The palace was as needlessly grand as usual. A lengthy walk really invites you to hate the designer.
"Jerome, couldn't we have taken a carriage? I don't feel like walking the rest of the way."
"You denied the carriage saying, and I quote, 'Men walk on their own two feet'."
"Did I really say that?"
"You did."
"Well. I changed my mind."
"Ash is wearing her full gear and isn't complaining."
"Ash hasn't been on her feet since this snow was replaced with sand."
"You have disproved your own words twofold."
"Come on... Jerome. Can't you grab a carriage?"
"Out from my pocket?"
"Then where do I find a carriage?"
The distant sound of wheels and hoofs reached the trio. Klein perked up.
"So you did call one after all. Why did you bother with the charade?"
"That's not for us."
Klein shrugged his shoulders.
"No matter. They'll stop once they see me.
"Duke... I really don't think-"
"OVER HERE!"
Jerome sighed as Klein waved an arm to catch the driver's attention. The horses didn't slow. Ash watched the carriage, uninterested. Klein continued his shouting as the vehicle got nearer.
"OI! Hold a minute! Let me catch a lift-"
The horses virtually bowled them over as the carriage shot forward. Klein coughed and waved away some dust.
"Why didn't they stop?"
Jerome patted his jacket.
"Did you see the crest? A blue Swallow."
"The Sallows? Could it be the Duchess? Come on, hurry! Something exciting might happen."
"You just want to duel her..."
Jerome sighed as Klein didn't bother listening, already making up the distance, his previous exhaustion evaporated like morning dew.
"Does he always have to do that?"
Jerome turned to Ash. Or rather, the space she previously inhabited. She was stepping in stride with Klein a ways away.
Winter wind whistled.
=
"I believe we just passed Duke Raiden, Duchess."
"I saw him."
Parcy held her tongue. Trisha could hear the unspoken words anyway.
"I don't have time for his childish shenanigans."
Leaning her head slightly, Parcy intoned.
"I believe he is catching up. I even see Ash running next to him."
"Ignore him."
"I reckon he won't give us the chance. Is it not better to deal with him as soon as we step out rather than have him follow us?
The Duchess' jaw tightened. She held her words, and Parcy refrained from speaking further. Those few final minutes dragged on longer than the hours it took to ride this far. The last rays of sun climbed crawled over the horizon. It would be a miracle if they could return before the next day ensued.
The sun cast the castle in forboding hues—a mockery.
The equines stomped their hooves, slowing their pace before finally halting entirely. Their hot breath spinning wisps through the frigid air. Dancing.
Parcy held the door, stepping out first. The sight of Duke Raiden standing smugly with his hands on his hips directly in the way irritated her. Parcy shooed him back to allow more room. He didn't move until Ash pulled at his arm.
"Duchess Sallow. It is you. I hoped as much. Will you honor me with a duel?"
Trisha didn't even have time to exit before the words assaulted her. Her wrath clear on her face. She stepped out into fading light, cool blues tinted with warm oranges. A sight to bewitch any man. A gaze to skewer that same man. She bore a hole in Raiden, then dismissed him entirely. Walking away. Towards the palace.
Raiden followed. Speaking casually.
"I recently returned to the capital after several months. I was hoping we could celebrate with a clash of swords. It would fit the occasion, would it not."
Trisha didn't halt her pace.
"What pretenses are you under that would allow you to assume I will accept your challenge? Have you no eyes?"
Raiden waved his arm, keeping the other on his sword hilt.
"You are wearing your sword again, are you not? It has long been whispered, which of us is better. The Empress of Ice and Fire versus the young, handsome, talented, prodigy war hero. Name pending."
"You have no ears, as well."
Raiden grimaced.
"I know it is a bit lengthy and perhaps a tad pretentious, but the people have yet to grant me with another title. I only listed words the people call me. They often refer to me as War Duke Raiden, but that seems so mundane, no?"
"No brain either."
Parcy whispered that. Ash smirked. Raiden prattled on, following the duo through the interior blindly.
Jerome is still missing.
"I was planning on challenging Prince Kly, it has been a few years since our last fight, but I think the long-standing question deserves an answer. For the people, if no one else. What do you say?"
"I don't have time for you, boy. Leave."
The floor became slippery from the frost. The servants in the corridor didn't dare block their path. The two were both notorious, after all.
Raiden heated his steps, preventing himself from slipping while also regulating his temperature. He was about to continue but was pulled back by Ash. She shook her head, pointing.
"The Duchess is pregnant."
A boggled Raiden.
