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Chapter 19: A Gaggle of Lords

The devilishly warm autumn air was fragrant with the scent of the fresh fruit and non-alcoholic beverages laid out across the six tables set up beneath the large red and white canopy. A servant met Carina and her party as soon as they set foot inside the banquet-sized tent. The polite steward guided them over to their table, placed directly beneath the spacious raised platform.

The Crown Prince, Prime Minister Attwood, and his son, Lord Acheron, were seated at the exorbitantly decorated table upon the platform along with Viscount Gilwren. The Viscount acknowledged the Duchess’s arrival with a polite nod before returning to a conversation with his honored guest.

“It looks like we’re waiting for her Highness,” Colonel Isaac commented as he pulled out a chair for Carina. She sat down and smiled politely as the servant who had escorted them bowed and disappeared to assist the other busy staff.

“Fresh blackberry tea,” Hana said brightly, holding up one of the thick crystal glasses that waited on a tray before them. “Here, Ivy, try some.”

Ivy accepted the offered drink and sipped it timidly. She blinked in surprise, then quickly smiled as she took a long sip.

Carina held back from voicing her concern as she watched the quiet girl enjoy her drink. The Duchess still wasn’t sure about her decision to allow Hana and Ivy to join her at the Royal Hunt. The Viscountess had insisted quite firmly on attending as planned, and poor Ivy, who was reliant on Hana’s treatment to keep her condition suppressed and tolerable, had been quick to support the Viscountess’s decision.

‘It will be fine. They’ll be resting at the campsite or safely inside the Manor while they’re here. At least this way, I can monitor Ivy’s progress up close.’

Loud booming laughter pulled the Duchess’s attention to the table on her left. She quickly spotted Marquess Borghese surrounded by nobles of the Royal Faction who had claimed two tables beside hers. The Marquess stood confidently with a drink in hand, proudly displaying a gold enameled oak crossbow laid across his raised knee. Earl Coldwell, Viscount Tomberline, and several other counselors from the House of Lords flocked around their flamboyant leader while lesser nobles gushed and praised from their seats further away.

‘It’s more of a political event than anything,’ Carina mused as she studied the nobles over her drink. ‘Both sides will probably be at each other’s throat for the royal favor.’

The Duchess turned casually in her seat to examine the nobles seated at the two tables directly behind her. Once more, the hierarchical difference in power was on full display, although with subtle differences. While Marquess Winifred sat at the middle of the table surrounded by counselors and members of the Noble Faction, the elderly man made no effort to garner their attention. Instead, he leaned against the table, enjoying a pipe of tobacco with a content expression while observing the Faction’s true leader.

Earl Percy Hawthorne smiled magnetically to each noble who approached him in turn to either shake hands or bow their head in submissive acknowledgment. Beside the Earl, Marchioness Serilda, whose demeanor and appearance sparkled with anticipation, laughed, smiled, and captured the admiration of more than one gentleman who paused to welcome her return.

“Difficult to imagine the Marchioness was once locked away for insanity,” an unfamiliar, masculine voice commented dryly.

Carina turned to find a nobleman standing before her table. He bowed respectfully and then gestured to the empty seats facing her.

“Would you mind if I join you, your Grace?”

“I prefer not to sit with strangers,” Carina replied dismissively, then narrowed her gaze at the boar pin attached to his lapel. A glance at the nobles gathered around Borghese’s table showed that similar pins had been passed around to the more notable lords attending.

“Of course, forgive my poorly timed manners. I am Viscount Callum Norley.” The Viscount bowed once more, offering the Duchess a smile that set her teeth on edge as he lowered himself into the chair directly facing her.

Carina raised her brow at his impertinence, then turned to hold off Isaac, who was already circling the table, intent on removing the nobleman.

“Her Grace did not grant you permission to sit,” Hana cut in sharply as she smacked her glass against the table with enough force to match the disapproving glare she gave him.

