A week passed since Oliver's collapse, but he kept himself isolated, catching up on his paperwork. Ian would come in and report to him during this time, advising him of the changes in the guards and the state of the villages within Wynter. Luckily, things were peaceful, and the Ravagers were hibernating in the caves.
Oliver was sitting in the study and looking over papers while Draco had taken up his usual spot on the couch and flipped through books. Timothy knocked on the door and entered the room with several documents.
"Lord Oliver, you have received a couple of letters," Timothy said with a bow. "As did you, Sir Draco." He handed the men their letters.
Oliver looked at the one with a raven seal and opened it. She had been kind enough to keep him updated about the ongoings of the capital. He had shifted through enough rumors about himself. Some people claimed that he went mad and was locked away up north. Others speak of him conspiring to break the engagement so he can become Guardian like his uncle. There were also darker tales, including Oliver plotting to overthrow the Belelots.
But Oliver had to chuckle about the last one because he was eventually seeking to rip the throne away from Piers.
When he read the contents of the letter, his hand trembled. Ella had confirmed the whereabouts of the elusive treaty. It was in the palace; however, no one was able to obtain additional clues about the exact location.
But this didn't damper his mood. The treaty existed. It was real.
He released a long breath. He didn't expect they would find the treaty easily.
He looked out the window and determined that winter would end soon. If he recalled correctly, the king would die soon, and Piers would take the throne. He would probably be called back to the capital for Piers' crowning ceremony, so he would have an opportunity to search on his own.
He tapped his desk, trying to disguise his excitement. "Max, Morris," he called out.
The office door opened, and the two men stepped in, embarrassed that they were caught.
"Boss, we were just standing guard, not spying." Morris was hasty with his words.
Oliver waived his hand. He held the letter over a candle and let it burn to ash. "If the Belelots wish to hide something damning document from someone, where would he hide it?"
He figured the two assassins of the palace would know.
The brothers exchanged a glance, and Marc spoke. "Depends. If it were Piers, it would have it in his room. He has a secret drawer in his desk where he keeps his blackmail documents."
Oliver raised an eyebrow. "And his father?"
"Treasury. Not the main one that everyone knows. There is a hidden treasury hidden in the walls."
Oliver chuckled. "Yes, I know that treasury." He had studied everything he could about the palace, which was stored in the royal library, including the hidden blueprints that no one knew about. "There should be a key for that."
Max nodded. "A strange key. It's more like a golden stamp with a phoenix carved into it. The King never takes it off his body."
Oliver tapped the table again while he was contemplating his next moves. "But when the King is dead, Piers will take this key. Knowing his habits, he would leave it on his desk."
"Doesn't he like keeping his keys close to his chest?" Draco asked from the couch.
Oliver chuckled. "He probably doesn't know what that treasury contains, and he will be hasty in taking the throne. His carelessness and ignorance will be helpful."
"What does it contain, boss?" Morris asked.
Oliver hummed while holding his chin with his hand. "Freedom."
"Did you want us to travel there?" Max asked.
Oliver shook his head. "No, someone already in the capital may be available to search. Just stay here and train until we have to go back."
The two of them bowed and left the room while Oliver drafted a response to The Raven with the information from the brothers.
"Go back?" Draco had left the couch and was hovering over the desk, his letter crumpled in his hands.
"As I said, Piers will be hasty in taking the throne. I will be called back to celebrate the old king's death." He mused as he looked up to see the handsome face close to his. "I'm sure Rucrean delegates will also be invited."
Draco leaned forward, his breath heating Oliver's cheeks. "Are you suggesting I go as a delegate, so we raid the capital together? Rummage through treasuries like a pair of bandits?"
Oliver didn't pull away but smirked instead. "Sounds exciting, doesn't it?"
Draco grinned and brushed back the stray hairs that had escaped Oliver's braid. "Well, I know a thing or two about sneaking into the palace."
His fingers trailed from Oliver's hair down to his jaw and gently clasped his chin. "Just tell me when we go."
Oliver hummed in response, his smile never fading. Since Draco had stayed with him, he had shared tender moments like this, and Oliver had relished every touch. They flirted along the lines of something more but never took that final step.
Draco shifted away but positioned himself against Oliver's desk as he straightened out the creases of his letter. Oliver reached over and picked up the next letter. He was pleased to see his mother's handwriting, but he bristled when he started to read the letter.
"Timothy..." He called out hesitantly. "Do you know what this letter entails?"
Timothy had long gotten used to the affection between the two men, so he was unperturbed while standing in the same room. His face remained stoic as he bowed his head. "A little, Lord Oliver."
