As a prince of Lyndaria, Prince Titus’s position in Eastlyn was always precarious: when the Emperor chose to honor him, he was a guest; when not, he was merely a hostage.
Whether guest or hostage, Prince Titus had no right to meddle in Eastlyn’s internal affairs—one misstep could spark war between the two nations. Everyone present understood this, which is why Prince Adrian seized on it.
With Prince Titus dismissed, not a single person in Feng Manor could stand against Prince Adrian. Vincent Su lacked the rank and the right to speak for the house.
The steward paced in circles, inwardly lamenting that General Feng and Madam Feng had died too young, leaving Miss Feng alone, with no siblings to support her.
If only Miss Feng had a brother or sister—more children meant more blessings, and someone to consult in times of trouble. With her busy saving lives, someone else could take charge of Feng Manor.
But as it happened, Serena Feng was the only master of Feng Manor. With her gone, there was no one left to take charge, and when Prince Adrian demanded to search the estate, the steward—a mere servant—had no right to refuse.
Prince Adrian was menacing, and Ninth Royal Uncle still hadn’t arrived. Vincent Su, desperate, rushed forward and knelt: “Your Highness Prince Adrian, please reconsider. The Grand Heir truly isn’t in Feng Manor. The only Walker here is Seventh Young Master Caleb Walker, brought in by a Walker clan servant. Serena Feng is treating him right now.”
“Insolence. You have no right to speak before me.” Prince Adrian glanced coldly at Vincent Su, his face full of disdain.
Before imperial princes and nobles, Vincent Su—a mere merchant—was nothing.
Vincent Su kept his head bowed, posture humble, but his fist was clenched tight inside his sleeve. Bowing again, he pleaded: “Your Highness Prince Adrian, I dare not deceive you. The Grand Heir truly isn’t in Feng Manor. Given his pride, if he were here, he’d never hide from anyone. The only one present is the gravely injured Seventh Young Master Caleb Walker. Please, Your Highness, let Miss Feng finish saving him before you search.”
Vincent Su realized what was coming. Knowing Prince Adrian’s status, he understood that dodging the kick would only make things worse, so he accepted the blow head-on.
With a heavy thud, Vincent Su collapsed to the side, clutching his chest. Cold sweat streamed down his face and his teeth chattered with pain, yet he still managed to force out, “Thank you, Your Highness.”
Prince Adrian didn’t even look at Vincent Su. He strode out of the hall with his entourage, intent on venting his anger elsewhere.
The steward glanced worriedly at Vincent Su, motioning for Spring and Autumn to come forward and help him up.
“Young Master Su, are you alright?” Spring and Autumn’s faces went pale with fright. Though trained at Ninth Prince Manor and usually poised, even they were shaken by Prince Adrian’s brutality.
“I’m fine.” Vincent Su gritted his teeth, watching Prince Adrian’s procession, his eyes growing darker and more determined.
Such was the gulf in status—even if he was rich as a nation, before princes and officials, he was less than a dog.
His nails dug into his palm, but he felt no pain. He told himself to endure—one day, he would stand as an equal to these men, and his descendants would never suffer such indignity.
...
Prince Adrian and the Walker Clan arrived outside the cabin. It was easy to spot Serena Feng’s clinic, as most of Feng Manor’s guards were gathered outside.
Prince Adrian stopped ten meters from the cabin, his face frosted over as he stared at the Feng Manor guards brandishing spears in his direction.
“Are you rebelling? Mere manor guards wielding military weapons—who gave you such nerve?” Eastlyn strictly controls iron arms; ordinary guards are forbidden to carry them, let alone spears or broadswords.
Only royal prince’s guards are allowed military weapons in Eastlyn, and their number is strictly limited. The Feng Manor guards were clearly breaking the law.
With no proper master present in Feng Manor, the elderly steward could only tremble forward and kneel before Prince Adrian.
“Your Highness Prince Adrian, these men are Prince Samuel Zhai’s guards, not Feng Manor’s.” The elderly steward knelt on the cold floor, shivering with fear but not daring to move.
Though the steward was experienced, today’s display left him at a loss. Before such power, all his skill was useless.
“Prince Samuel Zhai’s guards? Why would his guards be at Feng Manor?” Everyone knew who these guards really were—Prince Adrian was picking a fight on purpose.
“Your Highness, these guards were sent by Young Lord Dominic Zhai at the request of Grand Heir William Walker, to protect Seventh Young Master Caleb Walker.” The steward knew William Walker was close to Dominic Zhai, so he pinned the responsibility on him.
With Dominic Zhai backing them, Prince Adrian dared not act rashly. He nodded and dropped the matter of the guards, pointing at the cabin. “Are you sure the person inside is Caleb Walker?”
“I swear on my life, the person inside is indeed Caleb Walker.” The steward knocked his head to the floor to show his sincerity.
Seventeenth Uncle William heard this and was momentarily unsure. Was William Walker Jinling really not at Feng Manor? If not, where could he be?
Could William Walker Jinling really still be alive?