“Forgive me, Viscountess, but as you can see, the seating is limited,” Norley replied with a gesture to the packed tables behind them. “And I wanted to take the opportunity to introduce myself to the Duchess before the festivities began.”

“The introduction has been made,” Carina countered pointedly as she studied him. The Viscount was unremarkable in his appearance, dirty blonde hair, hazel-gray eyes, with features not particularly striking nor what one would describe as homely. He was perhaps in his early thirties, his face unblemished except for a small scar across his left ear.

The Viscount observed her interest in the mark and hastily brushed his loose, shoulder-length hair over the scarred ear with an amused smile. It was that sinister expression, along with the confidence with which he returned the Duchess’s attention, that stirred a sense of warning within her. “I find you fascinating,” Norley declared in a bemused tone. “You are a true enigma, your Grace.”

“How unfortunate,” Carina replied before returning her attention to the sweet blackberry tea. She let the awkward silence linger, hoping the Viscount would take the hint and leave. He did not.

“Your past is a riddle of unexplained coincidences,” Norley continued, rubbing two fingers along his smooth jaw while his hazel-gray eyes maintained their irksome stare. “But it is your future and the pivotal choices you have yet to make that concern me most.”

The Duchess exhaled slowly and glanced towards the royal table behind her unwelcomed guest to see if Eleanora had appeared or if Viscount Gilwren would begin the meeting without her. When neither seemed likely, Carina returned her gaze to Norley and offered him an empty smile. “And what future choices concern you most, Viscount?”

“Your position in a Political Party, your Grace.”

The Duchess smothered a laugh and took another sip from her drink. “You are referring to an alliance with either the Noble or Royal Faction?”

The Viscount responded with a simple nod while he waited expectantly.

“I’m afraid my choice would be neither,” Carina replied with a tone of disinterest.

“Neither?” Norley tapped his chin thoughtfully, then folded his arms against the table as he leaned towards her. “And what reason does your Grace have to sail against the waves rather than glide safely to port?”

‘Is he a sailor? What an odd metaphor.’ The Duchess tilted her cup towards the bronze boar pin affixed to his lapel. “You are with the Royal Faction, Viscount.”

A half-smile tugged at Norley’s lips before he nodded. “A hereditary choice in my case.”

'How strange. I don't recall Countess Constance mentioning a noble family by that name during our lessons.'

“From what little I've learned in my studies regarding the Royal and Noble Parties, it seems they both came into existence around the time of the first Havardur kings. Now, historically the Royal Faction has always served in the best interest of the Royal Family. But, tell me, Lord Norley—” Carina glanced over her shoulder to where Borghese stood with his back to them, “—would you say that the current leader of the Royal Faction truly has the Crown Prince’s best interest at heart?”

The Viscount chuckled and shook his head. “I’m afraid you are mistaken, your Grace. The Marquess is not the leader of the Royal Faction. He is merely one of its figureheads.”

“For the purposes of this hunt, he would appear to be its leader,” Carina countered with a thin smile.

“The Marquess gained a great deal of authority and power due to his marriage nearly two decades ago,” Norley replied in a casual tone as he leaned back and spread his arms into a half-shrug. “Nevertheless, I can assure you that the Party recognizes no other leader aside from his Grace, Duke Striker Hargreve.”

“Ah yes, the Duke.” The Duchess set down her cup with another empty smile. “And what would his Grace do if he were to discover that his brother-in-law was intent on betraying the Party?”

Norley raised a perfectly groomed brow and smiled as he leaned towards her and tapped his chin. “I fear Your Grace is needlessly worried. For the Marquess, to betray the Party would be to betray himself. He would not—”

“Even if that betrayal directly benefited the Duke, the Marquess, and possibly the Party itself?”

The Duchess watched as the glimmer of confusion in the Viscount’s hazel-gray eyes turned suddenly to hardened clarity. Norley’s smile deepened as he reached towards the tray of drinks and then lifted one of the untouched glasses towards her in a gesture of salute.

