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[Rough Draft] Chapter 18 {Part One}: A Waking Nightmare
“You needn’t worry, Lady Kirsi,” Bromwell said with a reassuring smile as he walked along the gravel road beside her. “The Viscount will make every effort to ensure you and your sister are taken care of, as will I, though it doesn’t seem like you will be in dire straits any time soon, Duchess.”
Carina nodded absently. Her attention pulled to the tents where Hawthorne’s family colors fluttered in the breeze. She glanced back to where Captain Isaac, Hana, and Ivy trailed behind them; Ivy appeared a little worn out after their morning ride here.
“I understand the two of you recently lost a bother,” Bromwell continued as the silence stretched. “I never had the chance to know Lord Lincoln, of course—”
“Please, Lord Bromwell,” Carina cut in as she refocused on the large main tent set up beside the lake, with several nobles gathered around it. “I do not consider Sophya, the Viscount, and by extension the rest of the Turnbell and Gilwren bloodline to be my family. So there is no reason for you to concern yourself with my future. I’m sure Sophya can use all the help and sympathy she can get.”
“But—surely Lord Asher is looking after her,” Bromwell replied with a curious smile. “I hear their engagement is to be announced any day now.”
Carina snorted and shook her head. “Are you implying that since I am neither engaged nor married, I need a man to help look after my affairs, Lord Bromwell?”
“Ahh—that was—”
“I’ll be sure to send my congratulations to Sophya when she does become Lady Asher Winslet. I’m sure any additional dowry from the Viscount will help smooth the politics of the marriage along—especially in light of your recent inheritance.”
“You have a very cynical view of the world, your Grace,” Bromwell observed ruefully. “I had thought, given your rather lucky rise to power and affluence, that you would be more optimistic.”
Carina’s smile faded instantly as she focused on Bromwell’s assessing gaze. “You do not know me at all, Lord Bromwell. I grew up a half-blood. That was all the education I needed to learn about the realities of this world.”
Bromwell’s eyebrows rose before he smiled sympathetically, then offered an apologetic nod as he fell silent. The crunch of gravel beneath their feet and the cool breeze of the lake as they moved past helped eased the tension in Carina’s shoulders.
The Duchess drew in a slow breath before breaking the peaceful silence. “What can you tell me about the Hunt, Lord Bromwell?”
“What is it you wish to know, your Grace?”
Carina tilted her head thoughtfully. “How many wild animals are normally killed during such an event? How are kills marked and recorded?”
“I see your Grace is also interested in competing,” Bromwell replied with a nod of approval. “I would say a few hundred in total. The Gilwren’s section of the Royal Forest is bursting with deer, foxes, rabbits, and quails. However, I would advise your Grace to steer clear of the northern forest unless you are an experienced hunter. There are quite a few wild boars there, and our huntsmen have spotted some wolf tracks as well recently.”
Carina kept her expression neutral and nodded.
“The number of animals hunted this year is likely to triple with the added bonus of a Royal Favor as a prize,” Bromwell added with a nod towards the carriages unloading poles and mountains of tent material.
“True,” Carina murmured as she stroked her bracelet thoughtfully. “There are quite a few parties interested in winning that prize. One feels sorry for the poor deer.”
“It is indeed the animals that will suffer as the noble lords battle each other for their prize,” Bromwell agreed woefully. “Though most of the nobles here are seasoned enough to give their prey a clean and quick death. The Viscount’s huntsman will also be on hand to finish off any suffering animals. Not only is an accurate count necessary to record each lord’s kill, but also to identify which herds will need restocking and any damaged habitat that will need to be repaired and resupplied before winter.”
“You refer to wild animals as stock?”
“For the royal family’s pleasure, all animals in the Royal Forest are treated as royal property and thus have as much value as any cow or horse.” Bromwell stepped in front of her and took Carina’s hand as he led them around a pile of horse shit. “The reality of curing the royal boredom is that Gilwren must ensure the herds within its forest thrive. That includes fending off poachers and trespassers in the off-season while the animals breed and rebuild their numbers.”
