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by freesayan

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2. Chapter 2

Chapter 8

"YOUR WORSHIP! This way!"

I turned my head, hearing a familiar voice to my right. Pierre Claverie, the pikeman I had given a drink of diluted wine, was now signaling to me animatedly.

With a sharp burst forward, at the last moment I slipped between the pikemen's shields as they, obeying hacking commands from their officers, started slowly stepping back and forming a solid formation with spears out in front.

"Shield wall!" a broad-shouldered bruiser barked wearing a silver lieutenant's token on his chest. "Step to, punks! Keep Her Highness safe!"

"Get back!" the sergeant shouted into the crowd, his eyes flaring with rage. The man's right cheek was crossed by a hideous, deep scar, making him look like an old fighting dog. "They're trying to rise up!"

I ran further, thanking Pierre as I went. "Get them!" The crowd roared back.

"They want to let the witches go!" a woman's voice blared piercingly.

Once behind the soldiers, after running ten steps forward, I stopped and quickly looked around. The square around the temple was packed full of people. How many were there? A few thousand? On the backdrop of the raging ocean of screaming and roaring bodies, the formation of twenty pikemen slowly but surely walked back to the temple steps, looking like a tiny island.

The people, their faces warped by hate, were pushing forward in a single burst of fury. The bloodthirsty wave swallowed up the hesitant city folk from the first rows before it reached the shield wall. That morning, they had come with their families to a temple service, delighted that they could watch an execution so close to the platform. And now they and their children were dying beneath the feet of a monster with a thousand heads and a thousand voices.

The junior priests, wrapped in gray robes, flitted off toward the temple like a flock of frightened sparrows. Behind them, leaving their post by the criminals and drawing short swords, the Stone Knights followed in an organized fashion.

I saw some of the knights looking malevolently at the witches. They, chained up to granite posts with embedded steel rings, were essentially being sacrificed to the mob. All huddled together, the women looked like old moldering statues made of congealed ash. Left one-on-one against the enraged human mass, the witches got ready to make their lives come at as high a cost as possible.

A crazy idea came to mind suddenly, but I strangled it in the cradle. No... I was not going to be fast enough to save anyone. Even if I made it ahead of the crowd, how could I break the chains on their arms and legs? I could try to break the metal with energy pulses, but that would take time I simply did not have. And what if they weren't made of common iron? No... It would be suicide. What did she even have in mind when she prayed for my help?

I felt sincerely sorry for the child, but my conscience was clean. The full responsibility for the girl's death laid first and foremost on her grandmother, who allowed the situation to get out of control. And I was not going to die a fool's death for someone else's mistake.

Okay. I'd seen enough. Not wasting another minute, I ran for the nearest carriage. A moment later, I sensed a flash of mana behind me. The witches had begun their final battle. I didn't know what they were using on the people dashing their way but, based on the shrieks and piercing screams of pain, it must have been something very nasty.

Before a minute was even up, the shrieks turned into a roar of triumph — the crowd must have gotten what it wanted. I turned in a flash and shuddered.

The witches' bodies had essentially been torn to shreds. These once upstanding shopkeepers and housekeepers were now caked in blood and scowling menacingly as they leapt and flailed their arms in the air like primordial creatures.

And if I had given into my momentary impulse, my guts would now be littering the ground beneath these possessed half-people. The biggest paradox in the whole situation was the fact that tomorrow, if of course these people lived to see it, they would all revert to common law-abiding city folk. And go on living their quiet petit-bourgeois lives like nothing had happened.

As expected, now that the crowd had tasted blood but not sated their thirst, they obeyed the warlike cries to:

"Get the priests! They wanted to take mercy on unclean!" "Get them!"

I ducked beneath the carriage just in the nick of time. Stones, sticks, and other heavy objects started flying at the pikemen, nobles, and priests from every direction.

A few of the junior priests, having decided to take shelter next to the unfinished platform, immediately paid the price for their languor and lack of foresight. They met the same fate as the people they had dragged out here to execute not one hour prior.

Once finished with the junior priests, the wave of blood-maddened city folk split into two.

The first half rolled at the pikemen, while the second, curving around the shield wall island, ran toward the main entrance to the temple where the nobles escorting the princess were standing with pale faces.

The senior priest, by the way, unlike his underlings, got his bearings in the blink of an eye. His white, gold embroidered garments flickered past the temple doors. In the same place, I saw the dark garments of the Stone Knights. They sure moved quick.

I should also note that the princess' bodyguards reacted quickly. While the other nobles floundered and tried to flex their privilege, the princess' personal guard picked her up in her "little box" and carried her around the temple.

Watching Captain de Scalon, I snorted in satisfaction. Smart move. A jam had formed in the temple doors composed of the bodies of the rich visitors who, driven mad with fear, were trying to take shelter in the abode of the Most Luminous Mother.

Based on the tell-tale bone armor, the head of the princess' personal guard team was one of these royal strykers I'd heard so much about. If he was as powerful as combat mages I'd seen before, the princess was in good hands. The four bodyguards were also clearly no common soldiers. The king wouldn't just trust his granddaughter to anyone. Guys like that probably had another way out already in mind for emergency situations. Probably many. Essentially, if I wanted out of this hell, it would be best to follow the example of the princess' bodyguards.

Okay.

Getting out from beneath the carriage, I ran off after the guards as they rounded the corner of the temple. Loping like a hare, I raced forward. When I was just twenty steps from the corner of the building, I realized I was not the only person to be so observant.

People were running toward the corner the princess and her guards had just ducked behind. At first, I thought they were all like me and trying to find safety but, upon closer inspection, I realized they were not ordinary city folk. Their actions were just too coordinated and targeted. Then it hit me. They weren't running for safety... They were chasing prey. It didn't take a genius to realize who they were hunting.

Still, I didn't believe that everything happening was a planned provocation orchestrated with the goal of murdering or capturing Carl III's granddaughter either. If not for the princess' capricious display provoking the already enraged crowd, the execution would have gone according to plan. And every player in the show would have gotten what they wanted. The onlookers could enjoy the sight of fresh blood, while the priests and aristocrats reinforced their reputation among the populace as foes of the unclean.

So then who were these people? Atalian spies who spotted an opportunity? Mercenaries hired by de Gondy or de Bauffremont now playing their part in the play? Or was I wrong to think ill of them? What if they were another component of the princess' guard team who had previously been in plainclothes in the crowd and were now trying to cover the king's granddaughter's escape?

In one way or another, I didn't actually care. These games were not for me. My task was to get out of the mess my own curiosity had gotten me into alive and unharmed.

Though I had a respectable excuse. I had to be certain Lada was not among the witches sentenced to die. Honestly though, I had to admit that even if she had been there, I would not have been able to help her.

I had to slow my pace and duck into the shade of the temple wall. Leaning against the warm wall, I stopped for a moment. Waiting for the strange group to round the corner, I kept going. Standing there, I counted twelve people. Scanning revealed nothing. I was just too far away. A dozen fighters against five bodyguards, one of whom was a combat mage... I'd have put my money on Captain de Scalon.

Cautiously peeking around the corner, I looked at what was happening. Aha... It couldn't be the last option. The people who came after the princess were clearly not a support group. At the end of quite a wide gallery with statues lining the wall, a battle was being waged. And based on the many flashes of mana, one of the pursuers was also a stryker.

I breathed a heavy sigh and turned around. The people were raging and pushing. Alas, I would not be able to make it across the square. The only way out was through the ill-fated gallery.

I also would not be able to hide where I was. Very soon, the enraged crowd would be here.

"Damnation!" I hissed, unclipping the silver wing and stashing it in my pocket. Then, quickly pulling out my neckerchief, I tied it around the bottom half of my face.

As usual, the aura sapped energy from several bruts at once. Drawing my sword and dagger, I breathed a heavy sigh. If things kept going at this rate, it wouldn't be long before I went broke buying new weapons to replace ones ruined by energy pulses.

Quietly stealing past on the wall and hiding behind statues, I moved forward. Walking up closer to the fight, I finally realized why Captain de Scalon decided to stand and fight rather than continue moving. It was very simple — there were two groups. The second was waiting for the princess and her bodyguards at the end of the gallery, blocking their path.

In total, there were more than twenty foes. Though now probably less. By the time I got there, four bodies were already lying on the marble floor motionless with pools of blood spreading beneath them.

Scanning revealed that one of the attackers was indeed a stryker. The rest were regular people.

While the combat mages fought amongst themselves, the ungifted combatants pressed the bodyguards up against the wall where a pale Princess Adèle was hiding. Her eyes shimmered, her hair was disheveled. Biting her lower lip and squeezing her little fists to her chest, she watched fatedly as five attackers standing behind their comrades hurriedly loaded

small crossbows. Thanks to their excellent armor, the defenders survived the first volley, but it was clear they were all already wounded. One of them was barely holding on.

The second volley was incoming.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a bright purple ribbon behind the pedestal of a statue. The princess must have accidentally dropped it while running here.

The bad guys had their faces covered like me. We were also dressed similarly. Yet another tick in the column of the Atalian theory. Some of them were cursing in Vestonian, though. Clearly a ragtag bunch.

I bent down to pick up the little ribbon and tied it to my elbow. At least this could differentiate me from the attackers.

Strangely, the princess spotted me. Just as she did the ribbon on my elbow. Our gazes met. After I sent her a wink, she hit me with a wave of hate and scorn. Then her eyes shot up into her forehead. I had gotten started.

First of all, I attacked the crossbowmen. Before they could react, I took down three. Once the others noticed their brothers in arms start to die suddenly, they turned around and, casting their useless crossbows to the floor, started drawing short swords. I had achieved my primary goal — stopping them from reloading.

Then began a short dance with death I had to give all my effort. A few times, I thought I was done for, but every time death passed me by. If not for the timely arrival of the princess' bodyguards and — most importantly Captain de Scalon — who helped take down my opponents, things easily could have turned out tragic for me. But nevertheless I took some damage. Grazes, a couple cuts, including one on my shoulder which proved quite deep. But in comparison to others, I still came away with just a little scare. Two of the princess' bodyguards perished. The others were barely hanging on.

"Identify yourself!" de Scalon said to me when it was all over. Noticing that I was cautiously backing away from the gallery, he burst forward but the princess stopped him.

"Captain! I order you to stop. If not for the young noble's timely intervention, I'd have died. He stopped the crossbowmen!"

After what the princess said, de Scalon winced as if he'd eaten a lemon, but stopped.

"Your Highness, you're too trusting," he came with a sigh, watching fatedly as I made my way for the coveted exit. "And what makes you think he is a noble?"

"Only nobles are capable of acting so gallantly!" the princess exclaimed, proudly thrusting her chin up while a rosy glow appeared on her pale cheeks. "I am right, aren't I?!"

"Entirely so, Your Highness!" I said with the most gallant bow I could muster, removing my hat. If Bertrand had seen it, he'd probably have been proud of his student. "But alas, I cannot tell you my name. Sooner or later, you will find out though! All I can say is I am no enemy to you, and I sincerely thank all the gods for giving me the chance to be here at the right time!"

I looked significantly at the purple ribbon on my elbow.

"I hope you forgive me this small impertinence, Your Highness!" I said with another bow. "And now, with your permission, I have to be going!"

Before ducking into a passage, I saw a dreamy smile on the princess' face. Ahem... I was afraid to even imagine what kind of fantasies were swirling in her head. Probably just like in a romance novel about knights. A mysterious stranger saving the beautiful princess. She was probably not thinking about how hundreds had died in the last hour and how, tangentially, blame for their deaths lied on her.

Even if she reached that conclusion, her grandfather the king would set her right in short order. Heh... Would he ever! His only and beloved granddaughter was not to blame for a thing! It was all the priests, witches, rabble... Anyone but her.

Still, for fairness' sake, it should be noted that Adèle had good intentions. She was just trying to save a poor little girl from dying. How was she supposed to know how things would turn out?

And those vile thoughts occupied my mind the whole way home. I had to note that the authorities reacted quite effectively. The streets of the old capital were flooded with city guard divisions. A few times, I had to change directions to avoid trouble and constantly check if someone was trailing me.

One time, I was stopped along with a few other city dwellers. But the sergeant at the head of the guard division spotted the silver wing I'd pinned back on the lapel of my doublet and let me get on my way without any talking.

When I saw my buggy at the gates, I breathed a sigh of relief. Jacques had not let me down. The old war dog sensed something was wrong immediately. Were it Bertrand in his place... I was afraid to even consider what might have happened. The old man would never have left his post waiting for me. Heh... I had just been casting blame on a teary-eyed little girl, but my actions had put those dear to me at risk as well.

And here they were. They must have seen me through the window. They all spilled out onto the porch together. Jacques, Bertrand, Gunnar, and Kevin. My old servant ran straight over to me. Gasping and panting, he looked over my now shredded clothing. Seeing the blood on my shoulder, Bertrand gave a soft cry of fear.

"Draw me a hot bath, if you would," I came.

My valet immediately started giving orders to Gunnar and Kevin, hurrying after them as he did.

"Well?" Jacques snorted. "Satisfy your curiosity?"

"Heh," I shook my head. "You wouldn't believe whose acquaintance I made today..."

I started walking toward the porch when I heard the patter of hooves behind me. Turning, I saw a rider bearing the de Gramont chevron on his chest. Hm... So, was this one of the retinue men who escorted Max's cousins to Abbeville?

"Chevalier Renard!" he said to me. "Message for you from His Lordship the Count de Gramont! I was ordered to take a reply."

Accepting the small scroll he extended, I unfurled it and read the brief message. As expected, my cousin had complained to his dad about me. I now had to go for a family lunch in the de Gramont manor in the New Capital.

"Tell His Lordship that I accept his invitation."

The retinue man gave a mocking twinge of the lip, jerked back on the reins and galloped away.

Chapter 9: Interlude 3

Herouxville
New Capital
The de Gramont manor

TO SAY THAT HEINRICH DE GRAMONT was angry would be an understatement. And it was all down to the punk Renard, his brother's bastard. This worthless man, who had been begging him not to be sent away from the capital just a year earlier, was now starting to show some pluck.

