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[Rough Draft] Chapter 32: The Poison of Avarice
“And then, before I knew it, half the knights the Duchess had brought were busy carrying back our kills,” Bromwell recounted incredulously as he tipped his wine glass in Lady Kirsi’s direction. Viscount Gilwren smiled politely at his nephew’s enthusiastic tale, but the unwelcome gaze he sent the Duchess, now seated to his right beside Bromwell and the rest of her party, while the royal couple and Prime Minister sat to his left.
Percy sighed as he glanced over the tired but jovial group of nobles who had joined Lady Kirsi’s hunting party. Then his winter grey eyes turned to the board where each quadrant held a scroll marked with the days tally. Today’s irrefutable victors were Duchess Kirsi’s group with an impressive nineteen deer, ten boar, eight rabbits, and six quail.
The Earl’s group had come in second eleven deer, six boar, twelve rabbits, and nine quail. Trailing behind them was Lord Acheron’s group, with the crown princess and Lord Kensington in attendance, who brought in seven deer, five boar, six rabbits, and two quail.
Marquess Borghese’s disgruntled party was dead last, with an embarrassingly low score of zero deer, zero boars, three rabbits, and five quail. An embarrassing turnout considering the number of hunters in Borghese’s group was second only to Percy’s and easily more than tripled the Duchess’s party in number.
“How the devil did she do it?” Eustice Winifred muttered as he slouched back in his chair, tired and still a bit disheveled from their adventures in the forest.
“Oh, there’s more to the Duchess than meets the eye,” Serilda quipped with an amused smile.
“Bah, probably just rotten luck,” Viscount Marlowe grumbled as he ripped through the cooked rabbit before him with a two-prong fork. “What I want to know is why I’m eating rabbit when I could be having venison?”
“The deer takes longer to season and cook,” Viscount Bronte answered as he raised a wine glass over his shoulder for one of the Gilwren servants to refill. “There should be plenty ready for us tomorrow. Perhaps we’ll even have some with breakfast.”
“You lords will all be tired of venison by the end of the Royal Hunt,” Serilda pointed out with a teasing smile. Her moss-agate eyes focused back on Eustice, who was chewing away contentedly at a bite of rabbit. The Marchioness pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and chuckled as she whipped at the smudge of dirt that ran along the nobleman’s cheek. “I can only hope you won’t wait that long to have a bath, Lord Eustice.”
The second son of Marquess Winifred choked, coughed, and turned his head as his ears burned with embarrassment.
“I am certain that every noble here came prepared to use the outdoor showers,” Bronte replied with a snort in Eustice’s direction. “The washing accommodations Viscount Gilwren installed for the hunt are a luxury our men at the border could only dream of enjoying.”
“Indeed,” Serilda replied, her lips twitching with a laugh she let out with a sigh as she turned back to her plate.
Lord Eustice quickly caught her hand and pulled her attention back to him as he kissed the back of it. “Marchioness, I am more than satisfied with bathing outdoors if it means you get to enjoy a luxurious bath in the Manor.”
“Oh, but now I feel so guilty,” Serilda whispered as she wrapped her left hand over their entwined grasp. “Besides, I’ve always wanted to experience the thrill of bathing outdoors under the moonlight.”
“Seri,” Percy murmured with a startled, admonishing look. ‘Is this how she seduced King Henri?’
“Then I will just have to guard whatever pool or river my Lady chooses to bath in,” Eustice replied back softly as his grin broadened in anticipation, which quickly withered under the Earl’s cold glare. “Ah—pardon my—rude behavior.”
“Really, Percy. Must you be such a bore?” Serilda pouted resentfully as she pulled her hand from Eustice’s limp grip. The Marchioness stabbed a fork into the meat Eustice had graciously cut for her and then pointed the morsel of food in the Earl’s direction. “You were the one who suggested Eustice come in place of his father and older brother.”
“That is because you said you wanted to spend more time with him,” Percy countered calmly as he set aside his fork for a glass of wine. “There is nothing wrong with socializing, but please don’t get carried away flirting in public.”
“And why shouldn’t I flirt with my fiancé?”
Percy choked and covered his mouth with a hand as wine sprayed past his surprised lips.
Marquess Marlowe hastily clapped the Earl’s back and offered a handkerchief, then glanced towards Serilda with a cautious look of surprise. “I was unaware that you had become engaged already, Marchioness. May I be the first to congratulate you!”
“You are too sweet, Lord Marlowe. Thank you,” Serilda replied with a beaming smile, then turned towards the dumbstruck fiancé beside her. “We have not yet announced it publicly, but what better time or occasion than the Royal Masquerade Ball?”
“True, the Kensington family, the Earl, and the royal family are all here,” Marlowe conceded with another cautious glance to the Earl in question.
