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[Rough Draft] Chapter 50: A Taste for Vengeance

 

The scriva’s frozen paws pounded against the damp forest floor, kicking up leaves, moss, and broken stems as Lumi carried Carina after their fleeing prey. The ice witch and her scriva had passed by the royal caravan earlier. Marquess Borghese, his stewards, and vassals had all made their escape during the chaos. What few mercenaries remained alive had long since fled, though a few lay bound in chains at the feet of Bastallaino’s knights.

‘Run. River. Escape,’ Lumi warned with a growl as trees, leaves, and brushed blurred past.

‘They might have prepared an escape route,’ Carina replied as her fingers tightened around the elemental wolf’s fur. ‘We need to get there first.’ The ice witch laid down upon the scriva’s back and pressed her cheek against Lumi’s neck as they moved forward at an impossible speed. A dizzy landscape of flashing shadows and light blurred past until the light grew brighter, and the scriva slowed to an abrupt halt.

The sound of water rushing over stone greeted Carina as she straightened and took in the line of men hurriedly clambering into small rowboats along the edge of the river.

“Those are Borghese’s men, but where is the Marquess?” Carina whispered anxiously.

‘Close. Scent. Near.’

Carina nodded and slid down from the scriva’s back. The ice witch kept one hand pressed against the elemental’s cold fur to maintain her invisibility as she focused on the boats of men already fleeing down the river.

‘Cowards. Stop?’

“The quicker they flee, the fewer boats left for Borghese to use.”

Lumi let out a gruff laugh then lifted her snout into the air for a cautious sniff. ‘Witches. Near.’

“Witches?” Carina glanced around sharply as Lumi’s ears pricked up.

‘River. Wrong.’

“What?”

Startled cries flowed up from the river as the men upon the shore, and even those halfway across the gushing water, cried out in alarm and dismay as the current changed direction, then swirled as a whirlpool formed that sucked both men and vessel underwater.

The men upon the shore quickly fled towards the forest line. Tendrils of water whipped after them, dragging mercenaries, nobles, and servants back into the river, where they vanished inside the rising whirlpool of water that rose above the exposed riverbed.

Carina watched in silent awe as the treacherous waterspout spat damp, limp corpses into the trees where the drowned men clattered through the branches to the forest floor or dangled from a limb above the ground. When the last of the escape boats had been dragged and shattered beneath the storm of water, the waterspout slowly descended back into the river bed below, where the churning muddy water flowed merrily downstream with eerie calm.

Just when Carina thought the nightmare had ended, a woman appeared from the depths of the river, clad in body-tight gray-blue armor. The woman moved confidently onto the shore that faced the Duchess and bowed her head reverently in Carina’s direction.

“His Majesty, Llyr sends his greetings, and your Grace will accept this small act of friendship on his behalf,” the water witch announced calmly as her braids dripped water down onto the waterlogged stones beneath her.

Carina glanced cautiously up and down the riverbank and then at the river itself. She removed her hand slowly from Lumi’s fur and then stepped forward towards the witch. “Have you seen Marquess Borghese?”

“I have not, your Grace, but I can assure you that no one has crossed the river safely. I was sent to ensure that the traitor and his men did not escape punishment.”

Carina nodded at the water witch, who remained bowed at the waist with her eyes focused upon the river rocks. “You may extend my thanks to Crown Prince Llyr. Tell his Majesty that I look forward to speaking with him at the Duchy after all this is over.”

“I will, your Grace. I look forward to seeing you again.”

The Duchess raised a brow and watched as the water witch returned the river, where she quickly disappeared beneath the rapidly flowing water. The sound of horses closing in quickly turned Carina’s attention back to the forest where Marquess Borghese appeared looking tattered and pale as he yanked in the reins of his steed and stared incredulously at the empty river.

***

“Those treacherous wastrels!” Borghese bellowed as the two injured mercenaries pulled up beside him. “They fled and took all the bloody boats with them!”

“My Lord, this doesn’t make sense. We left more than enough boats—”

“Well, do you see any?”

“No—my Lord.”

“We can follow the river further north,” suggested the other mercenary. “There should be another crossing point—”

“That’s over a day’s ride,” his comrade countered quickly. “By then, the Royal Knights will have sent messenger birds to every crossing point and harbor demanding our arrest.”

“Then south? We could use the smugglers crossing—”

“That will likely already been seized,” Borghese interjected, his tone drawn and feeble as he stared into the muddy water. “The Dowager’s men would have found records of it when they trashed their way through my house. Damn them!”

‘How did this happen? I told them to stand down. I gave Captain xx explicit instructions not to make a move unless I expressly gave the order!’

“The river is shallow enough to cross by horse further north,” the calmer of the mercenaries suggested as he turned his mount in that direction. “We should head there quickly before the Viscount sends out his huntsmen to track—”

The Marquess flinched as a cross-bolt buried itself in the surprised mercenaries’ throat. The choking man slid from his saddle onto the muddy river stones where he twitched and soon went completely still.

“What the bloody—” the second mercenary lifted his own pistol and turned in the direction of the attack, just as a second bolt of ice buried itself in his left eye.

Borghese stared at the dead man for a split second, then whipped his startled horse north and trashed the animal with his riding-whip as he left the bodies and river behind him. A blur of white cut across his path just as the Marquess and his horse climbed the riverbank. Two pairs of glowing crystal eyes and savage fangs slashed their way through the terrified stallion’s throat and legs as the panic creature reared up, throwing Borghese from his saddle and into a tree.

The Marquess gasped for breath as he pulled his sword from its sheath, clambered to his feet, and fled. The stallion’s terrified screams silenced suddenly behind him, and only Borghese’s pounding heart chased after the frightened man as he sprinted beneath the silent trees that loomed over him like the gallows.

‘Those—weren’t—normal—wolves. That cross-bolt—looked like it was made of ice!’ The Marquess stumbled on a root but caught himself before he tumbled into a briar bush. He whirled around only to find the trail behind him empty. ‘This-this is witchcraft! The Duchess—I saw her use some sort of magic to protect the Crown Princess’s carriage—’

“Where are you running to, Marquess Borghese?” The cold feminine voice whirled the Marquess around again to where Duchess Kirsi stood, her silver crossbow in hand, beneath a gnarled oak tree. “Who do you think will offer sanctuary to a traitor who tried to assassinate their King?”

“You!” Borghese’s hand trembled even as he raised his sword towards her. “This-this is your doing! Your trickery, Witch!”

The Duchess raised a brow even as her small mouth curled into a cynical smile. “Am I responsible for the mercenaries you brought into the King’s Forest? Was I the one who hired two Ventrayna Witches to assassinate the Crown Prince? Did I give the order to attack?” Her ice-blue eyes bore into him as Kirsi laughed in his face. “Exactly how am I to blame for your misdeeds, Marquess?”

“I did not give the order!” Borghese bellowed.

The Duchess tilted her head with an expression of disbelief. “They were your men, Marquess.”

“Yes—I know—but I had no reason to attack the Crown Prince after he pardoned me!”

Kirsi’s ice-blue eyes narrowed. “Nicholas—pardoned you?”

“Yes!” Borghese cried out desperately.

“For building up troops behind his back—”

“I only did that to ensure he remained protected! He was engaged to my daughter, Priscilla when I first created the Shadow Army.”

“And the means you use to fund this army. The illegal sex trade ring you formed beneath his father’s reign? The children you exploited for personal profit and gain!”

“They were all vagrant, peasants, the spawn of criminals and witches!”

A rush of cold air curled down Borghese’s neck as the soft tread of wolves turned him towards a pack of four that now cut off his retreat.

“Did—Nicholas—pardon you—for your involvement in these sex crimes?” The Duchess’s voice cracked with anger as her frigid gaze bore into him.

“Yes! Yes!” Borghese blurted out, eyes jolting between the snarling wolves at his back and the dangerous witch before him. “I handed over the army, all my earnings. I will even give up my title as Marquess when we return to the capital.”

“Meanwhile, your daughter would have become his consort.”

‘Would have?’ Borghese blinked and sucked in a quick breath. “Priscilla was always meant to marry Nicholas. She is utterly devoted to him, unlike that tainted barbarian princess who brought her lover into the royal palace.”

The Duchess scoffed scornfully even as she slowly lowered her weapon. “His Majesty sent me to arrest for treason.”

“Then—arrest me! I will prove my innocence!” Borghese dropped his sword and held up his hands swiftly. “I swear upon my life—I did not order this attack, Duchess!”

Kirsi stared at him, her expression unreadable as her gaze trailed to the sword on the ground. “You ordered an investigation into the background of my maid, Lady Ivy. You used Ivy’s pain to blackmail and threaten me into staying away from the Royal Hunt. You even used Ivy’s mother, Lady Meredith, to try and dig up a weakness you could use against me.”

Borghese flinched as the wolves snarled. The icy creatures appeared to become more hostile as the witch grew angry. ‘I have to get out of here. If I have to surrender, so be it. Once I reveal that the Duchess is a witch, I can pin this disaster on her and be rid of this half-blood bitch!’

“I-I did that because you were digging into my affairs!” The Marquess protested weakly. “You threatened me first! It was Priscilla who gave me the idea to target your maid. I only wanted a weakness I could use to protect myself and stop you from bringing my family to ruin!”

“So—it was Priscilla’s idea?”

Borghese swallowed at the cold smile that spread across the ice witch’s face. “You—you can’t harm Priscilla! She is a Royal Consort now! The Crown Prince will never—”

“The last time I saw your daughter, she was being pulled from a burning carriage. I’m not even sure Lady Priscilla was still breathing.”

“W-what?!” Borghese’s arms dropped to his side numbly. “H-how? She was with—his Majesty.”

“Does it matter?” Kirsi tilted her head. “A woman that horribly scarred—can’t possibly serve the King of a nation.”

“They are—already engaged—”

“Do you honestly expect the future King to marry the scarred offspring of a traitor?”

Borghese flinched beneath the Duchess’s cold laugh. “How—dare you! Lady Priscilla is of noble birth—”

“Noble birth does not excuse the atrocities either of you have committed!”

“Bah! Says the witch who killed her own half-brother!” Borghese flinched beneath the ice witch’s gaze as her smile faded and a sudden gleaming light burned beneath the chainmail across her chest. “You-you can arrest me. A court of my peers will determine my guilt.”

“No.”

“What?!” Borghese licked his lips nervously, unable to explain the fear growing in his gut as he stared into the Duchess’s eyes that seemed to grow steadily darker. “But—his Majesty forgave me! I am not to blame for what happened here today!”

Kirsi’s once ice-blue eyes seemed to swell with darkness as she stared at the Marquess with an unnerving smile.

“P-please. You—you have to—” Borghese stumbled to his knees and bowed his forehead towards the forest floor—careful to place his right hand beside the hilt of his sword. “Take me to his Majesty.”

“His Majesty may yet forgive you—but I do not!”

‘You fucking bitch!’ Borghese grabbed his sword and sprang to his feet as he lunged forward.

The first set of teeth sank into his shoulder and spun the Marquess around like a rag doll before hurling him down onto the forest floor. Borghese wheezed painfully and cried out as the second set of fangs dug into his sword arm at the wrist.

“Lumi,” Duchess Kirsi’s cold voice whispered through the suddenly dark and quiet forest. “Bring me his head. Leave nothing else.”

“Wait, no! N-no—”

Fangs ripped open Borghese’s throat even as his stomach burned hot and cold beneath the snarling pile of winter wolves that tore into him, dragging him apart piece by piece.

 

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[Rough Draft] Chapter 49: The Duchess of Winter

 

In the end, eight mercenaries were left alive. The Bastiallano Knights quickly rounded and formed them in a straight line, on their knees, with their wrists bound together in a rope chain. Beaumont remained apart from the Royal Knights that remained in a tight circle around Nicholas. One look at the crown prince’s protection, and Carina felt her unease resurface. The knights from the palace no longer looked at her like a noble or a Duchess. Their gaze held an alien expression, not of resentment or disgust, but fear.

Lieutenant Silas returned the sword that Carina had dropped when her horse had thrown her. She accepted the weapon without a word and let it dangle by her side.

‘This isn’t me.’ A cold feeling of numbness washed over her as Carina stared down at the sword. It was the same feeling she had felt when Miranda had taken her last bloody breath before slipping into the welcoming arms of death. ‘I don’t belong here.’

‘Don’t doubt yourself now,” Kirsi murmured reproachfully. “You did what had to be done to fulfill both duty and desire. There is no shame in bringing down an enemy who would attack the weak and defenseless.”

Carina clenched her jaw as she stared across the field of dead men, most of them mercenaries killed by her knights. Three of Bastiallano’s knights had fallen in the fight, and two were injured but able to walk after being treated. She looked around for her horse and found the white animal lying in the grass on its side. The Duchess quickly turned towards the animal, concerned, but Silas caught her arm.

“It will need to be put down, your Grace,” the knight explained with a tinge of sympathy in his voice. “The burns are too severe—death is a kindness.”

The stallion raised its head weakly and then dropped it with a cry mingled with pain and exhaustion. Carina nodded slowly, but the arm holding her sword trembled.

“Allow me, your Grace.” Silas signaled to a nearby Bowman and took the knight’s weapon before wandering into the field towards the crying animal. Carina turned away just as the Lieutenant pulled back an arrow.

The frost-covered field crunched beneath her feet as the Duchess approached her knights. They turned towards her, expressions mixed between awe, uncertainty, and distrust.

‘So much for letting them get to know me before unveiling my secret.’ Carina turned as Silas’s footsteps followed behind her. The Lieutenant glanced from the Duchess to the knights and narrowed his eyes.

“Into formation,” he barked harshly.

The knights swiftly fell into rank, aside from four which stood on guard beside the captured mercenaries. Silas marched towards them and whispered something soft and low that caused all the knights to drop their gaze.

Carina sighed and stabbed the sword she held into the ground beside her.

‘There is nothing to be ashamed of, Carina.’ Viktor’s soothing voice wrapped around her like a cold blanket as Lumi appeared in all her towering glory behind the ice witch. The Scriva’s glass marble eyes bore into the line of knights, which had all frozen stiff at the sight of the elemental.

Even Silas looked paralyzed with fear as the Scriva opened its glittering fangs and snarled out a commanding growl.

“Lumi,” Carina called out reproachfully as she wrapped her arm around the scriva’s lowered snout and pulled the wolf’s face towards her. “It is fine.”

Lumi’s beautiful eyes blinked as they reflected the Duchess image. The scriva whined softly, then sighed as she laid down on the frozen grass beside the ice witch.

“Your Grace!” Silas’s hoarse voice turned Carina’s attention back to her knights as the Lieutenant bent slowly to one knee. “It is an honor to serve—the Duchess of Winter.”

Lumi’s ears pricked up with interest while Carina watched in growing confusion as the rank of knights behind Silas all dropped to a knee and echoed their Lieutenant’s words.

“I—don’t understand,” Carina murmured. “Lieutenant—”

“I suppose I failed to mention,” Kirsi whispered bemusedly in Carina’s mind. “That part of the Bastiallano Knight’s pledge is their oath to the descendants of Isbrand.”

Carina exhaled forcefully as the knights all bowed their heads. ‘Aren’t they taking it too far? Knights should only bend the knee to a King or Queen.’

“They recognize who you are, even if you do not acknowledge it yourself.”

Lumi rose up to her feet with a playful bark. The scriva’s tail wagged in approval beside Carina as she stepped forward and extended her hand to Silas. “Please rise, Lieutenant Silas. We are not done here.”

“Yes, your Grace.” Silas stood and bowed his head politely. “What are your orders?”

Carina turned towards the uneasy group of Royal Knights who surrounded Nicholas. Then her gaze turned to Beaumont, who was wiping off his sword with a torn piece of garment. The knight captain raised his violet eyes towards her as he rested his Dragon Blade against a shoulder and trudged back through the field of dead men towards the crown prince.

“For now,” the Duchess said quietly. “Send word back to the main group that the bridge is down. We will need to find another road back or begin building a bridge—depending on his Majesty’s orders.”

“I will send our fastest rider at once, your Grace.”

“Have him tell Lady Hana and Lady Ivy that I am alright and inform Captain Isaac that I wish him to remain with them until they arrive here.”

Silas nodded and turned to one of the knights in formation behind him.

Carina exhaled slowly as Beaumont pushed his way through the Royal Knights. The Knight Captain gave a quiet command that seemed to ease the uncertainty among his men as they slowly lowered their weapons.

“We could kill him now,” Kirsi murmured coldly. “End the Havardur line for good and take the throne in one fell swoop.”

‘I am not killing him,’ Carina returned firmly as she watched Nicholas emerge from the Royal Knights. The crown prince appeared to be in pain as he hugged his chest and leaned on Beaumont’s arm. Still, he walked determinedly towards the Duchess, who stepped forward hesitantly to greet him.

“Your Highness, are you alright?”

Nicholas raised his gaze from the frost-covered field and laughed—the sound cut short as he grimaced and groaned in pain. “You have—certainly erased all doubt—as to Frost’s identity.”

“Oh?” Carina cleared her throat and coughed awkwardly. “I-I did try to tell—”

The crown prince raised a hand sharply as he drew in a slow pained breath. “Please, Duchess. I am in enough agony as it is.”

“Of course. Shall I send some knights to acquire a carriage for you to rest in?”

Nicholas sighed weakly as he gazed around the field. The crown prince’s hazel-blue eyes widened in disbelief as he took in the great scriva that waited patiently beside Carina’s knights. “Th-that’s—a big wolf.”

“Lumi is my scriva, your Highness.”

The crown prince grimaced again as he rubbed his temple and closed his eyes with a heavy sigh. “You realize—Lady Kirsi—that you have placed me in a rather precarious position.”

Carina blinked and glanced at Beaumont before replying simply, “Yes, your Majesty.”

“A lot of nobles saw your use of magic earlier.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“I am days away from my coronation, and now Lafeara’s newest Duchess has revealed herself as a witch—in public.”

The Duchess clenched her jaw silently as she waited for Nicholas to finish.

“I am grateful to you, Lady Kirsi,” Nicholas whispered somberly as he held out a hand towards Carina. “Your actions saved my life and many others today.”

‘That’s it?’ Carina blinked, then stepped forward as she took the crown prince’s hand and bowed. “I acted only out of concern for your Majesty.”

“You left one alive?” Nicholas queried as he nodded towards the Fire Witch trapped in the river.