When Heinrich sent Yveline and Valerie to fetch Renard, he figured the news of his upcoming marriage to a wealthy bride would have the man crawling to him on hands and knees, but instead he refused. Meanwhile, both his daughter and niece told Heinrich utterly implausible fables about the insolent twerp.

Heinrich had become aware that Renard was in debt to almost all aristocrats and people of good name in Abbeville. He also knew that his nephew had nearly been struck down in a duel over some third-rate actress. As an aside, Heinrich de Gramont wasn't the least bit surprised by any of that news. It was all entirely in Renard's character. Ferdinand had paid no attention to raising his bastard, which turned him into this worthless man — at once vicious and wayward.

And so, word that Renard the coward and pushover was suddenly champion of a tournament in a neighboring county, and then had slain one of Vestonia's greatest swordsmen in a single blow was initially completely implausible to Heinrich. But then, after the captain he'd sent to keep Yveline and Valerie safe sent a report corroborating their every word, he'd started to believe. In fact, the captain claimed that Renard was not only a masterful swordsman, he had been trained in some rather unusual melee tactics. He dispatched some of Heinrich's experienced retinue men like they were small children. In other words, it was a kind of mastery that would take more than a few months to achieve. The result of many years of diligent training.

Heinrich refused to believe that Ferdinand had raised his bastard to be a warrior since childhood. Furthermore, by all appearances, Renard was not merely a highly skilled fighter, but an excellent actor to boot. To so easily pretend to be worthless would have taken the skills of a professional actor. Heinrich was eager to believe that theory. However, the story did have one caveat. He had known his nephew practically since he was a baby. The Renard he knew never would have stood a chance against a professional brawler, much less have agreed of his own free will to join the Shadow Patrol for a pittance. The Renard he had sent into exile around one year ago would have come to the capital to be wed at a moment's notice.

So Heinrich de Gramont's anger was overtaken by curiosity. And when he found out that Renard had been in the capital for a few days already without showing his face to the head of house, he wasn't the least bit surprised.

Heinrich regarded himself as a cold-blooded and patient creature. Once when he was still a child, while playing "the animal game" with his brother, sister, and cousins, it took him a long time to decide which creature suited him best. Ferdinand, as was completely expected, chose the lion. His sister went for a snake. Big Bastien picked mountain goat, his brother took bear,

but Heinrich had simply been given a sheet with a shrimp on it. And ever since that day, thanks to Ferdinand's off-handed decision, he had been known as Henri the Shrimp.

On that day, little Henri stuffed himself away in a wardrobe to cry in anger. But there, he was found by his grandmother, the Countess de Gramont. She put him up on her knee and quickly got to the bottom of her youngest grandson's hysterics, then asked to be shown the cruel sheet Henri was still squeezing in his tiny little hand.

When she saw the image on the silver sheet, she gave a clever smile. And told her captivated grandson that it was no common shrimp — it was a mantis shrimp. And in contrast to the peaceable common shrimp, mantis shrimp were highly dangerous predators that could sit in ambush for days on end. But when they spotted their prey, mantis shrimp could slay so quickly and with such force, that they only needed a single blow. Then they could eat all their foe's guts at their leisure.

That information perked little Henri right up. Encouraged, he found all books in the family library mentioning the unusual creature. There was a reason they said one's first round of "the animal game" to some extent determined their fate. Heinrich, like a mantis shrimp, learned to wait for his opportunity.

Ferdinand, who had chosen lion, overestimated his strength, and Heinrich was able to land a crushing death blow. Thanks to that tactic, he was no longer viscount, but the sole Count de Gramont. Could his grandmother have imagined that her youngest grandson would one day use what she taught him to take down her oldest grandson, the legal heir to House de Gramont?

"Your Lordship, Chevalier Renard is here," the count's valet said in an even tone. "Shall I send him in?"

Heinrich de Gramont, distracting himself from reminiscing, looked at his servant and said:

"Send him in."

The Count looked at the time and snorted. Noon on the dot. Surprisingly, the scoundrel had come right on time. Heinrich had told him to come two hours before lunch. The count wanted to voice his opinion about his brother's bastard's new image.

A few moments later, the door to his office opened and Max Renard walked inside. Heinrich greeted his nephew from a deep armchair behind his desk. He didn't pretend to shuffle through papers the way clerks from the royal chancery did when they wanted to appear busy and make visitors feel uncomfortable. No. Heinrich was above all those plebian tactics. He knew his worth and his station.

The count was sitting in his armchair with his elbows on the arm rests and chin resting on tented hands. Like a mantis shrimp, he was waiting for his prey to come close before landing the fatal blow.

However, the man who entered did not much look like prey. Heinrich at first didn't even recognize his nephew. That was how much he'd changed physically. He remembered Max as a rosy-cheeked round-faced young man with puffy hands and fearful, darting eyes.

Now, the man standing before him was the polar opposite of that Max. Tan, lean. With a confident gait, wiry like a wild animal. A cold, piercing and somewhat ironic look in his eyes. Heinrich thought for a moment that his nephew was looking straight through him. That sent a shiver down the count's spine. He was staring down a predator. Young, brash, ready to go for the throat at a moment's notice. The count, much to his own surprise, recalled his captain's report on Max and started believing every word.

The count looked his nephew's chiseled body from head to toe. His simple yet high-quality outfit made for a stark contrast with the brightly colored fashionable clothing his own sons preferred.

Heinrich's studious gaze suddenly caught on a small silver bauble hanging over Renard's chest. François, complaining about the rude and brash bastard paying a visit to his former manor, mentioned his cousin's horrid attire and tasteless jewelry. At the time, Heinrich didn't pay any attention to his son's words. But unlike his youngest, the count knew all about every last medal and decoration given out in Vestonia. Particularly ones like the Silver Wing of Strix. Furthermore, over the entire history of house de Gramont, just two of its members had been deemed worthy of the distinction. And now some bastard born of the daughter of a merchant was flaunting that very medal all around town. Heinrich had a hard time holding in a curse, which very nearly slipped through his lips.

And again that sardonic gaze. It was as if Ferdinand's bastard could read his thoughts.

"Your Lordship," Renard bowed respectfully. "Uncle, let me express my gratitude for the invitation. It is an honor for me."

"You didn't seem to be in any great hurry," Heinrich snorted. "I seem to recall sending for you in the winter."

Renard shrugged. The look of contrition on his face was so affected it made Heinrich want to roll his eyes and laugh. But again he held it in. Not a muscle on his face twitched.

"I was delayed by extraordinary circumstances," Renard came. "My duty to the crown."

"What about after that?" Heinrich asked. "After your duty had been fulfilled? As an aside, you cannot even begin to imagine the effort it cost me to secure your release."

The Count de Gramont there allowed himself a little white lie. In reality, his petition to the king on Max Renard's behalf was approved surprisingly quickly. So quickly that Heinrich was expecting there to be a catch. But then he cast those foolish thoughts aside.

"The war," Max shrugged. "I needed to prepare for the journey. The roads are teeming with raiders and recruiters. And as an aside, I personally would rather meet the former."

Heinrich caught himself thinking he was in full agreement with his nephew. The rumors of out-of-control headhunters had already made their way to Herouxville. The count then decided that the young man standing before him, despite being the youngest member of his family, had a manner of behaving that gave off an air of adult sophistication. François or Gabriel meanwhile, the Count de Gramont's sons, were like snot-nosed teenagers compared to Max. And that realization drove Heinrich to madness. Even from beyond the grave, Ferdinand seemed to be mocking him. Henri the Shrimp! He heard his boyhood voice ringing from the distant past.

"Sit," despite the inner strife, Heinrich's voice came across stable and colorless. "We have much to discuss."

Renard bowed and easily plopped down into the chair opposite the table. Crossing his legs and tenting his fingers, he put his hands on his knees.

"We must agree on a date for the ceremony with de Marbot," Heinrich got straight to business.

"Why the de Marbots?" Max asked unexpectedly. He was not indignant or whiny like his sons when Heinrich offered them to go pick out an elite bride. On the contrary, his nephew's tone was matter of fact and a bit world weary.

"A year ago, you were on your knees in this very office begging me not to send you away from the capital," the count began coldly. "You ignored every explanation about it being for your own good. I promised to find you a wealthy, elite bride. And only then did you agree to go. And I kept my word."

That same sardonic smile appeared on Max's face. Now the impudent man looked more like his late father than ever before.

"And indubitably, uncle, I thank you for taking on such an insurmountable burden as caring for me."

For an instant, Heinrich thought he saw a flicker of something animal in Renard's eyes. What happened to the old Max?!

"I don't much feel it," Heinrich came indignantly.

"You must not have fully understood me, uncle." Again that smile. "I give thanks to the gods every day for sending me such a caring uncle. You are experienced. You wish happiness and good fortune on the son of your beloved brother. I trust you and respect your choice. But before I bind my fate to the Viscountess de Marbot, I would like to know why she specifically was worthy of your choice."

Heinrich frowned.

"Isn't it obvious? She's from an ancient family, and she's wealthy. Also, she's rumored to be very pretty, smart, and modest. What more could you want from a wife? Furthermore, there isn't exactly a line out the door of fathers from noble lineages wishing to give their daughters' hands to you."

"Fair," Max nodded. "That gives rise to a logical question." "What then?" Heinrich asked.

"If this Viscountess de Marbot is like you say she is, why would her father want a man like me? Sure my father recognized me, but everyone knows me as a bastard, illegitimate. And so I wonder — what's in it for them?"

Heinrich spent a short while in silence, looking closely at his nephew, who had changed so unexpectedly and grown smarter over the past year. Then he made a decision.

"Your marriage to the viscountess will put an end to a many-year conflict between our families, which your father never got around to resolving."

"Over what?" Max asked shortly.

For a moment, the duke thought his nephew knew more than he was letting on.

"The boundary of the Forest of Thiliez. This way, we can delineate it amicably."

"What is its value?"

"Several thousand acres of highly valuable yew trees," Heinrich decided to reply honestly. "Worth a lot of money."

"I see," Max said, thoughtfully stroking his chin.
Heinrich was caught off guard by his nephew's calm reaction.

"What do I stand to gain personally?" Renard asked matter-of-factly and added wryly: "Other than a gorgeous bride of course."

Heinrich opted not to mention the viscountess' infertility. Let it come as a surprise to the impudent man when all was said and done.

"As usual in such situations, you would be made baron of the lands you receive with your bride's dowry."

"Hm..." Max rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Tempting offer." "And as I said — the only one," Heinrich came.

"Now that's where you're wrong, uncle," Renard replied. "Your nephew isn't all that hopeless."

Heinrich's brows shot into his forehead.
"Explain."
"Are you aware of the Gilbert Trading House?" Max asked, tilting his head.

"Merchants?" Heinrich winced. Much to his own surprise, he felt vexed. His "upgraded" nephew had made an impression on him, and now this misstep. "It's like you didn't hear me."

"I have merchant blood in my veins," Max laughed.

"But first of all, you are a recognized son of Ferdinand de Gramont," Heinrich came, thrusting his chin forward.

"And yet," Max continued insistently. "You didn't answer my question."

"Because there's no point," Heinrich threw out. "No merchants are worthy of the honor of marrying a de Gramont."

"What if those merchants controlled the entire wine trade in Vestonia?" Renard asked insinuatingly, staring Heinrich straight in the eyes. "They essentially have a monopoly. Sure, Thomas Gilbert is no aristocrat, but he has more money than the Count de Marbot could ever dream of. Thomas Gilbert could buy the Forest of Thiliez three times over in its entirety. Think, uncle, what our house could do with finances like that."

Heinrich said nothing. This impudent man had sewed a seed of doubt in his mind.

"He is a merchant," the count stated conclusively. Though there was no confidence in his voice. It was as if he was giving Max a chance to win him over.

"I meanwhile am a mere bastard," Renard shrugged. "I am not suggesting you marry one of your own sons to Gilbert's daughter. Society will understand. And as for the Forest of Thiliez..."

"The Count de Marbot also has a son," Heinrich interrupted thoughtfully. "I could just as easily let him have one of your blood sisters."

Just then, a muted squeak of fear came from behind a heavy curtain. Renard turned to the sound and Heinrich frowned. That wretched girl was eavesdropping again. It couldn't have been anyone else. Only she could get away with such behavior. Heinrich sighed silently. His little Yveline was his weak spot.

As an aside, the count thought it didn't come as much of a surprise to Max. It was as if he already knew there was someone behind the curtain. Heinrich waved off the random thoughts.

"Yveline!" the count called strictly. "Come out!"

Renard stood and shook off his doublet. A muted creak came from behind the door the curtain was covering, and a frightened little blonde-haired head peeked out.

"Max!" she smiled embarrassedly. "You came! How nice to see you. You've certainly matured."

"My dearest cousin," Renard smiled back with a gallant bow. "You look better every day. I'm happy to see you again!"

"Daughter!" Heinrich called attention to himself. "This behavior is unbecoming."

"Daddy!" she shot out rapid-fire. "Mother wanted me to call you. The table is set. We're only waiting for you. Mother also wanted me to warn you that Aunty Jeanne has come to visit."

Heinrich winced as if he'd eaten a lemon. All his annoyance at his willful daughter was swept away. The news of the Duchess du Bellay's visit instantly spoiled the count's appetite. Jeanne du Bellay, Heinrich and Ferdinand's sister, known in the court as the Stone Lady, must have come for a reason. He'd have bet she had somehow found out that Renard was going to be at lunch. Which made him wonder. What could she want from the bastard?

"Okay then," Heinrich said, getting up from the seat. "Let's not keep them waiting."

Chapter 10

WHEN WE ENTERED the dining hall, all conversations fell silent, and all de Gramonts present turned their eyes on me.