"Damnit," Oliver murmured.
Draco had picked up his cup of tea but faltered when he heard Oliver. He turned back with a look of concern. "Is there trouble?"
Oliver clicked his tongue. "Nothing dangerous... just annoying."
Timothy coughed lightly behind his hand. "I thought it was a good match."
Oliver rolled his eyes. "You jest." He picked up the quill and started to reply.
"You're declining so easily?"
"I am happy Duke Holt resolved his troubles regarding the Red Wolf Bandits, but I offered my help with no intention of repayment." He said stiffly.
"But such a reward is—"
"Stop." Oliver interrupted. "I have no desire to marry Duke Holt's son."
A crack startled both men, and they turned their eyes toward Draco. He was holding a broken teacup in his hand. He was slightly flustered and apologized quickly. "I didn't pay attention to my grip... you were proposed to?"
Oliver gave Draco a wry smile. "It's nothing to take seriously. I just helped the Duke with something bothersome, and he overreacted."
He folded up his response and handed it to Timothy. "Send this out immediately. And if my parents try to bring up marriage again, tell them I'm declining all requests."
Timothy paled. "All?"
"If my mother wants a wedding, she should consider my older brother first. He is the future Duke, after all... Besides, I finally escaped one forced engagement, so I will not enter another. If I marry, it will be with a husband of my choosing." His gaze unconsciously drifted to Draco.
Draco noticed the gaze and relaxed back into his chair, a noticeable smile pulled at his lips.
Oliver looked away and started to sort through some of the documents on the desk.
Timothy bowed. "I will send your reply."
Oliver sighed after Timothy left and put his quill down. He looked out the window that overlooked the training grounds. The weather was surprisingly clear, and the soldiers could practice outside.
"I think I will go to the training grounds today." He said absentmindedly.
Draco folded his letter and placed it in his pocket. "Then I will meet you there." He took off from the study with a lightness to his step.
Oliver took some time to change and head to the training grounds. His gaze swept over the men diligently training and found a large group standing around Draco. He watched as the men asked him for tips or even a duel. In his previous life, this was a familiar scene he would see with enemy soldiers. It didn't matter if they were from Osmela or Abrorg; they would all gravitate toward Draco.
"Sir Draco, please, just one spar!"
"I haven't fought against a spearman before."
"No fair, you got a turn yesterday!"
The arguments and requests blended together. The chance to fight a Rucrean was a rare opportunity. As someone who had fought against Draco, Oliver knew how beneficial it was.
He made his way to the rack of practice weapons and grabbed two swords. He swung them around casually to test their weight.
"Boss, can we spar?" A voice sounded behind him.
He smiled as he turned toward the young soldier. "Are you sure you don't want to line up for Draco?"
The soldier shook his head. "I like your teachings."
Oliver chuckled and patted the young man on his head, leading him to an open area. He readied himself. "Come at me when you're ready."
The man rushed up with a strong swing, and Oliver blocked it with an appreciative look. He had sparred with this young man a few times and could see his improvement. Oliver stopped another hit and pushed the soldier back a little. As they clashed swords, Oliver would give the man some pointers.
"Good. Use your waist a little more to bring out more strength in that hit."
"The strike can be more powerful if you plant your lead foot firmly."
"Mind your arm position when blocking. Having a careless form can cause more harm than an open wound."
The young man stumbled as he went for another attack. Oliver quickly caught him and helped him find his footing. The young man was flushed and panting heavily.
"When you get tired, your strikes are slower, and you have more openings," Oliver explained. "But your form is solid; you just need a little fine-tuning. However, it would be best if you worked on your stamina. If we're ever in a war, you must be prepared to fight battles for days on end with little sleep. What will help you endure is a strong body and relentless stamina, so you should train accordingly."
"Yes, boss!" He saluted Oliver happily.
A couple more called out to spar Oliver, but another voice interrupted the rest. "How about a spar with me?"
Oliver flashed a bright smile as he watched Draco approach with a spear. Draco faltered, stunned by the sight. Oliver was truly in his element—with swords in his hands and amongst his soldiers. He was brilliant to look upon.
"Are you sure you can keep up?" Oliver asked with a chuckle, unaware of his effect on Draco.
This woke Draco from his stupor, and he gave a low chuckle. He got closer to Oliver and leaned against him, his lips next to his ear. "Believe me, my stamina is anything but lacking."
Oliver clicked his tongue. "Shameless dragon."
Draco gave a mischievous smirk and readied his spear. "Attack me seriously, old ghost."
Oliver paused when he heard Draco calling him this. He thought he would hate hearing someone else call him Ghost, but Draco's doting tone superseded the terrible connotations.