“I believe that I have just glimpsed the cunning tenacity which allowed your Grace to rise to this position.”

“Think what you will,” Carina replied with a dismissive wave. “If I have satisfied your curiosity, then you may—”

“And what is your Grace’s position with regard to the Noble Faction led by the Earl of Hawthorne,” Norley interrupted sharply. “There are many who would describe the Hawthorne family as instrumental in your rise to power?”

“As I already told you, Viscount, I support neither Party.”

“I’m afraid I find that hard to believe, your Grace,” Norley replied with a bit of grit to his tone. “After all, it was the Countess herself who educated you from the age of ten to sixteen for your role as lady-in-waiting to the Crown Princess.”

‘For as long as that lasted.’ Carina drew in a slow breath and then faintly smiled when Hana grasped her hand under the table.

“The Earl of Hawthorne himself has taken a public position in support of your Grace time and time again.” The Viscount continued while slowly nursing his drink with a faint grimace. “And there has been more than one rumor that Lord Percy is, in fact, infatuated with you.”

The Duchess leaned towards him with a cynical smile. “I did not take the Viscount as someone who would believe in the idle gossip of women."

“Normally, you would be right, your Grace,” Norley replied with a thin smile. “But when public action and rumors overlap, I tend to pay a bit more attention.”

‘Yes, but exactly who are you that I should care whether you pay attention or not?’

Norley’s hazel-gray eyes drifted towards something behind the Duchess, and his piercing expression immediately softened into an apologetic smile. “I believe I have taken up enough of your Grace’s valuable time.”

Carina resisted the urge to turn around, sensing by the direction of the Viscount's gaze that she would find a pair of winter-grey eyes focused on them.

“One piece of advice before I go,” Norley commented as he rose gracefully to his feet. “Your Grace has far too much power to stand idly on the sidelines. Sometimes it is far better to choose a side than to invite the resentment and wrath of both.”

The Duchess pushed her empty drink aside and offered the Viscount a polite smile to match his own. “I serve his Majesty, Bastiallano, and the people of Lafeara. That is the only side I care to choose, Lord Norley.”

“His Majesty?” Norley replied with an audible note of disappointment. “Of course. Well, I look forward to seeing the results of this year's hunt.” With those parting words, the Viscount bowed, then turned to head through an opening in the tent canopy, leaving the Duchess and the bustle of socializing nobles behind.

Carina gestured towards Isaac, who bowed his head towards her shoulder. “Find out who he is, his background, and anything of interest.” The Colonel nodded and moved towards the Bastiallano knights waiting alongside the tent walls beside their table. One of the knights immediately broke away to follow the departing Viscount.

“Do you think he gave you a false name?” Ivy asked curiously.

“Doubtful,” Carina replied with a shake of her head. “I’m more curious as to who it was who sent him.”Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

‘It’s strange that he didn’t return to Marquess Borghese's side. Come to think of it, I’m not sure I saw him anywhere near the Marquess earlier on the road. Perhaps he’s one of the Duke’s men?’

“Kirsi,” Hana whispered as the noise around the tent suddenly died.

Viscount Gilwren rose from his seat beside the Crown Prince, who turned to where Lord Alastair appeared, escorting Eleanora inside the canopy tent. The Crown Princess had changed out of her hunting attire into a provocative black gown embellished with gold and scarlet silk. The shimmering fabric parted with every step to reveal Eleanora’s slender, muscular arms, tanned, firm waistline, and long, powerful legs that were wrapped in golden ribbons beneath the fluttering silk gown.

Carina blinked as she focused on the familiar ruby crown that Eleanora wore upon her loosely woven dark hair. Everything from the gown, silk shoes, and even the Crown Princess's makeup was strikingly Ventrayian. Her bright amber eyes were outlined with the black, elaborate wings of a butterfly, with flecks of gold pressed into the design.