I met their reaction, staring back unabashedly. The first few I noticed were two women of approximately fifty years of age. Most likely, they were Countess Catherine de Gramont and Duchess Jeanne du Bellay. They were seated on elegant chairs next to a little table and, before our arrival, were clearly discussing something privately and waving big fans in front of their faces. Still, I should note that the familial abode of the de Gramonts, which had previously belonged to Max's father, had been constructed by true masters of their craft. With closed windows and unbearable heat outside, indoors it felt refreshing, and even cool. The architect that designed the manor was a genius, no doubt about it.

The ladies were the total opposites of one another. The first was tall and elegant with dark hair and eyes. The second... Hm... It was like I was looking at Yveline aged up by a few decades. Middling height, blonde hair, green eyes. And highly volatile. The only thing the two ladies had in common were the identically scornful gazes they awarded me with.

A step away from the highborn women on their comfortable sofa all clad in royal blue velvet, I saw three quite attractive looking women. They all looked somewhat alike. I figured one was Max's cousin Marielle de Gramont, and the others were her sisters Patricia and Nadine. From Bertrand's tales, I knew they were almost all the same age. Each a bit over twenty.

Based on the more vibrant dress and pompous mannerisms, I very quickly realized which one was Marielle, Heinrich's daughter. Nadine and Patricia by comparison seemed neglected and depressed. But that did nothing to stop them and their aunts from looking on me as a footman who had accidentally stumbled into the wrong room.

Valerie was also there, sitting at a slight distance from her sisters and cousin in a little armchair reading a small book. When I came in, the look in her eyes sparkled with delight, but she quickly got herself together and now was staring into her relatives' eyes with satisfaction and even a certain degree of mischievous anticipation.

The last two people I spotted were standing next to the window. One I had met before. François de Gramont looked like a fish out of water. His face alternated between pale and pocked with crimson spots. His expression carried so much hate. A little bit more and he would have a stroke.

Next to him stood a long-armed dark-haired kid of twenty-seven years. His cool, sharp gaze ran studiously over my face and body. This must have been Heinrich de Gramont's eldest son Gabriel. I had a hard time not laughing. My cousin was clearly trying to put on an air of adult seriousness, but he wasn't able to pull it off very well. I could see that he and François were outraged. Obviously, the little brother had already told him about our previous encounter.

However, uncle never mentioned it. Still, I'd have bet my right hand that François demanded the insolent bastard be punished. The time for vengeance had clearly not yet come.

To be frank, Heinrich de Gramont completely met my expectations. Closed- off, marching to the beat of his own drummer, cruel, and calculating. Pretty much exactly how I imagined him. My uncle was probably also very vindictive. For example, he didn't bother mentioning to me that the Viscountess de Marbot many years ago was injured on a hunt, resulting in her inability to birth an heir.

The Watchmaker had told me that. He also told me about her maniac brother, who Valerie and her sisters were clearly so uneager to marry. And that explained her active participation and insistence in Abbeville.

The whole thing stunk, though getting a barony of my own as dowry was quite a hefty argument. But the timing was wrong. I was not planning to get married yet. Especially not on someone else's orders. My uncle, as an aside, was all too eager to take the bait with the Gilberts. Now he would keep his nose in the wind to gather information. I had bought myself some time, which was exactly what I wanted.

But I was not lying — if not for the barony and relation with an ancient house, Thomas Gilbert would be a more appropriate father-in-law for me. He really did have deep pockets. And wanted badly for his grandchildren to be aristocrats.

I could only imagine Valerie's face when Yveline told her all about my conversation with the count. I had detected the little spy right after I entered her father's office.

"Ah, here we are!" Yveline exclaimed with a broad smile. "And this is Max... Ghm... Or rather Chevalier Renard."

I gave a respectful bow first to the ladies then to my infuriated male cousins. François I even sent a furtive wink, which added a few crimson spots to his face. Hm... This guy clearly had problems with self-control. I was surprised he hadn't been killed yet.

As an aside, all the people in the room were clearly Prince Louis supporters. The green flowers and floral insets in their clothing bore eloquent witness to that.

Heinrich de Gramont sent a signal to a gray-haired butler, and everyone started taking seats at a long table with the help of their footmen.

At the head of the table, as head of household, was my uncle who whispered something to his sister seated to his right. The countess was seated opposite. Then his children in order of age, with me at the far end of the table. Like a leper. Practically in the wilderness.

"Father!" François came, unable to resist. Before the footmen could even bring out the first dish, the viscount shouted out in fury: "Explain something to us all! What is that bastard doing here?!"

Heinrich de Gramont didn't even twitch a brow.

"Since when do I have to answer to anyone?" His cold calm tone made François go pale.

"Father..." François mumbled out like a capricious teen. "That wasn't what I meant... I just..."

"You should know your place," Heinrich blared back. "Unlike you, Renard knows his perfectly well."

Inside, I laughed. Uncle had decided to turn his household against me. Well, well... An utterly expected move. For a moment, we locked eyes. I seemed to see slight surprise in his. For the record, he often looked at me that way. As if he was expecting the old Max. Well, that made perfect sense.

"But Henri..." came Catherine de Gramont. The maman immediately stood to the defense of her littlest son. And based on the looks he was getting, he was also the favorite. "How can you compare them!? Your son is a viscount! And this... This..."

The countess hit me with the full force of her scorn and disgust.

"Chevalier Renard is a member of house de Gramont," the count interrupted. "And he is prepared to do his duty as a member of this family."

Uncle was clearly adding fuel to the fire.

"What duty now?" François asked indignantly. "He is a black mark on this family just like his traitor father!"

Heinrich didn't seem to hear his son. He just so happened to be busy cutting up a little meat roulette with a butter knife. I meanwhile followed his example, unflappably swallowing the fine delicacy. Even the mayor of Toulon didn't have such exquisite cuisine.

Our shared obliviousness drove my cousins even more mad, whereas Valerie and Yveline were clearly delighted.

"And speaking of duty," the count came suddenly, cutting off the words about to come out of the countess' mouth. "Chevalier Renard has just come to town from Toulon. He served in the Shadow Patrol in Westerly Fort."

A dead silence fell in the dining hall. Everyone sitting at the table turned their head my direction. The count broke the silence. He pointed the butter knife at my chest and came:

"François, do you see the silver wing on your cousin's chest? Yesterday, when you told me about your encounter with Chevalier Renard, what exactly did you call it again? Ah, yes! A barbaric trinket, I believe. Jeanne, are you familiar with that item?"

The unexpected shift from François to his sister made everyone turn their heads toward the Duchess du Bellay.

Max's aunt, squinting slightly, sounded puzzled: "You don't mean to say that...?"

"Yes, sister," Heinrich nodded. "That is precisely what I mean to say. Your nephew is a cavalier of the Order of the Silver Wing of Strix. As you recall, only two of our vaunted ancestors were worthy of such an honor. Our great- great grandfather and his grandfather."

The duchess looked at me with new eyes.

"Max!" Yveline exclaimed in delight. "You have to tell us what you did to earn that medal!"

"Dear cousin," I sighed. "I still don't feel truly worthy of this distinction. I just saw a chance to help my brothers in arms and I took it."

"And what happened to them?" Yveline asked straight away. "They were wounded in battle with shadow beasts," I responded.

After that, silence took hold at the table once again.

"You fought beasts from the Shadow?!" Yveline was ecstatic. "They must have had giant fangs and claws!"

"Yes, dear cousin, I did," I smiled and replied. "And as for the size of their claws, you may see for yourself. Here... Consider this a modest gift from me... One of my trophies."

After saying that, I took one of the shadow wolf claws from my pocket and handed it to her. With a shriek of delight, she took the curved black claw and started staring at in enraptured.

"Yveline!" the countess was first to come to her senses. "This behavior is beneath you!"

"Oh..." she checked herself and quickly stashed the souvenir.

"Forgive me, madame," I said to her mother. "It's my fault..."

Catherine de Gramont's look of anger burned straight through me. But her sons looked somewhat pacified. The fact that the man seated at their table

was not some "pitiful" bastard but now a hero of the frontier had clearly knocked them off their game.

Max's sisters and oldest female cousin, not knowing how to react, looked on with interest while Valerie was undoubtedly savoring the moment. Heinrich, by the way, could see that. Despite the fact he was feigning being totally distracted by the feast, it didn't stop him from watching how every member of his family reacted. My self-serious blood sister clearly kept herself under strict control in front of our uncle.

An uncomfortable silence fell at the table and was broken by the Duchess du Bellay. At first, she relayed news item number one about yesterday's attack on Princess Adèle next to the temple of the Most Luminous Mother. As expected, rumors were flying. Some said it was a sneak attack by the witches, others an uprising. There was also an Atalian theory. As a participant in that fight, I found it the most plausible. Honestly though, I of course said nothing.

After that, the conversation smoothly shifted to Prince Louis, who the de Gramonts supported.

"I have it on good authority that the king wishes for Prince Louis to be married," the duchess said.

"Who has he selected?" the countess asked, looking tense.

"Alas, my dear, despite all our efforts, his majesty has selected the daughter of the northern Konung Bjørn Sharptooth," the duchess said with a sincere sigh.

All the women at the table gasped.

Hm... Did Max's aunt seriously think she could marry Yveline or Marielle to the prince? Why was I surprised? The de Gramonts were an ancient and influential family. As far as I knew, the Duchess du Bellay had buried her two sons and now had seemingly redirected all her energy into her nephews and nieces. As an aside, that explained all the green armbands around the de Gramonts' elbows.

"I said from the beginning that nothing good could come of this scheme," the count snorted. "The princes need the king to establish power. If not for my brother with his foolish ideas, perhaps the duchess and I could have stood a chance, but alas the once great name of our house has been left in shambles."

Hm, there I was in complete agreement with my "dear uncle." Max's father had done a bad turn to his whole family's reputation.

"But why exactly the daughter of some northern barbarian?" Heinrich's eldest son Gabriel spoke up. "Couldn't a better candidate have been found in Vestonia?"

"Why don't we ask your cousin about that?" the count came with a wry edge. "What do you think, Max? What made him choose the northern barbarian?"

Uncle just could not stop trying to turn his family against me. I wondered why. Was he trying to sic his sons on me like hunting dogs on a wolf?

Everyone sitting at the table turned to face me. Most of them looked on me with condescension as if I was some country bumpkin. Gabriel was clearly annoyed by his father's disrespectful tone and the unusual attention he was paying to the wretched bastard.

With pity, I set aside my silverware.
"I believe it has to do with the war," I replied.

"Hah!" François exclaimed mockingly. "Amazing! What a revelation! You'd get just as good responses from any shopkeeper down some merchant alleyway."

"Dear cousin," I turned to him. That clearly threw him. He just cringed. "You shouldn't underestimate the analytical capabilities of shopkeepers. They must keep up with events in their kingdom and the world every day. If they take their fingers off the pulse for even a second, their business will dwindle."

"Father!" François cringed. "That's absurd. What could a shopkeeper know about politics?"

Heinrich ignored his son's words. As an aside, I saw happy flickers in the duchess' eyes. I'd have bet money that she did not have the greatest opinion of her nephews.

"Max!" Yveline said to me with a smile. "Come on! Parry! What could a simple shopkeeper know about politics?"

"Quite a lot," I replied. "As a matter of fact, dear cousin, you could stand to take a couple lessons from one."

"I'm afraid father wouldn't approve," Yveline giggled. "Alright, then allow me to explain with a simple example."

François gave a loud snort. Gabriel meanwhile gave a condescending chuckle.

"For instance, let's take... ghm..." I looked pointedly at the table and pointed a finger at a little porcelain saucer. "How about this...?"

"A saucer?" Yveline asked.

"Yes," I nodded. "What is it made of?"

"Porcelain."

"True," I nodded. "And porcelain is made of white clay. Which is harvested in the north. In County de Lusignan."

"Why are you telling us all this?" François lost patience. "And what does it have to do with shopkeepers?"

"Everything," I replied. "Shopkeepers deal in porcelain just like this."

"Oh, gods!" my cousin shook his head. However, neither his parents nor aunt intervened. They were listening closely.

"Max, what is the connection between porcelain, war, Prince Louis, and the konung's daughter?" Yveline asked.

"Good question, dear cousin," I smiled back and picked up the light saucer. "Now, let's say the shopkeeper and other porcelain dealers sell a saucer like this for a crown a piece. Let's imagine they learn about raids by the

Northlanders into the northern provinces, one of which is the County de Lusignan. What will happen to the price of porcelain?"

"It will go up!" Yveline replied straight away. "White clay harvesting will cease due to the raids! And with time, the production of porcelain will come to a grinding halt!"

"Right," I nodded. "See? It's all connected. And now another question. What will happen when the Count de Lusignan and other northern counts find out that their provinces are being raided by Northlanders?"

"They will hasten home with their retinues to defend their holdings and families," Yveline answered quickly.

"And that will severely weaken the royal army," I added. "Because we are at war with Atalia."

"Do you mean to say His Majesty wishes to marry his son to the konung's daughter to shore up the northern borderlands?" Yveline asked thoughtfully.

"That is precisely what I mean to say. If not for the war with Atalia and the massive risk of weakening the royal army, his Majesty would hardly have made such a decision."

For a little while, the people sitting at the table traded glances. Heinrich broke the silence.

"François," he came mockingly to his son. "What if I now take your cousin's advice and send you to apprentice with a shopkeeper?"

Chapter 11

SURPRISINGLY, THE COUNT'S barb went unanswered. I was settling in to hear a screed of rage and indignance from François, but my cousin sat in silence as if his mouth was full. The rest of the family did, too. By all appearances, they had all heard Heinrich take such a tone with them before and, despite the wry notes, he was far from cheery.

Everyone fell silent, but the emotions of the people sitting at the table were easy to read. François, who had just been offered an apprenticeship at a shopkeeper's, looked about to have a seizure. His face was pure crimson, while tears welled up in his eyes. His brother, seated at his right, based on his shoulder movements, was holding his hand under the table. From my perspective, it was a touching scene and... Very promising for me.

I had realized a simple fact that day. If the head of clan de Gramont suddenly disappeared, Max's family would be left vulnerable. Based on the gloomy and suspicious looks Heinrich was shooting at me and Valerie, he was more than aware of that. And of course he was also aware that his capricious and spoiled sons would only weaken the already diminished clan were they to be named as heirs.