"What! Why haven't I heard about this?"
Parcy called back.
"Because pregnant women don't interest you, Duke."
Ash was internally glad there was ice for that burn.
Klein Raiden was known for his promiscuity. Why shouldn't he be? He was young, handsome, single, and a war hero. Why wouldn't women be falling all over him? Should he deny every one of them and commit to celibacy? That was for churchgoers, and they died out under Lionel rule.
Yes. Klein liked women. He treated them well, and they always left happy. What was the problem with that? Klein didn't see it, so he brushed off Parcy's comment.
"I see. I should apologize, at least for not noticing. But you can also forgive me for being confused. Why would you bare your sword while pregnant?"
Trisha replied coldly.
"For my child."
A more confused Raiden.
"For the kid? I don't understand. Ash, what does she mean?"
Ash took a moment, then spoke steadily.
"I believe it would be in relation to her other child. The one that is grown."
"For Bellavarn? That's strange. Isn't he a loner?"
"You are behind the times as always. No knowledge, trusting in others to obtain it or offer it for you. I had wished there were those left unaware, but seeing you clueless only irritates. Parcy, you explain it to them. I am going on ahead."
So she said before skating through the halls.
Raiden paused, stopping to gaze in wonder. An aura. The manifestation of external mana and will. Few others could boast of being able to use such a thing, let alone wield it with mastery. The Duchess's control, combined with the extent of her power, trumped all, including him. No one can compare. The sight of her vanishing around a corner thrilled him—the chance to fight such a person.
"She seems spry for her pregnancy."
"The Duchess is only three months into her pregnancy. I suspect she won't be able to perform such a feat after another month. She is wise in using what she has available until that time comes."
Raiden turned his head.
"Parcy, was it? Care to fill me in on what I am missing."
"No."
"No?"
Parcy pursed her lips, her hands folded in front of her.
"No."
Raiden looked sideways at Ash, looking for support. Ash smiled. Raising an eyebrow, he looked back. Parcy was nowhere to be found.
"Oooh. She's not just a maid, is she?"
"No, Duke. I think not."
Raiden scratched his slight stubble.
"Who is going to talk to me now?"
A voice called out from behind.
"If you don't mind, I can accompany you."
"You are..."
"Welcome back, Duke Raiden. I hope you remember me?"
=
"This way, Irene. Hurry."
"Princess. I don't think this is wise."
"Come on. This is perfect. I just happened to stumble into secret passageways? Why would I not use them?"
Lecil felt like a child again. This was so out there; it had to be fake. Like she was in a mystery novel, filled with secrets. She didn't care that her clothes and face were layered in decaying dust. Passing the spider nests had been a dramatic moment for both of them, but things worked out.
Unfortunately, there was another problem.
Irene was stuck.
They were required to move sideways to pass through the tight corridors. Now, they reached an even smaller space where a wooden beam made traversing the passage nearly impossible. Lecil managed to squeeze through, but Irene couldn't move. Her chest wouldn't conform to the tight space...
"Princess. I... I don't believe I can go further."
Lecil turned her head back, avoiding some cobwebs. Narrowing her eyes, she saw Irene stuck, her chest smushed against the old beam. Looking down at her own chest, she felt momentarily envious.
"Irene..."
"Ugh... Um... Yes, Princess?"
Lecil looked up from her own chest.
"What cup size are you?"
"Cup size, Princess?"
Lecil groaned. They have such measurements here. Of course, Irene wouldn't know. Lecil estimated only a C-cup on Irene. But that would mean that...
"Did they get smaller?"
Irene held a confused expression. Realizing she would need to change her situation, Irene braced. Sucking in, she held her breath, standing on her tip-toes, finally squeezing past. Breathing heavily, she patted her sore bosom.
"Princess. How far are we going? I don't believe I can do that again."
Lecil came out of her thoughts, looking away from her own chest.
"There should be another exit somewhere; I won't make you go back. I just want to hear what all the commotion is about."
"With the Duke Raiden?"
"Mhm. With all of them. Come, I think I can hear them talking around the next corner."
=
Nine people occupied a meeting room. Two watched, hidden from sight.
Prince Tristan leaned back against a wall, glaring.
Prince Kly sat at on end of a table, across from a young man of unknown importance.
Duchess Trisha Sallow occupied the center of the room, the rug under her feet frozen. A maid standing resolutely behind her, unperturbed by the presences of royals. Not the Princes. Not the Dukes and posse. Nor the hidden figures.
Princess Anne stood oddly close to Duke Raiden, just having entered the room with him, Ash, and a ruffled Jerome.