A nostalgic twinge of admiration came over the Duchess as she watched Eleanora release her father’s arm to stride confidently toward Nicholas. The Crown Princess curtsied respectfully to her husband, then claimed the empty seat beside him with an audible sigh. She glanced at the nobles assembled before her with a proud look that invited neither criticism nor acceptance.

‘It’s like Eleanora is reminding us that regardless of Nicholas's opinion, she is still a princess and one who hails from the most powerful kingdom in the world.’

The Duchess and nobles turned their silent attention from the foreign princess to her husband. Nicholas appeared to recover from his initial surprise and quietly cleared his throat before turning to whisper something to Viscount Gilwren.

Lord Rykard hastily bowed his head and turned to address the waiting audience. “Noble Lords and Gentle Ladies! If you would be seated, we will now begin.” The quiet shuffle of feet and chairs lingered as the Viscount waited patiently before continuing. “First of all, I would like to thank you all for joining us this year. The Saints have blessed us with commendable weather that I hope will last for the remainder of your stay.”

When the last of his guests had claimed their seats, the Viscount turned and nodded to where two stewards waited behind the platform. The men quickly circled to the front, where they set down a medium-sized table bearing an enlarged granite slab engraved with a map of Gilwren and its surrounding forest.

“As I’m sure most of you remember, the hunting territory is split into four quadrants each year,” Rykard continued. “Normally, we would break this down further into hours for each hunting group, but with the additional prize of a royal favor to this year’s hunt, the only physical restriction now imposed will be the area that you are assigned to.”

The murmur of excitement that quickly died down behind Carina confirmed that most of the nobles had already been made aware of this change.

“Obviously, the other rules of conduct still apply,” Rykard added with a note of solemn gravity. “For our new attendees, that will include the following. No duels are permitted on the grounds anywhere. No muskets are permitted except by those enforcing camp security.” The Viscount half-turned and nodded in the Duchess’s general direction. “No drinking is permitted during the day to anyone participating in the hunt. If you are not participating in the hunt, then you are not allowed to carry a weapon of any kind—again, with the exception of security.”

“So we are to be at the mercy of some girl and her pretty toy soldiers?” A mocking voice called out from the back of the crowd. Isaac whipped around sharply, and the tent fell silent.

‘If they were testing to see whether the Bastiallano knights support me, now they know.’ Carina kept a smile off her face as Isaac turned slowly around, and the Viscount continued his explanation.

“Now then, we will begin by selecting four leaders for each quadrant. The rest of you will serve as support for your chosen group's leader in this year’s hunting competition,” Rykard proclaimed as he opened a small tin box and withdrew four colored pieces of chalk. “The first pick will obviously go to his Majesty!” The Viscount extended a piece of purple chalk to Nicholas, who left his seat and circled around to the granite map where the Crown Prince paused for only a brief moment before marking the southwestern section of the forest with a crown.

‘Lord Bromwell was correct,’ Carina mused as Nicholas returned the purple chalk to the Viscount.

Lord Rykard bowed while the Crown Prince took his seat and then pulled out a yellow piece of chalk. For a moment, the Viscount hesitated and glanced toward Nicholas and Eleanora. Then he turned and abruptly held the chalk out towards the Duchess. “Your Grace, would you care to lead one of the three remaining groups?”

Carina rose from her chair, keenly aware of the stares and whispers behind her. She ignored them and bowed her head politely toward the royal couple. “I decline the offer as I will be riding with his Majesty as his security.”

Eleanora’s scoff was muffled behind the balloon of mocking whispers and laughter that sprouted from Marquess Borghese’s tables.

The disparaging comments quickly died as Nicholas stood and nodded toward the Duchess. “Thank you, Lady Kirsi. Then, since I can not grant a royal favor to myself, I will pass leadership of the group to Lady Kirsi so that the Duchess may have the opportunity to win the prize instead.”

A much louder roar of disapproval quickly followed as Carina curtsied and returned to her seat.