“To interrogate!” Carina explained hastily. “To find out who directed the attack.”

“A wise decision,” the crown prince replied as he reached over to pat Beaumont’s chest. “Take me to the Duchess’s prisoner. I would ask him that question myself.”

“Your Majesty,” Beaumont replied gruffly with a quick glance to Carina. “You are in no—”

Enough, Captain!” Nicholas interjected, followed by a sharp hiss of pain as he touched his chest. “With you—and the Duchess beside me—who could harm me now?”

“Your Majesty, may I—” Carina held up a hand towards the crown prince’s chest.

Nicholas’s hazel-blue eyes narrowed for a moment before he smiled and nodded towards her.

With the greatest care, Carina spread her fingers across the crown prince’s chest and gently infused his robes and the surface of his skin with a light mist of cold magic. Nicholas shivered and blinked in surprise before letting out a soft, appreciative groan.

“Thank you, Duchess,” Nicholas whispered with a weak smile. “I may ask you to numb me further still for the journey back home.”

“If you wish it, your Majesty.”

Nicholas closed his eyes and nodded with a soft sigh. “That is enough for now. Let’s speak to this prisoner.”

***

The Fire Mage glared up at Carina as she led the Beaumont and Nicholas across the path of ice. The crown prince stopped once or twice to catch his breath before making his way forward determinedly, still leaning on Beaumont’s arm.

“So,” the crown prince growled as he eyed the witch, whose tanned features had gone a bit pale from his submerged prison. “Who sent you?”

The Fire Witch spat onto the ice before him. “Why would I bother talking to a dead man?”

Nicholas arched a brow and held back Beaumont as the knight captain took a step forward. “I believe you are confused. However, before my knight pricks your head like an olive, why don’t we try this again.”

The Fire Mage stared at Beaumont and then at the Dragon Blade the knight captain held in his free hand and laughed scornfully. “A Ventrayna Witch does not fear death! Only dishonor!”

“Are you saying the Emperor or Empress sent you?” Nicholas replied calmly as he arched a patient brow.

“I—” the Fire Mage’s eyes blinked rapidly before his overall expression went suddenly lax.

Carina frowned in confusion. A flutter of wings across the river drew her attention to three crows that swooped down over the river towards the three of them before rising to climb above the forest line as they soared back towards the caravan.

‘Were those—Percy’s crows?’

“Well?” Nicholas repeated impatiently. “Who sent you?”

Carina turned back to the Fire Witch’s who had gone from pale to sweating as the man clenched his teeth together.

“If you think by keeping silent that I will allow you to have an honorable death, then you are mistaken!” Nicholas snapped furiously.

The Fire Witch shuddered and raised his eyes to Carina as he uttered a single word in response. “Borghese.”

The Duchess blinked and laughed. ‘And there it is, the final nail in the coffin.’

Nicholas laughed as well. His bitter mirth disturbed by another grunt of pain as he turned his back to the witch.

“Your Majesty,” Carina quickly followed the crown prince, determined to make the most of this damning evidence. “We should—”

Before she could finish her argument, Beaumont grabbed them both and unceremoniously flung them towards the shore, where a line of Royal and Bastiallano knights caught them as an explosion detonated where the Fire Witch had been. Chunks of fried flesh and broken ice flung through the air as the blast knocked the crown prince, Duchess, and knights off their feet.

A shield protected Carina from the raining spray of crushed crimson ice. The Bastiallano knight beside her looked pale but composed as he waited for his comrades to rise and form a protective barrier around their Duchess.

Ears still ringing from the unexpected noise, Carina accepted an offered hand and rose to her feet. Just as the swaying earth fell firmly into place, the memory of Beaumont’s flying body sucked the air from her lungs as Carina shover her way through the knights, then gasped quickly in relief at the sight of Beaumont pushing himself up from the ground a few feet away.

“What the blood hells was that?” a Royal Knight demanded.

Carina turned and stiffened as she took in Nicholas’s unmoving form. “Your Majesty?”

The crown prince waved one hand weakly and then dropped it to his side.

“Your Majesty, are you alright?” as she moved swiftly towards him, only to have Beaumont brush past her as the knight captain knelt beside the winded prince.

“He is not in any grave danger,” Beaumont said with evident relief as the prince firmly grasped his hand.

Nicholas grimaced and nodded, then closed his eyes as he focused on taking in shallow breaths.

Carina exhaled weakly in relief, then straightened and gazed towards the river where her broken ice prison now floated away in small chunks. “He—exploded.”

“Fire Mage Assassins,” Beaumont replied grimly with a shake of his head. “When they take a job like this, they are often asked to perform a spell that will self-detonate when they name their employer.”

The Duchess’s eyes widened in comprehension even as she shivered at the thought. “So they either die from torture or name their employer and die while taking out their interrogator.”

“Either way, normally, the client’s name does not get out,” Beaumont affirmed with a faint smile. “Fortunately, your ice prison helped damp the worst of the spell.”

“Why tell us and kill himself then?”

Beaumont looked up to meet Carina’s troubled gaze. “Perhaps, in this case, it was worth dying sooner while also condemning Borghese.”

“Duchess!” Nicholas whispered out hoarsely.

“Yes, your Majesty!” Carina replied quickly.

“Borghese,” the crown prince growled grimly, eyes shut tight against the pain. “Arrest—him!”

“I will find him at once, your Majesty.” The Duchess rose quickly to her feet. “I will leave half of my knights here with you and send back the Royal Physician and a carriage.”

Nicholas nodded slowly and finally managed to open his eyes. “If Borgheses resists—You have my permission to execute him—Lady Kirsi.”

Carina’s jaw tightened as Lumi pressed her snout against the Duchess’s back. “Thank you, your Majesty,” she murmured and then offered a quick bow before she climbed onto the scriva’s back to begin her hunt.

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[Rough Draft] Chapter 48: A Descent into Chaos

 

“And that blue one over there is a Mountain Blue Bird,” Hana said pointed off towards the trees that offered some relief from the sun as the caravan of knights, royalty, nobles, and servants made their way slowly towards the capital.

“What’s the difference?” Ivy asked as she raised a hand above her eyes. “Wait, the other ones had orange bellies.”

“Precisely,” Hana replied with a smile.

“But the Mountains are far from here,” Ivy protested.

“Not that far if you can fly,” Carina reasoned as she took studied the bird that flittered off over the forest of trees.

“I didn’t know you had a fondness for birds, Viscountess,” Captain Isaac observed from behind the trio.

Hana’s smile tightened even as she turned to reply. “The Duchy has an impressive library of books. After discovering one on birds, I became interested.”

“Shall I buy you some songbirds when we return to the capital?” Carina asked bemusedly. She had yet to grasp what it was between Hana and Isaac that made it seem like Isaac was constantly poking at the Viscountess, who responded civilly enough but could not hide her dislike.

“Oh, no!” Hana replied quickly. “No, I would rather observe them in their natural habitat. To be put in a cage—is a terrible fate.”

Carina opened her mouth to protest, then thought better of it and smiled in defeat.

“We could buy the birds already in captivity and free them around the Duchy,” Ivy suggested thoughtfully. “Then Lady Hana could feed them every morning in exchange for their songs.”

“That’s—a good idea,” Carina murmured and chuckled as Ivy beamed. “What do you think, Hana—”

A startled scream rippled through the air from the front of the caravan. Carina’s eyes snapped forward even as the knights around her instantly drew their swords and raised their shields.

“That scream came from the direction of the Crown Prince’s retinue,” the Duchess murmured tensely. With a glance at the knights around her, Carina pulled on the reins and guided her horse towards the outside road.

“Your Grace!” Isaac protested as he moved to follow.

“Captain, you will stay here and protect my ladies,” Carina replied sharply and turned towards the nearest Lieutenants she recognized. “Lieutenant Silas and Lieutenant Arlo, bring your men and follow me.”

“Protect the Duchess!” Isaac growled with evident frustration as the two Lieutenants glanced hesitantly towards him.

Carina didn’t wait for them to acknowledge her order as she kicked her heels into the white stallion’s flanks and galloped up the dusty road to where the caravan had come to a halt.

The flags of the Royal Knights teetered and then fell as a blaze of arrows came from the trees that surrounded them.

“Shields!” Beaumont’s voice roared above the momentary confusion.

A horse broke away from the royal carriage. Its dune-colored fur streaked with blood as it danced past Carina. It bucked and shied away from the knights that surged up behind the Duchess as Lieutenant Silas raised a shield to protect them both from the second round of arrows.

‘An ambush!? But from who?’

“Protect his Majesty!” Carina shouted to the knights behind her even. A loud feral cry rang out from the opposite embankment as a surge of armed men poured out of the trees directly towards the royal carriages.

Carina recognized the men. She had seen them numerous times through Lumi’s eyes. ‘But—why? What could the Marquess possibly have to gain by attacking now when his men are clearly outnumbered?’

“Where is Lieutenant Arlo?”

“To your left, your Grace,” Silas replied with a nod to the wave of knights that crashed directly into the approaching group of mercenaries.

The nobles who had been traveling close behind the royal carriages retreated into the waves of knights, who opened to provide a path of retreat even as they pressed forward. Arlo remained glued to Carina’s side while the rest of his knights quickly surrounded and passed them to form a line of defense as the second wave of mercenaries came at the royal carriage from the right.

Carina’s hands tightened around the reins as two familiar figures in red robes appeared behind this new assaulting force. The Fire Witches raised their hands and flung three fire bolts directly towards the royal carriage.

A surge of magic flowed from Carina’s chest into her arms and across the swarm of chaos. An ice wall rose like a shell around the road beside the trapped carriage and glowed as it engulfed the three fiery projectiles.

“Your Grace!” Arlo protested with a note of disbelief.

Carina lowered her hand, aware of the gaze of several nobles and their servants that fled past them behind Bastiallano’s knights. “Protect the King,” the Duchess said firmly as she drew her sword and pointed towards the enemy that had spread out to surround them. “Death to the Traitors!”

The royal carriage jerked and pulled forward at a rapid pace. A hole appeared beneath its front wheel, which wobbled precariously as the driver quickly whipped the team into a gallop. The royal knights followed, leaving Bastiallano’s knights to deal with the mercenaries.

Carina’s head whipped over the chaos around her, then focused on the two Fire Mages that broke off to follow Nicholas’s carriage with another group of thirty-some mercenaries close behind them.

“Lieutenant Arlo! We need to protect the caravan and the King!”

Arlo pulled a horn from his saddle and blew out three sharp notes. “My men and I will follow you, Duchess. Lieutenant Silas will protect the caravan.”

Carina nodded and urged her mount forward after the royal carriage. Her gaze pulled towards a cluster of knights gathered around a man kneeling on the ground. The image of Acheron’s agonized face as he clutched the Prime Minister in his arms flashed past—but not before Carina saw the arrow that had pierced Attwood’s chest. The Duchess clenched her teeth together as she twisted the reins in her hands and called Lumi.

***

The Duchess and her men gained ground quickly. Carina watched helplessly as the carriage, already on fire, turned suddenly off the road as the front wheel broke loose. The carriage flipped, taking out a mounted knight beside it as the mercenaries rode into the royal knight’s disheveled ranks.

“Protect the King!” Arlo roared. The knights behind them bellowed out a cry that turned the rear flank of the mercenaries as Carian blasted an icy path through their ranks towards the carriage.

Through the smoke, she saw Beaumont climb through the flames and rip the carriage door free. The knight captain dropped inside then emerged with Nicholas draped over his shoulder. A flash of flame whipped Carina’s attention towards the Fire Witches, who instantly targeted the Knight Captain and crown prince.

“Lumi!” Carian shouted as she erected another wall of ice between the witches and their target. A flash of white crashed into the injured witch and took him and his horse down in a blur of legs, screams, and fangs. The second witch looked down at his fallen comrade and summoned a giant ball of flames that he flung at the scriva. Lumi vanished before the ball of fire engulfed the fallen decapitated witch and his dead horse.

“Pin them down!” the Fire Witch screamed furiously. “Don’t let them escape!” The enraged witch quickly focused his attention on Carina as he sent two firebolts hurtling in her direction.

“Your Grace!” Arlo shouted, but Carian summoned two bolts of ice of her own and hurled them towards the Fire Mage’s attack. Ice engulfed fire as steam-exploded in the space between the two. Carina quickly pulled her crossbow up and loaded a bolt into it as the Fire Mage prepared his next attack. She pulled the trigger and followed the bolt with two weaker blasts of ice from her right hand.

The Fire Mage dodged the projectile, turned his horse towards the road, and took off as the conflicting spells clashed in the air behind him. As the mist settled, Carina realized he wasn’t running away but chasing after Beaumont and Nicholas, who now rode on horseback with another ten Royal Knights close behind them.

“Damn it!” Carina hissed as she grabbed her reigns and urged the pacing stallion after them. “Lieutenant!”

The Lieutenant’s horn blasted through the air even a scream arose from the burning carriage.

“The Consort!”

“Fuck!” Carina pulled back on the reigns and showered the carriage in a mist of ice, smothering the flames as best she could even as Royal Knight Lieutenant Olund climbed the burning carriage wheel and dropped inside the smoking transport. Bastiallano Knights hurriedly climbed up after him and helped pull the woman whose face and garments were streaked in red and black from the carriage.

The Duchess turned her gaze away from the unfortunate Consort and met Lieutenant Arlo’s gaze briefly before she continued after Captain Beaumont, Nicholas, and the Fire Mage.

‘It doesn’t make any sense. Would Borghese really subject his daughter to such a fate?’

She glanced back over her shoulder only once to confirm that Arlo and his men were behind her. A small portion of her knights had remained to assist the injured Consort, but there was little that could be done for the burns that now marred Priscilla’s face and body.

***

Despite the chaotic appearance of the ambush, Carina was not surprised to find that the bridge they had crossed on the journey to Gilwren was now broken and unusable. A group of mercenaries waited beside it and quickly surrounded Captain Beaumont, who yanked Nicholas from his horse even as the Fire Mage set the poor beast on fire.

The ten Royal Knights formed a hasty wall around their crown prince, but they were no match for the Fire Mage or the mercenaries’ arrows.

“Break through!” Carina cried out desperately as she summoned an ice lance to her hand and flung it towards the Fire Mage. The witch dodged the attack easily but peeled away as Arlo, and the knights barreled through the circle of mercenaries and surrounded the Royal Knights.

Refusing to allow her knights to become sitting targets for the Fire Witch, Carina continued to assail him relentlessly. Her attacks had a momentary effect until the Fire Witch set the ground beneath her on fire. The stallion reared sharply in panic, throwing Carina from its back with ease, given the Ice Witch’s hands had been preoccupied with magic.

The Duchess fell, coating herself in ice as she rolled through the flames, ignoring the ringing in her ears as she sucked in a breath and climbed determinedly to her feet. Her hands moved instinctively as she formed the bow and then the arrow and shot through the flames, over the head of her rising horse, into the surprised Fire Mage’s chest.

The man fell onto his back but quickly rose to his feet. Carina’s arrow melted in his hand as he snarled and turned towards her. The chaos of swords rang behind them as they filled the open field with fire, ice, and smoke, entwined in a dance that would only end when one of them was defeated.

The more fire her enemy rained down on her, the more ice Carina returned. She drove him steadily down the embankment towards the shattered bridge and the waiting, surging river. When he set the ground beneath her on fire again, Carina quickly smothered the flames and spread her ice magic across the entire field beneath them. Then wove her hands through the air and screamed out a blast of ice and wind, forcing the Fire Mage to raise a wall of flame to protect himself.

Carina smiled as she coiled a finger towards the river, summoning a tentacle of water that wrapped itself around the Fire Mage’s ankle, yanked him into the air, and submerged the startled, screaming witch below the waves.

With her heart hammering in her chest, Carina ran towards the water and spread out her hands. As the Fire Mage broke back through the surface, she froze a path of water towards him, trapping him in a block of ice up to his neck, still submerged inside the river.

The Fire Witch sputtered as his amber eyes blazed towards the ice-witch who walked along the frozen river towards him. “What—are you?”

“I am your captor,” Carina replied coldly as she drew her finger through the air and sealed the Fire Witch’s lips in ice. “Wait here while I deal with the rest of your rabble.”

The Ice Witch turned to face the field of ice and smoke. Her knights were still battling the enemy forces that remained. Captain Beaumont stood alone against a group of mercenaries. The Knight Captain’s long blade seemed to cut through the line of armed men as easily as a kitchen knife would cut through vegetables. The remaining Royal Knights stood in shield formation around Prince Nicholas, who was barely visible behind the steel wall.

Carina exhaled and then blasted a runaway mercenary off his feet with a wave of her hand. ‘This wasn’t how I thought it would go down, but it is my victory all the same.’ The Duchess breathed out a shaky laugh and focused on freezing any foe attempting to escape from the fight as the battle quickly waned.

“Well done,” Kirsi murmured from the back of her mind with an unexpected surge of approval. “Not bad for your first taste of battle.”

‘I’m not done yet,’ Carina replied grimly as her outstretched hand tightened into a fist. ‘Not until Marquess Borghese breaths his last.’

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[Rough Draft] Chapter 47: A Bitter Revelation

 

Carina woke the following morning to a bouquet of blue flowers and an invitation from Viscount Rykard to a private family breakfast. Since Ivy was feeling under the weather with Hana looking after her, Carina reluctantly decided to accept the invitation.

She was not at all surprised to find Maura’s half-sister, Sophya Turnbell, along with her fiance, Asher Winslet, seated at the table. Lord Bromwell hastily rose to greet Carina and pulled out a seat between himself and the head of the table where Rykard remained seated.

“Thank you for joining us, Duchess,” Rykard said with pointed politeness. “You are already acquainted with your sister’s fiance, Lord Asher, I trust.”

“We’ve met,” Carina replied shortly.

“Didn’t I save you from that rude fellow at the funeral?” Asher remarked with noted smugness.

“By rude fellow, you mean your friend, Artemis?” Carina retorted coldly. “I had all but forgotten about you laying him out in the mud at my mother’s funeral.”

Asher blinked but held his tongue as he noted the frown on Rykard’s face. “Artemis was a mutual acquaintance of myself and Lincoln,” he explained hastily. “And not the sort of person I continue to associate with—especially after his regrettable action towards her Grace.”

“Indeed,” Rykard murmured with evident disapproval.

Sophya lifted her glass of juice silently and drank slowly.