The atmosphere was thick and unbreathable. The lights in the room produced an eerie ambiance only outdone by the frigid threat of winter intruding on the meeting—from within and without. The Duchess was cold.
Cold didn't begin to describe her. She radiated artic inhospitality. The storm already brewing. Her sword prepared to act as the searing knife that cuts through any obstacles. Her words dripped from temperate lips.
"I care not for what I interrupted. I have stated what I seek. I will not exit without it."
Prince Tristan sneered.
"You have heard my words as well. You forget your place, Duchess. Barging in on private matters between members of the royal family is intolerable. The fact one of your rivals is here only makes matters worse. Leave us. Your son can wait."
The air rippled.
"Surely, you aren't saying that my son should continue to suffer, just so you can finish your meeting, are you?"
Tristan ignored the warning signs.
"Of course I am. Bellavarn Sallow can wait. He won't die from the poison."
Raiden whispered loudly to Princess Anne.
"What poison? What happened?"
Anne stage whispered like an expert.
"Bellavarn Sallow was attacked at his charity event and was subsequently poisoned. It doesn't seem to be lethal, but causes great pain."
Jerome muttered. A sour expression.
"Wither Leaf."
Raiden said back.
"That is torturer's brew. Bellavarn doesn't deserve that shit."
Prince Tristan laughed, having easily overheard the conversation.
"You haven't heard, Raiden? Bellavarn is a scoundrel who forces himself on his own maids."
Tristan continued, speaking as if it were gospel.
"He is a rapist who cried for mommy to cover up his crime."
His voice became accusatory and acidic.
"A man like him deserves to suffer."
Tristan's head jerked sideways. Red encompassed his vision, and he reached for his sword. Then his world turned white, instantly cooling.
Trisha's murderous eyes tore him apart, staying his hand. Her womanly affliction tickling the back of his mind. The others in the room. The sneering eyes of a mere maid. The pitying look from Ash. His blood boiled for retaliation. But Tristan could only hold his tongue, preventing him from losing it.
Raiden was the first to break the silence.
"I've known rapists. I have known scoundrels. Pillagers and raiders. Evil men. I've killed them with my own hands. I imagine the Duchess has too. There are men, and women, out there that deserve no quarter."
He paused. Letting that sink in.
"But, I have met Bellavarn Sallow. It years ago. He was quiet. Reserved. Perhaps a bit awkward. But I saw no evil in him. I do not believe these rumors the public seems to hold onto."
The Duchess stayed silent while Parcy breathed through her nostrils. Of all the people to stand up for Bellavarn...
Unfortunately, the moment didn't last.
"Don't be so sure, Klein."
Klein Raiden looked to the dapperly dressed man sitting in a plush chair. When the man stood, his height came no further than Raiden's ribs. Long hair tied behind his head, monocle on his right eye, a knowing smirk that made you want to punch him.
A duke.
"Astor. I see you still haven't grown."
"And you are as brutish as always, barging in on my affairs."
Raiden nudged Ash, chuckling.
"I don't think he has anyone to have an affair with."
Astor didn't dignify the remark.
"Putting aside our glaring differences and the hasty words of Prince Tristan..."
Tristan bristled. Duke Astor continued.
"...it is impossible to derive the true nature of Bellavarn Sallow. He seldom attended social events, was privately tutored, and grew up completely sheltered. How are we to understand his mental state? Especially after having suffered a terrible memory loss. Who is to say that those memories aren't still missing? Or perhaps his mental faculties aren't all... present, as it were."
Parcy interjected, to the surprise of some in the room.
"Your words are no different than Prince Tristan's. They are only dressed them to sound prettier."
Duke Astor nodded in affirmative, moving around his chair, pacing.
"That is exactly the point. The words need to be dressed properly to be acknowledged and conveyed. Just as no one would normally listen to a beggar off the street. A crier who doesn't exude trust is bound to have his words seen as false. Just how you wouldn't have any credibility or even be offered the chance to stand in the room if it weren't for your position as the Duchess' personal attendant. My words were meant to give credence to genuine possibilities."
"And you would ignore the testimony of an eye-witness to events leading up to a wrongful incrimination."
Astor beamed widely. It was as if Parcy's fanciful words had proved his point.
"The fact remains that no one will ever truly know why Bellavarn Sallow was attacked. All that remains is speculation."
"You would understand perfectly if you spent a single moment talking to him. You all know no-"
"Parcy."
Silence.
"Enough."
The Duchess moved back to the center of the room, leaving a fuming Tristan to stew.
