Chapter 38 Slapping Clio: You Foolish Woman!
The night was thick and dark, but the palace was brilliantly lit. The glow from the gilded candlesticks made the royal coat of arms on the corridor tapestries shine brightly.
Patrick was led by Leo Schmidt into the warm chamber of the outer hall to wait for his audience. According to court etiquette, officials had to wait here for Doyle's summons, then pass through three ceremonial gates before entering the royal study—this was the standard procedure for royal audiences with officials, both displaying authority and allowing time for preparation.
Patrick had assumed Doyle's summons was about important military or state affairs, but as soon as he entered the warm chamber, he was hit by the rich aroma of roasted meat and sweet wine. The long wooden table was covered with an embroidered tablecloth, laid with roasted venison, truffle risotto, cream of mushroom soup, and a pitcher of chilled champagne, even garnished with fresh rosemary and pomegranate—all dishes of royal banquet quality.
"Mr. Schmidt, what's this...?" Patrick looked confused, instinctively adjusting his velvet coat embroidered with the family crest—a symbol of his status.
Leo bowed, his smile proper but revealing no emotion: "Mr. Hamilton, this is a dinner specially bestowed by His Majesty the King. Please eat first."
It was already past dusk. Patrick had rushed straight from the municipal residence to the palace after receiving the summons, with no time to eat. Smelling the food, he couldn't help feeling somewhat pleased—Doyle was being so thoughtful, surely out of gratitude for his eldest son Cameron's death in battle. Such favor was extremely rare among the nobility.
Patrick bowed deeply toward the royal study, his voice respectful: "I am grateful for His Majesty's great kindness!"
With that, he washed his hands in the silver basin brought by servants, then sat down and began enjoying the meal with silver knife and fork. Leo stood quietly by, then after a moment slipped out to the chamber door, leaving only two servants inside.
During the meal, Patrick's thoughts churned. Since Cameron's death in battle, Doyle's rewards to his family had never stopped. Initially, he had strongly opposed Cressida's rash decision to fake her death and return to Emerald City—Patrick worried this would anger the royal family and disrupt the Hamilton family's hard-won stability. But now it seemed Cressida had stumbled into good fortune: if she hadn't faked her death, how could the honor that should have been Cameron's inheritance fall so heavily on him and his family?
After one glass of champagne, Patrick had just put down his knife and fork when the chamber door opened again. Maids filed in carrying new dishes: roasted goose, caviar, fruit tarts, and even a small bowl of precious Eastern bird's nest—a tribute Doyle had received from Eastern envoys, rarely seen by ordinary nobles. The new dishes instantly filled the empty table again, the steam rising with even stronger aromas.
Patrick froze, his hand suspended in mid-air: "There's more?"
Leo came in too, still wearing that same smile: "Mr. Hamilton, this is also a gift from His Majesty the King. Please continue eating."
"Mr. Schmidt, I'm already quite full from what I just ate. I really can't eat any more. Thank you for His Majesty's kindness!" Patrick quickly declined, his tone somewhat urgent—he couldn't understand Doyle's intention.
But no matter what he said, Leo only repeated one phrase: "His Majesty the King has decreed that once Mr. Hamilton finishes these, he may leave the palace on his own."
Patrick suppressed his confusion and picked up his knife and fork again. He didn't dare disobey royal orders—in the West, Doyle's gifts were both favor and a kind of silent command; refusing would be disrespectful to royal authority. But this time, he had barely taken two bites of roasted goose when the maids came in with new dishes again, still a full table, even the tablecloth replaced with a new one.
"Mr. Hamilton, eat while it's hot. Once you finish, you can leave the palace." Leo's smile remained gentle, but his eyes carried a thought-provoking pressure, as if silently urging him on.
The dishes kept coming, one after another, as if they would never end. Patrick felt his stomach churning. What had been delicious delicacies now felt like torture, food stuck in his throat, almost making him vomit. But this was Doyle's gift—how could he dare waste even a bit? Leo stood watching at the door. Patrick could only grit his teeth and swallow with difficulty, mouthful by mouthful, even the champagne tasting bitter.
Who would have thought, just as he barely finished this table of food, the maids came in again carrying new dishes—this time, even the desserts were changed to a chocolate fountain and almond cookies!
Patrick couldn't take it anymore. He stood up abruptly, knocking over the oak chair behind him. "Mr. Schmidt!" he called out urgently, his voice trembling, "Have I done something wrong to displease His Majesty? Please, Mr. Schmidt, tell me clearly and show me the way!"
Leo's smile remained proper, though the wrinkles at his eyes deepened: "Mr. Hamilton, you've misunderstood His Majesty Doyle's good intentions."
"Yes, yes, yes, I deserve to die!" Patrick no longer cared about noble dignity, pausing between words, afraid he'd vomit if he opened his mouth, "His Majesty's gift, and I'm unable to appreciate it. Please, Mr. Schmidt, for the sake of my late eldest son General Hamilton who died in battle, give me some guidance!"
Patrick's tall frame swayed slightly, his face flushed red, veins bulging on his forehead, even his breathing becoming labored—if he ate one more bite, he feared he'd truly lose control right there.