“Indeed,” Percy commented gruffly as he finished drying his chin and jacket and then cleared his throat. “Though, I would encourage you not to rush things too much, cousin.” His winter grey eyes focused on Serilda with a hint of worry. “You’ve only just become reacquainted.”
“What is the point of living if I must wait to enjoy the things I want?” Serilda countered with a pointed look at the Earl. “I’ve already sacrificed a great deal for our family after all.” She slid her hand over Eustice’s upon the table and smiled at the still dazed noble.
“I—I can only say—” Eustice stumbled out somewhat breathlessly, “How honored I am each and every moment I recall you agreeing to my proposal.” He grasped her hand gently and raised it to his lips for an affectionate kiss. Serilda smiled in approval and leaned in as if to kiss Eustice there and then—but the nobleman quickly pulled back and turned his attention to the Earl seated across from the rather recently engaged couple. “That is, I can only hope—” Eustice said cautiously, “—that we have the Earl’s blessing.”
“Of course, we do,” Serilda replied dismissively. There was a hint of sharpness to her words as the Marchioness tilted her head in Percy’s direction and offered the Earl a dangerous smile. “Isn’t that right, cousin?”
“I would never stand in the way of Seri’s happiness,” Percy replied somberly, then summoned a benevolent smile as he gestured towards them both. “Indeed, I wish you both nothing but bliss and happiness. Now—if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to offer my congratulations to today’s victor.”
The Earl stood promptly and quickly motioned Bronte and Marlowe, who had risen beside him, to remain seated. The rest of the hunting party who had listened silently in on Serilda’s all but public proposal nodded their head respectfully to the Earl as he walked past.
Even from over four feet away, Percy still heard Eustice let out a nervous sigh of relief.
‘Don’t make me regret choosing you, Eustice Winifred. You had better make her happy.’
***
Carina noticed the Earl rise from his table and frowned as he headed towards the host’s table.
Hana noticed her frown, and after observing the cause, leaned closer to Carina’s ear to whisper, “It seems the Earl remains very much interested in you, Kirsi.”
“Lord Percy is ambitious,” Carina replied as she pulled a grape from its stem. “I have already refused him once.”
Hana raised a brow but kept quiet as the Earl reached their table and bowed his head courteously to Nicholas and Eleanora.
“Your Majesty, may I congratulate you on your prize,” Percy said eloquently. “To have tracked down and claimed a King Stag so soon in the hunt is surely a good omen.”
“Thank you, Earl Hawthorne,” Nicholas replied with a smug grin in Eleanora’s direction. “I hope it proves fortuitous for the coming year. But I must offer my thanks to the Duchess, whose skill helped me track down and corner the beast.”
“Indeed,” Percy turned his gaze to Carina and offered another bow. “It would appear the Duchess is a lucky charm. Today’s results certainly have an element of good fortune to them.”
“I sincerely doubt that!”
Carina’s lips twitched with a cynical smile as Borghese stormed forward to stand beside the Earl.
“Marquess,” Nicholas greeted tersely. The crown prince narrowed his eyes as he leaned back in his chair. “What seems to be the problem.”
“Your Majesty, out of the nineteen deer and ten boars the Duchess added to her count, more than half appeared to have been killed by some wild animal,” Borghese explained loudly, drawing the attention of the entire banquet area. “I believe those kills should be stricken from her record and the matter investi—” The Marquess flinched as Carina snorted out a sharp laugh.
“Marquess Borghese,” Nicholas replied with a drawn-out sigh. “You do realize I was beside the Duchess for the duration of today’s hunt. I can assure you, the animals in question were indeed brought down by Lady Kirsi’s hand.”
“They were killed by wolves, your Majesty!” Borghese protested, then turned and snapped his fingers towards a young Huntsman who lingered at the edge of the tent. “You—come—explain to his Majesty.”
Nicholas raised his hand quickly in the Huntsman’s direction. “I know they were killed by wolves, Marquess.”
“And that is—” Borghese stumbled to a halt, his brows furrowing even as his eyes rapidly blinked as if rewinding to determine if he had heard the crown prince correctly. “You—know?”
“The Duchess brought four wolves trained as hunting companions to the hunt,” Nicholas replied in a calm, patronizing tone. “We informed the Viscount and obtained his blessing as there is no rule against using a specific breed of hunting animal for the Royal Hunt. You yourself brought several bloodhounds, I hear.”
“But—that—” Borghese turned a sharp glare towards Viscount Gilwren. Maura’s grandfather sighed irritably as he tossed a handkerchief at his half-eaten plate.
“As his Majesty said,” Rykard intoned reluctantly. “Despite my personal feelings on the matter, the Duchess has not broken any rules. And since his Majesty has also given his blessing, any animal hunted down by Lady Kirsi’s wolves will count towards her total score and the competition.”