"I am not here for my son to stand trial for a crime he didn't commit. Or to be sentenced by those who don't know him in the least. I came to speak with Prince Kly. The rest of you can stay silent."
"I hardly see that as fair. We all have rights to speak-"
"SIT."
"I-"
"NOW."
Astor felt the chill crawl up his spine and decided to wage battle another day. He took his seat, crossing his legs, smugly smirking.
Raiden wished he could laugh, but he knew the Duchess was likely to attack him at the moment, and that would be bad for the baby, so he held himself back.
"Prince Kly. The antidote. I am told you produce both poison and antidote nearby. Tell me where."
Silent Kly rested his elbows on the tabletop. Interlocked his fingers, he shook his head.
"The location is a state secret. I cannot disclose that information. Especially in front of company."
Trisha was a fraying rope.
"A state secret, you say... Then how exactly did the attacker obtain the poison?"
Kly sighed.
"A batch went missing recently during transport. It was likely sold illegally."
Trisha said nothing, but her hand went to her sword. Glittering crystals formed at her feet. Frosty breathe visible, coming from those who weren't holding it in. A minority hoped for her to attack. The others only watched with increasing worry. An attack on royalty would spell doom for the Sallows and all who sided with them. More than a slap from a pregnant woman would not be overlooked.
Parcy held herself at the ready. For anything. She would protect her mistress.
"An antidote."
A soft voice. Controlled.
"How can I receive an antidote?"
The atmosphere vanished. The cold erased like a forgotten past.
Prince Kly spoke solemnly.
"Please wait, Duchess."
"How long?"
"Until morning. That is the best I can do."
Trisha monotoned.
"I understand."
She turned.
"Parcy."
"Yes, Duchess..."
Duke Raiden ushered Princess Anne out of the way, leaving the exit path open.
Anne blushed unnecessarily. Ash noticed and rolled her eyes. Jerome pieced together the contents of the final conversation. Prince Kly basically told the Duchess the same thing as Tristan and Duke Astor. To sit still and allow her son to suffer in agony. Jerome also easily picked up on the fact that Duchess Sallow would not sit quietly as most wanted her to.
"What a bitch..."
Tristan tripped, his feet frozen to the floor.
=
Elsewhere...
Lecil made a peep, having received a pop-up.
-
Hidden Event : Aid the Sallows
Rewards: ???
Failure to Complete: ???
-
Shitty game. At least give me the details! Why should I help someone who will kill me when he sees me?
She brushed away the notification. Lecil wouldn't be helping the Sallows in any way. It was clear they were on the losing side; why would she hurt her chances of survival by joining them? Bellavarn may be innocent. But that didn't change the fact that he would rebel against the kingdom. He killed all those people at the charity event. He would go on to kill many more. In order to stop herself from becoming another notch on his belt, she would easily decline the quest.
You should do it...
Why should we?
Maybe something will change.
Nothing will change.
Then why are we fighting to survive?
They were silent at that. Thinking too hard on it induced a massive headache.
"Let's head back, Irene."
"You don't want to hear what they have to say?"
Lecil looked back at the figures in the room, hidden from sight and unnoticed. Old enchantments protected the pair of eavesdroppers.
The numbers above the Duke's heads held 15% and 20%, respectively. Her chances were normalized. Lecil wouldn't die from a first encounter. Her brothers were tolerable, and Anne had a decent rating for now. Things could be left as is. Knowing the contents of further conversation sounded tedious. She'd got a decent impression of everyone present, enough to form plans.
Duke Raiden wouldn't be as bad an option as she previously thought. His looks from afar were enough to make her goggle. That wasn't enough to pick him, though. Seeing Anne cozying up to him gave her a different idea.
She was having new doubts about Duke Astor. He was smart and cunning. Attractive to a degree. He wasn't her type either, but it seemed like if it came to prolonged conflict, Astor would be the last standing.
Tristan was still a moron, and Kly needed more work, but staying at home was still her best option.
Lecil could leave satisfied... If it wasn't for her splitting head.
"Aaah. Yeah... I feel a migraine coming on again. Let's head back. I need a bath. And a nap."
Irene rubbed her chest, not looking forward to the trip back. She sighed.
"Aye, Princess. I'll go first."
Lecil followed along. Irene did end up getting stuck again. Lecil needed to push from behind to get her past the obstacle. The whole situation would have been comical if it wasn't for the nagging feeling and persistent headache scratching her brain.
But she let the feeling die. Unwittingly setting the course for the future. The one Lecil's been trying to avoid all along.