Carina glanced at Maura’s half-sister and sat back as servants carried in platters of what appeared to be sausage and gravy with biscuits. After Kirsi’s warning concerning the effects of a vengeful spirit on their family, she wondered how much of Sophya’s actions had been due to Maura’s twisted nature.

‘She certainly seems calmer and more withdrawn now.’

“As I have already announced,” Rykard continued as Asher lifted his fork. “Bromwell will be taking over the estate and title when I retire. I will be training him on everything he needs to know until then and will hopefully settle upon a good match for him in the meanwhile.”

Bromwell choked slightly on his drink and hastily apologized behind his handkerchief.

Carina smiled at him sympathetically. She could only imagine what sort of demands Rykard would make of the young man before finally handing over Gilwren and his title.

“And what of your granddaughters?” Asher asked pointedly and frowned at Bromwell.

Rykard laced his fingers together as he faced the young nobleman. “Are you unable to provide for Sophya as a Baron, Lord Asher?”

“I—No, but surely—”

“You want to know what her dowry will be then?”

“Grandfather,” Sophya murmured with noted tiredness.

The Viscount glanced towards his granddaughter, and for a moment, his expression relaxed. “Sophya will receive a monthly stipend of 1,200 crescents that will continue through Bromwell once he takes over as Viscount. That amount will be deposited into a private account once each month that only Sophya and her husband will have access to.”

“That is—most generous,” Asher murmured quietly.

“Thank you, grandfather,” Sophya whispered, though she seemed less than thrilled with the amount. “Will I be able to make withdraws before my marriage?”

Rykard raised a brow. “You say that as if your marriage will not be taking place any time soon?” His sharp gaze turned swiftly to Asher. “Have you not yet set a date?”

“I—We were waiting until after the coronation,” Asher explained hastily.

“The King will be coronated next week! I had expected to receive news that you would be married shortly thereafter!”

“We have not had time to begin planning for the wedding since—the death of Sophya’s mother.”

Sophya squeaked as Rykard’s hand slammed down upon the table. The Viscount drew in a slow breath and exhaled before raising dangerous eyes towards the startled nobleman.

“My granddaughter has been living with you for the past several weeks. You have delayed putting out an official engagement because of Helena’s death—I will not allow you to sully Sophya’s reputation further by delaying this wedding.”

“That was not my intent, my Lord!”

“Enough!” Rykard snarled as his gaze swung between Asher and Sophya. “Since you have made poor use of your time with my granddaughter, Sophya will remain here in Gilwren until you are ready to officially propose and set an acceptable date for the wedding.”

“Viscount!” Asher swiftly rose from his seat. “I must protest! This is unnecessary and unfair to Sophya!”

“You think I’m being unfair to my granddaughter?” Rykard drawled sarcastically. The Viscount’s eyes settled for a moment on Sophya, who continued to stare at her plate, then turned to Carina. “Do you agree, Lady Kirsi?”

Carina raised her brows as she twisted the stem of her cup. “I believe the decision should be Sophya’s.”

Rykard snorted in disbelief.

“I agree with the Duchess,” Bromwell added firmly. “After all, you are partly to blame for Sophya having no one else to turn to for shelter after both her parents died.”

Carina held back a gasp of disbelief as the Viscount turned a murderous gaze towards Bromwell but then, unexpectedly, sighed and ran a hand down his face.

“Oh, very well, the decision is yours, Sophya.”

Sophya looked up from her plate slowly to look at Bromwell. Carina watched as uncertainty and turmoil worked its way across the young woman’s face as Sophya slowly turned to look at the Viscount.

“Sophya,” Asher whispered urgently as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s alright. Tell them you want to stay with me.”

Sophya glanced at his hand, and for a moment, Carina thought she saw a look of revulsion crossed the young woman’s face. Inexplicably, Sophya turned to Carina next, and for once, her forest-green eyes—the same color Lincoln’s had been—held not an ounce of hostility.

When Maura’s half-sister turned back to the Viscount once more, she straightened in her chair and replied, “I would like to stay at Gilwren with you, Grandfather.”

Asher retracted his hand as if he had been burned while Rykard grinned and nodded his approval. The Viscount then turned a challenging gaze towards Lord Asher, who stood as rigid as a tree beside his chair.

“Now that I think about it, I don’t believe that I invited you here to join us for breakfast,” Rykard said pointedly as he pushed back his chair and stood. “Since you are not yet officially engaged to Sophya, and this is a private family meeting—I think you should leave.”

Asher raised a trembling fist towards his face and pressed it against his lips as he exhaled. Then he turned and offered a stiff head bow to Rykard. “I apologize if I have disturbed your meal. I shall be returning to Winslet now.” He turned swiftly, but his footsteps slowed as he neared the dining room door, as if he hoped Sophya might change her mind and called him back.

She did not.

Carina turned from Sophya to stare incredulously at Bromwell, who leaned towards her and whispered, “I’ll tell you later.”

***

True to his word, Lord Bromwell escorted Carina back to her camp, which had all but disappeared into tidy piles of folded leather fabric, wooden pools, and wound-up piles of rope and metal stakes being loaded onto wagons.

“You’re not going to ask me what I know?” Bromwell teased as he led her to the shade of a nearby tree.

“I figured you would tell me on your own,” Carina replied indifferently. “You don’t seem like someone who’s very good at keeping secrets.”

“Are you implying I’m a gossip?” Bromwell managed to look wounded for a moment. “I’ll have you know that I’m very good at keeping secrets, but Sophya is your sister.”

“Half-sister.”

“The closest thing to a family that you have.”

Carina frowned at him and turned to leave.

“Wait!” Bromwell protested as he quickly caught her arm. “I know I am in no position to judge what sort of relationship you choose to have with your family, but hear me out. Sophya came to me yesterday at the ball to ask for my help.”

Carina turned to face him and looked down at his hand on her arm until Bromwell reluctantly let it go. “Help with what?”

“Breaking off her engagement to Lord Asher.”

Carina blinked and raised an eyebrow. “Her reasons?”

“It seems that while Sophya was left alone at the Manor with Asher’s cousin, Valarie Henrish, Asher and his other cousin, Rufous Henrish spent their days hunting with the Marquess’s group, and their nights—indulging in wine and women with Viscount Gladstone.”

“Ahh.”

“Sophya also said that she had long suspected Asher and his mother, Lady Florence, of postponing a public engagement until they were certain that she would inherit a suitable dowry from her grandfather.”

“Naturally,” Carina commented.

Bromwell paused and considered her for a moment. “You don’t seem at all surprised by this?”

Carina turned to look at him and shrug. “I warned Sophya a long time ago to avoid Asher unless she wished to be as unhappy as—our mother.”

Bromwell’s expression softened. “Yes, well—it would seem that the Viscount turning the cold shoulder to you both allowed Sophya to see the Winslet’s true intentions.”

‘Or perhaps time away from Turnbell and Maura allowed Sophya a chance to grow up and let go of her resentment and jealousy.’ Carina sighed and rubbed her temple. ‘But Sophya also burned Maura’s face in the previous timeline. Perhaps she hasn’t changed but finally realized that choosing Asher won’t make her happy.’

“I should head back,” Bromwell said abruptly as his gaze focused on something over Carina’s shoulder. “It would appear someone else wishes to speak to you, your Grace.” He presented a flourished bow and then swept up Carina’s hand for a brief kiss. “I hope that you will allow me the opportunity to assist you with learning to shoot the crossbow more confidently in the future, Cousin.”

Carina smiled and shook her head as the nobleman headed back up the path towards Gilwren Manor, bowing as he did to Earl Percy, who now headed towards her.

“Your Grace,” Percy said with a formal bow.

“Lord Percy?” Carina raised a smile. “Was there something you needed?”

“A moment of your time, if you would allow me,” Percy replied, head still bowed towards the ground.

“Please, rise, Earl Hawthorne,” Carina commanded uncomfortably. “And speak freely.”

“Thank you, your Grace.” Percy straightened. His winter-gray eyes wandered over her comfortable travel gown then moved up towards her face. “Serilda told me she spoke to you at last night’s banquet before the dance.”

Carina raised her brows and nodded. “She did it of her own volition. I do not hold you responsible for her words, Lord Percy.”

“Nevertheless, she was right,” Percy replied. “I am—helpless when it comes to you. I don’t—know how to win your favor—or if I even have the right.”

The Duchess crossed her arms and looked away, already uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was headed.

“I want to prove myself to you. Prove that I have changed, that I can do better. I just want to be given the opportunity—some guidance?”

Carina licked her lips as she picked her words with care. “Serilda said that you would give up your ambitions to prove yourself to me.” She turned to face him squarely. “Would you? Give up your ambitions for Lafeara’s throne?”

Percy drew in a slow breath, then took a single step towards her. “Yes.”

Carina blinked and frowned. ‘No. Why would he agree? Is he lying?’

“You won’t make any move against his Majesty or the Crown Princess?” She pressed questionably.

“If that is your wish, I will faithfully serve Lafeara and the crown prince as a humble Earl.”

Carina stared at him incredulously, doubting his every word, and yet—hopeful that they were true.

“However,” Percy continued with noted frustration. “I am still convinced that you would make a better Monarch for Lafeara.”

The Duchess snorted softly and shook her head. “Did you have anything to do with Nicholas pardoning the Marquess and choosing Priscilla as his consort?”

“No.” Percy shook his head. “His Majesty made plans to deal with the Marquess before we left the Capital.”

“You knew—” Carina murmured. “And didn’t tell me.”

“You chose Nicholas as your ally instead of me,” the Earl replied with a hint of bitterness. “You wanted to give him a chance, so I stepped back to allow you to see him for what he truly is.”

Carina frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Percy tilted his head. “Didn’t Prince Llyr tell you about the plague victims being burned?”

The Duchess drew in a sharp breath as she folded her arms slowly. “You’re saying that was his Majesty’s doing.”

“The deed was carried out by Knight Commander Quentin and his—less reputable knights.”

Carina shook her head slowly in disbelief. “Why? I trust him. I took the news to him as soon as I confirmed that the plague—this sickness was contagious and life-threatening.”

“Nicholas can’t afford a plague. Not when he is days away from coronation and about to evict the church from Lafeara.”

“But to—burn them alive! Why not just quarantine them!?”

“If it had just been the Capital, there’s a chance he might have followed through with your advise and preparation,” Percy replied patiently. “But the plague appeared in other provinces around the capital, some with no apparent connection or relation to each other.”

“We don’t know why or how it’s spreading—but to murder people before we even get a chance to look!”

“That is the decision Nicholas came to after discussing the potential threat with the Prime Minister and members of the House of Lords. Kill a few hundred to spare thousands of others.”

“But surely—that would only turn the populace against him—especially the commoners! I very much doubt Nicholas will burn sick nobles alive, even if they contract the plague.”

“The populace’s fear of the plague will always outweigh any moral obligation they might otherwise feel,” Percy replied. “At least, the majority. If the plague cannot be stopped, they will blame it on the Witches of Lafeara, and then—Kirsi—where will you stand?”

“Is it—a Witch Plague?” Carina asked, deflecting his pointed question.

“It was spawned by magic,” Percy replied. “That is all I can say.”

“How do we stop it?”

“A Witch Plague is birthed by sacrifice and nurtured by great suffering,” Percy replied grimly. “It ends the same way it begins—with a sacrifice and great suffering.”

Confusion and fear twisted in Carina’s guts as she stared at him incredulously. “What sacrifice?”

“Only the witch or entity that created the plague would know—and the mortal she marked as its sacrifice.”

Carina felt her heart stop as the hair choked in her throat.

‘Marked as its Sacrifice?’

Her gloved hands tightened into fists as understanding swirled around her like a storm of bees whittling away at her consciousness.

“Your Grace? Kirsi?” Percy grabbed the Duchess’s arm gently and looked down with her in concern. “What’s wrong?”

Carina blinked back helpless tears as she looked at his hand and then raised her gaze to his. “If you want to prove yourself to me—then find another way to end this plague!”

The Earl blinked in confusion at the desperation in her tone and shook his head. “There are only two ways. The Sacrifice or the Witch that created the Plague must die.”

“Then find the witch—god—I don’t care! Just stop the plague, Percy!”

A flutter of dark wings pulled Carina’s gaze from Percy’s concerned expression. She stared at the large black crow with red eyes as Veles words of warning echoed through the storm in her ears.

“You are running out of time, Kirsi—we are all running out of time. Return Viktor’s heart—or suffer the consequences!”

 

♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝

[Rough Draft] Chapter 46: An Ally of Truth

 

“You don’t look very pleased to see me, Lady Kirsi,” Llyr observed with a faint smile as he followed Carina back inside the ballroom.

“Perhaps I am merely surprised that you would choose to unveil me so openly without my permission,” Carina retorted, annoyed that this prince insisted on pestering her.

“I suppose I did get a bit carried away,” Llyr replied with a bemused smile.

The ballroom had been mostly cleared out. The royal platform moved to the far wall, where Nicholas resumed his seat with a pained grimace while Eleanora and Priscilla sat awkwardly on either side.

Situated along the ballroom walls were long cushioned sofas and chairs for the guests to rest while the musicians played a soft backdrop of Lafeara music in the background. Carina chose one such sofa and was relieved that it only seated three people as she, Ivy, and Hana took a moment to rest their feet.

Llyr was not at all deterred as he dragged over the nearest chair and sat facing the Duchess squarely.

“Is there something you wish to say to me?” Carina demanded incredulously, keenly aware of the numerous eyes directed towards them.

“Many things,” Llyr replied with a smile. “Mostly, I suppose I’m just curious.”

“About what?”

“Is it worth being a Duchess here in Lafeara when it means hiding who you truly are?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Carina replied with narrowed eyes.

Llyr snorted. “You hide your identity as Frost, for one.”

“That was necessary—”

“While you’re mother and step-father were alive certainly, but they have been dead for over a month.”

“It hardly benefited me to reveal that fact after becoming a Duchess,” Carina replied with a shrug. “Not to mention the Church has been looking for Frost with less than friendly intentions.”

“Ah yes, the Church.” Llyr’s smile did not falter, but his tone dipped with evident dislike. “Their ability to retain such power and influence over Lafeara over the years is very distressing.” He crossed his legs and leaned forward. “Imagine what Lafeara would be like if King Henri had kept his word and kicked them out after marrying Queen Catalina all those years ago.”

“I imagine it would be very different,” Carina replied neutrally.

“Hmm.” Llyr looked amused as his gaze turned slowly towards Hana. “Did you know I had a stepmother who went by the name Kirsi?”

Carina raised a brow but noticed when Hana’s grip on her arm tightened.

“She was a clever, ambitious woman and beautiful dancer,” Llyr continued as his gaze shifted to Ivy. “Beautiful—but with a rather cold, impenetrable exterior. I remember her hand—felt like the grip of winter….” He trailed off with an almost longing expression.

‘Is he talking about you, Kirsi?’ Carina wondered curiously.

“My father built her a beautiful castle by the sea. He covered the walls in beautiful shells the color of the sea, the floors in the smoothest, whitest stones he could find and draped the windows in strings of pearls.”

Ivy’s eyes widened with wonder.

“He never crowned my stepmother as queen, many people regarded her as a mistress, but my father treated her like a goddess,” Llyr continued with a wistful smile. “And then one day—she was stolen away—captured by Witch Hunters who broke down the walls of her palace, nailed her up inside a coffin filled with stones, and drowned her at sea.”

The weight of stones upon Carina’s chest was suffocating. Her chest still burned where the Witch Star had all but drained her magic away. Her wrists and ankles had gone numb from the enchanted metal chains that bound her. Only the faintest glimmer of light came through the cracks of the coffin she was now carried in. She could still hear and smell the sea, but the once calming scent was now mired by the coppery stain of those the Witch Hunters had slaughtered inside her palace.

The coffin tipped, the stones rolled and shifted, ramming into her ribs, chin, and face as the sensation of falling made her stomach flip, right before her prison crashed into the waves, and the salty churning water rushed inside to consume her.

“Why?” Carina asked hollowly as the memory filtered away. “Why did the Witch Hunters—”

“Because Kirsi was a witch,” Llyr replied with a muted smile. “Because my Father’s second wife resented her influence over the King and the other Water Covens.” His gaze turned once more towards Hana, who was trembling now. “But most of all, because Kirsi took in something the Pope was not prepared to lose.”

“Your story sounds a bit—like a fairy tale,” Hana interjected stiffly.

“Perhaps,” Llyr responded with another shrug. “I was too young at the time to remember the events. My stepmother, Queen Cordelia, would certainly have me believe that woman was but a figment of my imagination.”

The melody played by the musicians changed into a lively dance as Lord Alistair Kensington led Eleanora onto the dance floor in Nicholas’s place to start the first dance.

Llyr straightened in his chair as he cast a glance towards the dance floor. “Ahh, it seems the first dance has started, Lady Kirsi, would you—”

“No,” Carina interjected flatly.

Llyr chuckled at her blunt refusal. “I hope you do not intend to refuse me all night, your Grace,” he said as he rose to his feet. “I have some rather unfortunate information I wish to deliver to you privately regarding your project in Lafeara’s slums.”

“You can tell me now then,” Carina replied defiantly as she looked up at him. “I trust the ladies beside me more than anyone else in this room.”

Llyr raised his brows with a questioning look between Hana and Ivy but relented with a sigh. “Very well, I will tell you, but on one condition.”

Carina sighed, “Of course.”

“It is a very simple request, your Grace.”

“Then let’s hear it.”

“I would like a private conversation with your Grace at another time, perhaps at your estate?”

‘He certainly seems determined to tell me something he does not want Ivy or Hana to hear.’ Carina turned to Hana questioningly as the Viscountess leaned towards her.

“Kirsi,” Hana whispered softly. “If you are looking for a cure for Ivy, then Prince Llyr may be able to help. After all, most magical poisons and diseases come from the Water Tribes.”

Carina blinked and narrowed her eyes warily at Llyr. “Very well, if your information is valid, I will agree to your request.”

Llyr smiled and held out his hand to her. When Carina raised her brow questioningly, he said, “I won’t ask for a dance, but surely a walk to the refreshment table and back would not be too much to ask.”

The Duchess held back a sigh as she smiled and rose to her feet. “Of course.”

As Llyr took her hand and wrapped it around his arm, a peculiar sensation crawled up the back of Carina’s neck. She turned on instinct and was somehow not surprised to find Percy and Serilda staring at them from across the ballroom. Llyr followed her gaze and snorted softly as he turned her towards the refreshment table.

