth little by little at the negotiation table, in the council hall, when you must deal with a group of ’past nobility’."
Brooke stood up, unbuttoned his coat, and slowly walked towards the bedroom.
Before leaving, he glanced back at the draft and meeting table illuminated by candlelight, his eyes filled with determination.
"Tomorrow’s council is just the beginning. I, Brooke, will not bow to a young lad who has just turned twenty. Let him see what true nobility and true gamesmanship are!"
He extinguished the lights and walked into the darkness.