The only person capable of replacing Heinrich, in my opinion, was his sister the Duchess du Bellay. Alone, childless, and fully concentrating all her attention on building up de Gramont power, she would not allow the clan to perish. But she was not immortal.

The way Jeanne du Bellay was looking at me I did not find particularly nice. Her serpentine gaze, unblinking, followed my every move and caught my every emotion.

Essentially, the elders of house de Gramont clearly were trying to see me as a threat in their own way. I wouldn't be surprised to find out Max's father had been burned by both of them together.

Of course, at any moment I could take radical measures but, first of all, there were no open hostilities as of yet, and it was very far from a critical point. And second, the weakening of house de Gramont by getting rid of two figures of such authority would not be in my own best interest. I had far-reaching plans for this family.

Whereas the count and duchess looked on me as some yet unknown creature which had now grown teeth, the Countess de Gramont, bestowing her little son with silent glances of admiration, kept glaring over at me, burning me with scorn.

Her eldest daughter, Marielle, was trying very hard to mimic her mother in every way. Raising her chin proudly, she looked at me with disgust like a mangy, flea-ridden mongrel.

Max's older sisters were doing their best to keep up with her, but Valerie was looking down and trying to restrain her emotions as much as possible. I was sure she knew perfectly well that her uncle and aunt were watching her like a pair of hawks. But try as she might, Valerie was not able to keep the

unflappable look on her face, sometimes letting her lips slip to reveal a malicious smirk for a brief moment.

Yveline was the only person who didn't care about the whole show. After hearing her father, his favorite daughter gave a muted giggle and quickly covered her mouth with a little hand. Happy little devils danced in her eyes. She even found an opening to shoot me a friendly little wink.

For a short time, an uncomfortable silence hung over the table, broken by the odd clink of silverware on dishes. By the time the footmen started bringing out desert, the count finally sat back in his chair with satisfaction, looked languidly at his sister and said somewhat sardonically:

"I assume, dear sister, that word of Prince Louis' marriage is not the only news to reach you from your so-called 'good authority.'"

The duchess snorted indistinctly, letting her brother know that his little goading and forced formality had no impact on her, and replied ironically:

"Dear brother, I hasten to add that my sources' timely provisioning of useful information is why you are always one of the first in the kingdom to have first-hand knowledge of any situation."

Heinrich snorted:

"Let's not forget, dear sister, that all this 'first-hand' news requires handsome repayment. And that is putting it lightly. Whoever supplies you with these rumors and gossip must have amassed a fortune on my gold."

"My brother, if you are on the verge of poverty, please save your meagre reserves and look for a less expensive way of digging up, as you put it, rumors and gossip. For instance, one example might be the aforementioned shopkeepers our nephew just finished telling us are so phenomenally well informed."

The count frowned and made a vague hand motion.

"Come now, dear sister. After today's little display, I am inclined to take your advice. But after I get the full measure of what I pay so handsomely for. So, you have my undivided attention..."

Based on how the other members of the family reacted calmly to the count and duchess' conversation, little spats like that were commonplace.

"You are correct, my brother," the duchess nodded, and her face turned serious. "Prince Louis' future marriage is not the only news. What I'm about to tell you is going to turn this kingdom upside down tomorrow."

Everyone sitting at the table turned to face the duchess.

"Is that right?" the count frowned. He perked up right away. The duchess du Bellay's tone always contained valuable information.

Everyone fell silent. Even François stopped huffing and started listening attentively.

The duchess clearly enjoyed all the attention. She made a pause and, raising her chin proudly, spoke with an air of excessive solemnity.

"I have become aware of whose flowers the Duke de Gondy will be wearing. His Majesty has made a decision. The Marchioness de Gondy shall be wed to Prince Philippe!"

Everyone fell silent together, then started speaking. Except me. Taking advantage of the lack of attention, I savored a tender and delicious dessert.

The issue was that the news of the king's decision was no surprise to me. I mentioned to the Watchmaker that I had entered the city at nearly the same time as the Duke de Gondy. Upon hearing about the duke and the young lady accompanying him, the Viscount de Tosny immediately told me his theory that the Duke of the South, ruler of Aquitaine, had come to conclude an alliance with Carl III to be secured most likely by a marriage between the marchioness and one of the princes.

The Watchmaker, who also had his informants at court, told me that most likely the Duke of the South, who controlled nearly the entire grain trade,

would not be satisfied to see his daughter wed to a junior prince. After all, de Gondy was counting on his son getting engaged to Princess Adèle.

Essentially, the Watchmaker and I at that time concluded that the king, whose fondness for Princess Adèle was well known even to town drunks in the capital, had long ago given his agreement to marry the Marchioness de Gondy to his oldest son, the potential heir to the throne. But those were just theories, and now they were being confirmed.

While Heinrich digested the news in silence, the younger members of the family started discussing hotly. Very quickly, it grew into an argument about which of the princes the king should have been marrying to the Marchioness de Gondy.

Based on how the elders were in no rush to interfere in the juniors' political chatter, they actually encouraged such discussions. And that must have been exactly how an understanding of the finer points of politics was fostered in aristocratic families.

As an aside, the fact the conversation was being conducted in my presence came as no surprise. After the reception at the mayor of Toulon's, I had realized that discussing everything happening at court was common practice in local aristocratic society. They boldly and openly remarked upon the outfits of the king's favorites, his policies both domestic and foreign, various rumors and scandals related both to the princes and their close supporters.

"I suppose," Gabriel came, looking around pridefully. "No one has any doubt remaining as to who the next dauphin of Vestonia will be?"

"Hard to argue with that, brother," François supported. "After the Marchioness de Gondy becomes Philippe's wife, the whole south will be behind him."

"The east and the south together are a true force!" Gabriel nodded.

"So, it was all for nothing?" Yveline asked uncomprehendingly.

"What do you mean?" François raised a brow.

"These bands..." she raised an elbow with a wide band tied onto it of emerald color with gold embroidery.

"I imagine His Majesty, following some objectives only known to him, finally got what he was after," Gabriel shrugged.

"I don't regret it," the eldest sister spoke up and looked dreamily at her clothing. "These were heady days. Full of color and excitement."

I snorted to myself. Bloody, too. The gods alone could say how many souls had perished over this armband dispute in the last few days in duels with young aristocrats. Heh... What made them think it was all over?

Yveline's unexpected question caught me right when the little dessert spoon went into my mouth.

"Max!" she exclaimed sonorously. "Stop eating dessert and finally tell us what you think about all this."

All the de Gramonts' once again stared over at me. What an irrepressible little twerp. I had the feeling she was doing it on purpose. I wouldn't have been surprised to find out her aunt and father put her up to this. I had to set aside my little spoon and unflappably reply with a question:

"Dearest cousin, could you please concretely state what exactly you want to know?"

"Well, for instance," Yveline said with a pensive squint, touching a little pointer finger to her chin. "What I want to know is your opinion on why His Majesty decided to play up to Philippe specifically with this marriage."

"So, you see this all as a game?" I asked.

"Of course," Yveline answered categorically. Which made her father and aunt give identical smirks at almost the exact same time. "If it weren't a game, the king would have named Philippe dauphin of Vestonia long ago. Don't you think?"

"It isn't for me to judge the actions and decisions of His Majesty," I answered with caution.

"Max!" Yveline exclaimed in indignation. "That isn't fair. You're dodging. You're among family! You can speak freely."

I saw a pointed smirk appear on Valerie's face for a brief moment after that. I myself was having a hard time not breaking into laughter.

"What if our dear cousin is dodging because he doesn't know how to respond?" François came, unable to resist an acrid remark, and added: "It's one thing to chatter between merchant stalls and hear their rumors. The education of a true noble is entirely different."

"Dear cousin," I turned to him calmly. "My father saw to my education. I was instructed by none other than Gerald Lambert."

"Would that be the same Gerald Lambert who was executed for treason together with your rebel father?" the duchess spoke up, her eyes alight with triumph and delight. She finally got the chance to kick the insolent bastard, and she did not fail to take it.

"You are correct, madame," I sighed ruefully. "Poor Lambert was a prime example of how dangerous it can be to associate oneself with men possessed of their ideas without regard for the consequences for their friends and family."

The countess blushed through the ceruse on her cheeks. She squinted angrily and snorted. The count and duchess though looked very similar. They seemed to be saying, "kid, watch yourself! You're walking on very thin ice." I also saw Max's sisters look tense. It looked as if their uncle and aunt, after their father's execution, had done long and diligent work on their minds.

"As for your question, my dear cousin," I continued as if nothing happened, completely ignoring François. "Then I do not believe His Majesty played up to his eldest son."

"What do you mean?" Yvelines asked in sincere surprise. "Now Philippe will have support from the nobles of the south and east."

"At first glance, it does appear that way," I nodded. "But if you walk the stalls of the capital city shopkeepers and listen to what the people there are saying, you'll see that the Duke de Bauffremont has long and passionately been trying to wed to Prince Philippe a niece of the Duke de Meragne, younger brother of the King of Astland."

In reality, I was playing a double game. It was rare to hear any talk of de Bauffremont wishing to marry his nephew with the Dukes de Meragne

among the market stalls. In this matter, my unwitting informant was Baron von Holtz, who had once fought under the banner of the Meragnes and told me many interesting things about their country and the court of the King of Astland.

"But that's..." Yveline began, but the count stopped her.

"On that note, I suppose the debate is over, as is this most bizarre lunch," Heinrich came, standing from the table.

Everyone followed his example in silence. And talking to me, the count said:

"Max, let's go to my office. We have something to discuss. Your Grace, won't you accompany us?"

The Duchess du Bellay nodded and took the count's hand at the door. I meanwhile bid everyone farewell and followed after them. On the doorstep, I quickly turned around. Yveline was already insistently dragging Valerie by the elbow toward the opposite door. As I assumed, the little spy would now share what she'd heard with the others.

Before the footman closed the door behind me, I felt a hateful gaze burning into my back. I had seemingly just gained another enemy in the form of the

Countess de Gramont.

"So then," the count said to me, sitting in his chair in the office we were in before and clapping his hands on the arm rests. "As for your duty to the family..."

"Henri, have you decided to marry him to the Viscountess de Marbot?" the duchess decided to interject. She was seated comfortably on a soft sofa stretched over with dark blue velvet. The wrinkles of her wide dress looked similar to a coiled snake.

They did not, however, offer me a seat. I was standing before the elders of Clan de Gramont like an examining committee. Or a court...

"That would be an option," the count replied.

"Is that right?" the duchess said with a smirk and curiosity in her eyes, looking me from head to toe. "Did the late Ferdinand have legal disputes with neighbors I was not aware of?"

"Not that I know of, no," Heinrich responded gloomily. "But our late brother was impossible to predict."

My uncle had no idea how right he was. For example, the story of promissory notes advanced against a whole barony. Max's daddy was an enthusiastic fellow.

"The Gilberts you're talking about," the count said.

"The Gilbert trading house?" the duchess asked. "The ones who supply almost every noble house in Herouxville with wine?"

"Yes," Heinrich replied. "Max, what was it you told me about that lowly merchant?"

"I became aware that Thomas Gilbert inquired through my mother's father about me marrying his daughter," I replied and spotted a chair at the wall out of the corner of my eye.

"How did you become aware of that?" the count asked.
"Thomas Gilbert's daughter Betty told me."
"You're a quick one," the duchess chuckled. "Just like your father."

"It isn't what you might be thinking, aunty," I came. The duchess' face cringed with a condescending smile. "Curious. I need details."

"In reality, Betty is not pleased with the idea," I came and sat unbidden in an empty chair against the wall to slightly surprised glances from the count and his sister. "So unhappy that she took part in a conspiracy against me, aiding a certain Vivienne Leroy and her lover. Those two received payment from a third party I cannot name as part of a plot to murder me."

I stopped. My uncle and aunt said nothing. The duchess' face looked not the least bit amused. She seemed to have been seeing me for the first time. Heinrich was clearly enjoying his sister's reaction meanwhile.

"How did they plan to do it?" the duchess finally asked in a raspy voice.

"By goading me into a duel with Vivienne Leroy's lover, a certain Vincent de Lamar."

"The scandalous brawler who was patronized by Prince Heinrich?" the duchess turned toward the count.

"Yes," he confirmed. "One of the greatest swordsmen in Vestonia. He was hurriedly sent away from the capital after killing a bodyguard of the Atalian ambassador in a duel."

"Prince Heinrich harbors a weakness for such upstarts and rowdies," the count added. "And tries to surround himself with the greatest fighters in the land. He has long boasted of the brawler André de Châtillon."

"Well, I wouldn't know," the duchess snorted and added with a self- satisfied smile: "In court, there are rumors that the famous swordfighter was knocked down by a single blow by some village aristocrat. Yet he didn't kill him. They say he bested de Châtillon with the tip of his sword. Right to the forehead."

Heinrich chuckled and stroked his chin with his long fingers.
"I wouldn't mind a look at that country boy. What was his name?" I just snorted to myself.

"I don't know," the duchess shrugged and said to me: "And how did the whole story with the duel end? Were you able to reach an arrangement with this de Lamar?"

"Yes, aunty, you might say that," I shrugged.

"He slayed him in a duel," Heinrich chuckled. "The way I heard it, in a single blow."

The duchess shuddered and looked at me with eyes wide open.

While Jeanne du Bellay stared at me in disbelief and gathered her thoughts, Heinrich said to me, very satisfied with the effect produced on his sister:

"So, you claim these Gilberts are wealthy?" "As far as I know, yes," I nodded.

"Alright," Heinrich came thoughtfully, furrowing his brow. "I should think this all through well. In a little while, I'll tell you my decision."

After saying that, Heinrich waved a hand to let me know I could go. But a moment later, his brows shot up in surprise. Because I just stayed sitting.

"Anything else?" the count asked, tilting his head. "Yes, uncle," I responded. "We didn't discuss terms."