“Your admirer seems persistent,” the foreign prince commented as they made their way around the edge of the ballroom as more partners moved onto the dance floor.

“The walk is short, your Highness,” Carina reminded him pointedly. “If you have something that you must say—”

“I admire your efforts in the capital and to prevent the spread of the plague,” Llyr interjected with a notably somber tone. “Which is why I was very much disturbed to learn that your hospital inside the slums was burned to the ground last night.”

Carina stumbled and nearly tripped but managed to catch herself on Llyr’s arm as she took in a shaky breath. “What?”

“According to the posted official report, local riffraff who have made the slums their territory learned about the plague and boarded up the hospital before burning it and the patients inside alive.”

Bile rose up the back of Carina’s throat, and she pressed a hand to her stomach as they reached the table spread of champagne and an assortment of desserts. The Duchess closed her eyes and turned away from the food as she tried and failed to form some sort of response.

“Did—anyone—make it out?”

“No,” Llyr replied as he picked up a glass of champagne and offered it to her. “But—curiously enough—the physicians were evacuated in the middle of the night right before the hospital was attacked.”

“What?” Carina echoed numbly as the glass beneath her fingers tinted with frost.

“Yes, I found that strange as well,” Llyr replied. “Also, it would seem that the plague has sprouted up in a few other provinces that surround the capital. All those infected were quickly boarded up inside their homes, which also—mysteriously caught fire last night.”

“Last night?” Carina drew in a slow, shaky breath as understanding dawned. “This was planned.”

“Meticulously,” Llyr replied grimly as he chose his glass and turned them back in the direction they had come. “It would seem that someone with knowledge of the plague, and great influence, is prepared to sacrifice lives if need be to prevent its spread.”

‘The only people with knowledge of the plague Cerberus, myself, and—’ Carina gazed across the ballroom to where Nicholas was applauding the end of the dance as Alistair escorted Eleanora back to her seat. ‘No, it’s likely that Nicholas told others about the sickness in the slums. One of them may have acted on their own, or perhaps—’

The Duchess’s gaze shifted back to where Serilda was tugging lightly on Percy’s hand with a coy smile as the Marchioness nodded towards the emptying ballroom floor. The Earl was watching Carina and Llyr with a determined expression that quickly made Carina look away.

“If you doubt Percy’s sincerity, then test him yourself. Ask him for anything you want, Lady Kirsi.”

“Alas, it seems the walk was very short,” Llyr commented as Hana quickly rose from the sofa to greet them. “I hope I may call upon the Duchess in the future to discuss other discerning matters.”

Carina removed her hand from his arm and offered a neutral smile. “How long will your Highness be staying in Lafeara?”

“Until after the coronation,” Llyr replied as he turned from her to Hana and extended his hand. “Lady Hana, might I have the next dance with you?”

Hana blinked at him in surprise, then glanced away from the prince with a worried look across the ballroom. “I don’t—”

“I am to be rejected twice?” Llyr managed to look hurt before he returned to his usual unbothered expression and offered his hand to Ivy. “Then perhaps, Lady Ivy would not be so opposed.”

“Oh?” Ivy looked up at him in complete disbelief. “But I-I—”

“If you must,” Hana interjected with a sigh as she took Llyr’s hand. “But only for one dance.”

The Duchess studied the two of them as she sat down beside the somewhat disappointed Ivy.

“I can’t believe a prince asked me to dance with him,” Ivy said wistfully.

“He may ask again once he finishes his dance with Hana,” Carina replied distractedly as she stared into her glass of champagne, her mind on the sick and dying she had left behind in Physician Devin and Tobias’s care.

‘I need to get to the bottom of this. There has to be someone here who would know—’ Carina looked at Attwood, who stood talking to Acheron with a determined expression. ‘But would the Prime Minister tell me the truth if Nicholas is behind these fires?’ Her gaze returned to the royal platform and settled on the knight captain, who stood silently behind the Crown Prince’s chair. ‘Would Beaumont tell me the truth?’

Beaumont’s violet eyes shifted suddenly towards the Duchess. He blinked, then frowned quizzically at her. Carina offered a hesitant smile then looked down at her drink.

‘It’s worth a try. If only Stitcher hadn’t gone back to Ventrayna, I could ask him to dig into this.’ Carina sighed and raised her drink for a quick sip as she lamented her lack of an information system. ‘Perhaps I should try reaching out to Madame Maylea again.’

“Oh, Kirsi!” Ivy said breathlessly beside her. “I believe Lord Percy is coming to ask you for a dance.”

‘I knew he would eventually.’ Carina lowered her glass but refused to look in the direction Ivy was staring. ‘Perhaps I should put Serilda’s advice to the test.’

***

Beaumont studied Kirsi worriedly after the Duchess looked away from him. There was something in her expression, as if she were asking him for help, that had caught him off guard. He shifted uncomfortably and glanced towards Nicholas. The prince looked bored as he finished off his wine and raised the cup over his shoulder towards the knight captain.

“Would you like another cup, your Majesty,” Beaumont asked as he took the golden chalice.

“No, not now,” Nicholas muttered and turned his gaze to Priscilla. “You’re not dancing, Lady Priscilla?”

The consort started, swallowed, and offered Nicholas a hesitant smile. “I—You’re Majesty is unwell—”

“But surely your father could dance with you as Lord Alastair did with Eleanora,” Nicholas prompted with a gesture to where Marquess Borghese stood, surrounded by nobles congratulating him. “Or has he already forgotten all about you?”

Beaumont frowned as he set down the glass, surprised by the uncharacteristic display of cruelty from the crown prince.

“I—” Priscilla drew in a slow breath, “I’m sure Father simply does not wish to separate me from your Majesty.”

“Oh, but you must dance,” Nicholas retorted as he straightened stiffly in his seat. “In fact, I insist on it. Surely one of the knights—” the crown prince glanced among the knights stationed along the walls and settled upon Lieutenant Olund. “Sir Olund!”

Priscilla flinched at the name and stared resolutely down at the hands folded in her lap as the Lieutenant strode over promptly.

“Your Majesty?”

“Sir Olund, the Consort requires a suitable partner to dance with,” Nicholas explained with a gesture towards the pale consort. “Since I am unable to assist her, would you mind taking my place?”

Olund neutral expression hardly shifted as he turned and bowed his head to Priscilla. “If the Consort has no objection?”

“How could she object?” Nicholas queried with a cynical smile directed at Priscilla. “It is my wish to see her enjoy the ball.”

“T-thank you, your Majesty,” Priscilla murmured as she rose to her feet and curtsied to the crown prince.

Nicholas nodded and motioned dismissively at them both as he sat back with a sigh to return his attention to Lady Serilda. The Marchioness stood surrounded by a number of fawning young noblemen.

Beaumont rubbed his cheek and glanced back towards the Duchess. He frowned as Ivy grabbed Kirsi’s hands and said something which caused the Duchess to grimace. Following Ivy’s gaze, Beaumont watched as Earl Percy Hawthorne made his way around the ballroom towards the Duchess.

“If you’re going to stare at her all night, why not ask the Duchess for a dance?” Nicholas commented pointedly as he looked over his shoulder at the knight captain.

“Then, with your permission,” Beaumont replied as he reached up to the leather tether that secured the hilt of his sword and released it.

Nicholas blinked in surprise as the knight captain strode past him and stepped off the platform. Beaumont made his way through the crowded dance floor with nimble grace and agility as his violet eyes focused first on Percy.

The Earl staggered to a halt with a look of surprise, his feet glued to the floor as the crushing weight of heightened gravity locked him in place.

Beaumont smiled and continued towards the Duchess, who had noticed his approached and now regarded him curiously over the glass of champagne she held absently. The knight captain could feel the Earl’s gaze burning into the back of his head as he bowed before the Duchess and offered his left hand.

“Lady Kirsi, might I have this dance?”

Ivy blinked up at him while the corner of the Duchess’s lips twitched with amusement.

“Well,” Kirsi murmured as she passed her glass to Ivy. “As it happens, there is something I wanted to ask you, Captain Beaumont.”

Her hand was cold as it slid across his offered palm. Beaumont gripped it gently and placed his right hand on her waist as he escorted Kirsi to the ballroom floor.

Percy’s winter-grey eyes were filled with confusion and rage as they glared at Beaumont. The knight captain smiled as he released Kirsi’s waist, placed his right hand behind his back, and snapped his fingers.

The Earl staggered free as Beaumont and Kirsi bowed to each other, then joined hands as they circled each other around the dance floor.

“You wanted to ask me something,” Beaumont reminded her after they found their place amongst the floor filled with dancers.

“Yes,” Kirsi replied as her clear ice-blue eyes studied him intently. “Have you heard any news regarding the sickness in the slums?”

Beaumont tilted his head curiously. “Your Grace has asked me this before. I believe I told you that his Majesty should be the one to answer that question.”

“But I am asking you,” Kirsi replied pointedly.

“It is against my oath to repeat anything I overheard in confidence as his Majesty’s bodyguard,” Beaumont replied tensely. “In any case, his Majesty receives frequent correspondence from the Capital in regard to the sickness your Grace uncovered in the slums. That is all I can tell you.”

“Do you know if his Majesty ordered for the people afflicted with this sickness to be burned?”

The ballroom whirled around them as Beaumont lifted Kirsi by the waist and spun her around, mimicking the other dancers on the floor. ‘So that is why you agreed to dance with me so that you could interrogate me.’

“I have not heard his Majesty give such an order,” he replied honestly.

Kirsi frowned but nodded.

“You’re—not going to question me further?” Beaumont pressed curiously.

“If you don’t know, then you don’t know,” Kirsi replied with a dismissive shrug. “I choose to believe you—since you promised that you would not lie to me.” She arched her brow at him as the knight captain smiled.

“I am glad that you believe me,” Beaumont murmured as he shifted his arm around her waist and moved closer. “I have no desire to lie or hurt you, Lady Kirsi.”

The Duchess looked away evasively, but her cheeks appeared flushed. “Then can you tell me what is going on there,” Kirsi said with a nod towards the royal platform.

Beaumont waited until they switched positions and frowned. Serilda was sitting in Priscilla’s vacant seat, laughing and flirting with Nicholas as the two leaned towards each other across their respective seats.

“His Majesty decides to choose Lady Priscilla as his first Consort before his coronation, yet appears to be even more infatuated with the Marchioness of Berxely?”

“His Majesty and the Marchioness had a close relationship while Nicholas was still young—”

“And Serilda was his father’s Mistress,” Kirsi interjected, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Nicholas’s behavior also appears to have changed of late as well. Would that have anything to do with the Marchioness?”

‘Undoubtedly, and yet—’

“Your Grace believes his Majesty to be under the Marchioness’s spell?” Beaumont inquired solemnly.

“You put it very bluntly—but yes.”

Beaumont sighed as he spun her through another twirl then held her close to him as the dance slowed in tempo. “While it’s true that certain witches can influence men’s hearts and minds with their words. The truth of it is that they do little more than draw forth what already exists in a person’s soul.”

Kirsi frowned as she spun away and then took his hand. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t like the Marchioness influence on Nicholas, but she is not forcing him to make any decisions he would not otherwise choose.”

Beaumont understood the surprise behind Krisi eyes. While her other half would have already known this, common superstition among those unfamiliar with the extent and limits of magic often assumed the worst.

‘It is easier for mortals to push the blame of all evil that exists in this world on those who make an easy target, rather than accept their own compliance in creating that evil.’

The song slowed and moved to its conclusion as Beaumont removed his arm from Kirsi’s waist but held onto her hand.

“Has his Majesty—ever done anything—that you disapproved of?” Kirsi asked hesitantly as she looked up at him, ignoring the dancers already leaving the floor. “Anything that—hurt someone.”

Beaumont glanced over to where Lieutenant Olund stood beside Priscilla, who trembled with humiliation as she watched Serilda flirt with the crown prince in her seat.

“Yes.”

 

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[Rough Draft] Chapter 45: A Banquet of Masks

 

“And finally, I would like to thank all those noble men and women who helped establish the first of many orphanages raised by this charity,” Eleanora continued as she raised her glass in a salute to end her speech. “To his Majesty, our future King, Nicholas Havardur; my cousin, Earl Percy Hawthorne; my dear mother, Viscountess Isabella Kensington; the Marchioness of Somerset, Lady Hana; and of course, our ever-reclusive investor, Sir Frost.”

“She completely left out your name,” Ivy whispered in disbelief as she lowered her raised glass.

Carina covered a laugh behind her hand as she raised her glass of champagne towards the royal banquet table.

“I hope that other nobles will follow their generous example,” Eleanora finished as she tipped her glass and brought it to her lips.

“I believe she thanked me, whether she knew it or not,” the Duchess murmured before taking a drink alongside Hana and the rest of the nobles.

The guests resumed their eating and drinking, though most had finished their desserts at this point. Carina watched as Nicholas reached over to grasp Eleanora’s wrist and whisper something in the crown princess’s ear that added a spark of anger to Eleanora’s amber eyes as she glared pointedly at Nicholas, then withdrew her hand.

‘They’re honestly too much for me to keep up with anymore,’ Carina reflected. As much as she wanted to enjoy the ball with Ivy and Hana, the Duchess could not shake the frustration of her premature defeat. ‘As long as Nicholas does the right thing and closes down the Marquess exploitive ring of child-sex trade—I suppose I can still count it a win, even if Borghese lives.’

‘When did you become so blood-thirsty?’ Kirsi’s voice whispered tauntingly.

‘There’s a difference between killing for pleasure and seeing a man brought to justice for his crimes,’ Carina refuted quickly.

‘And are you—going to let the Marquess walk away without paying for his crimes?’

Carina twisted the stem of the wine glass between her fingers and sucked in her bottom lip worriedly.

‘What if he continues to come after you, Ivy, and even Hana?’ Kirsi pressed.

‘He only came after us because I was digging into his illegal sex trade. If Nicholas covers that up—I’m no longer a threat to him.’

‘And if Nicholas allows the Marquess to keep trading children for power and money?’

‘I won’t sit by and watch children be used and abused like disposable objects.’ Carina narrowed her eyes as she lifted her glass and finished the remnants of her drink.

‘On that, we both agree,’ Kirsi replied with a note of approval. ‘Perhaps it is time to consider Earl Percy seriously as an ally.’

The Duchess turned her gaze towards the Earl’s table and found Percy in quiet discussion with Marquess Winslet. On the Earl’s other side, Lady Serilda turned and caught Carina’s gaze. The Marchioness smiled as she rose from the table and wandered over towards the Duchess with her drink in hand.

‘What does she want now?’ Carina wondered as she handed her glass to the servants already clearing away finished plates and dishes.

“I hope you’re not too disappointed in how things turned out,” Serilda murmured as she raised her glass in greeting to the Duchess and her friends.

“Are you referring to the Hunting Competition or something else, Marchioness?” Carina asked pointedly as Serilda wiped crumbs off the verdant-green silk tablecloth and then sat on the edge.

“Perhaps both, Lady Kirsi,” Serilda replied as she turned her moss-agate green eyes towards the crown prince and offered Nicholas a coy smile. Carina followed the Marchioness’s gaze and felt a sense of unease at the naked, lustful look that Nicholas was giving Serilda.

“What have you—” Carina blinked as Serilda dipped two fingers into Carina’s wine glass and then sucked them clean. “What are you doing?”

“Offering some tips to my junior,” Serilda relied with a laugh that drew the gaze of several lords from around the room. The Marchioness smiled at Carina’s frown of disapproval and set down her own glass. “You’re far too young and pretty to get your hands dirty with the blood of politics, Duchess.”

Carina scoffed. “Are you patronizing me now?”

“Especially when there are others who would happily fight your battles for you.”

The Duchess blinked and glanced towards the Earl. Percy had finished his conversation and was now watching the two of them with a worried expression.

“The Duchess doesn’t need others to fight her battles,” Hana interjected as she stared at the Marchioness with pointed dislike. “Did your cousin send you over here to appeal to Lady Kirsi on his behalf?”

“Not at all,” Serilda replied with an overly sweet smile. “No, this was just my way of asking you to take pity on him.”

Carina raised an incredulous brow. “Pity?”

The Marchioness leaned across the table to tuck a loose curl of ash-brown hair behind Carina’s ear. “My cousin can’t help himself when it comes to you, Lady Kirsi. He is not someone who loves and trusts others willingly. I know he has made mistakes, but as strong as he is—Percy is helpless and inexperienced when it comes to matters of the heart.”

“I am not someone who trusts easily either,” Carina replied bluntly. “And I find it even harder to forgive—let alone trust—someone who tried to manipulate me in the way he did.”

Serilda sighed heavily as she leaned closer still and whispered into Carina’s ear. “If you doubt his sincerity, then test him yourself. Ask him for anything you want, Lady Kirsi. His ambitions, his power, his heart, his very life—” The Marchioness pulled back, and Carina noted a flicker of resentment behind the beautiful noblewoman’s moss-agate green eyes. “Just—put him out of his misery.”

With that parting plea, Serilda picked up her glass and turned back in the direction she had come, swaying her hips provocatively. The Earl and Lord Eustice both rose to pull out the Marchioness’s chair, and Serilda laughed again as she accepted Captain Eustice’s offer while Percy stepped to the side and turned his winter-grey eyes towards Carina.

“It would be better if you stayed away from the Earl and Marchioness,” Hana murmured worriedly as she placed a hand over Carina’s. “I do not trust either of them—or their god.”

“Veles?” Carina murmured and shivered as she recalled the figure in dark robes, with burning red eyes, surrounded by crows that she had seen in the field with Beaumont.

“Your Majesty, Your Highness, Lords, and Ladies!” Viscount Rykard called out as he rose from his seat at the royal banquet table. “If you would join me outside in the garden, I have prepared a display of fireworks to entertain us while this room is better arranged for dancing.”

“Fireworks!” Ivy whispered excitedly as she and the other nobles rose to their feet as Nicholas stood and offered an arm to both Eleanora and Priscilla. The Viscount led the royal family towards the glass doors, which servants opened ahead of them.

“Some fresh air would certainly be lovely,” Hana murmured as she took Carina’s arm while the Duchess offered her free hand to Ivy.

‘It’s been ages since I last saw fireworks,’ Carina mused as they followed the crowd. ‘I wonder what they look like in a world with magic.’