Viscount Gilwren looked torn once more as he glanced between the royal couple and the Duchess. He quickly cleared his throat and turned in the direction of the loudest protests. “Marquess Borghese, the next position is then open to you.”

“I accept,” Borghese declared sternly and quickly strode towards the royal table. The Marquess bowed to the royal couple, accepted the yellow chalk from Lord Rykard, then turned to face the nobles, completely ignoring the Duchess as he did so, and proudly marked the northwestern territory with a large B.

Carina ignored the Marquess as he walked past her to the enthusiastic cheers of his followers. She stared at the section of the forest he had marked and then turned to look at Isaac quietly. The Colonel nodded at her unspoken command, then gestured to one of his subordinates, who quietly left the tent as Viscount Gilwren lifted a piece of red chalk from his box.

“Then,” Lord Rykard called out over the still lingering celebration, “Marquess Winifred, the next position is offered to you.”

“Thank you, Viscount,” Winifred replied as he rose from his seat. “I accept and henceforth transfer leadership to Earl Percy Hawthorne.”

A turbulent tide of countering reactions greeted the Marquess’s choice. Carina watched in silent surprise as nobles from the Royal Faction moved to block Lord Percy from leaving his table.

“Gentlemen! Gentlemen!” Rykard boomed over the rising discord. “It is the Marquess’s choice. Please! Allow Lord Percy to pass!”

‘Strange,’ Carina thought quietly as the path between tables cleared, allowing Percy to move confidently towards the royal table. ‘For a family who commands such respect and loyalty from half the nobles—why did the Hawthorne family never rise above the position of Earl?’

“Your Majesties,” Percy murmured as he offered a low bow to the royal couple. “May your reign be memorable and glorious.”

Nicholas smiled and waved his hand permissively in reply while Eleanora watched her cousin with an uneasy glimmer in her amber eyes. The Earl accepted the red chalk from the Viscount with a friendly smile and then quickly marked an H over the northeastern quadrant.

A subtle but dignified applause greeted Lord Percy’s return. The Earl paused between the tables to bow politely towards the Duchess before being welcomed by his waiting supporters.

“It looks like the nobles are mostly split between the two faction parties,” Hana whispered behind her fan. “That doesn’t leave much in the way of support for your group.”

“And there’s still a fourth quadrant to fill,” Carina replied softly.

Viscount Gilwren lifted a blue piece of chalk and looked at it uncertainly as he gazed about the room. “Ahem, is there perhaps, anyone who would like to lead the fourth group?”

“Viscount Gilwren, have you forgotten about her Highness?” The cheerful voice of Marchioness Serilda called out over the murmuring crowd. “Crown Princess Eleanora has long claimed to be quite the capable huntress.”

Eleanora looked both perturbed and surprised by her cousin’s suggestion. Carina watched as the Crown Princess pressed her lips together before glancing awkwardly at her husband. ‘That’s a surprise. Is she actually asking Nicholas for permission?’

The Crown Prince appeared caught off guard for a second time. After setting down his drink, he glanced suspiciously at Eleanora, then turned his attention to Lady Serilda and shrugged. “I suppose that would be alright,” Nicholas replied thoughtfully. “Although you do realize that the Crown Princess can’t use the Royal Favor either, Marchioness.”

Eleanora looked faintly disappointed, whether at the loss of the prize, or the fact that Nicholas seemed more focused on having a conversation with Lady Serilda, was anyone’s guess.

“Then—allow me!”

Nicholas and Eleanora both turned in surprise to where Lord Acheron sat beside his father, Prime Minister Attwood.

“That is—” Acheron hastily rose from his seat and bowed towards the royal couple. “If you would allow me to lead your group, your Highness?”

“I’m afraid my group will be rather small,” Eleanora replied with a hint of amusement. “Not to mention the fact that we received the last pick of the quadrants.” Her amber eyes fixed themselves on Viscount Gilwren, who realized his mistake and hastily bowed toward her.

