A month. So many things had dropped by his table in such a short time that Altair felt less of a human but more of a palatine through and through.
He had taken over the Dutchy with permission of the Dutchess, albeit all documents had to go through her still; she wasn't much of an obstacle but a pair of eyes he deemed acceptable, foreseeing issues or the men's of hearts he could not read. A useful tool.
The Duchess had a head on her, Altair had decided. She wasn't a simple woman, though a bit too cowed in his opinion. As much as she tried to hide it, fear curdled in her eyes. Even the plebians might have noticed if they dared raise their heads in passing.