“All so they can be butchered in the hundreds when the Royal Hunt returns. Seems a waste,” Carina observed ruefully.
“Oh, not at all, your Grace.” Bromwell smiled as he released her hand and resumed his leisurely pace. “60% of all leather and meat will be salted, stored, and sent to Lafeara’s armies at the border. Trust me. The soldiers will be thrilled with a fresh supply of meat to complement their daily rations of barley. The leather will also benefit them materials for capes, boots, and other pieces of uniform that tend to wear out during each deployment.”
“I see,” Carina raised a brow in surprise. “You sound quite experienced already, Lord Bromwell.”
“Only because I benefited from such a feast while I served at the border with Captain Beaumont,” Bromwell replied with a note of pride.
‘Is he that proud of having served his country or serving under the bastard son of a Duke?’
“What was the Captain like?” Carina asked curiously. “As a military officer—I mean.”
“Fair, though a bit harsh,” Bromwell replied with a shrug. “Nothing ever seemed to phase him from hunger to cold. The men used to refer to him as a walking mountain—but he was always the first person to enter a battlefield and the last to leave it.” His gaze shadowed over for a moment as he reflected. “None of us will ever forget his vicious strength. I never understood why they pulled him back to the capital to protect the second prince—seemed a massive waste of military power at the time—though now that the second prince is to be King—”
Bromwell trailed off abruptly with a worried look in her direction. “I meant no disrespect, your Grace.”
“Of course,” Carina replied. “If 60% of the hunts kills goes to Lafeara’s soldiers, then what about the other 40%?”
“Well,” Bromwell cleared his throat, seemingly relieved by the shift in conversation. “Before the army gets their cut, the best pieces of meat and fur are sent to the palace. That accounts for about 5% usually. The furs have to be of excellent quality. And only the meat of a stag is taken back to serve at the royal palace—among other particular organs.”
Carina raised a brow as Bromwell hesitated. “Other organs?”
“Well—there was a queen desperate enough to eat—the testicles of a stage to help induce pregnancy—” Bromwell coughed loudly. “The other 15% are split between the churches and the slums.”
The image of Eleanora staring at a plate of deer male deer genitals made Carina shudder. “I see—then nothing is sold for profit?”
“Not as far as meat or leather,” Bromwell replied resolutely. “But the Viscount will enjoy a hefty tax cut for the next two years while restocking the forest, and he gets 20% of all sold lumber from the trees on his estate.”
“Ah,” Carina nodded. “So only the animals suffer in the end.”
“Exactly,” Bromwell agreed with a wry smile. “Unfortunately, with the numbers the competition has drawn in this year—the likely hood of some fool getting injured before the event is over has certainly increased. One of many good reasons the hunting parties are carefully separated and no drinking is allowed in the forest.”
Carina raised a brow at his ominous words. “Is it—normal for injury to occur during the Hunt?”
“There are the usual scrapes and tumbles,” Bromwell replied with a shrug. “Overconfidence and startled horses are usually the cause. As far as weapon injury, we tend to space the hunting parties apart to avoid any accidental friendly fire.”
“I see.”
“But again, with the increase in nobles and larger hunting parties, our huntsmen will have their work cut out for them. I hear a certain Duchess brought two-hundred knights to protect them while in the forest.”
Carina laughed ruefully and nodded. “I do intend to keep most of the knights at camp, Lord Bromwell. Otherwise, my chances of winning the competition will greatly diminish.”
“Yes, well, anything over twenty, and you’ll be lucky to spot a rabbit’s tail, let alone a deer,” Bromwell with a glance at the knights following them. “Especially if they’re dressed in all that armor.”
Carina sighed as she glanced down at the shining chest plate she wore. “I’ll bear that in mind.”
***
“Well,” Asher muttered furiously as Valarie helped Sophya over to her bed. “I suppose that settles that.”
“What’s wrong, Cousin?” Valarie asked curiously. “Did something happen during your greeting with the crown prince?’