“Forgive me, your Highness. I—should have inquired—before—”

The Crown Princess ignored the fumbling Viscount and focused on the Duchess. Carina met her stare blankly for a few moments before turning to where Hana had replaced her empty glass.

“Nevermind,” Eleanora snapped impatiently. “I am used to harsher terrain than this.” She smiled pointedly at the Viscount, who bowed his head once more in apology. “And Lord Acheron, I accept your offer. Win or lose, I will enjoy hunting down whatever prey dares to raise its head before me.”

Carina felt the Crown Princess’s gaze turn once more in her direction, but whether it was directed at the Duchess or a certain Marchioness behind her, she did not care to discern.

“Well then,” Rykard said hastily after handing the blue chalk to Acheron, “We have scarfs to match the color of each quadrant prepared. Please wear them on your arm or wrist at all times during the hunt. You may use the remaining time between now and luncheon to select your group members. After lunch, huntsmen will be selected to guide you through a tour of your respective areas.”

Stewards entered the tent with baskets of colored scarves, and Carina stared blankly at the purple fabric as a box was placed before her.

‘Right. I wonder who, if anyone, will try to join my group.’

A glance to her left showed that Borghese’s box of yellow scarves was already empty. Several nobles already stood before Viscount Gilwren to complain and demand more yellow tokens.

‘That makes sense, given the number of nobles the Marquess brought with him.’

Before Carina could turn further around to assess Earl Hawthorne’s progress, someone cleared their throat. The Duchess smiled in surprise to find Prime Minister Attwood standing patiently in front of her table.

“Your Grace, may I?” Attwood gestured towards the box of purple scarves.

“Yes, of course,” Carina replied as she rose to her feet, taking note of another nobleman approaching behind the Prime Minister.

“Ah! Viscount Gladstone!” Attwood greeted as he turned with three purple tokens in his hand.

“Prime Minister. Your Grace,” Gladstone replied with a polite head bow to each in turn. “Might I have permission to join the hunting party?”

“Ah—” Carina blinked, taking in the white dove broach on the Viscount’s lapel that marked him as a member of the Noble Party.

“She most certainly should,” Attwood interjected as he snagged a fourth token from the box. “Viscount Gladstone hails from an old family of bowmen, your Grace. And a finer archer I have never seen.”

“I see,” Carina replied, still hesitant.

Gladstone stepped pointedly away from the scarf the Prime Minister offered him and smiled politely to the Duchess. “I do not intend to impose, your Grace. But I assure you that my bow will earn its place should you choose to accept me.”

“Well.” Carina smiled as she took the purple fabric from Attwood and presented it to Gladstone herself. “I would be grateful for your assistance, Viscount.”

Gladstone accepted the token, bowed politely to her once more, and then moved to sit in one of the open seats at the table where he tied the scarf to his arm.

“Should we be wearing one?” Hana asked as she pulled a scarf from the box.

“You won’t be riding with me,” Carina reminded her pointedly.

“Not even for the tour this afternoon?” The Viscountess replied with an audible pout.

“That—”

“Oh, the tour should be fine, your Grace,” Attwood interjected helpfully. “The hunting and killing won’t begin until tomorrow morning. Allow the ladies a chance to enjoy the beauty of Gilwren Forest before it is sullied by blood and guts.”

“How well you put it, Prime Minister,” Hana replied with a hint of sarcasm.

“If Ivy is feeling up to it,” Carina replied with a sigh of acceptance.

“Oh, I am feeling fine, your Grace,” Ivy replied hastily. “Much better, in fact.”

“I am grateful to hear that, Ivy, but remember that you are here to rest,” Carina reminded her pointedly.

“Lady Ivy?” Attwood murmured as he bowed his head towards her in greeting. “I have not had the pleasure.”