"Terms of what?" Heinrich frowned again.

"Of my participation in fulfilling my duty to the family," I allowed myself a smirk. "Or did you think I would just take part in your little projects for nothing?"

"Don't you think you're forgetting who you're talking to?" metallic notes slipped through in the count's voice.

"Oh, dear uncle!" I snorted. "I haven't forgotten for a minute who I'm talking to."

It came across dripping with double entendre and, based on the count's sharp expression, he understood me perfectly. Now it was the duchess' turn to gloat. With a sidelong smirk, she was enjoying the unexpected show.

"And what do you want?" the count came, going on his backfoot with unexpected ease. He was like a predator lurking and waiting to strike.

"For starters, I want my castle back," I responded, staring Heinrich straight in the eyes. "As soon as I have it, we can continue our discussion about restoring the glory of House de Gramont and my participation in this indubitably important endeavor."

After saying that, I got up from my seat and, with a gallant bow to the smirking duchess, and followed by a heavy gaze from the count, left the office unhurriedly.

Chapter 12

WHEN I, ESCORTED BY a tight-lipped footman, left the count's home, on the way into a gallery leading to the garden, my male cousins intercepted me. They tried to make it look like an accident, but I could tell they were on the lookout for me. It seemed to me they wanted to put the rude upstart bastard in his place.

Sensing someone up above watching me, I glanced quickly at the second story windows and spotted two familiar silhouettes. My uncle and aunt were keeping a close eye.

"Hey, bastard!" Gabriel called out casually. A scornful smirk played on his lips. "I'm sure you're aware already that you were given an exclusive honor today? And to our eye, it was undeserved."

"You should be thanking us for our generosity, bastard!" François threw his five copper in straight away. "The family is taking a massive risk by allowing the son of a traitor into our home!"

"Our home?" I laughed. "Dear cousin, I believe I heard you say something similar before."

I pursed my lips to look contemplative, then gave myself a light pat on the shoulder with the fingers of my right hand:

"Ah, yes! You said something just like this at the gates of my manor. Dear cousin, I believe our interactions are starting to take on a kind of pattern, don't you find?"

"What do you mean pattern, may you be tortured by demons?!" François got angry immediately. My cousin was clearly on his last legs. I only needed to give him a reason, and he would strangle me with his bare hands. He didn't even notice that I had called the manor he was living in mine.

"Well, judge for yourself," I snorted. "This is the second time now you've been trying to lay claim to something that doesn't belong to you. First my manor, then my late father's home."

I gave a pointedly proprietary gaze to the two-story palace and smiled in satisfaction.

That was the last straw. François' face warped into a look of fury and hatred. He started walking jerkily forward and grabbed the grip of his decorative sword.

"Bastard!" he shrieked.

"Brother!" Gabriel raised his voice. He grabbed François by the shoulder and squeezed hard. "Stop what you are doing! Father is watching!"

That hit François like a cold shower. He shuddered and stared warily toward the second story windows.

"Don't look!" Gabriel hissed without turning his head, and François stopped.

I watched the abrupt change in personality with massive interest. Heinrich seemed to be quite the despot. Just one mention of his name was all it took to bring François to his senses. As if a switch flipped in his head. The rage instantly changed to fear.

"You!" Gabriel kept hissing, staring me in the eyes. "If you think you're going to get away with how rudely you were talking, you're deeply mistaken, bastard! I will do everything in my power to make you regret that in the very near future!"

The young viper started showing teeth and threatening me with poison. Ahem... Heinrich of course had taught his sons to obey his will. However, I should have devoted more attention to the younger son's suppressed flare- up. But now I could see who the elders had placed all their bets on. Compared to François, Gabriel appeared more restrained but, alas, he was still far from his father's unflappable cold bloodedness. With such a green heir, Heinrich couldn't afford to rest yet. The count was probably acutely aware of that. And now, I was also starting to understand better why Heinrich had so persistently set his sons against me at the lunch table.

I gave a respectful bow and replied coldly:

"Well, cousin, I'll keep that in mind."

And without another word, I made a heel turn and nodded to command the obediently standing silent footman to resume our interrupted journey.

As an aside, the footman, trying his best to act like a blank spot, had most likely heard my conversation with my cousins perfectly well. I was sure that in just a few minutes, my uncle would find out the contents of our sweet conversation.

Essentially, everything I just told them was for the count's ears. As if to say, "uncle, I of course understand everything about raising an heir and what not, but my patience has its limits. At the end of the day, two can play at this game."

Leaving the count's manor proved more difficult than imagined. While crossing a shady garden path indicated by the footman, I was again intercepted. This time by Valerie. She was sitting in a round openwork gazebo hidden among the emerald greenery.

As soon as Valerie saw me, she diligently concealed her impatience and anxiety, then sent me a breezy wave inviting me to join her. Heh... That was a quick reaction.

Which was exactly what I wanted to achieve. But I thought my little provocation would take a lot longer to work. And that was if the count deigned to tell Valerie right away that her blood brother now had another potential bride on the horizon.

Yveline, having overheard my conversation with the count and dutifully told her cousin everything, had unknowingly done me a favor and saved me time.

When I got up to the gazebo, the viscountess turned her head authoritatively and the footman, with an obliging bow, went back to the path to wait for me.

"Mademoiselle," I said with a slight bow, then neutrally inquired: "Do you have something for me?"

"I found out you want to marry the daughter of some merchant," my dear sister jumped right in. "Is that true?"

Valerie was agitated and tense.

"That is one option," I cast out a little bait. "But I just can't figure why that should bother you."

"One option?" she came indignantly, fully ignoring my question. "What is this foolishness? You are being offered engagement with a woman from a noble and ancient house! You will be made baron. Marrying the viscountess will reinforce your position in society by many times. Many doors to high houses will open for you. And maybe one day, if you present yourself properly, people at court might take notice, and you will be introduced to the king! Brother, how can you be so short-sighted and flippant?!"

"Brother?" I asked, feigning surprise. "I seem to remember it wasn't that long ago that I was a bastard and black mark on the family. Or does my memory deceive me?"

Valerie clenched her little fists and gave an angry sniffle.

"You!" she shot out. "You're intolerable! That isn't what we're talking about."

"Then what are we talking about?" I snorted.

"What, aren't you listening at all?!" she even stomped a little foot in annoyance. "Can you really not be aware of the importance of what I'm telling you?"

"Importance? Hm... Importance to whom?"

Valerie frowned.

"To you... To the family..."

"The family?" I asked, nodding at the manor.

"The family," Valerie replied firmly, taking a little step forward and placing her hot little hand over mine.

"To our family, my brother," she said softly but firmly, emphasizing the word "our." "To you, our sisters, and my mother..."

Just come on... That sweet, open gaze... The quick breathing... What a skilled actress! I suddenly felt like laughing out loud. It was hard, but I resisted.

However, I had to admit that the viscountess' calculations were correct. The old Max, who had spent his life feeling like an outcast, hating his relation with the Legrands, not allowing any mention of it, and wishing with all his heart to become a part of the de Gramont family, would have fallen at his sister's feet in an instant. Like a knight in shining armor prepared to stand to his family's defense! He had been recognized! Brought into the fold! They were asking him for help!

Heh... She had no idea who she was dealing with.

I didn't know how Valerie was expecting me to react to her big show. And so, when we met eyes, and she saw nothing but cold indifference in mine, her face filled with blush, and she jumped back sharply. I saw her jawbone clench through her delicate temples, and lightning flickered in her eyes.

Shaking my head, I asked with a slight wryness in my voice:

"If you're so worried about our family's fortunes, why don't you marry the Viscount de Marbot? I heard his father doesn't have much time left. Very soon, you could become Countess de Marbot. Doesn't that sound better than being baron of some backwater like I would be?"

The more I said, the paler Valerie's face became. The sparkle went out of her eyes. I saw a germ of fear instead. No. More like terror. She took a few steps back and, with a heavy sigh, sat down on the bench opposite me. Tears appeared in the corners of her eyes. The mask of cold indifference slipped from the viscountess' face for a moment, revealing a deathly scared little girl. Like some little animal backed into a corner, she was ready to do whatever it took to avoid an encounter with the teeth of a predator. One such step was to put the bastard in harm's way.

"You..." she whispered, swallowing tears of despair. "You don't understand... He's a real monster... The rumors about him are horrible... When his father came to visit us two years ago to offer Émile's hand to one of us, our father refused pointedly."

"Let me guess," I smiled. "The Count de Marbot didn't like that, and the conflict around the yew forest grew stronger?"

"Yes," Valerie replied quietly. Taking a lacy kerchief from a fold in her clothing, she hurriedly began drying her tears.

She was slowly coming to her senses. The old mask again stood between her and the cruel world outside.

"I've heard of this Viscount de Marbot," I came without any sarcasm. Softly and gently, I started angling to recruit my top spy in clan de Gramont. "Émile the Toad or Émile the Lizard... Right?"

"Yes," Valerie nodded eagerly, but got herself together immediately. The little bout of hysteria came to an end and before me sat the same Viscountess de Gramont as before.

Hm... What a good lady. So much had befallen her but, unlike her older sisters, she had not broken. She even tried to adapt.

"Where did he get that nickname?" I continued my calm questioning.

"His face and body have been disfigured since birth," Valerie answered, curling her lips in disgust. She even looked nauseous.

"And what happened to him?" I asked.

"Nobody knows for sure," she shrugged. "The de Marbots jealously guard the secrets of their house. It's rumored to be magic."

"Secrets like Aurélie de Marbot being infertile due to the severe injury?" I asked, tilting my head to one side.

The surprise made Valerie's face again fill with red, but she had herself back together before a minute was up.

"And you, I see, came prepared to this family meeting," she snorted. I shrugged indefinitely.

"So, the reason for your unwillingness to marry de Marbot is that?" she asked a follow-up. "The viscountess' infertility?"

"I find it quite a significant reason, don't you?" I answered with a question of my own. "I am a nobleman. Ancient and noble blood flows in my veins. Why must I be unable to continue my line?"

I was expecting to see a smirk on Valerie's face. But I could read understanding in her eyes. And another thing — unexpected approval...

"But then the Gilberts..." her thin little brows shot up in perplexity. "No merchants can equal the de Gramonts."

"You're forgetting that I'm half Legrand. Plus, the Gilberts are very wealthy. Thomas Gilbert wishes passionately for this marriage to reinforce his family's position. He is willing to go to great lengths for his goal. And by that, I mean there is a huge amount of money on the line."

"You don't know our uncle," Valerie shook her head. "He doesn't like to change his plans."

"Maybe so," I shrugged. "However, I am also aware that our father was so taken by the idea of overthrowing the ruler of the kingdom that he completely neglected the welfare of his own family."

"You don't think I know that?" Valerie replied angrily. "All anyone in this house does is remind me and my sisters how extravagant our father's plans were. Uncle makes an effort to do so every day. Even though I know perfectly well that they are purposely exaggerating father's guilt in order to justify their own betrayal."

Valerie clenched her hands into fists.

"Well, anyway, the actions of our father made our family lose a lot," I shrugged. "Lands, influence, and money."

"Are you trying to say our traitor uncle saved the family?" Valerie cast a sharp gaze in my direction.

"You're asking the wrong question," I snorted and shook my head. "I'm saying the dispute over the forest with the de Marbots is a drop in the bucket compared with the kind of capital Thomas Gilbert would be willing to invest into this family. Our uncle will need money to restore our family to its former influence. A lot of money. And on top of that, the forest dispute with the Count de Marbot could be settled by marrying you to his son. Or any of our cousins for that matter. And by doing that, uncle will lose nothing."

Watching Valerie turn sullen, I decided to add a little more fuel to the already raging fire.

"But alas, something is telling me our uncle will choose you. I think you already know that, too."

Valerie made for a fearful sight. Her face went gray. A look of horror and despair set into her wide-open eyes. My future spy and possible ally had seemingly reached the proper condition.

"I am doomed..." staring blankly forward, Valerie whispered in a quavering voice. "I don't want... I... I'd sooner drink poison than get married to that

monster..."

"Dear sister," I smiled. "I believe you're writing yourself off too soon. The seemingly final situation has several escape points we both stand to benefit from. But, if it's going to work out, we'll have to join forces for a time."

Valerie shuddered and stared me in the eyes. I saw mistrust, surprise and... hope.

"I'm in," she said firmly.

Herouxville
New Capital
The de Gramont manor

Interlude 4

"WELL, SISTER, WHAT DO YOU SAY?" Heinrich de Gramont asked when the footman trudging behind Renard left his field of view. The count already had a basic idea of what the bastard and his sons talked about when they ambushed him near the gallery entrance like a bunch of teens.

Renard and his caustic remarks had probably upset François again. Gabriel even had to hold his brother back.

The duchess, standing next to him at the window, snorted. "He really reminds me of someone."
"I noticed it, too. He's the spitting image of Ferdinand."

"Oh, no!" Jeanne du Bellay shook her head and, with an acrid smile, came: "I'm talking about you, brother."

"Me?" Heinrich asked in surprise. The count was about to react indignantly, but somewhere deep in his heart, he found himself admitting that he actually appreciated the comparison for some reason. This brash kid, his wayward brother's bastard, had held his own with surprising dignity today. Several orders of magnitude better than their previous encounter. And compared to his own sons, he was a vast improvement.

A shadow ran over Heinrich's face.
The duchess, still smiling thoughtfully, gave a short nod.

"Yes, you. Ferdinand was never one for patience and restraint. He was easy to predict. But this bastard is far from transparent."

"That's what has me so worried," Heinrich frowned. "Take his sudden reincarnation for example. Just one year ago, he was a sissy, a whiner... But now... He's a new man."

"Life has a way of doing that," the duchess noted philosophically with a shrug. "Take your miraculous renaissance, for instance. Remember my first reaction when you, my little brother, quiet pushover Henri the Shrimp approached me with a plan to overthrow Ferdinand the Lion."

Heinrich snorted. The darkness retreated somewhat. "At the time, you said a demon had gotten into me."