As the guests made their way down into the garden, a line of knights appeared that lit prepared torches around a marble framed, rectangular lake with two granite fountains. Three chairs were prepared at the bottom of the steps for Nicholas, Eleanora, and Priscilla. The rest of the nobles were forced to stand or sit on the grass.

Carina, Hana, and Ivy moved to a corner of the lawn as they watched servants move about the edge of the man-made lake with candles.

Hana leaned closer to Carina and whispered gently, “Do you remember the fireworks we watched together in your palace by the sea?”

Carina smiled back at the Viscount as the memory of salty-sea air, and beautiful lights flickered in her memory. ‘No—Kirsi’s memory.’ The Duchess glanced down at Hana’s hands wrapped tightly around her arm and felt a moment’s jealousy for the Scarlet Witch, who had lived numerous lives while being adored and even revered by so many people.

‘That child is still in love with that version of me,’ Kirsi observed quietly as Carina faced forward to where the first of the fireworks streaked upwards with a whistle into the dark night sky. ‘She has yet to realize that I was only using her to manipulate Jericho and Ramiel.’

An explosion of gunpowder and purple, gold, and blue lights streaked across the sky. Carina blinked against the glare as she struggled to comprehend Kirsi’s words. ‘You were using Hana?’

‘Yes. Though I must say, you’ve done a far better job at keeping her next to you. Sadly it won’t last forever.’

‘Why?’

‘Because she’s the Pope’s sister and the next Saint.’

Carina sucked in a sharp breath as all the memories of Krisi dying at the hands of Saints flashed before her eyes. ‘Ivy is—the next Saint?’

‘Shocking, isn’t it? After everything, she’s endured. Her family was slaughtered in not one but two lifetimes. You would think that Ramiel would have awoken her powers or at least restored her memories sooner to spare little Nesta from being victimized. But then again, the Saints were just tools for Ramiel to use to punish the rest of us.’

Carina turned slowly towards Hana, who gazed up at the sky filled with brilliant flashing bursts of color with the expression of childlike wonder.

‘If she becomes a Saint—what happens then?’

‘Ramiel will send her after us, and any other witch he feels has crossed the line.’

“Kirsi,” Hana murmured as she squeezed the Duchess’s arm and pointed to a purple flower blossoming in the sky. “The Lafearian Rose, look—” the Viscountess broke off as she caught a glimpse of Carina’s troubled expression. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

“N-no,” Carina replied hastily with a forced smile. “It’s nothing. I was just—caught up in my own thoughts.”

“Look, there are even dancers,” Ivy called out as she pointed towards three wooden platforms being pulled across the lake with a mingled assortment of men and women dressed in various shades of sheer blue garments that draped over the dancers’ bodies.

“That style of clothes is different,” Carina murmured as she focused on the unfamiliar style.

“It’s a design from Strugna,” Hana murmured uncertainly.

“Strugna?” Carina raised a brow in surprise. “Why would the Viscount—” The Duchess completely forgot her train of thought as the dancers all leapt from the platforms and danced effortlessly across the water without sinking a single inch.

‘They’re—witches?’

Gasps of surprise, shock, and confusion quickly swept through the group of nobles as Viscount Rykard signaled sharply to a knight. Captain Isaac stepped forward from his position behind them and shook his head firmly at Carina’s inquisitive glance.

‘So, they weren’t part of the Viscount’s plans for tonights entertainment,’ Carina pulled gently on Hana and Ivy’s arms as she followed the Knight Captain back towards the Manor as more of Bastiallano’s knights and royal knights stepped forward to form a line between the invited guests and the uninvited, dancing witches.

The Strugna witches carried on with their performance with little to no regard for the knights that cautiously circled the lake and its water fountains. In any other situation, Carina might have enjoyed their masterful display, particularly how they used the water to embellish their movements with kicks and artful sprays that reflected the dying light of the fireworks above them. The dancer’s soaked garments also appeared to change color when exposed to the water, their style quickly shifting from moderately clothed and covered to dripping, skin-tight swimwear.

“What the hell is going on?” Borghese protested furiously as he stepped forward closer to Nicholas and his daughter. “Viscount Rykard, I demand an explanation! Did you invite witches to be part of this celebration?!”

“The Marquess would do well to remember that we are allies with the kingdom of Strugna,” Nicholas retorted sharply as he raised his hand and signaled for the knights to withdraw.

“Your Grace?” Isaac asked as the knights of Bastiallano turned to look in Carina’s direction for approval.

“Let’s follow his Majesty’s lead for now,” Carina murmured with an affirming nod.

The dancers spun, flipped, and danced their way back to the platforms, where they joined hands as the last flickering lights of the fireworks faded out around them. A moment later, all the dancers dived in unison back into the pool, where they completely disappeared.

“They-they’re not resurfacing,” one of the nobles murmured with mingled confusion and alarm.

A soft clap turned the audience back towards the ballroom door, where a nobleman wearing a blue stag mask made his way through the uneasy audience towards the seated royal family.

“I am relieved to see our alliance with the Havardur family is with good cause,” the masked man announced broadly with the barest of nods. “I should hate to think the future King of Lafeara shared his people’s blind hatred towards all witches.”

“Who are you?” Viscount Rykard called out sharply as Beaumont stepped directly into the man’s path with a hand on his sword and a warning looking on his stern face.

“Oh, pardon me, my Lord,” the strange noble replied as he sized up Beaumont with a notably dismissive smile on his lips. “For intruding on your celebration. I merely wished to offer my greeting to his Majesty—from one Crown Prince to another.”

“Crown Prince?” Rykard repeated in stunned confusion.

“Allow me to make my belated introductions.” The masked royal removed his blue stag mask, which on closer inspection appeared to have fins on either side of its cheeks as if replicating a seahorse.

Carina blinked and narrowed her eyes at the face of Jesper, the huntsman who had been a part of her group.

“I am Llyr Alagona, Crown Prince of Strugna,” Jesper said with an elegant bow at the waist that he directed to Nicholas through Beaumont.

“Prince Llyr, please!” Nicholas protested as he rose quickly to his feet. “You are welcome! And we are all honored by such a visit from Lafeara’s oldest ally.”

“But—he—” Rykard appeared at a loss for words as he stared at Jesper’s face.

“Viscount,” Nicholas murmured with a sharp look at the babbling noble. “We must not be rude to an honored guest.”

“No,” Llyr replied with a raised hand. “I’m afraid it is I who should apologize. I have been living under false pretenses as—guest of the Viscount. He has every right to be surprised and confused by my deception.” Llyr turned to Rykard and offered his hand. “I am pleased to say my stay here has enlightened me in many ways to the culture, principles, religion, and governing of Lafeara. Please, accept my hand and my apology.”

Rykard swallowed as he glanced down at Llyr’s hand and then over to Nicholas worriedly.

‘Is he afraid to shake the hand of a witch?’ Carina wondered and laughed as the Viscount choose instead to bow deeply at the waist.

“I am honored that you choose my house, your Highness,” Rykard said without rising. “I can only hope I have done nothing to disparage the honor and reputation of our great kingdom and its royal family.”

“Ahaha!” Llyr chuckled in amusement. “I am surprised you think the demeanor of a mere noble family would have any impact on the reputation of this country’s royal family.”

Rykard straightened and awkwardly cleared his throat, clearly at a loss.

“Ah, but,” Llyr turned swiftly back to Nicholas, who had moved forward to stand beside the less wary Beaumont. “I have come to offer my belated congratulations on your marriage, Crown Prince Nicholas.” Llyr’s seal-gray eyes moved from Eleanora to Priscilla with a glimmer of amusement. “And now it seems I must offer it again.”

“Please,” Nicholas interjected with a raised hand. “We are both princes destined to rule. Is there really any need for titles between us?”

Llyr smiled and nodded. “I appreciate the generous offer, your Majesty, but as you will be King before I claim my crown and throne, I believe it would be discourteous to do so in public.”

“Well, he has an elegant tongue, I must say,” a noble whispered from the lawn near Carina.

“No one said a witch couldn’t have a silver tongue,” replied his female companion.

“But what is he doing here? Why wouldn’t he come for an official visit at the palace?” whispered another.

“Then allow me to insist you join me for a glass of wine and celebrate with us, Prince Llyr,” Nicholas replied determinedly as he stepped forward and placed a hand on the foreign prince’s shoulder. “You did take part in the Hunt with us, did you not.”

“Your Majesty is most generous,” Llyr replied and inclined his head again. “I humbly accept the offer.”

Nicholas turned, somewhat stiffly as he placed a hand against his side, and motioned towards Marchioness Serilda, who close by in the crowd of nobles. “This is Marchioness Serilda Kensington. She will see that you are properly introduced to those of note. Perhaps she will even find you a dancing partner to enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“Another generous offer,” Llyr murmured as he nodded to Serilda, who curtsied in return. “One I must regretfully decline. I have already requested a dance with a lady here tonight, who is the only acquaintance I wish to make among your Majesties many noble subjects.”

“Oh?” A note of disapproval wormed its way into Nicholas’s tone as he slowly lowered his hands. “Might I know the lady’s name?”

Llyr shrugged as he turned and extended his hand towards the group of nobles on the lawn. His seal-gray eyes moved immediately to Carina as he smiled in recognition. “It is, of course, Lady Kirsi Valda. The Duchess whom I had the honor of serving during the Royal Hunt.”

“I knew he’d be trouble,” Captain Isaac muttered under his breath as the nobles all turned towards Carina. “I just didn’t know he’d be so bloody obvious about it.”

Nicholas frowned as he turned carefully to face Carina as well. “Did you—promise your first dance to Prince Llyr, Duchess?”

“I did not,” Carina replied firmly. “His Highness has clearly made a mistake.”

“Indeed so,” Nicholas replied with a faint smirk as he returned his gaze to the still smiling Llyr. “It appears you were mistaken, Prince Llyr. You and the Duchess have just met after all—”

“Oh, but I have been aware of Lady Kirsi for quite some time, your Majesty,” Llyr interjected with a smile that tightened Carina’s grip on her bow. “I have been following her progress with interest since before she gained her new name and title.”

Serilda retreated to stand beside Percy, whose winter-grey eyes were fixated upon the foreign prince with a dangerous glare.

“I do not know what you are referring to, your Highness,” Carina replied stiffly. “I have neither seen nor spoken to you before this hunt.”

“Of course,” Llyr replied with a nod. “Our interactions then were only that of business. I was but a Merchant Banker who responded to your request for trade, and you were cloaked behind your other name—that of Mr. Frost.”

 

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[Rough Draft] Chapter 44: A Mask of Ambition

 

The banquet hall in Gilwren Manor, which would also serve as the ballroom after dinner, was much smaller than the ballroom back in Lily Palace. However, it held room enough for six oak tables staggered so that all the nobles faced the platform on which the table for the royal family was placed. Around the banquet tables, there was still plenty of room for the sixty nobles in attendance to mingle while finding their seat.

The banquet halls themselves were covered by an artist’s brush in a canvas of trees, dancing golden leaves, colorful birds, small furry woodland animals, and small twisted mushrooms. Trophy antlers hung evenly about the room, each with ten points or more, and the name of their hunter etched into a gold placard. The white stag, which Nicholas had shot early, had its fourteen antlers similarly displayed on the wall behind the raised platform.

Carina took in the extravagant decoration of golden ribbons against dark verdant green silk tablecloths adorned with flickering candles wrapped in what resembled bird’s nests painted red.

“Interesting decoration,” Hana murmured as she removed the Duchess’s cloak, then handed it and her own to a waiting servant. “Your mask, Kirsi.”

For the purposes of this masquerade, the women were given golden masks that covered their faces from forehead to nose, along with what Carina would describe as toy bows and arrows painted in gold and white.

“It will be easy enough to tell who the Duchess is,” Ivy observed as she stood side by side with Hana. “But we might be mistaken for each other.”

Carina laughed as she took in their matching red gowns, bow and arrows, mask, and blonde hair. Although Ivy had jade-green eyes while Hana’s were a bluer turquoise color, one wouldn’t be able to tell from a distance.

“Shall I announce you, your Grace?” the steward by the entrance door inquired as Carina secured her mask in place.

“Yes,” Carina replied as she handed over the formal invitation card of the nobles presented to the nobles Viscount Rykard considered elevated enough to attend his private ball in honor of the Royal Hunt.

“Ready?” Hana asked as she and Ivy positioned themselves on either side of Carina.

“No,” Ivy replied breathlessly.

“Stay together, and we’ll be fine,” Carina said confidently as she adjusted the strap of her toy bow.

“Her Grace, Duchess Kirsi Valda accompanied by Viscountess Hana of Somerset and Viscountess Ivy of Everdeen!”

Several curious masked gazes turned in their direction as the Duchess led the way into the ballroom.

‘What is the point of these masks if they’re still going to introduce us by name?’ Carina wondered, suddenly wishing she had arrived sooner. Everyone else in the ballroom had the advantage of anonymity, though it was easy enough to recognize members of the royal family.

While the ladies were dresses as huntresses, the men all wore black suits and white masks with golden antlers. Still, Carina couldn’t help but notice that some of the men had more points on their antlers than others and quickly realized that they represented some unspoken symbol of enforced hierarchy, given that Nicholas’s mask had the most points out of all the men present.

“How peculiar,” the Duchess murmured as a boy dressed in a dark green suit moved over to greet her with a bow.

“The Viscount asked that I lead the Duchess and her friends to their seats,” the servant boy explained.

“Very well,” Carina replied as she motioned him forward. “Once we find our seats, I will greet his Maj—”

“Announcing Marquess Stephen Borghese and his daughter, Lady Priscilla Borghese!” the page announced loudly from the doorway behind them.

Carina turned sharply and found the Marquess’s masked faced focused in her direction. Beside him, Lady Priscilla paid the Duchess and her friends’ little attention as she clutched her father’s arm and focused on the royal banquet table.

“Your Grace,” Hana whispered as she took the Duchess’s arm. “We should find our seats.”

“Yes, of course,” Carina murmured. The trio moved away from the door and followed the servant boy to the right table just below the royal platform.

Small white cards with their names inscribed waited for them on empty porcelain plates trimmed with red paint.

“I can’t believe I’m sitting this close to royalty,” Ivy whispered as she clutched the back of her chair with one hand and lifted her place card. “This feels—like a dream.”

“An odd dream,” Carina replied, her attention focused on the Borgheses, who had gone straight to the royal table and bowed formally before Nicholas and Eleanora.

The Crown Prince’s smile drew a frown from the Duchess, who watched with growing confusion as Priscilla curtsied before Eleanora and then kissed the Crown Princess’s hand. Eleanora’s expression, rather than gratified, glittered with a fury Carina was all too familiar with.

‘What is going on?’

“Prime Minister Attwood Hargreve and Lord Acheron Hargreve!”

The Duchess turned quickly and spotted the father and son as they made their way into the banquet hall. “Excuse me for a moment, I’m going to have a word with the Prime Minister,” Carina said as she brushed Hana’s shoulder and left the two Viscountess at the table.

It was easy enough to tell which of the masked Hargreve’s before her was the Prime Minister. Attwood smiled and bowed his head politely while Acheron coughed and studied Carina’s gown with a rueful grin.

“It doesn’t seem fair to go hunting when you’re dressed like bait, your Grace,” the Rogue muttered with dark amusement, his tone somewhat muddled by what Carina assumed to be wine.

“Acheron!” Attwood snapped sharply. “Go find our seat. If you’re in the mood to chat, then spend it making peace with your fiancé!”

Carina shook her head as the drunken nobleman moved off with a sour expression.

“My apologies, your Grace—”

“It’s alright, Prime Minster,” Carina replied quickly. “I wanted to speak to you for a moment in private?”

“Ahh!” Attwood nodded and promptly offered his arm. “Have you had a tour of the Manor yet, your Grace? These glass doors over there lead down to the backyard and the Viscount’s prized water fountains. He’s not much of a gardener, but your grandfather does have some of the finest water fountains I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

The Duchess accepted his arm with an amused smile as the Prime Minister whisked her away from the crowd of curious nobles towards the framed glass doors that flickered from hundreds of candles that burned in the chandeliers above them.

“Thank you for the smooth extraction,” Carina said quickly when she was certain no one was close enough to listen in. “I wanted to ask your opinion regarding that.” She pointed to where Borghese and Priscilla still stood before Nicholas and a rather vengeful-looking Crown Princess.

“Ahh.” Attwood sighed as he glanced over the tense scene. “A rather unexpected turn of events.”

“Care to explain further?”

The Prime Minister shook his head with a regretful smile. “I am aware your Grace had intended to bring down the Marquess on behalf of his Majesty to prevent the threat of a noble uprising, but—all I can say is that a different—or more peaceful arrangement has been reached.”

“Different?” Carina echoed as she pulled her hand away from his arm. “You mean Nicholas isn’t going to have the Marquess arrested?”

“I’m afraid that after tonight, his Majesty would be placed in a rather awkward position if he attempted to arrest the Marquess.”

‘What?’

Attwood drew in a slow frustrated breath and placed a hand on Carina’s shoulder with a sympathetic smile.

“I know it’s not the outcome you wished for, your Grace.”

“Then—what about the Marquess’s army!”

“The Marquess has already transferred military leaderships to the Crown Prince along with all funds related to the upkeep of the army.”

Carina blinked in disbelief. “W-when—no, why?”

“Crown Prince Nicholas asked the Dowager to undertake a special mission as Regent while the majority of House of Lords was away for the Royal Hunt,” Attwood explained. “With the Marquess distracted by the Royal Hunt and its prize, the Dowager was able to send Knight Commander Quentin to search and find evidence of the Marquess’s illegal army as well as his other immoral activities.”

It took the Duchess a moment to digest this news. In particular, the fact that the Dowager had sent her not a word of warning about Nicholas’s plans.

‘No, in fact, it was the Dowager’s idea to have me request a bigger prize for the Hunt from Nicholas.’

“But—why go through all the effort—and still not arrest him?” Carina protested.

“Because alive, Borghese can unify the more nobles behind Nicholas,” Attwood answered patiently. “The Marquess’s death would only drive a deeper wedge between the Crown Prince and the Royal Faction.”

“But—what is to stop Borghese from trying to revolt later? And what is being done about the slaves the Marquess has been trafficking all over the kingdom and its borders?”

“Knight Commander Quentin is shutting down those slave tunnels as we speak,” the Prime Minister said as he turned Carina back towards the banquet. “As to keeping Borghese loyal, that responsibility now lies with his daughter.”