A murmur rippled through the tent as those lords listening in whispered amongst each other incredulously.
“It has only been a day, Marquess,” Eleanora said, breaking into the conversation with a scornful smile. “But instead of focusing so much on other’s good fortune, perhaps the Marquess should put more effort into the hunt.”
Percy and Acheron’s table echoed with laughter that lingered in the strained atmosphere. Nicholas cleared his throat and slowly removed a hand that had been hiding his own amused smile.
Marquess Borghese trembled with humiliation. His chartreuse-green eyes reddening against his pale cheeks as they focused their wrathful gaze, not on the crown princess, but Carina.
The Duchess smiled back at him without an ounce of sympathy. ‘If you thought you could undermine me with such petty methods, you’re no better than your snotty daughter.’
She relaxed her smile and then turned towards Nicholas. “It does seem a bit unfair that the Marquess’s misfortune should prevent the rest of his party from enjoying tonight’s feast. Might I share some of the leftover meat that my chef has prepared with the Marquess and his men?”
“Well—” Nicholas turned towards Viscount Gilwren, who glanced from the Duchess to Marquess Borghese and then shrugged before nodding his assent, “—I believe the Marquess would be most grateful for your generosity, Lady Kirsi.” The crown prince rested a hand upon the banquet table as his hazel-blue eyes narrowed in on the still trembling, glaring noble. “Isn’t that right, Marquess Borghese?”
“As if I would accept—” Borghese cut off abruptly as he caught the crown prince’s gaze. The Marquess closed his eyes, inhaled sharply, and then bowed his head to the crown prince. “I am sure—the men would—appreciate—your generosity.”
Nicholas tapped his finger loudly against the table as his lips stretched into a condescending smile. “Whose generosity—Marquess?”
“Your Grace, Lady Kirsi’s generosity,” Borghese answered through gritted teeth.
“Oh, but it is nothing, Marquess,” Carina replied sweetly with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I caught so. many. deer today.”
Borghese straightened stiffly and avoided looking at those seated before him as he turned sharply towards the banquet.
“And if you should happen to struggle again tomorrow, Marquess,” Carina called after the defeated noble. “Please count on me to supply your men with plenty of delicious meat.”
The Marquess seemed to stumble under her words, but he promptly continued towards his table at a slightly quicker pace. Carina smiled as she lifted her glass of wine, took a drink, and then signaled to the waiting knight. A moment later, servants streamed inside the banquet tent with freshly prepared venison that was soon placed upon the Marquess’s all but barren table. Half-hearted cheers greeted the feast as the hunger men dug in. Borghese himself waved away the offered food, as did his daughter, Lady Priscilla, who sat pale and silent before a plate of fresh greens and fruit, glaring at the Duchess’s table.
‘Don’t choke just yet, Marquess.’ Carina smiled as she raised her glass for another drink. ‘You and Lady Priscilla have only begun to suffer.’
“Perhaps tomorrow will see another victor emerge,” Percy said with a relaxed smile as he observed Carina.
“Then perhaps the Earl should return to his table and—strategize,” Hana replied tersely as she offered the Earl a cold glare.
Percy smirked. “I shall do just that, my Lady.” He bowed his head to Kirsi, then Nicholas and Eleanora, before turning back towards his table, still smiling.
Carina let out a sigh of relief at his departure and then turned to Hana. “You do realize the Earl has just as many tools at his disposal to win this competition.”
Hana blinked, then frowned as she lifted her glass. “I wasn’t trying to provoke him—I—don’t like him staring at you,” she mumbled before taking a drink.
The Duchess sighed and shook her head, then returned to surveying the awkward mix of atmosphere throughout the tent. The silent, resentful Marquess’s table, the focused and socializing Earl’s table, and the jovial and lighthearted table where Acheron appeared well into his cups.
Viscount Gilwren also appeared to pick up on the disharmony as he signaled to a waiting lute and harp player to liven up the meal with a bit of music.
Carina turned away from Acheron’s table and then glanced behind her to where Lady Evelynn stood beside Lady Meredith. Evelynn appeared tired and withdrawn, hardly paying attention to the crown princess’s rapidly depleted wine glass as she stared blankly across the banquet with an expression of resignation.
A purple cape obscured the attendants from view as the Duchess refocused on Captain Beaumont, who stepped forward to refill Nicholas’s cup. Carina thought of the Darklings and how Beaumont appeared to have frightened them away, even if they weren’t supposed to be afraid of swords. However disturbing the memory, it also filled her with a sense of assurance.
‘After all, for everything to go according to plan. I’m going to need you to be very good at your job, Captain.’