Seeing Patrick truly couldn't continue, Leo finally turned slightly and gave a look. The maids immediately filed out with the dishes, leaving only a messy table.
"Mr. Hamilton, these dishes—His Majesty the King once bestowed them upon Ms. Hamilton on Christmas Eve."
"I know that." Patrick's heart stirred, and he quickly asked solemnly, "Did my daughter Cressida do something wrong to anger His Majesty?"
Leo shook his head with a chuckle: "How could that be? His Majesty the King regrets General Hamilton's death in battle and values his sister Ms. Hamilton greatly."
"Precisely because he values her, the King doesn't want to see Ms. Hamilton wronged."
Patrick was even more confused, his brows knitting together: "She was wronged? When did this happen? How do I not know?"
Leo looked at him instead, his tone somewhat probing: "Today your Mrs. Clio Hamilton took Ms. Cressida Hamilton to pray at the church. What happened there—haven't you heard?"
Patrick was thunderstruck, immediately understanding—the problem was there! There must have been trouble at the church that even alarmed Doyle. Patrick's back instantly went cold, his earlier satisfaction completely vanished.
"I'll return to the manor immediately and find out what happened!" he said hastily, his tone somewhat panicked.
"Mr. Hamilton should treat Ms. Hamilton well," Leo added meaningfully, "otherwise if His Majesty the King inquires again..."
"I understand! I understand the stakes!" Patrick quickly interrupted, his tone urgent, "Cressida is my own daughter. It's not enough to cherish her—I would never let her suffer even the slightest wrong!"
With that, Patrick bowed deeply again. Only then did Leo step aside, allowing him to leave the warm chamber.
All the way, Patrick's face was ashen, his lips pressed tightly together, sitting in the carriage arranged by the royal family without saying a word. Only when the carriage left the palace and reached a deserted street corner on the edge of Emerald City did he have the driver stop.
His tall frame had barely jumped out of the carriage when he leaned against a sycamore tree trunk and vomited violently. The food in his stomach mixed with acid water all came rushing out, even bringing tears to his eyes. He was scared half to death, his back soaked with cold sweat—only now did he understand that Doyle's "dinner gift" wasn't favor at all, but a warning!
The night grew even darker, but Patrick's manor was still lit.
Clio paced anxiously back and forth in the sitting room, glancing out the window from time to time, her fingers clutching the pearl necklace at her chest—a gift Patrick had given her when he was promoted to quasi-baron. The maid Tatum stood nearby, softly advising: "Mrs. Hamilton, it's getting late. You should rest a bit. Mr. Hamilton will surely be back soon."
"Mr. Hamilton still has no news. How can I sleep?" Clio twisted the silk handkerchief in her hand, her tone anxious, "Usually by this time he'd be back at the manor. Even if something delayed him, he should have sent a servant back to let us know."
Just as she finished speaking, the door was gently pushed open and a young maid came in to report: "Mrs. Hamilton, Ms. Hamilton is here."
Rose walked in holding a brass hand warmer. A maid quickly came forward to help her remove her fox fur cape—the fur collar was arctic fox, considered top quality among Emerald City's nobility. Rose asked with a worried face: "Mother, Father isn't back yet?"
"No," Clio sighed, her tone somewhat deflated, "we can only wait longer."
Rose frowned, lowering her voice: "The municipal prison still refuses to release anyone. Brynn is still locked up. Mother, if Father doesn't return, we need to send someone to the prison to work on the warden—I heard he's been collecting Eastern porcelain lately. That set of blue and white porcelain in our study might come in handy."
She knew clearly that if that Zaid said something he shouldn't in prison, she and her mother would be finished—Patrick had just been promoted, and the family's reputation absolutely couldn't be ruined by a scandal.
Clio was about to nod in agreement when suddenly there was a loud crash outside. The heavy oak door was violently pushed open, slamming against the wall with a dull thud that made sparks jump from the fireplace.
Both Clio and Rose were startled, looking up toward the door—Patrick's face was dark, his whole body radiating fierce anger as he strode in, not even having time to brush the dust off his coat.
"Mr. Hamilton, you're finally back!" Clio hurried forward, speaking rapidly to explain, "Today at the church prayer, there was an incident. Your precious daughter Cressida, she actually..."
SLAP!
A crisp slap rang out. Before Clio could finish, Patrick struck her hard across the face. Years of martial training had left his palms covered with calluses—this slap carried tremendous force.
Caught off guard, Clio was knocked stumbling sideways, hitting an antique vase nearby—a treasure Cressida had brought back from past campaigns. The vase fell to the ground with a crash, shattering into pieces, fragments scattering everywhere, even the roses inside crushed and bent.
Both Rose and Tatum were stunned, frozen in place, even their breathing quieted.
"Mother!" Rose came to her senses and rushed forward to help, her voice tearful.
Clio covered her face, her carefully arranged hair coming loose, strands hanging messily by her face, the swollen cheek clearly showing the handprint. She looked up, her eyes full of disbelief: "Mr. Hamilton? You hit me?"
Patrick pointed at her, his chest heaving violently, his eyes blazing as he roared: "You foolish woman! You almost got me killed! Almost destroyed the entire family!"