“With Priscilla?” Carina’s attention turned sharply to where Nicholas now stood, holding Lady Priscilla’s hand as he raised another to quiet the banquet hall.

“Your attention, please, lords and ladies!” Viscount Rykard called out loudly, and the room fell quiet.

“Thank you, Viscount,” Nicholas murmured with a smile. “I have an announcement I wish to make before we begin tonight’s festivities. It is my intention to take Lady Priscilla as a royal consort with the blessing of her father and the House of Lords.”

Surprise gasps and applause quickly rang around the room as Nicholas kissed the hand of a flushed but oddly quiet Priscilla.

“Congratulations, your Majesty!”

“Congratulations to the noble Lady!”

“A-announcing Viscount Alastair Kensington and Lady Isabella Kensington!” the page called out hesitantly as the jubilant voices throughout the banquet suddenly died.

Lord Alastair stared across the banquet tables at Nicholas and Priscilla with a look of unmasked disgust. Beside him, Lady Isabella trembled with the same fiery temper that Eleanora was struggling to mask behind an expression of indifference and a glass of wine.

“Announcing Earl Percy Hawthorne and Marchioness Serilda Kensington!”

Lord Alastair’s gaze finally left the Crown Prince and his new consort as he guided Isabell to the side. The crowd of nobles breathed an uneasy sigh of relief as Percy entered the room with Serilda on his arm. The Marchioness offered the Crown Princess’s parents an arched brow and bemused smile before she kissed Percy’s cheek and exchanged the Earl’s arm for that of Lord Eustice Winifred, who came forward to greet them.

“I am sorry, Duchess,” Attwood said quietly as he shifted uncomfortably beside her. “I can only say that his Majesty was intent on having the Marquess arrested—right up until the Marchioness changed his mind.”

‘Serilda?!’ Carina studied the confident noblewoman as Percy’s cousin made her way towards the Crown Prince. The latter quickly abandoned Priscilla’s arm without hesitation as Nicholas greeted the Marchioness and kissed her cheek. ‘So, Percy and Serilda are playing games with me behind my back.’

The Duchess curled her fingers into fists with a laugh of disbelief. The Prime Minister bowed politely to her and then made his way around the banquet tables to sit beside Acheron at the royal table.

‘With this move, Nicholas may have shifted the weight of Lafeara’s noble party behind him, but he’s also alienated himself completely from Eleanora, her family, and likely the Emperor. Now the pressure on Eleanora to produce an heir soon will increase ten-fold.’ She sighed in aggravation as she turned to gaze out the dark glass windows that overlooked the well-maintained lawns of Gilwren’s estate.

‘Depending on how much the timeline has changed, there is still Rosamund future pregnancy to deal with!’

While Carina still wasn’t sure Eleanora had been behind the poisoning of Rosamund’s unborn child in the last timeline, she knew for certain that Priscilla had not been a royal consort then.

‘I can’t just ignore the Borhgese’s either. First, Priscilla targeted me, and then Borghese targeted Ivy. I thought I could deal with them both now during the hunt and then return to focus on the plague—but now? What happens now? If Eleanora doesn’t have a child—if Rosamund arrives at the palace pregnant, or Priscilla ends up pregnant—will Eleanora still be framed? Will we be able to avoid a war with Ventrayna?’

“Your Grace seems distracted.”

Carina flinched as her gaze moved from the distant shadowy fountain to the Earl’s reflection in the glass before her. “I’m afraid I’m not in the mood for company, Lord Percy.”

“Ahh, I am sorry to hear that,” Percy murmured as he moved to stand to her left. “I was looking forward to having some time with you now that we’re no longer competing.”

“Who says that we’re not?” Carina muttered sharply as she turned and walked quickly back through the banquet tables towards her seat.

‘It makes no sense for Percy and Serilda to get in my way. The Marquess has been a thorn in their side as well, and he is certainly no friend of the Covens.’

Hana glanced up with a smile that quickly turned into a worried expression as the Duchess took her seat without a word.

‘The Coven’s don’t want a war with the Emperor. According to Percy, they want a Witch King and Queen to take the throne. So why secure the nobles behind Nicholas?’

Carina glanced up towards the Royal table where Priscilla had been given a seat at Nicholas’s left. However, the consort was all but ignored as Serilda sat on the woman’s armrest and whispered into Nicholas’s ear.

‘Serilda used to control King Henri with manipulative magic. She told me so herself. Nicholas changing his mind like this at the last minute has to be her doing! Surely I’m not the only one to have noticed.’

“Krisi,” Hana murmured as she reached over to clasp Carina’s hand gently. “It will be alright.”

‘Will it? The Marquess still has evidence that could get Ivy arrested. He went so far as to find Meredith to uncover any weakness I might have through Ivy. If her illness were also discovered—’ Carina glanced over and grasped Ivy’s hand as the startled girl turned and beamed a reassuring smile. ‘But now that Priscilla is a royal consort, I can’t make a move against her or the Marquess without Nicholas’s permission.’

The Duchess laughed ruefully as a young male servant approached their table with a pitcher of wine.

“Would your Grace and ladies like a drink?”

“Yes!” Ivy answered swiftly as she held up her cup.

“Ours as well,” Hana whispered as she released Carina’s hand and held both their glasses. When the servant moved on, Hana placed a glass firmly in the Duchess’s hand and held her own up for a toast. “To leave the problems of the future for tomorrow and enjoying the most of what we have today.”

“Here, here!” Ivy cheered as she clinked Hana’s glass and turned expectantly to Carina.

The Duchess sighed as she stared from her glass to the royal table.

“Tomorrow isn’t promised, Kirsi,” Hana whispered and nodded towards their raised glass. “We deserve to enjoy this evening—remember?”

Carina smiled apologetically as she raised her glass and added it to theirs. “You’re right. Let’s enjoy ourselves.”

‘The future will come, no matter what I do to stop it,’ the Duchess thought as she took a long, steady drink of the sweet wine.

‘Maybe instead of plotting to save the world, you should try ruling it for a change?’ Kirsi whispered from the dark reflection in Carina’s glass. ‘No matter how good the position of a castle or knight, you cannot control the board without a crown.’

 

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[Rough Draft] Chapter 43: The Carnage of Victory

 

The sun had already begun to set behind the hills and trees that danced and swayed as if laughing with relief as the Duchess, nobles, and many tired knights made their way back from the tree line towards the welcoming tents of the Royal Hunt camping grounds.

Carina stretched her neck from side to side tiredly. Rather than a ball, she would have preferred several hours of undisturbed refuge in a nice warm bath or perhaps, curled up in a bed of pillows while Hana read a story allowed to her as the Viscountess often did when Carina had trouble falling asleep.

“Your Grace,” Captain Isaac called out with a nod towards the Bastiallano knight on horseback headed in their direction.

“Our scout is back,” Carina observed as she turned her horse away from the rest of her party that followed the four loaded carts back towards the main tent where their kills for the day would be counted up and added to the Duchess’s total score. “What news?” she asked as the knight bowed in his saddle.

“The stray dogs have all left the forest, your Grace,” the knight responded immediately as he straightened. “Our scouts followed them a mile past the border of Gilwren forest and returned.”

“All of them?” Carina murmured doubtfully.

“They appear to receive da message earlier in this morning that had them leave with great haste,” the knight confirmed. “The two torches they brought along have also disappeared.”

“I see. Tell the scouts to maintain a careful watch at the border, then head back to rejoin the rest of the army at first light.”

“Yes, your Grace, I will return to them with all speed.” The knight turned his mount around and swiftly galloped along the forest line towards the trail that had brought him to them.

‘Lumi, follow him and make sure he delivers my message,’ Carina commanded her scriva telepathically.

“It appears your instincts were right yet again,” Isaac commented as he leaned against his saddle beside her. “I wonder why the Marquess suddenly changed his plans.”

“Something—significant—has changed,” Carina muttered irritably. “I just don’t know what it is!”

“I’ll keep a few unmarked knights near the Marquess’s tents tonight and see if they can’t pick up anything.”

“Tell them to bring gifts of wine for the Marquess’s servants. After such a tiring three days, I’m sure a cup of good wine will be enough to trade for their Master’s secrets.”

Isaac smiled and nodded.

“Let’s head over for the count, so I know where we stand,” the Duchess said tiredly as she turned her white horse back to the main gathering tent.

The party had shrunk by the time Carina rejoined the carriages. Viscount Marco had left with the Crown Princess, who, along with Lord Acheron, had just finished counting up their total score.

“Forty-nine,” Attwood said as he clapped his son’s shoulders approvingly. “Not bad at all.”

“I’m ashamed to say the Princess took down more deer than me,” Acheron admitted tiredly, then bowed his head as Carina approached. “A good hunt, your Grace. You are all but victorious—pending Lord Percy’s count.”

“The Earl is still in the forest?” Carina asked as she dismounted.

“He left before all the other hunting parties,” Acheron replied. “Didn’t come back for lunch either. We saw three full carts near his quadrant, so he’s made a successful day of it, but he’ll need more than that to catch up to your score.”

‘And yet I feel uneasy.’

“If it’s alright with your Grace and Viscount Gladstone, Acheron and I will return to our tents. I need to check in with his Majesty and any reports sent from the capital before the ball beings.”

“Please, you are needed elsewhere, Prime Minister,” Carina said with a quick nod. “Thank you for your words of wisdom.”

“Oh?” Acheron arched a brow. “What pearls of wisdom have you been giving the Duchess.”

“The kind gleaned by those who listen,” Attwood replied with a nod to Carina as the Prime Minister turned his tired son in the direction of their tents.

Carina stepped forward as the first of her carts was unloaded by a group of waiting servants and the Viscount’s Steward, who checked the first off each cart for the markers left by each team’s Huntsman. Jesper trailed behind the Steward and pointed out each mark, ribbon, and then his own meticulously notated list as they worked their way through the pile of dead animals.

‘I feel rather like a serial killer waiting to get credit for all the animals I’ve murdered,’ Carina thought as she looked down at the hunting gloves and garments, which remained remarkably blood-free.

“If your Grace would like to head back and prepare, I can inform you of the count later,” Viscount Gladstone offered as he moved over to stand beside her.

“Thank you, Viscount, but as this group’s leader, I should see it through,” Carina replied politely.

“You think I’m going to cheat your hard work just to help the Earl win?” Gladstone murmured with a bemused smile. “Lord Percy hardly needs to stoop that low to secure a victory.”

“Do you know something I don’t?” Carina asked curiously.

“Only that the results may be closer than you think,” Gladstone replied with a shrug of his shoulder. “Still, I certainly put in my best effort to help you give the Earl a run for his money. I’m not sure where I’ll stand if I contributed to his loss.”

The Duchess laughed as she studied the man beside her curiously. “What would you have gained if you had helped the Earl win?”

The Viscount’s gaze narrowed thoughtfully on the second cart that was now being unloaded. “Hope, your Grace.”

“Hope?” Carina echoed, baffled.

“Unity between your lineage and the Earls would lead Lafeara and my people towards a more stable future.”

“Your people—Ah,” Carina nodded in understanding. ‘So, your one of Percy’s secret witches. That explains your uncanny ability to beat us all to shooting animals during the hunt.’

The Duchess sighed, then pulled off her gloves and used them to fan herself as the Steward moved on to the third cart.

“Nearly done, your Grace,” Jesper said as he stepped away, apparently satisfied the Steward would call him if the man felt the need to challenge one of the marked animals. “I hope your Grace proves victorious.”

“Thank you, Jesper,” Carina replied absently as she raised her gloves and turned to study the tree line towards the section of the woods belonging to the Earl’s hunting party.

“Your Grace is worried,” Jesper observed as he followed her gaze.

“Perhaps.” The Duchess turned towards the belltower that rang to signal the end of each day. “I’m wondering if we should have stayed out longer.”

“Your wolves couldn’t find anything else for us to hunt,” Jesper reminded her reassuringly. “It would take quite a feat for the Earl to catch up and pull in more kills than we gained today.”

Carina sighed and turned back to the Steward who had moved onto the fourth cart.

“In any case, they’re about to ring the bell now,” Jesper said with a nod towards the knight climbing the belltower’s wooden ladder.

“Good,” the Duchess murmured as she waved the gloves against her face once more. “I’m grateful for your guidance and expertise, Huntsman Jesper.”

“Not that you needed either,” Jesper observed with a wry smile. “Perhaps we’ll pair up again in the future.”

Carina sighed as the last deer was pulled from the back of the cart and checked off by the Steward. “Regardless, I’m still grateful for how you handled the Viscount regarding my wolves.”

“Ahh, yes. The Duchess’s secret weapons,” Jesper nodded.  “They were quite something. Cold, dangerous, but certainly beautiful.”

Carina blinked as she turned sharply towards the Huntsman. “Did you—”

“Your wolves spend a lot of time by the Samriella River,” Jesper replied with a shrug. “But they’re pretty quick to move off whenever the Viscount’s hunters get close.”

“Close?” Carina narrowed her eyes. “Was Viscount Rykard hunting for my wolves?”

“It’s difficult to say what his intentions were since he never caught sight of them,” Jesper replied. “It looks like your tally has finished, your Grace.”

Gladstone whistled sharply as the Steward wrote a new number on the board. “Eighty-nine in total. It’s a wonder there are any deer left.”

“They all ran to the Marquess’s quadrant where they knew they’d be safe,” one of the Stewards men joked as the empty carts pulled away.

The bell rang loudly over the campgrounds as Carina stared at the number beside Acheron’s total of forty-nine and the Marquess’s total of eight. ‘Hopefully, it will be enough.’

“Well then, I’m off to bathe and find myself a drink,” Gladstone said with a swift bow to Carina before he departed.

“I should be on my way as well,” Jesper said with a nod to Isaac and a deep bow to Carina. “I hope your Grace will permit me to greet you later tonight.”

“Tonight—at the ball?” Carina asked curiously. ‘I didn’t think the Viscount would invite his huntsmen to a ball for Royalty.’

“It is a ball for Huntsmen and Prey, I hear,” Jesper replied with a gratified smile before he turned and made his way towards the Manor.

“I don’t like him,” Isaac said quietly behind the Duchess.

“Why?” Carina asked as she turned towards her tents. “Because he speaks his mind too openly for a commoner?”

“Because his smell is off,” Isaac replied.

“Is he a witch?” Carina whispered curiously as she turned to study the Huntsman, who had met up another young Huntsman he greeted with a friendly wave. “He seems normal.”

“Your standard for normal is a bit diluted by witches, your Grace.”

‘Fair point,’ Carina acknowledged with a smile. “Still, at least he did us no harm.”

***

“We’re supposed to be Huntsmen—women!” Ivy protested as Hana pulled out the red dresses delivered by staff from the Holly Maiden Boutique. “Are we meant to be covered in blood?”

“I thought I asked for brown dresses,” Carina murmured as she pulled out her own dress and held the red fabric up in front of the mirror. “What on earth got into Sir Everly and Lady Ursula.”

“There is a message here,” Hana said as she pulled a note from Carina’s box. “From Sir Everly.”

Carina accepted the note and read the elegantly engraved message.

We made the alterations you requested as quickly as we could. May I just say that red is such a daring color for a Royal Ball! I wish I could see you! My Congratulations on your victory!

Sir Everly.

‘I didn’t ask for any alterations—Oh.’ Carina closed her eyes as she crumpled the note between her fingers and pressed them between her brows. ‘Kirsi, is this your doing?’

‘Brown is such a drab color. For a woman of fashion, I’m surprised you choose such a safe garment,’ the Scarlet Witch replied with evident amusement. ‘And besides—Red has always been our color.’

‘Your Color. Stop interfering, Kirsi.’ Carina tossed the note into the fire and picked up her dress again as she joined Hana beside the mirror. ‘When did you have time to write and send a note back to the Capital?’

‘You should ask, Lady Hana. She helped me send it.’

Carina’s gaze darted towards Hana, who smiled at her in return as she swirled around in her red dress.

“We are going to look like three temptresses,” Ivy whispered as she spun indecisively from the window to the bed, with her red dress draped over her arm.

“You don’t have to wear it if you’re uncomfortable, Ivy,” Carina replied quickly.

“And miss the opportunity to wear the same dress as you?” Ivy protested vehemently. “Never!”

The Duchess blinked while Hana laughed, and Ivy turned as red as the gown she hugged to her chest.

“Your Grace,” Isaac called from behind the tent entrance.

“What is it, Captain?” Carina replied as she handed the dress to Hana, who was still laughing at the now giggling Ivy. “You can tell me through the door.”

“Pardon, your Grace. It would see—the final tally was just finished. Earl Percy was just declared the winner of the competition.”

“What?”

Hana and Ivy fell silent as Carina moved briskly to the tent opening and swept back the fabric to meet Captain Isaac’s startled gaze.

“Tell me again!” The Duchess commanded, her words shaking in disbelief. “The Earl?”

“Yes, he beat your total score by only three kills. It was very close, your Grace.”

Carina blinked in disbelief as the feeling of unease dropped like a stone in her gut. ‘I knew he’d find a way.’ She nodded silently to the Captain and closed the tent as she turned back to face Hana and Ivy’s worried stares.

“It’s alright—it’s fine,” Carina said quickly. “As long as the Marquess didn’t win.”

“But—what about your wager with the Earl?” Ivy asked timidly.

“What wager?” Hana replied with a hint of annoyance. “He can try to court the Duchess publicly all he likes. That doesn’t mean Kirsi has to go along with it.”

“Oh,” Ivy murmured and turned back to the mirror.

“Let’s not worry about that now,” Carina said determinedly. “We deserve to enjoy tonight’s celebration regardless of the outcome.”

“Your Grace,” Isaac called again from outside the tent.

“Yes?” Carina snapped, then cleared her throat. “What is it, Captain?”

“The Earl has—sent you flowers.”

“Why that sly little—” Hana seethed as Carina returned to the tent entrance.

The Duchess accepted the bouquet of pink roses without comment and carried the flowers over to the long table where they had all celebrated Ivy’s freedom only the day before.

“When would the Earl have had time to prepare these,” Hana grumbled as she joined Carina by the table, followed closely by Ivy.

“There’s a letter, Kirsi,” Ivy murmured as she pointed to a small card tucked inside the bright white ribbon wrapped around the crystal glass vase.

Carina set the vase down firmly and turned it so she couldn’t see the letter.

“Aren’t you—going to read it?”