Carina flinched as Ivy visibly paled before the Prime Minister. “Ahh, Lady Ivy is an old friend of mine, Prime Minister, from before my days as a lady-in-waiting.”

“Then I am all the more pleased she could join us,” Attwood replied with a friendly smile to the timid girl. “Now, if you will excuse me, your Grace. I should return with these.” He held up the three scarves as he bowed and then turned towards the royal table.

‘I assume one is for Nicholas—’ Carina pondered as she watched him. ‘That mean’s the other—’ Her question was answered as Attwood tied the last purple scarf around Captain Beaumont’s wrist. ‘Of course.’

“It is going to be difficult to win the prize with these numbers,” Hana murmured worriedly as she placed her fingers against the Duchess’s wrist.

“No need to worry,” Carina replied with a confident smile. “I already have a plan to tip the odds in our favor.”

“Lord and Ladies!” Rykard called out, attempting to calm the rising clamor of eager voices once more. “Just as a reminder about the bells. No one may enter the forest until after the first bell each morning. The second bell signifies you are halfway through the morning hunt. The third bell is for luncheon, which we will hear shortly. The fourth bell, much like the second, signals that you are halfway through the afternoon hunt. The fifth bell means you are to return to the Manor with all haste.

“No one will be allowed back into the forest after the sixth bell, which signifies supper has begun. Between the sixth and eighth bell, alcoholic beverages of your choice will be permitted, and wine will be served to guests up at the Manor. At the seventh bell, the bathrooms at the Manor will be open to all noble ladies who wish to use them. My lords, you may make use of the shower tents located outside the Manor if you desire or whatever accommodations you have brought with you.”

“You won’t let us bathe inside, Rykard?” One of the nobles called out quickly. “Are you afraid we’ll sully your carpets?”

“My Lords,” Rykard spread his hands in an appeasing gesture. “The number of noble ladies attending this year's event has taken up every spare guest room in my Manor. I simply wish to ensure the safety of these ladies by keeping all gentlemen outside of the Manor after the seventh bell.”

“Too right!” Borghese called out swiftly. “We can stomach a little discomfort to keep our gentle womenfolk safe and happy, can’t we, my Lords?”

Although Carina saw more than a few uncertain faces among the younger generation, a hearty cheer followed the Marquess’s proclamation. ‘It makes sense that he would agree, given his daughter will be attending the hunt.’

“And what about his Majesty?” Viscount Marlowe called out suddenly to the amusement of the crowd.

“His Majesty’s room and bath are on a separate floor,” Rykard replied dryly. “For his own safety, I assure you.”

More than a few rude comments followed that remark, but Viscount Gilwren simply ignored them as he made his way over to where Acheron and Eleanora were handing scarves to members of the Kensington knights. The Crown Princess repeatedly turned to the dark-skinned nobleman beside her, whom Carina recognized from her ennoblement ceremony. Lord Marco looked less than enthused to have been roped into his cousin’s hunting party but smiled and nodded whenever Eleanora glanced in his direction.

The Duchess soon turned her attention from the miserable-looking half-witch to Lord Acheron, who was forcefully pulling a few nobles lingering beside Borghese’s table without scarfs into his group. One of them she quickly recognized as Sophya’s fiancé, Lord Asher Winslet.

‘It doesn’t feel right, not warning Acheron—but how would I explain it?’ Carina shook her head and sighed as Borghese dismissed the nobles without scarves and sent them over to Acheron with a mocking laugh. ‘Acheron’s death in the previous timeline doesn’t make sense no matter how I look at it.’ She glanced over at the Prime Minister, who watched his son with evident worry. ‘If it was just an unfortunate accident, then it's highly unlikely that it will happen again. So much else has already changed—why not this?’

She glanced over the knights standing around Lord Alastair, who wore a blue scarf as part of his daughter’s hunting group and tried to feel reassured.

‘At the very least, I can assign some of Lieutenant Hadley’s men to remain on standby to accompany the Crown Princess—if Eleanora will permit them.’