"See," Jeanne du Bellay nodded. "Life has a way of doing that. He grew up and matured very quickly."

"And became very dangerous," the count muttered.

"Not to the family," the duchess objected. "Who is he without us? You think he doesn't realize that? Despite all his brashness, he knows his place very well, don't you think?"

"Really?" Heinrich curled his lips. "What about his ultimatums? Give him his castle!?"

"That's just more in favor of what I said," Jeanne du Bellay objected again. "He's giving a sign that he's willing to play ball. And he's naming his price up front."

"But I already gave that manor to François," the count winced. The duchess shrugged.

"Give François your manor in the New Capital. You already moved in here, after all. It will make Catherine happy, as well. Because she's crazy about her youngest."

Heinrich gave a pensive snort and walked away from the window. Which kept him from seeing the mysterious smile on the duchess's face as she squinted slightly and looked out at where her "new" nephew had walked just a few minutes before in his confident, animalistically lithe gait.

Chapter 13

I BECAME AWARE that strange things were afoot in Max's former manor a few days after the memorable lunch I shared with my "doting" family.

We were regularly told the latest news by Max's former servants. Our main informants, who Bertrand recruited in my name, were Charles Simon, the old servant François de Gramont struck with a whip, and who I gave a handful of silver for treatment; Agnès Cassault, the senior cook; and Marc Ducos, a butler.

Marc had joined the ranks of my spies just a few days earlier. The butler long refused to help, but in the end came over to our side. It was all the fault of François de Gramont's actions.

A few days ago, just before evening, my cousin showed up at the manor looking darker than a storm cloud. The reason for his abhorrent mood was a visit to his father, who instructed his youngest son to leave the castle and move to Heinrich de Gramont's former manor in the new capital. And though it was a more than generous exchange, the viscount was outraged. It was all due to the "wretched bastard" François had snubbed.

The whole night, the viscount was drinking wine and talking about the "wretched bastard," threatening revenge. But the next day, waking up around noon with a terrible hangover, he started putting his threats to action. And of course, these actions were the straw that broke the camel's back for the butler, turning him to my side.

The first thing the viscount did was make an announcement that he was moving out of the dark old, dilapidated manor into a much better one in the New Capital.

At first, the servants and serfs were happy at the changes. After all, the massive count's manor was also in the New Capital, which was certainly a step up. But they were in for disappointment. Nobody was planning to take them along.

François with an acrid little smile announced to the servants he ordered to assemble that his father's manor already had a full staff of servants, and they would all be looking for new work after finishing out their last few days there. Except the serfs, of course. They François ordered to be sold at the slave market.

The butler, going against his own rules, tried to intervene and explain to the young master that the servants and serfs had worked in the castle for many years, were trained and highly qualified staff and to simply cast away a resource like that was unreasonable and short-sighted.

François was outraged by Marc Ducos's impudence, and the butler got a lash to his "insolent face" as he fully expected. That was the moment he changed to my side, though as Bertrand told me, Marc Ducos was never a big fan of Max for his rude manners and cruelty. But now, he was faced with choosing between two evils, and made his decision.

After announcing his will, François changed clothes and left for one of his many society receptions, ordering his valet before departure to start looking for a buyer for the ten serfs.

That same day Bertrand, feeling in his natural element unlike when we were in Abbeville or Toulon, took me to see Marc Ducos for a long and exhaustive conversation, at the end of which we agreed on a deal. And so, I accepted Max's former butler, who I also authorized to recruit servants for my manor.

First word from House de Gramont that my uncle decided to return his nephew's manor came to me from Valerie. Seeing hope for a "brighter future" on my face, my little sister started actively telling me about important events in the count's home. In her last letter, she gave quite a detailed description of the scene when Heinrich de Gramont announced to François that the Fox Den would now be home to Chevalier Renard. Her retelling of the viscount's meltdown was particularly acrid.

Valerie I of course was not going to fully trust. Being surrounded by ill- wishers, she had worked out her own way of surviving. She could switch to our uncle's side at any moment if he offered her acceptable conditions for an alliance. But I also had in my back pocket several levers I could use to pressure my sister if the need presented itself.

All went surprisingly smoothly with the serfs, too. François' valet was quite the unprincipled swindler. After talking to Bertrand, he had no problem meeting me and selling me all the serfs, pocketing a single silver crown per head. Meanwhile, he knew exactly who I was and most importantly, he knew exactly what his master thought about me. When I asked if he was afraid of his master getting upset, the valet gave an indefinite shrug and,

hefting the purse of silver, explained that it was none of his master's concern how the serfs were sold or to whom.

The personal servant's total lack of concern told me that nobody in the family had any respect for François. Not even his valet.

The viscount went back to the manor that night with a group of friends, all spoiled morons like him, children of capital-city aristocrats. However, nobody was there to receive him. François must have decided to put a fat endpoint on his stay in the bastard's castle.

While throwing a grand boozer, my cousin instructed the servants to take all the furniture out into the castle yard and set it alight.

I had to give the butler his due. He quickly got a handle on the situation and commanded the servants to bring out all the old furniture stored in the attic, not the nice pieces.

A big mountain of wooden scrap formed very quickly in front of the door. As expected, François, who was already extremely drunk just like his buddies, didn't particularly notice the quality of the pile of half-dilapidated furniture in the darkness. When it had been soaked in fuel, the viscount tossed a torch in himself and, while his buddies shouted on, left the manor. Before departing, he spat out a very slurred yet emotional speech, then loudly instructed the servants to keep bringing out all the furniture, paintings, and curtains, and throw it on the fire so the much maligned bastard wouldn't even have a pot to piss in.

As soon as the noisy cavalcade departed from the manor for the last time, the butler commanded his subordinates to close the gates and start taking the nice furniture inside, which they had hauled out just for show.

That morning, meanwhile, I got three letters. One was from my old/new butler saying the manor was ready for my arrival.

Number two was from my uncle. Heinrich said his nephew could no longer live in any old inn. And so, he decided to allow me to take up residence in my former castle. In closing, he yet again reminded me of my duty to the family.

Reading the message, I just chuckled. Naive uncle. He'd just let a fox into his manor. Might as well forget it now. The fox would only leave it when he saw fit.

After I read the sender of the third letter, I snorted in surprise. It was the Duchess du Bellay. My aunt was very happy I was moving and gave a very transparent hint that the influence of some third party was impacting my uncle's decision. In other words, Jeanne du Bellay was telling me I had gotten my manor back only thanks to her efforts.

At the end of the letter, there was a note. My aunt was inviting me to a reception, which was to take part in her home in two weeks' time. It also indicated the address of some capital-city tailor I should visit before the reception, and whose services had been paid in advance by the duchess.

My servants greeted their new/old master in a perfectly straight line formation. The ceremonial livery was dark blue, the buttons and shoe clasps were polished to a shine, and the white bonnets and aprons of the washer women — I somehow became aware all at once that I was in the capital, and my new servants were elites in their profession. Furthermore, with staff like them, I was no longer ashamed to invite even princes or perhaps the king himself. In class, my manor in Toulon was about as far from this as the Shadow from Herouxville.

As an aside, it was Bertrand's idea to keep all the servants on. He practically begged me for permission to try and save the whole team. Now I understood my valet was correct.

Bertrand, surveying his "army" with a happy smile, seemed happier to be back in the manor than anyone else.

Despite the fact that all these people knew who they owed for their return to their former workplace, they didn't look particularly happy. Well, other than perhaps Bertrand and my spies. The old footman, cook and butler had already learned how much their former and now current master had changed. And that was at the fact my predecessor wanted to sell the serfs at the slave market like geese.

I figured they simply hadn't had time to get scared with how quickly it all happened. Oh well, it was nothing to be afraid of. They would get a new lease on life today. I wouldn't exclude the possibility that, in the future, I would even have to say goodbye to some of them.

The two pretty washer women a bit older than Max were clearly crushed. Thinking I wouldn't notice, they kept looking frightened in my direction. Based on their reaction to me, it wasn't hard to guess that Max had taken advantage of his position and let his hands wander from time to time. Oh well, I'd been through that before.

I gave a short motivational speech, calling on all the servants to labor honestly, then let them all go about their business. Because the butler told me I had a bit over an hour before lunch, I said I wanted to run a quick survey of my property, which I supposedly hadn't seen in a year.

First, I decided to check out the garden plot, which they also had here. Looking over the spacious chicken coop, horse stable, cowshed, orchard and garden, I kept trading looks with Jacques, who was accompanying me. Gunnar and two servants were now busy with our buggy, while Bertrand, Marc Ducos and Kevin went to check my personal chambers.

Next to the stable, I found quite a large structure with a carriage that was opulent even by capital city standards, as well as a summer buggy. Upon seeing the vehicles, Jacques, who had a weakness for such buggies, wagons, and carriages, smiled in satisfaction and rubbed his hands together. Honestly though, he had warned me that he would never put on livery.

And so, trading barbs, we went over to the manor itself.

Well, what could I say...? I liked the castle even more from the inside. Angular and dark from the outside, it was cozy and warm on the inside. Like a proper Fox Den! Storming this place would be no simple task.

I looked over the large reception hall on the first floor, then went into a small office where we were joined by Marc and Bertrand. The low ceilings, dark wood paneled walls, large fireplace, wide table, armchairs and sofa. I was starting to like it here more and more.

I saw that Marc Ducos was watching my reaction very closely the whole time. Surprise slipped through on his face every so often. And no wonder... The old Max detested this place, while the present one couldn't conceal his delight.

I sat down at the table and reclined in the soft armchair, smiled and drawled out in satisfaction:

"It's so nice to be back home! Whoever would have thought...? I never much liked it here before... But now I don't think there could be a better home in the entire world."

Bertrand, who was also there, gave me a furtive nod of approval.

A look of carelessness froze on the butler's face, but in his eyes, I could see a faint glow of approval.

"Marc, you did know the former owners of this manor, right?" I asked the butler. "I mean the ones who sold it to my father. I was never interested in such matters before. Now I have to make up for lost time."

With a sedate nod, hiding a slight burst of enthusiasm, he replied in his deep baritone:

"Yes, Your Worship."
"And who was the former owner?" I asked.

"This castle and land once belonged to the de Clairmonts," Marc Ducos replied.

"The de Clairmonts..." I repeated thoughtfully. "Sounds familiar..."

"Duchess Louise de Clairmont," the butler helped me out. "First lady of Her Royal Majesty's Bedchamber. Wife of the Duke de Clairmont, a marshal of Vestonia."

"I see..." I came thoughtfully.

Very interesting... But this couldn't be the same duchess who so insistently wanted to buy the fox amulet from the Watchmaker, right? Curious...

"You wouldn't happen to know why they sold it, would you?" I asked.

"I would, Your Worship," Marc Ducos came gloomily. "The duchess' eldest daughter passed away in this manor. Marchioness Christina de Clairmont. This home reminded the duke and duchess of the death of their beloved daughter, so they decided to sell it to your father."

To just up and sell one's family estate? It was clearly very ancient and had been built by their distant forefathers. The walls of the manor had seen many deaths of members of House de Clairmont. Actually, what was I talking about? I knew just how it was to lose one's nearest and dearest...

"Sad story," I sighed, and my eyes caught on a wide wall panel carved out of yew.

I got up from the seat and walked over to the wall. The anonymous carver had depicted a fox hunting scene. In the lower right corner of the wooden relief, there was a fox den with hunters and hounds covering two entrances. But there was also a third the hunters and dogs had not found. And it was that burrow leading toward a forest stream that the whole fox family was using.

A lithe female fox was creeping in the lead, followed by two little kits. The father was guarding their retreat, a wizened fox with long fangs. His head was turned toward the abandoned burrow. The fox was ready to attack whoever dared to follow his whippersnappers and female. He bared his teeth menacingly, and I saw a smirk on his face. It was as if he was saying to whoever might have been looking at the panel, "get a load of these

morons! They think they're slier than me. Ha-ha! They think foxes only have one escape route."

"If memory serves, this panel was made on an order from the Duke de Clairmont's great grandfather," Marc Ducos interrupted my contemplation.

"So many details," I kept up the game. "I never noticed them before."

"Good eye, Your Worship," the butler nodded. "I have been serving this house for several decades now, and every time I look at that panel, I find something new."

"There used to be real master craftspeople," Bertrand supported him.

"They say the carver was an artifactor," the butler added. "But that's all just rumors."

Hm... I tilted my head thoughtfully toward my right shoulder. By the way... I should really have been scanning everything carefully. I wouldn't be myself if I couldn't find some kind of hiding spot in this ancient household.

Switching to true vision, I started slowly looking first at the wall, then the floor and skirting, and only at the end turned my attention to the panel. Nothing at first... But...

Wait! I seemed to see something...

"Your Worship?" the butler asked with concern and even took a step forward.

"What?" I asked, changing to normal vision. "What is going on?"

I looked Bertrand and Marc in their concerned faces. Though I saw flickers of surprise and interest in my valet's eyes. He already knew I could see the energy systems of objects and living creatures, and he had seen this look in my eye before.

"Your Worship, you've gone pale," the butler started hurriedly. "Are you feeling ill?"

"No, Marc," I waved it off and smiled. "I'm just fine. It's just that ever since coming home, I've been overwhelmed by memories from childhood. I was recalling my father..."

The butler gave a mournful sigh and kept prudently silent.

I then, sniffling for show, raised the pointer finger of my right hand and, smiling, said:

"The alluring aromas from the kitchen have reminded me that I am famished."

"Your Worship," the butler caught himself. "Shall I go hurry along the cooks?"

"Excellent idea, Marc," I smiled.

When the butler left the office, and Bertrand and I were left alone, he asked me quietly:

"Did you see something, monsieur?"

"Yes," I nodded and walked right up to the panel. "See this little carving of a leaf? It's a component of a complex magical mechanism. Looks like a door lock. It has so little mana left I can barely make it out. Tell Jacques I want to talk to him after lunch. I'll try to manipulate the mechanism tonight. We don't need any prying eyes. And by the way, I nearly forgot..."