Oliver's face broke into a smile, and he rushed forward.
Both were using practice weapons, so a dull crash echoed when their weapons collided. Draco had an extended range and swung his spear in front of him, and Oliver used both swords to block it. He felt a familiar throb in his hands as he blocked. Draco was always heavy-handed.
Oliver let the spear push him to the side when it lost momentum. He then jumped back out of its range. Most would think that a spearman would be vulnerable at this moment, but Oliver knew Draco too well. He had no weaknesses with a spear in hand.
Oliver waited until Draco spun the spear behind his back and thrust it toward Oliver. Oliver rushed to the dull blade at the end of the spear and ducked under it at the last moment. He swiped his sword against the shaft, knocking Draco slightly off balance.
Oliver used this to his advantage and tried to strike Draco's body. However, Draco was nimble and could move his spear to block the attack.
Their moves were precise and swift. The compound had turned still to watch this display of skill. Many men training in Wynter suddenly discovered that Oliver had never displayed his true talent. He moved like a ghost around the tip of the spear as if nothing could touch him. Every attack he executed was thoughtful and powerful. The more Oliver revealed, the more they suspected someone had set Oliver up in the capital. A man of his caliber could never be the same vagrant in the rumors.
At the same time, they marveled at the Rucrean. They couldn't believe how powerful he was. They felt a sense of trepidation watching him because they didn't know his ranking within Rucrea. They feared that every standard soldier would be as strong as he was.
Only Oliver knew that Draco was the best fighter of his generation. They were evenly matched out of hundreds of duels in his previous life. However, Draco still edged out a few more victories over Oliver.
While fighting, Oliver could not help but be transported back to those memorable fights. His aura changed, and became sharp and tenacious. He was like a glimmering blade that could not be broken.
Draco had never had such an exciting battle. He felt that he had battled Oliver hundreds of times. It was like he knew Oliver's every move. At the same time, Oliver knew all his fighting techniques.
As Oliver rushed towards him, Draco readied himself. Oliver's eyes were determined and glimmered with joy. His lips curled to a smirk, and his silver hair fluttered behind him.
But at that moment, Draco felt that time stood still. The man in front of him changed before his very eyes; he grew older, a vicious scar covered the left side of his face, and a patch covered the eye. It was the same vision he had in the cabin before.
This was Oliver, but older. Damaged. Scarred. He was wounded in so many ways. Yet he still loved the battle.
He wanted to call out to Oliver but suddenly felt a burning sensation in his neck, as if his vocal cords were ripped out. He couldn't mutter a single word.
But he didn't panic because this version of Oliver and his own muted state was so familiar... yet unfamiliar.
Oliver felt something was off because Draco had stopped moving for a moment. He stopped his steps roughly and lowered his sword.
"Draco?" He called out
Draco's red eyes flashed momentarily when he heard his name, and he woke from his vision. He was still holding his spear out but made no move to block or attack. He was surprised to see Oliver mere inches away.
The burning in his throat disappeared, and he could use his voice again. He didn't know how to explain himself.
His mother had always spoken about the importance of dreams because of their bloodline. Visions were not a foreign concept for his family, and he firmly believed that the dream of Cora's kidnapping was a form of divination.
But this was the second time a vision had appeared while he was awake. It was like his mind was clawing at something, begging him to remember a forgotten memory.
He was flustered and could only utter a clumsy, "I..."
Oliver was concerned because he knew Draco would never stop like this in the middle of a fight. "Your old injuries must be flaring up."
Draco jerked his head up to look at Oliver. "Injuries?"
"You should rest for a few more days."
Draco nodded slowly. "Right.
Oliver had made up an excuse for him, blaming his absent-mindedness on old injuries. It saved Draco from being shamed in front of the soldiers, but he had no idea what truly affected him when they fought.
Oliver led him back into the manor and escorted him to his room. Draco was distracted the entire time. He was trying to figure out who the older Oliver was. What was more perplexing was his overwhelming sorrow when he saw this older man.
Afterward, Draco's dreams were haunted by the vision he had seen before. He had no way of explaining his dreams because he couldn't understand them.
What was baffling was that the dreams never repeated. One night he would face Oliver in a duel on a battlefield. The next night, he would be in a tent with Oliver and others, trying to negotiate something. However, the words were always muffled, and he could never make out the content of the conversation.
Sometimes he would wake in a cold sweat or find himself weeping for unknown reasons. Worse, he couldn't say a single thing in his dreams. He never heard his own voice or even saw a reflection of himself. He knew nothing about his appearance or the battles he fought; all he could see was Oliver.