“She doesn’t need to,” Hana replied sullenly. “I can guess what it says.” The Viscountess crossed her arms and tapped a finger against her left forearm irritably. “It’s as if the Earl knew he would win no matter what.”

‘He probably did. Percy does have an entire three Coven of witches at his disposal.’ Carina sighed as she turned back to the dresses Hana had left on the bed. ‘I was overconfident in my own abilities—again.’

“That—Smug bastard!” Hana explained as she strode over to Carina with Percy’s open letter in her hand. “Since fate has smiled on me, I hope that your Grace will honor the terms of our wager, and I most humbly request the privilege to escort Lady Kirsi Valda to the ball tonight!” The Viscountess threw the letter on the bed beside the dresses. “It’s as clear as day the bastard cheated just to win the wager.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Carina replied as she picked up her dress.

“If he’s your escort, that means he will be your first dancing partner,” Hana explained tensely.

“A dance hardly matters,” the Duchess responded dismissively as she turned and gestured to the buttons on her dress. “We should get ready.”

“The first dance is usually reserved for couples and partners,” Ivy whispered with a dreamy look as she picked up Percy’s letter.

“No, Kirsi is right. It’s just a dance,” Hana responded as she briskly worked her way through the buttons on Carina’s dress. “Just because the Earl asked permission to pursue you publicly doesn’t mean you have to go along with it.”

“Naturally,” Carina replied as she motioned for Hana to turn around and helped the Viscountess unbutton her dress. “And I already have two lovely escorts picked out for this evening.”

“But—” Ivy protested.

“Whose side are you on?” Hana demanded incredulously as Carina finished with the Viscountess’s dress and moved over to Ivy.

“I just thought—the Earl is a friend and ally after all,” Ivy murmured hesitantly.

“That remains to be seen,” Carina replied as she helped Ivy step out of her day dress. “For now, let’s just do our best to enjoy the ball.”

 

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[Rough Draft] Chapter 42: Crows in the Forest

 

The forest of Gilwren was oddly quiet come the final morning of the hunt. The wind barely disturbed the artist’s palette of green, brown, and blue as the evening dew dripped lazily from leaf and stem to be absorbed by the roots beneath the carpet of leaves, fallen nuts and cones, and scattered mushrooms that grew beneath the forest’s barrier.

From their shelter between rock and stone, the two fire mages sat contemplating the crude fire set before them, and the skinned rabbit staked on a stick that sizzled above the crackling flames.

“Still not a word from the Marquess,” the first mage grumbled angrily in Ventrayna. “How much longer do we have to wait?”

“Today is the last day of this royal hunt,” his comrade answered as he hugged his injured arm and stared into the branches above. “Word will come.”

“And if it does not? What do we tell the Empress?”

“That the Marquess got cold feet—” the witch grunted as he shifted his seating position.

“Then why do we not deal with it ourselves?”

“And run into whatever witch summoned that scriva?”

Two pairs of amber eyes stared at each other challengingly and then looked away.

“Perhaps the Empress will be less angry when she hears there is an Ice Witch in Lafeara.”

“There is also the Dowager,” the injured witch replied with a snort.

“This was not the Dowager,” the second witch replied confidently. “They have to be connected to those knights we found tracking us.”

“Those knights wore the colors of Bastiallano. A Duchy that belongs to the Dowager.”

“Not anymore, my friend.” The witch grinned, apparently satisfied at knowing more than his companion. “There is a new Duchess now, adopted by the Dowager.”

“Ahh,” the injured witch murmured thoughtfully. “Perhaps the Dowager found another ice witch to adopt then.”

“That means there are two immortal hearts hiding in Lafeara—not one.”

“The Empress can keep one for herself and give the other to Aurelia.”

“Why would she need Aurelia when she can rule herself with an immortal heart.”

The injured witch scowled as his comrade lifted the cooking rabbit from the fire and sniffed it.

“Seems ready. What do you think?”

With a sigh, the fire witch cradled his arm and grimaced as he struggled to rise to his feet. “I think that I’ll be cooking the next wolf I see.”

“Well, they say there are wolves in Lafeara’s forest. Perhaps we’ll see one on the way back.”

“Perhaps you won’t be returning at all,” a steely voice whispered as the fire below the witches flickered and died suddenly.

“What the—” the witch dropped the rabbit and whirled alongside his companion as they turned and stared at the dozens of crows spread around the forest branches, staring at them ominously.

“The Coven of Crows,” the injured witch hissed as he called fire to his good hand. The flames twisted and snarled, then died as quickly as the campfire had.

“Air—witches—” the other witch croaked as he grabbed his neck, gasping but unable to breathe.

“Kritanta’s flame,” the injured witch grabbed his companion and turned to run. A sudden rush of air knocked both witches off their feet and slammed them down into a pile of leaves and mud.

“I never gave you permission to leave,” Percy remarked calmly as he appeared before the two trapped witches. “You are both coven witches and thus fully aware of offense you have committed by entering another Coven’s domain without permission.”

“We don’t need your permission, crow scum,” the injured witch snarled.

“Arrogant barbarian,” Percy replied with a faint laugh. “Look where you are. Do you think your in a position to insult any Lafearian witch—let alone it’s Witch King?”

The Earl rose smoothly to his feet and, with a wave of his hand, sent both witches spiraling in different directions where they crashed against a tree and dropped to the ground.

“Is this how you greet a King?” Percy asked as he waved his right hand again and brought the two witches crashing into each other, then lifted them into the air where he held them suspended as he stretched his left hand towards them and slowly tightened his fingers into a fist.

The fire witches snarled and cried in pain as their bodies crumpled inwards, an invisible pressure squeezing them tightly like a wet rag.

“Why is the Empress supporting the Marquess?” Percy asked, then relaxed the fingers of his left hand as the fire witches gasped painfully in relief. “What purpose do you serve being here in Gilwren forest?”

“You think we’d betray—our Empress?” the uninjured witch protested weakly. “You have no idea—how terrifying she is.”

“And you have no idea how terrifying I can be,” Percy replied and spread the fingers of his left hand wide, straining them as the limbs of the witches stretched away from their body as joints popped and strained in protest. The Earl smirked as he again relaxed his fingers, then dropped both witches to the ground. “But I don’t need to torture you to get the information I want.”

The pure-blood pointed at the injured witch and raised him off the ground with a single finger.

“You,” the Earl commanded, his voice deepening with power as the fire witch hovered in the air before him. “Tell me why the Empress sent you.”

“The Empress—wants—to start a war—between Lafeara and Ventrayna,” the fire witch gasped.

“Why does the Empress want a war?”

“To force the Emperor’s son, Crown Prince Tristan, to choose Lafeara over his father’s wishes,” the witch answered, his hands and feet twitching in protest as Percy’s magic seeped deeper into the nerves of his body and brain.

“So Tristan is now the Crown Prince,” Percy mused and tilted his head. “Why would the Emperor want a war when negotiations with Lafeara have already been beneficially concluded.”

“That is why we are here—to give the Emperor a reason to break the treaty.”

“Go on,” Percy urged as his winter-grey eyes narrowed.

“The backbone and foundation of this treaty was your Crown Prince’s marriage to Eleanora. If the half-witch princess were removed from the picture—the treaty would fall apart.”

“Would such a small loss really be worth the Emperor falling out with his only son?” Percy questioned doubtfully. “Will Tristan not go after those responsible—such as the Empress?”

“Would the Emperor not be offended if his adopted princess were murdered by the same Lafearian noble who would place his daughter on the throne as Lafeara’s next queen?”

“Ha!” Percy laughed. “So the Empress is setting a trap with the help of the Marquess. And what does Borghese gain from sacrificing his daughter?”

“Princess Aurelia would name Borghese Regent of Lafeara under her reign.”

“Ahh.” The Earl snorted and shook his head. “And what do the Empress and Princess intend to do with the Coven’s of Lafeara?”

“Those who oppose the will of the Empress and Princess Aurelia—will be destroyed.”

The crows in the branches above flinched and scattered as the forest boomed with the Earl’s laughter. “So—instead of accepting my offer of an alliance, your Empress would make war with the Coven’s of Lafeara?”

“Can there be a peaceful alliance between our Coven’s when you have chosen an ice witch as your Queen?” the witch protested cynically. “Perhaps if you offered yourself as a consort to Princess Aurelia—”

With a snap of his wrist, Percy sent the witch flying into a broken tree branch. The witch coughed and twitched around the jagged wood impaled through his stomach that quickly stained red as he bled out and died.

The Earl lowered his gaze to the second witch, who flinched as he was lifted into the air similarly to his now-dead companion.

“Don’t worry,” the Earl murmured with a cold smile as he brought the witch closer and whispered into the trembling man’s ear. “I have a better use for you.”

***

Carina flinched and looked up sharply as a crow settled onto a branch beside the path the Duchess and the rest of her party, minus crown prince Nicholas, were taking through the forest.

‘Is Percy watching me?’ She frowned as the bird bobbed its head in what might have been a bow. ‘Probably.’

A doe bolted suddenly across the path. Viscount Gladstone released his bow before the Duchess could raise her crossbow, and the deer fell with a sharp cry of pain.

“Nicely done, Viscount!” Bromwell called out as he lowered his bow, a step too late. “Your accuracy is impressive.”

“Thank you, Lord Bromwell,” Gladstone replied as he dismounted to confirm his kill. “That makes our eleventh kill for today, your Grace.”

“Oh—hold up!” Attwood called out as a fawn stumbled onto the path before them.

“It’s—” Viscount Marco whispered worriedly from beside Bromwell, “—it’s just a baby.”

“Yes,” Attwood observed somberly as the fawn glanced about in confusion, then hurried away through the underbrush. “That was likely its mother.”

“Not to worry, my lords and ladies,” Bromwell said with an anxious glance towards the Duchess. “The Huntsmen will look after it and integrate it with another herd once it’s grown.”

“It’s a wonder the Duchesses wolves didn’t find them before we did,” Gladstone commented as he nudged the head of the dead doe.

Carina offered an empty as she nudged her white horse around Gladstone’s mount. “Who says they didn’t, Viscount. I simply have no desire to separate a child from their mother.”

‘Unless their mother is a vicious bitch like Miranda?’ Kirsi whispered cynically.

Carina flinched at the unexpected snark from the Scarlet Witch, who had been unusually quiet of late.

“You’re saying you can control the wolves to that extent, Duchess?” Attwood asked curiously as the Duchess rode along beside him.

Carina sighed and offered a shrug. “Perhaps they avoided the mother and fawn because they had no desire to do so themselves.”

“Wolves will eat children—let alone fawns, your Grace,” Jesper, the Huntsman, commented as he dropped down from his horse to mark the doe’s head and tie a ribbon to her back left hoof. “We’ll let the knights take this one back.”

Carina shook her head as she continued forward, following behind Bromwell while Attwood kept pace beside her. “How was his Majesty this morning, Prime Minister?”

“Better, your Grace, but unfortunately—not up to the task of riding on horseback through the forest,” Attwood replied with an apologetic smile.

‘Of all the times for Nicholas to be injured and practically bedridden.’ Carina sighed. “Then will his Majesty be alright to travel back to the capital tomorrow?”

“I believe so, your Grace. I have already sent for the royal carriage to ensure the journey back is as comfortable for his Majesty as possible.”

“I see,” the Duchess shook her head and sent a mental ping to Lumi for an update on the movements of the Marquess’s men.

“His Majesty also expressed his eagerness to grant the Duchess her reward at the Royal Ball tonight.”

Carina studied the Prime Minster with a bemused smile. “His Majesty is still confident in my ability to win?”

“Why would he not be, your Grace,” Attwood replied with a smug smile. “The Duchess has all but single-handedly destroyed the previous hunt records on your first day. The weather yesterday was unfortunate, but you still have a very strong lead over the other parties.”

“Only the Earl of Hawthorne stands a chance of winning—as doubtful as that is given our lucky today,” Bromwell added with a confident grin.

‘Well, no surprise there,’ Carina thought as she brushed a bead of sweat from her cheek. ‘The trouble is I don’t know what trick the Earl might have up his sleeve. He did seem determined to win.’

“As much as I have enjoyed hunting with the Duchess and her fearsome wolves,” Bromwell continued with a wry smile. “I’m very much looking forward to your costume for the Ball tonight. Perhaps I might have a dance with you then, cousin.”

“Indeed,” Gladstone remarked, having caught up with them as he rode up with Huntsman Jesper at his side. “I imagine all the other noble ladies back at the Manor are already busy preparing as we speak. Perhaps we should return early to allow the Duchess the proper amount of time to prepare.”

“And allow the Earl the opportunity to catch up on my lead?” Carina remarked as she offered the Viscount a cynical look. “I don’t think so.”

The Prime Minister chuckled and shook his head. “The Duchess appears to be very competitive. If your Grace had been born a man….” He trailed off with another shake of his head.

“What?” Carina pressed with a raised brow.

“It’s nothing serious, your Grace,” Attwood replied as he scratched at the bug bite on his cheek. “I was just thinking how much insight and forward-thinking you might bring to the House of Lords—had you been born a nobleman.”

“Is the Prime Minister referring to my insight with fashion?”

“Your Grace is running a Duchy quite well. That in and of itself speaks to your ability to manage and oversee your subordinates properly,” Attwood explained patiently. “Not to mention the Duchy’s knights have shown nothing but loyalty and respect to you despite your young age and inexperience. You also had the foresight to prepare for a plague and contain it before it could spread. Then there are the many charities you have financed, among them the orphanages sponsored by the Crown Princess.”

Carina laughed nervously. “You are mistaken, Prime Minister. The hospitals and charitable donations were the work of Mr. Frost.”

“Ahh yes, the Duchess’s mysterious sponsor and elusive investor,” Attwood replied with a knowing smile before he turned and leaned across the saddle towards her. “But I happen to believe that the Duchess and Frost are one and the same person.” The Prime Minister winked and straightened as he focused on the path ahead.

“What brought you to that conclusion?” Carina asked with a laugh.

“Your Grace’s essay during the Selection to start,” Attwood replied with a slight shrug of his shoulder. “The heart of your argument had the same passion, consideration, and forward-thinking as the appeal Frost submitted to open his soap stores throughout the capital and kingdom.”

‘You realized it back then?’ Carina raised her brows doubtfully. ‘But Nicholas couldn’t figure it out even when I put all the pieces before him.’

“There is also the fact that no one has ever seen Frost outside of the same Lawyer that assisted the Duchess with the inheritance you received from your material aunt when you were ten years old,” Attwood continued with a smug look of confidence. “An inheritance you received the same year Frost made the first among many investments that would become immensely profitable two to five years later.”

Carina shook her head with a rueful chuckle.

“No longer denying it?” Attwood observed with an amused smile.

“His Majesty believes that I am Frost’s bastard daughter,” Carina replied with a cynical smile.

“His Majesty was raised by an overbearing father, submissive mother, and a cruel Dowager,” Attwood replied with a heavy sigh. “The Crown Prince finds it difficult to accept that anyone—let alone an orphaned half-blood—could be smarter or more capable than him.”

“I see,” the Duchess murmured.

“But I do believe his Majesty is starting to figure it out,” Attwood added with a quick smile. “Though he may wait to acknowledge this revelation until your Grace is prepared to tell him yourself.”

Carina nodded and turned to face the Prime Minister. “Would anything change if I did?” she asked sincerely.

“Given that your Grace now has the wealth, power, and influence of Bastiallano—perhaps not,” Attwood replied with a quick chuckle. “But if the Duchess were ever married and had children—”

Carina threw him a sharp look but then laughed. “And how are the marriage preparations going for Lord Acheron and Lady Evelynn?”

“Ahh,” Attwood replied with a tired sigh. “I admit they are both less than thrilled with their approaching nuptials. But both families are determined to see it through before the end of the summer.”

“I see—it happened rather quickly, though,” the Duchess murmured cautiously.

The Prime Minister nodded solemnly. “Your Grace has no doubt heard some of the rumors about my son.”

‘Only the same ones I’ve heard since before I became a court attendant.’ Carina offered the troubled father an affirming nod.

“Well then—as delicate as the matter may be—it will be difficult for Lady Evelynn to become married after she—lost her virtue to my son.”

‘Oh.’

“I see—I’m simply surprised, given how attached Lady Evelynn was to Earl Percy before this—” Carina trailed off awkwardly.

“They may have both been under the effects of heavy drinking—which does not alter the results,” Attwood replied. “However unhappy they may be to be stuck together; it is what’s best for them both at this point.”

“I suppose,” Carina murmured, still stuck on the comment Acheron had made about needing to win the competition to apologize to the crown prince. “Would it not be possible for them to divorce if the marriage proves unsuccessful?”

“A divorce would be disastrous for Lady Evelynn,” the Prime Minister replied promptly. “Her family’s current finances are dire enough—if she divorced Acheron, Evelynn would be required to pay back the debts my family has settled for her father.”

“I see.”

“Not to mention, Lady Evelynn would have very little value as far as future marriage—unless the Viscount sold his title to buy her a second husband.”

‘It sounds like they’re stuck together then—for better or worse.’

“I will do my best to bring them together in any event,” Attwood said determinedly. “It’s about time Acheron settled down, and a wife and child might be just what he needs to get his head on straight.”

Carina offered a smile and kept her sentiments on arranged marriage to herself. ‘But really, what were the odds that two people who can’t stand each other end up together alone and drunk enough to sleep with each other?’

 

♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝

[Rough Draft] Chapter 41: Pride of the Fallen

 

Marquess Borghese grimaced as he dismounted, his rain-laden boots sinking into the mud as a pain shot up his legs and back. ‘When was the last time I ever had to work this hard for anything?’ He patted the panting stallion’s neck, but the horse had always been sensitive to his mood and shied away.

“Six fucking kills,” Borghese hissed as he turned towards the tired party of drenched nobles who reigned in at the edge of the forest around him. “It would seem whatever gods and saints exist are not on our side.”

“I am sorry, Marquess,” Earl Coldwell said regretfully from beneath his dripping hood. “At this rate, winning the competition will be impossible.”

“Ha!” Borghese dragged his hunting cap from his head and slapped it against his knee. “That goes without saying, Coldwell.”

A few nervous coughs and awkward whispers followed. Borghese ignored them as he turned to the huntsman, who had dressed most appropriately for the weather out of all of them. “You may take our kills back to be counted.”

“Yes, my Lord,” the Huntsman, Roy, if Borghese remembered the name correctly, bowed his head and moved his steed over to the mules who held the two deer, one boar, two quails, and a rabbit.