I did a heel turn and stared Bertrand in the eyes.

"It seems the time has come for you to reach out to your childhood friend, my dear grandfather. What do you think, will he be happy to see us?"

Bertrand said nothing. But the sad sigh and rueful look said more than words ever could have.

Chapter 14

THE TABLE WAS SET FOR LUNCH in the dining room, which was next to the fireplace room. I sat at the head of an elegantly appointed long millipede of a table and with satisfaction paid tribute to the mastery of my cooks all while not forgetting, of course, Bertrand's lessons.

Agnès Cassault, senior chef, decided to spoil me and cooked all Max's favorite dishes. Well, what could I say? The one thing I could not accuse that little blockhead of was lack of culinary taste.

But the number of dishes was astonishing. I had too much food. At the start, I could turn a blind eye to such wasteful spending, but I would have to remember to instruct Marc to cut the menu down by three times at least.

I quickly glanced at Jacques seated next to me as he demolished some elaborate composition of tender mutton chops with great relish. No, I supposed they could cut it just in half. Otherwise, with such a hungry fellow next to me, I risked starvation.

While I ate, I couldn't shake the feeling I was playing a role in some elaborately staged play. Impeccably trained footmen, all in formation along the wall; the butler like a director, conducting the service with invisible swings of his stick and, as if reading my thoughts, predicting my every desire; the table was set according to every rule of local etiquette. Between that and the exquisite food — I was definitely starting to like living in the capital.

Jacques' presence at my table came as no surprise either to my butler or footmen. Or if it did, they were hiding it impeccably.

Essentially, they didn't violate a single standard. Jacques, as representative of the warrior class, according to local rules of etiquette, had the right to sit at a noble's table if invited without sullying the honor of said noble.

It simply occurred to me that in this home, such things were rare, if they had ever happened before. I somehow had a hard time imagining the Count de Gramont or Duchess de Clairmont for that matter sitting down for a meal with a veteran who was not nobility.

Though I was probably not wrong to suggest that a hundred or so years prior, the ancestors of these respected lords were unashamed to invite to their table their less esteemed friends and associates. After all, their swords were how the ancient houses multiplied their influence.

After lunch, I was planning to walk through all the rooms and halls in the castle. The discovery in the office inspired me to search for more ancient hiding spots, which this place was probably teeming with. But something got in the way of my plans.

When Jacques and I were finishing taking down dessert, the door to the dining room peeked open and a tense little face flickered by in the narrow gap.

It seemed to be Charles Simon. He was silently signaling for Marc to go out. The butler, remaining calm and trying not to draw my attention, slowly proceeded to the exit.

A minute later, he was back and in his place at the head of the footman ranks. Not a muscle on his face twitched. As a well-trained butler should, he was waiting for his master to speak first. Hm... Like a marble statue. The impression was spoiled by the big huge wound left a few days earlier by François' lash on Marc's right temple, which came through even despite the relatively thick cake of ceruse.

But Marc's eyes gave him away. Something had to have happened behind those doors. Something not only my butler didn't like, but based on the sour and frightened faces, my footmen didn't care for either. They must have figured out what was happening.

"Is everything alright, Marc?" I asked the butler, listening to the din outside. A loud commanding bass voice particularly stood out from the pack. The bassy voice was acting like it was in charge.

"Ghm... Your Worship..." Marc replied in a tense voice. "Bruno Foulon has arrived, senior aid to the steward for the Count de Gramont. He came with twenty servants and several carts in order to collect your cousin's belongings, his wardrobe, and all remaining furniture, dishware, portraiture, and wine in the castle."

"Wine?" I asked.

"Yes, Your Worship," Marc nodded, slightly surprised by my calm demeanor, and the fact that was all I cared about. Overcoming his slight surprise, the butler decided to elaborate: "Recently, your cousin has amassed quite the impressive collection of wines from all over Mainland down in the castle's wine cellar, on top of your old collection of course. The viscount is a true connoisseur of the noble beverage. For instance, today at lunch you were served a twenty-year Bergonian, which your cousin acquired a dozen bottles of before Atalia declared war on Bergonia."

Curious... François had revealed an entirely unexpected side of himself.

"I presume the man with the loud commanding bass is Bruno Foulon then?" I quickly changed topic.

"Y-yes, Yes, Your Worship," the butler again said in embarrassment.

"And what are these people doing on the grounds of my manor removing everything without permission?" I asked calmly, sitting back in the chair and adding: "In other words, am I simply being robbed?"

Despite the fact that my tone was almost friendly, I noticed a highly promising smile appear on Jacques' face. Marc also noticed the smile and, based on his concentrated gaze, seemed to sense that something was amiss.

"Ghm..." he hesitated to respond and, just before he could open his mouth, I jumped ahead:

"This place looks so neglected..." I muttered.

Max was not only not respected by his relatives, all the de Gramont servants felt the same. Actually, what was I talking about? But nobody said this would be easy.

Drumming my fingers on the desk in thought, I turned to face Jacques:

"Drag that loudmouth before me. And do not forget to explain to him on the way that the owner of this house would like to eat, and the sound of his voice is liable to give me dyspepsia."

"Yes sir, Your Worship," Jacques nodded with a satisfied snort and, rubbing his war-scarred fists, left the dining room.

A few minutes later, holding a dark gray beret in his wide hands, a broad- shouldered man stood before me. Beneath his left eye, a fresh bruise was filling in. The big fellow shot the odd angered look at Jacques standing next to him but was in no rush to express his dismay.

And no wonder! Because Jacques the wolf made this Bruno Foulon look like a frightened bull-calf despite his massive size.

I cast an inquisitive gaze at the veteran. Understanding my unspoken question, Jacques shrugged and gave a predatory grin:

"He was painfully garrulous and rude. I had to bring him to his senses. It's all your dyspepsia, monsieur."

After he said that, my cousin's servant frowned even harder, but still said nothing.

I shook my head and said to the big fellow:

"My good man, you got lucky. Today, on the occasion of my return homecoming, I am in a good mood. And so I forgive you and your subordinates for their insolent behavior. But remember, next time I'll have no choice but to resort to the lash."

Upon hearing of lashes, Bruno Foulon clenched his teeth. The beret in his big hands was slowly turning into a shapeless gray rag.

"I'll bear it in mind, Your Worship," the big man droned. I heard notes of scorn in his voice. "And I'll be sure to tell my master, the Count de Gramont what you said."

Hrm... My uncle must have let their discipline slip. Though I wouldn't be surprised to learn the count was trying to provoke me. Testing, probing. I

looked straight into his sly, satisfied countenance. And in it there was a grin as if to say, "you got the castle, dear nephew, but are you really its owner?"

Oh, don't you doubt it, uncle... I surely am. It's too late now. You never should have let the fox into the henhouse.

"Very well," I continued, paying no mind to his tone. "Now, with regards to your mission... You have one hour to get out of my manor."

"But how, Your Worship!?" the big man shot out. "We won't finish in an hour!"

"Don't worry," I reassured him with a broad smile. "An hour will be more than enough time to pack up my cousin's wardrobe and personal effects."

"But we were ordered to remove all furniture and other property!" he started to object.

But I interrupted:

"My cousin ordered all the furniture, as well as drapes, paintings, and other valuables to be burned last night. So tell that to my uncle."

Bruno Foulon's jaw dropped. He looked around puzzled at the dining room. He had probably been here before on many occasions. Everything was in its place, and clearly had not been burned.

"And don't you worry about the wine," I added, calmly looking down at my fingernails. "I'll take care of it the same way my cousin took care of my furniture, curtains, and paintings. And tell that word for word to your master."

Pointedly taking out a silver pocket watch, I opened the round lid and looked at the face:

"Clock's ticking, my good man. If you are still on my property in an hour's time, my cousin will have to order all new vests and pantaloons."

When the big man slid an angry parting look over me and hurriedly left the dining room, I saw my servants smiling with satisfaction.

"Leave us," I ordered the footmen and glanced at the butler. "And you, Marc, stay back a minute."

When all the servants left the dining room and it was just us three, I nodded at a chair for Marc.

"Take a seat."

At first he tried to object, but I came in an icy tone:

"I am not accustomed to giving an order twice."

The butler shuddered and sat on the edge of the chair, ready to shoot to his feet at a moment's notice. Watching Marc Ducos, I remembered that when he looked at his master, he couldn't recognize him.

"Let me explain something to you," I continued. No, I didn't start yelling, or threatening, or insulting, as Max had most likely done in the past, but I saw that with my every word, Marc's face went more and more gray until a shadow ran across his eyes. "You most likely have not fully grasped the true nature of what is happening. Ever since you signed a contract with me, the only person who has the right to give you orders in this house and the grounds it is on, is me. I understand your fear. You think this manor is the property of the Count de Gramont. And most likely, you think uncle could kick his traitor brother's bastard out of here at any moment. Forget about it. You didn't sign any contract with the count. You signed it with me. If you now start to let any of my uncle's mangy mutts break into my house to make off with a stool or my last chamber pot, why should I keep you around as butler?"

Marc started shuddering in tension. I had to add some sugar to help the medicine go down.

"I'm being frank with you, Marc, because you were always the kind of person who took his duties with a sense of responsibility."

The butler lit up a bit. "Thank you, Your Worship."

"I assume that Bruno Foulon is quite a scoundrel?" I asked, hoping to get my butler to open up a bit.

"He is an odd man," Marc replied softly and lowered his eyes.

"Don't fret," I smiled. I noted to myself that Marc was about as far from old Bertrand, who fearlessly held off an invasion from Captain de Rohan, as we were from the Shadow. But on the other hand, why should Marc jump on the spear to defend Max's property?

"And don't be afraid," I continued. "There's a new master in this house. Beyond that, Jacques will be living here now. In my absence, you can always turn to him. But now, you may return to your work."

Marc stood up lightly and, bowing, left the dining room. I turned to Jacques.

"I seem to remember you once mentioning your old comrades in arms who gave up the service and came to live in the capital," I said and continued after the veteran gave a nod: "I believe the time has come to hire four or five experienced bodyguards. My heart senses that my relatives will continue to test my patience. I do not want to get distracted by nonsense all the time like with today's 'invasion.'"

"Budget?" Jacques smiled slyly.

"At your discretion," I replied. "All that matters is that I need reliable people who understand the work. And who won't let me down."

"Got it, Your Worship," Jacques responded in complete seriousness.

"And now go check on Bruno Foulon to make sure he doesn't snatch anything he shouldn't."

It had been a few days since I moved into the Fox Den. In that time, strangely, my relatives hadn't bothered me again. Still, I was expecting a visit from an infuriated François with a certain amount of interest. But it never came.

Valerie explained the situation in a letter. She wrote that her cousin wanted badly to go "deal with the arrogant bastard," even securing his older brother's support. But uncle very quickly cooled their ardor and redirected their energy elsewhere.

The issue was that, after the engagement of Prince Louis to the daughter of the northern konung was announced, a large embassy to Northland was organized in a short timeframe. The head of it was supposed to be Prince Louis himself.

As it turned out, the grand embassy also contained both of Heinrich de Gramont's sons. My uncle must have decided to throw in his lot with the king's youngest son regardless. And I couldn't blame him. Such predators would now begin squabbling over the elder prince that the de Gramonts had no business anywhere near the drama.

My uncle could try, of course, to attach his sons to Prince Heinrich, but that would have its finer points. The Blue Prince was involved in the war, and his primary support came from fighting men. Children of wealthy and influential aristocrats as well as bankers were the exception. They of course did not have to swing weapons. The prince seemed to understand perfectly well that a lot of conquest would require funding.

In recent times, thanks to Max's father's efforts, the de Gramonts were far from the wealthiest family. And to top it all off, Max's cousins had never done any fighting. Their decorative swords would be unlikely to impress Prince Heinrich.

On top of that, I suspected that even if my uncle did command such large amounts, he would not have been likely to spend it on Prince Heinrich's military ventures.

So the Count de Gramont, for obvious reasons, decided to keep his bet on the king's younger son.

As an aside, I noticed that Valerie always tried to paint Prince Louis in a positive light when she mentioned him in her letters. She was charmed by his sharp wit and refined mannerisms. She praised his innovations in fashion and called him a patron of the arts, which had recently started to take root in the kingdom.

First of all, because of her suspicions, I thought my sister was trying to very discreetly push me toward the "green" side, but then I considered another curious theory — that she was simply in love with the prince.

I recalled lunch at the de Gramonts' and her pale face after our aunt announced the news of Prince Louis' upcoming marriage to the konung's daughter. Then I reread all Valerie's letters and considered it... What if my sudden support had broken the spell of her years in disgrace and she was now, unbeknownst to herself, sharing her innermost thoughts with her one remaining brother by making references to the prince's good deeds? Hm... Sounded a lot like nonsense. But the theory had legs.

Basically, I had to keep my nose to the wind with Valerie. I wouldn't be surprised to find out she had long ago fallen in with, for example, our aunt the duchess and all these letters to me were dictated by her. And why was I

suddenly bringing the Stone Lady into this? Secrets... Secrets and intrigue all around...

By the way, speaking of secrets... In the last few days, I thoroughly scanned the whole castle I had inherited from Max. As I thought, I was able to discover six ancient hiding spots. Five of them were already empty, but in the sixth I found ancient gold coins from an unknown government and a sack holding a handful of large gemstones.

As an aside, the final hiding spot only still contained anything because it was most likely made by a seer. And that painted a curious picture: one of the de Clairmonts' ancestors was a true mage. And a very secretive one at that. Otherwise, none of the gems or gold would have still been there. However, that could have had many explanations.

Hm... If this information was made public at court, the de Clairmonts could be in for some trouble. Particularly in light of the current persecution of true gifted.

Ah... Too bad I couldn't figure out the secret mechanism I discovered in the office. My heart could feel that it hid some very ancient secret.

A knock at the office door distracted me from my contemplation. "Come in," I permitted.

The door opened, and Bertrand came into the office. The old man had completed one important task, and here he was back. My valet gave a sad sigh and said:

"Monsieur, your grandfather Pascale Legrand has agreed to meet with you. He expects you tomorrow for dinner at his manor in the New Capital."