“Other than his Majesty barely noticed us?” Asher scoffed and dragged a hand down his neck. “No—that was to be expected. I’m not even a Baron yet, but—” he sighed and shook his head. “The Viscount confirmed that some distant cousin of Sophya’s will inherit Gilwren and all the Viscount’s estates and wealth when the old man dies. From the looks of things, Lord Rykard already has the crown prince’s approval on the matter.”
“Oh,” Valarie murmured quietly.
Sophya lay back on the bed and tried not to notice the matching looks of disappointment on the cousins’ faces.
“Said it was traditional for a male to inherit,” Asher snorted with a rueful smile. “Of course, I didn’t expect him to dig up some distant nephew.”
“Which nephew?” Rufous inquired as he found a chair in the room to relax in.
“Lord Bromwell?”
“Bromwell—First Lieutenant Bromwell?”
“Possibly, he did have a military bearing about him,” Asher said dismissively. “In any case, there’s little point in staying now—but we can’t exactly leave after—”
“There is no way we’re leaving now!” Valarie protested. “Rufous and I still need to make the most of this event! When are lower Baron’s like us going to get another opportunity to hunt alongside royalty? You, Asher, should make the most of this opportunity to impress Marquess Borghese.”
“What?” Sophya mumbled in confusion as she sat up. “Why?”
“If I can’t rise in rank through marriage,” Asher replied coldly, “Then the only way we can increase our status is to win the favor of a stronger noble family.”
“Perhaps Rufous could try impressing the Duchess,” Valarie murmured with a coy smile at her brother. “It never hurts to have the favor of a Duchy.”
“You sound like Father,” Rufous muttered with a scowl.
“Well, one of us has to think about the family,” Valarie retorted with a scoff. “And you know Father is never going to give you his title if all you do is party and drink all day.”
Rufous massaged his forehead with a growl. “Yes—I am aware, Valarie. Thank you for the reminder.” He glanced around the room sharply. “Speaking of which—is it too early to ask the servants bring up something—”
“In any case,” Asher interjected with dwindling patience. “No one knows what the future may hold. There’s still some time before Bromwell becomes Viscount—”
The blare of a horn echoed through the shut bedroom windows, which Valarie hurriedly opened to investigate. “Looks like we’re missing out.”
Sophya rose from the bed and followed Asher over to the window. Across the lake, a wall of knights formed around the main tent. Through the tent’s open canopies, a throng of nobles gathered, their mingled voices buzzing faintly across the breeze towards the Manor.
“You had best stay here with Sophya, Valerie,” Asher said quietly as he turned away from the window. “Rufous and I will go down and see what the meeting is about. There’s not enough time for any hunting parties to head out before lunch with all the tents still to be set. I’ll see if I can’t find a way to join Marquess Borghese’s party. Rufous can gather as much useful information from the other young noble lords while we’re down there.”
“What sort of information?” Rufous asked doubtfully. “You mean where they keep the wine?”
“He means which noble families are present, how the competition is to be handled, and where we will be sleeping tonight,” Valarie replied sharply. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come, Asher? I’m much better suited to making friends than this oaf.”
“Sophya should have company while she’s feeling unwell,” Asher replied with an apologetic smile.
“Fine!” Valarie tossed her brunette curls over her shoulder with a pout. “Do let me know when and where any womanly social gatherings are to take place then. I need to gather all the goss on our delectable Earl before I make my move.”
“I would advise against that,” Asher replied coldly. “The Duchess of Bastiallano has her hooks in him already.”
Valarie’s smile soured as she turned and smacked Rufous’s shoulder. Her brother scowled but rose from the chair to watch as Valarie promptly took his place. “Well then,” Valarie announced crossly as she adjusted her dress. “You had better find someone worth talking to while I’m stuck living in a tent. You know how tiresome I can get when I become bored.”
Feeling invisible once more, Sophya turned to watch Asher and Rufous leave the room, then returned to the bed to close her tired eyes and hide her tears.