‘A lousy fucking showing. After all the trouble I went through hunting during the worst of the storm while that damn Duchess and Earl Percy were still lying about in their beds.’ The Marquess’s nostrils flared in quiet anger before he turned his attention on the rest of the lords. ‘There’s no point taking my anger out on them. I’ll need their support in the future. Better to be magnanimous.’

“Thank you, my lords, for your efforts,” Borghese called out to them graciously. “You should all retire now to rest, bath, and enjoy some good wine. Go with my thanks. We have one more day left—we should enjoy it and put the tension of the competition behind us!”

“Here, here!” Viscount Kendall replied enthusiastically while Viscount Bennet regarded the Marquess with a worried frown.

Audible sighs of relief drifted through the worn-out hunting party as the nobles split up, giving Marquess Borghese a nod of respect as they rode past him to the reprieve they had finally been granted.

Borghese remained where he stood beside the restless chestnut stallion. He glanced over his shoulder irritably when he noticed Earl Coldwell had yet to make his way back to camp. “You as well, Coldwell.”

“Are you not going to rest yourself, Marquess?” the Earl asked with notable concern.

“I need a moment of quiet to myself before I do,” Borghese said dismissively. “Thank you for your concern, but a moment of solitude before returning to camp.”

Earl Coldwell nodded reluctantly and nudged his mare forward.

Borghese waited until the bothersome noble had gone well beyond the tree line, then tied up the chestnut, and wandered over to the nearest stump where he sank down with a strained grunt, then pulled out his tobacco and pipe.

The spiraling smoke of the opiate-laced tobacco mingled with the dense smell of wet mud and rain. Borghese exhaled and sighed as he crossed his arms, allowing the tension in his shoulders to ease while the ache and pain in his back and legs finally drifted further away. He paid little notice to the knight that rode calmly to the edge of the forest, then dismounted and strode in the direction of the chestnut mare.

“Marquess Borghese,” Lieutenant Olund greeted. “I hear today’s efforts were all in vain.”

“I suspect foul play,” Borghese muttered tiredly. “But when your opponents are witches, what else should one expect?”

“Have you made a decision then?”

Borghese drew in another mouthful of numbing smoke and exhaled slowly. “I am not so eager to see this country at war with itself. And my Priscilla still has her heart set on marrying that foolish monarch.”

“His Majesty hasn’t so much as looked in her direction since he became engaged to the Ventrayna princess,” Olund replied as he pulled a letter from his pocket. “This arrived while you were gone. A servant from your house delivered it saying it was urgent.”

Borghese’s eyes narrowed. He tapped the stem of the pipe against his chin, then dumped the remains onto the damp ground where he smothered them with his boot before rising to take the letter. Barely five seconds later, the pipe in his grip snapped in half as the Marquess swore.

“Damn that treacherous fucking bitch!”

Olund flinched at the venom in his words but remained silent as the Marquess read on.

“It seems the Dowager took advantage of Royal Hunt to send Knight Commander Quentin to my estates with a royal warrant to search the premises,” Borghese seethed as he crumpled the letter. “Half of my staff has been arrested, my office ransacked, the hidden vault beneath the cellar stripped bare.”

“I don’t understand,” Olund said tensely. “Why would she—”

“That’s not all,” Borghese cut in with a harsh laugh. “Somehow—Knight Commander Quentin made found his way to my safe house. He has all the ledgers and locations for the slaves and my militia.”

“So—” Olund took a step back as he gripped his sword, “—the Dowager has everything.”

“Enough evidence to see me tried for treason if she wished,” Borghese growled as he clenched the letter and remnant of his pipe tightly. “Someone has betrayed me. None of my staff knew where that safe house was. How did the Dowager find it!”

“You said the Duchess and his Majesty had people following you and your staff,” Olund reasoned. “Perhaps they followed other nobles you’ve trusted with that location.”

“Earl Coldwell and Viscount Gladstone,” Borghese spat venomously as he flung the pipe and letter into the mud. “Those bastards!”

“What do we do?” Olund glanced nervously towards the campgrounds. “Should we make a run for it?”

“No!” Borghese growled. “You will remain at his Majesty’s side and be my eyes and ears.”

“But my Lord—”

“We can’t proceed as planned. If something happens to his Majesty now, the Dowager will see my head on the executioner’s block!” Borghese exhaled sharply as he rubbed his chin viciously. “I need the Crown Prince on my side now more than ever.”

“Word of this will reach his Majesty’s ears quickly,” Olund protested. “He won’t protect you from the Dowager once he finds out.”

“His Majesty still needs me,” Borghese replied stiffly. “I just have to remind him of that fact. Now more than ever, I need to secure a place for Priscilla beside him.”

“Priscilla?” Olund grip on the sword tightened. “How?”

“That is none of your concern!” The Marquess snapped as he stormed towards the chestnut stallion and untied its rein. “Though you will find out soon enough if you remain by his Majesty’s side.” Borghese climbed into the saddle and yanked the horse around towards the camp, leaving the Lieutenant behind as he rode towards his tent where his beautiful daughter, Priscilla—his last hope to retain his power and perhaps even his life—waited for him.

***

“You must go to the Crown Prince tonight after the evening feast and convince him to make you his consort by any means necessary!”

Priscilla shivered under her evening robes as she rose from her floral scented bathwater and turned as her maid, Pearl, squeezed the excess water from her damp strawberry blonde hair.

“But how do I convince him, Father? Nicholas won’t even reply to any of my letters!”

Priscilla frowned as her toes curled against the woven rub beside the bathtub. Pearl draped a robe around her mistress body then pulled over a chair for Priscilla to sit. “Miranda, bring my scented oil—”

“Mistress,” Pearl whispered gently as she touched Priscilla’s shoulder. “Miranda is still gone.”

“Ah!” Priscilla dropped her hand into her lap with a frustrated sigh. “I had forgotten.” Priscilla had never been fond of the old maid, but Miranda was at least of suitable status to be her attendant as a fallen noblewoman. ‘And now she’s gone and wandered off just when I need her most. Useless.’

“Which bottle should I fetch, my Lady? The pink or white one?”

“The pink one, obviously,” Priscilla snapped as she took over towel-drying her own hair. “That rose perfume is the most popular among happily married women. Now hurry, I must get there before curfew.”

“If you fail to win his Majesty’s affection, we will lose everything, Priscilla. I may even end up in prison, and you will have no one left to protect you.”

Priscilla tilted her neck as Pearl trailed the perfume stick along her shoulder blade then down between her breasts. ‘Eleanora won’t be a problem. By all accounts, their relationship is still as brittle as effort in spite of the display they put on before the Ventrayna Ambassador. Still, I can’t let that Duchess seduce Nicholas away from me.’

“Wait!” Priscillas snapped as the maid withdrew the bottle. “Give it to me!”

“My Lady?”

“Get my nightgown and jewels ready,” Priscilla snapped as she took the bottle and dabbed the application stick along her inner thighs. “Hurry!”

***

Beneath the discreet robe, Priscilla’s still somewhat damp hair clung to her sheer nightgown. She could hear her frantic heartbeat pounding against her ears, her chest, and even the floor below with every step. Pearl led the way through the Manor hallway and up to the third floor, where Viscount Rykard’s rooms were to the east while the guest rooms for the Royal Family lay to the west.

The knights posted at the opposing doors glanced in Priscilla’s direction, but it was Captain Olund who stepped forward to greet her.

“Lady Borghese, you—”

“My Father has sent me to have a private word with his Majesty,” Priscilla cut in, her voice wavering as her trembling hands tightened around the folds of her cloak. “Please ask his Majesty for an audience on my behalf, Captain.”

“His Majesty has gone to bed,” Olund whispered hoarsely.

Priscilla blinked. “He is asleep?” A faint laugh echoed from beyond the door Olund had just left. “It would appear his Majesty is still awake.”

“He is—not alone, my Lady,” Olund warned.

‘Not alone?’ Priscilla looked up into the knight’s concerned face. ‘Who would be in the Crown Prince’s rooms this late at night?’

“Is it the Crown Princess?”

“No.”

“The Prime Minister?”

Another laugh, this one clear and entirely feminine quickly eliminated that possibility.

“Who is it, Lieutenant Olund?” Priscilla demanded furiously.

‘I can’t miss this opportunity. Father said it had to be tonight. But if Nicholas is with another woman—’

“His Majesty is—resting with Marchioness Serilda of Berxley.”

‘That shameless hussy!’ Priscilla hissed out an angry breath as she marched determinedly around the startled knight.

“Lady Borghese!”

The furious woman pulled up short as the Lieutenant grabbed the back of her robe, almost revealing the mortifying gown she wore underneath.

“Lieutenant Olund! Let go!”

“You can’t go in there!”

“Who are you to tell me what I can and cannot do!”

“You don’t have to do this!”

Priscilla blinked at the knights pleading words. ‘He’s concerned for me? For my honor and reputation?’ She dropped her gaze to the floor, then firmly seized her cloak and yanked it from his fingers.  “This is my destiny, Lieutenant. Do not interfere.”

She turned firmly towards the bedroom door and glared as the Crown Prince’s giant bodyguard dropped an arm in her way.

“Nothing good will come of this, my Lady,” Captain Beaumont said with a dispassionate glance in her direction.

“I don’t recall asking for your advice, bastard,” Priscilla seethed, then ducked beneath the knight captain’s arm and pushed the bedroom door opened.

The scent of candles was overwhelming, despite the bedroom window being left open. Behind the drawn curtains of the kingly bed, giggles and amused whispers ended abruptly as Priscilla entered the room.

“Captain?” Nicholas’s voice called out with a hint of annoyance. “I thought I said I wasn’t to be disturbed.”

“Forgive me, your Majesty,” Priscilla called out as she twisted her hands together beneath the robes. “I was hoping I might have a private audience with—”

A section of the curtain yanked back to reveal a very disheveled Lady Serilda. “Well, well, if it is the treacherous Marquess’s only daughter. Come to grovel for your father’s life or your own, Lady Priscilla?”

The Marchioness agate-green eyes glimmered with amusement as she rubbed a thumb along the streak of lipstick on her chin. Although Lady Serilda was completely dressed, there was something about the haphazard position of her daringly low bodice and the rumpled state of her hair and dress, which implied the sort of naughty deeds rumored to have gained the Marchioness King Henri’s attention.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Priscilla retorted coldly. “But yes, I would like the opportunity to speak on my father’s behalf. He has suffered a great injustice, your Majesty. I hope you will give me the chance to explain!”

“Your father will have his chance to explain in court, Lady Priscilla,” Nicholas replied from beyond the curtain, his voice distant and disinterested.

“Please, your Majesty,” Priscilla pleaded as she stepped forward.

The Marchioness slid from the bed like a viper and smirked as she advanced towards the younger noblewoman. “I think you should give her a chance, your Majesty. I imagine Lady Priscilla has put a great deal of thought into how she will plead her father’s case.”

‘Is she—helping me?’ Priscilla flinched as Serilda smiled. The Marchioness seemed to dance around her with a cynical laugh that made the confused noblewoman’s skin crawl.

“Very well,” Nicholas replied with heavy resignation. “Shut the door, Captain.”

Priscilla flushed and turned sharply as Captain Beaumont reached inside the room to pull the bedroom door shut.

“Allow me to assist you, your Majesty,” Serilda replied as she moved around the bed to take Nicholas’s arm and assist the very naked crown prince to his feet.

‘What—why is he—’ Priscilla averted her gaze, mortified but not at all offended by what she had seen before Nicholas belatedly grabbed a pillow to cover his groin.

“The—chair,” Nicholas panted with a nod towards the chair pulled over next to the bed.

“Your Majesty, you are—injured—” Priscilla murmured worriedly as she took in the alarmingly large bruise the covered his chest. “How—”

“Never mind that now,” Nicholas snapped, then let out a grunt of pain as he eased into the chair with Serilda’s help. “You barged in here to plead on your father’s behalf, remember?”

‘He’s—angry with me? But why?’ Priscilla shook her head as she took a hesitant step forward. “Accusations have been made against my father—”

“Do you even know what those accusations are?” Nicholas interrupted with a faint snort.

“They are malicious and untrue—”

“Untrue?” Nicholas gripped his chest as he held back another laugh. “My dear lady, I am assured there is more than enough evidence to see your father rot in prison for the remainder of his days.”

Fear crawled up Priscilla’s spine as the meaning behind the terror and desperation in her father’s eyes became clear. “Your Majesty, have you forgotten our past engagement?”

Nicholas blinked then sighed as he waved his hand dismissively. “Why bring that up, Lady Priscilla?”

“Because if you checked the evidence, your Majesty, you would find that my Father only started to build this secret army the same month we became engaged,” Priscilla explained confidently. “He was building this army for your Majesty before the First Prince’s death. Father hoped to present it to you on our wedding day. He called in the Prince’s Army because he wanted to protect the both of us from anyone who should wish to remove you as a threat to the First Prince’s reign.”

“What you speak of is treason, no matter how justified your Father’s intentions,” Nicholas observed calmly.

“But not against you—Nicholas!” Priscilla took another two steps forward and then dropped to her knees. “Please! My father and I are not your enemies!”

“Your father is controlled by ambition and greed, not loyalty,” Nicholas replied. “No doubt he began building that army to remove Tristan and secure his son-in-law as the next king.”

“Has your Majesty any evidence to support that?”

Nicholas’s lips twitched with an amused smile. “And does the Lady know how the Marquess obtained the funds he used to build this loyal army?”

Priscilla blinked, caught off guard by the shift in conversation. “My father—has many businesses and properties, your Majesty. The Borghese family has always possessed power and influence and—”

“Marquess Borghese leads the largest child sex slave ring in Lafeara,” Nicholas cut in sharply. “His men kidnap children off the streets, even going so far as to murder their commoner parents in the process.”

“What? That is—”

“During our investigation of your father’s illegal army, other evidence of this sex slave trade was uncovered,” Nicholas interrupted heartlessly. “Evidence that goes back as far as the previous Marquess. The power and influence you speak of were obtained by the blood, sweat, and tears of children!”

Priscilla cowered beneath his angry words. Fear, disgust, and denial sent her stomach flipping unpleasantly against her lungs and throat.

“Please, your Majesty, I am sure there has been some mistake—”

“That is what a trial will determine, Lady Priscilla,” Nicholas replied firmly. “But your father did not send you here just to convince me of his innocence—did he?”

Priscilla blinked and raised her gaze to the Crown Prince’s cold penetrating stare. “Your Majesty?” She watched in confusion as Serilda pressed her lips to Nicholas’s ear and whispered something Priscilla could not make out. The Crown Prince’s gaze hardened as he stroked the Marchioness’s arm and kissed her hand.

“As you wish, my Lady,” Nicholas said affectionately as Serilda pulled away and returned to Priscilla’s side. “I admire your loyalty to your Father, Lady Priscilla. So I will give you one opportunity to prove the loyalty of the Borghese’s house.”

“T-thank you, your Majesty,” Priscilla cried out in relief as she quickly bowed her head.

“Rise, Lady Borghese,” Serilda said sweetly as she held out her hand. “A young woman like you should not kneel on the cold hard floor.”

Priscilla stared at the Marchioness’s offered hand, which to her view was as dangerous as the swaying head of a viper. She took it hesitantly as she rose and refocused on the crown prince. “H-how might I prove our loyalty, your Majesty?”

“First,” Nicholas replied as he motioned his finger towards her. “Remove your cloak?”

Priscilla blinked as her cheeks burned. “Y-your—”

“What you’re wearing underneath was for his Majesty’s eyes, is it not?” Serilda teased as she tugged playfully at the tassels of Priscilla’s cloak. “You’ve made him wait long enough. You might as well do what you came here to do.”

“I—don’t know what—”

“Remove it!” Nicholas snapped impatiently.

Shame wilted Priscilla’s courage and confidence as she slowly untied the tassels and opened the heavy fabric.

“Oh—my!” Serilda cooed as she caught the shoulders of the cloak and pulled it away from Priscilla’s tentative grasp. “You look like a bride about to enjoy her wedding night, Lady Priscilla.”

“T-that—” Priscilla protested helplessly, feeling like a fool before Nicholas assessing gaze.

“Does she please you, your Majesty?” Serilda asked with a coy brow raised at the young monarch. “Or should I send her on her way?”

Priscilla’s gaze blurred with tears as she turned between them frantically and crossed her arms over the sheer fabric that clung to her chest. “N-nicholas!”

“It pleases me,” the crown prince replied without an ounce of warmth.

“As it should,” Serilda replied with a smirk as she too ran her eyes over Priscilla’s trembling figure. “She is young and beautiful.”

Unable to summon the strength to respond, Priscilla focused on breathing as she stared at the crown prince’s bare feet.

“Well then,” Nicholas murmured in a curious tone. “I won’t deny it would serve me better to keep the Marquess out of prison. If he peacefully turns command of the army over to my crown and a general of my choosing, I will agree to spare him from charges of treason.”

“O-of course, your Majesty!” Priscilla whispered.

“To that end, I’m sure having you as a consort would go a long way to encouraging those nobles united behind the Marquess to support my rule.”

“Y-yes!”

“However,” Nicholas shook his head slowly. “A noble who dares to act so recklessly when it suits his interest may do so again should his interest shift.”

“P-please give us a second chance, your Majesty!” Priscilla pleaded, torn between hope and fear of failure.

Nicholas scratched behind his ear as he glanced towards the Marchioness at Priscilla’s side. “Very well, then,” he muttered, then dropped the hand to his lap where he grabbed the pillow. “If you want to prove your sincerity, Lady Priscilla.” He opened his legs and dropped the pillow on the floor between them. “Then come here and show me.”

Priscilla blinked slowly from the pillow to the crown prince’s exposed manhood and then up to Nicholas’s expectant gaze. “Y-your Majesty.”

“What are you waiting for?” Serilda asked with a laugh as she gave the trembling girl a firm push. “You can either pleasure his Majesty and prove your loyalty—or return to your father with news of his impending arrest.”

“I—” All protests died in her throat as Priscilla closed her eyes, unable to accept the task that lay before her. “This is—”

“Kneel, Lady Priscilla,” Nicholas commanded with cold authority. “I will not ask you again.”

Priscilla opened her eyes to search the crown prince’s gaze for any sign of the boy she had fallen in love with years before their engagement. She knelt slowly, her trembling hands resting against his knees as she swallowed her pride and whispered, “Yes—your Majesty.”