Chapter 15

THAT MORNING, I announced to Jacques that I had rethought riding on horseback, and that he should prepare a carriage for an evening ride.

Noticing a strange look in the veteran's eye, I asked,

"Is something the matter?"

"It's none of my concern, monsieur..." he replied and fell silent.

"Tell me," I sighed. "Don't draw it out..."

"It may come across as rude..." Jacques made one last attempt to get out of it.

"We're wasting time..." I said, pointedly taking out my pocket watch. "And since when have you been concerned about courtesy with me?"

Jacques frowned. Then, coughing into his fist, he finally worked up the courage.

"I understand this Adeline Beauchard, sister of your late mother... She is your blood aunt... And she is a member of the family, but she made an attempt on your life..."

"You suggesting we solve the problem of my aunt the quick and quiet way?" I snorted, running my right thumb across my throat evocatively.

"That isn't what I said," Jacques replied, but I could read approval for the idea in his eyes.

"Let's say we do," I nodded. "I won't argue it would be quick, but I have my doubts about the quiet part..."

"Are you saying you forgot how to move around without making noise?" Jacques gave a sidelong smirk.

"That isn't it," I waved it off. "The sudden death of Adeline Beauchard, daughter of a merchant of the golden guild would raise a lot of ruckus. Even if we made it all look like an accident, my grandfather would try to dig down to the truth. Pascal Legrand is the kind of person who finds it very important to be completely certain about things. Especially the reason for his daughter's sudden passing. He will surely hire the best investigators, including ones with a magic gift, and they will fairly quickly uncover many curious aspects."

"Hm... Vivienne Leroy," Jacques nodded, rubbing his chin in thought.

"And Betty Gilbert," I continued. "And those are just the ones we know about. Vivienne or Betty probably shared that information with more people. I for one told you and Bertrand as well as the Count de Gramont and Duchess du Bellay. Honestly, I didn't give them any names, but they know already that de Lamar was being paid to kill me."

Jacques croaked in annoyance and glanced at me. I could read a clear question in his eyes.

"Do you want to ask what made me do that?" I snorted. "It was all simple. Sometimes, I like to handle things the lawful way. Preferably, we can keep it all in the family. If I acted differently, investigators would very quickly come after me. I have clear motivation to get rid of my aunt."

"There are many ways of doing that which make it impossible to prove anything."

"Without a doubt," I agreed. "But in one way or another, the details of this nasty story would surely become a topic of societal discussion, and then my already dubious and contradictory reputation would be at an end. Now, I am just the bastard of a traitor, an enemy of the king, but a man executed as a noble. I partially repaid my father's sins with my service on the frontier and came back to the capital with a silver wing on my chest. But as soon as word started swirling around all the high houses that I was a suspect in the murder of my aunt, all my plans and wishes would come to a close. I'd be treated like a leper."

Jacques shook his head thoughtfully. "So, let's take the long route." I nodded. "Good point."

I went to the meeting with my "doting" grandfather in my own buggy. Bertrand rode next to Jacques, who was driving his new plaything with unhidden satisfaction. Before sitting in the buggy, I noticed a sour look on my valet's face. By all appearances, when he went to the Legrands' home to discuss my visit, he was told a pack of vile things about me. But he got the job done. Pascal Legrand had agreed to meet with me. He couldn't say no to an old friend. And that was what he was supposed to do.

I tried to get Bertrand talking, but the old man stubbornly kept silent or reluctantly let slip a few generic phrases. He clearly didn't want to upset me. Ah, pure soul! If only you knew who had gotten into your master's body...

When we left the gates, I could sense the still unknown people watching me, as was now normal. I had not taken any active countermeasures, and they stuck to mere observation. It wasn't yet time to meet their paymaster.

The Legrand manor was located in the Northern Quarter of the New Capital. It was popularly known as the Merchant Quarter, and it was no

wonder why.

"Woah!" I whistled as I got out of the carriage and saw a big huge three- story palace. This behemoth made my uncle's manor seem like a cramped little garden shed. And my tiny castle wasn't even worth mentioning. Most likely, maintenance for a home of this magnitude required a whole army of servants.

"Your grandfather is a merchant of the golden hundred," Bertrand came pointedly.

As an aside, no one had given me a concrete explanation of what this "golden hundred" even was. All I had been able to figure out was that it was a merchant guild of some kind, and membership in it could only be secured by meeting certain conditions. And one of them was possession of a massive fortune. I was still foggy on the particulars of what they actually did. But sooner or later, I would figure it out.

At the front entrance, we were greeted by a footman who told us with a stone-faced expression that I should proceed to the garden. And as an aside, I was also told to bring Bertrand. I traded glances with the old man. Excellent! All the better. The old man could keep me abreast of who was who. I told Jacques to stay with the buggy as Bertrand and I followed the footman.

While walking the length of the house, I felt someone boring into me with a gaze so persistent it sent shivers down my spine. As if I was being watched through a set of crosshairs. I then, not turning my head, glanced over at the

windows to see a woman's shadow on the second floor. I wouldn't be surprised to find out this was the way Adeline Beauchard had chosen to greet me.

If my aunt was now inside, this meeting would take place without her. Too bad... I wouldn't be able to provoke her in front of my grandfather. Oh well, I couldn't do too much at once. I wasn't expecting much from the visit. I had to test the waters first.

When we came around the corner of the building, I no longer sensed anyone watching me. Once around the palace, we made our way to an internal garden with a wide pond in the middle. On the banks of that pond, beneath the boughs of an old willow there was a hidden gazebo. And inside of it, two people were seated at a round table.

"That is your grandfather and blood aunt Isabelle Legrand," Bertrand informed me in a soft voice, recalling my "amnesia."

Hm... So, here he was. The very Pascal Legrand Bertrand had told me so much about. Despite his sixty-two years, he still looked young. Tough, wiry. As an aside, Max bore no resemblance to his grandfather or aunt. The father and daughter both shared an aquiline profile, making them look like a pair of hawks ready to swoop down on an unsuspecting bunny rabbit. And that was doubtlessly just how they thought of me.

These were the two people who, despite its name, called the shots at the Legrand and Sons trading house. Pascal's two sons then, in Bertrand's words, were wimps, chumps, and effete to boot. Like all the Legrands, they

also played a part in their father's trading empire, but they were never trusted with any level of responsibility.

Essentially, over the last few years, most of the family business' administration had been overtaken by Isabelle Legrand. And everyone was perfectly fine with that.

Isabelle was cruel and uncompromising. Everyone in the family was scared of her except Pascal, of course. But nobody saw her as a threat to lay claim to the trading house's inheritance. By local standards, at age thirty-six, she was an old maid. No husband, no children to call her own. And seemingly none on the way. Her life was her father's business. Her motto was, "The Legrand business must endure and multiply." That was why she reacted so furiously to the old Max writing her to request money.

While Bertrand and I walked over, the pair were closely watching my every move and discussing something too softly to hear. I'd have bet my hand, based on the way their lips were curled into smirks of scorn, that I was the topic of discussion.

Walking up a couple of steps, we made it into the wide gazebo, stopping opposite the table Max's relatives were seated at.

"I am delighted to greet you, esteemed grandfather and beloved aunt," I came calmly and bowed with respect.

"Ah, my grandson is here!" Pascale Legrand chuckled angrily, winking at his daughter who had no reaction to my greeting whatsoever. "Let me guess... You're here to beg for money again?"

Turning his head toward his daughter, he gave a malicious laugh and asked:

"Isa, what do you say? I'd bet my house this insolent little fellow is here to beg for his share of the inheritance again."

Isabelle wanted to respond, but I jumped in ahead.

"Dear aunt, I insist you bet a large amount," I came with a calm smile. "I promise you'll win."

A dead silence fell over the gazebo. Both Legrands looked at me perplexed, as if seeing me for the first time.

"As for my visit," I continued. "I have indeed come to ask a favor."

Pascal Legrand's eyes lit up in triumph while the previously curious looking Isabelle shifted to an expression of slight scorn.

"And what do you want?" Pascal laughed.

"I would like permission to visit the Legrand family crypt to do something I should have done a long time ago," I replied, and took a small scroll inscribed with a prayer for the departed Bertrand had acquired for me in the temple of the Most Luminous Mother, and which by local custom was left next to the resting place of a late relative. "I would like permission to visit my mother's crypt."

The more I said, the more my grandfather and aunt's faces went long in surprise. But slowly, the looks on their faces started to change. And whereas Isabelle's eyes again flickered with interest, Pascal Legrand now looked darker than a storm cloud.

"You think you can just show up here for the first time in twenty years and announce you wish to visit Anna's grave as a way of moving me to pity?" Pascal asked in an icy tone. "You think I'm stupid enough not to recognize your pathetic attempt at manipulation? Remember this! You have never been part of this family and you never will be!"

I snorted to myself. What an odd little hang-up to still blame Max for Anna's death. How could a newborn be to blame for anything? Or was there something I didn't know?

Actually, it was high time I set him straight.

"If I am not a member of the Legrand family, then why are you conducting negotiations in my name with Thomas Gilbert about my engagement to his daughter?" I asked unflappably.

That made Isabelle Legrand shudder and stare at her father in bafflement. Pascal Legrand intended to continue pushing his speech, but suddenly choked and winced.

"Father?" Isabelle spoke up for the first time. Her voice was surprisingly rich and velvety.

Pascal breathed a heavy sigh, closed his eyes, and massaged the bridge of his nose.

"I knew that conversation would come back to bite me..." he muttered.

"Is it true?" Isabelle said in even greater surprise. "But then I don't understand a thing..."

"There's nothing for you to understand, daughter," Pascal Legrand threw out and quickly got himself back together. "And yes, it is true. But only by half... Thomas Gilbert came to me with the idea of marrying his Betty to this man."

He said, nodding at me.

"The Thomas Gilbert?" Isabelle asked. I suddenly seemed to see my aunt's eyes light up. She seemed to even be happy to hear the news. "The main supplier of wine to all the noble households in Vestonia?"

"Yes," Pascal winced as if he'd just bitten into a sour plum. "We're old acquaintances."

"Hm... First I'm hearing of it," Isabelle came with yet greater surprise.

"And you never should have," the old man snorted. "Our interests never intersected."

"Until recently." my aunt snorted back, nodding pointedly at me.

"No," Pascal threw out. "We still have no shared business with the Gilberts! Because I told Thomas that I have no relationship with Chevalier Renard, and he has none with the Legrand family!"

Silence fell after that. Isabelle never again tried to ask questions, but by the look on her face, I could tell that she was going to come back to the topic. I caught her looking at me pensively at times.

Bertrand was first to break the silence. He took a little step forward and came pleadingly:

"Pascal, I beg of you, allow him... He..."

I stopped him from finishing. Placing a hand on the old man's shoulder, I said softly:

"No, my friend, I can take care of myself."
I saw Pascal's face start to flood with red after that.

"Friend?" he said angrily through clenched teeth. "How dare you, little bastard, call him a friend after everything you've put him through! Do you think I don't know how much humiliation you've subjected him to over the years?!"

The old man seemed about to spew all his frustrations out on me. His jaw muscles tensed in his temples, and his knuckles went white.

"Such is the fate of a slave, handed from master to master like an object," I came in an even tone, paying no attention to Legrand's flare up. "But now Bertrand is a free man and follows me of his own free will. And as a free man, he has given me permission to call him a friend."

Well, that was it. Guts or glory. Today's meeting went even better than expected. It was only too bad my other aunt wasn't there.

While Pascal Legrand sat with his mouth slightly open in puzzlement, digesting what I'd said, I took off my tricorn and gave a deep bow of respect.

"Messieurs, I see my visit has come to a close. I hope you give my request some consideration. It's been an honor."

Saying that, I turned on my heels and headed back toward my buggy. Bertrand followed me in silence. Out of the corner of my eye, I was watching his expression. He seemed to like the last thing I said.

When we were past the front entrance to the house, the door opened and, on the step, appeared a boy of thirteen or fourteen. Not particularly tall, gaunt, black hair and a distinctive hawkish profile.

"Wait!" he cried unexpectedly and came running my way.
"That is Alain Beauchard," Bertrand furtively told me. "Son of..." "Adeline Beauchard," I finished for him.

"Yes," the old man nodded. "As far as I know, this is your first meeting."

When the kid ran up to me, his cheeks had a faint glow, and a big smile danced on his lips.

"My mom told me you're aunty Anna's son!" he exclaimed. "Is that true? Oh!"

The kid stumbled and clapped his forehead, then gave a bow:

"Excuse my manners, chevalier. My name is Alain Beauchard. I am..."

"My cousin," I came back with a big smile, responding with a bow. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Alain. You can call me Max."

Hm... Surprising. This was the first of Max's relatives to greet him with a smile. Well, not exactly... There was also Yveline, but she had her own agenda.

The kid smiled even bigger, and suddenly his eye caught on the silver wing on my chest. His black brows shot up, and his lower jaw dropped.

"But... But... Is that a Silver Wing of Strix?" he asked in a shaky voice.

"Yes, good cousin," I nodded.

"But how did you get it?!" Alain asked in astonishment.

I chuckled.

"It was given to me by the Marquess de Crépon, mayor of Toulon."

"The city where Westerly Fort is located?" Alain asked enthusiastically. "Cousin, did you serve in the Shadow Patrol?"

"Indeed," I replied.

"Oh gods!" he exclaimed in delight. "My cousin is a hero! A cavalier of the Order of the Silver Wing of Strix! And I'm only finding out about him today!? Shame on me! Have you ever seen shadow beasts, cousin?"

I seemed to have crossed paths with a Shadow fan.

"I have even fought them," I nodded and, smiling, took the final wolf claw from my pocket. "Here, this is a gift for you to remember our first

meeting."

He accepted the claw as if it were some kind of relic. Alain was even slightly shivering with the feelings overflowing from him.

"You have my gratitude, cousin!" he came hotly. "I..."

But before he could finish, a woman's silhouette appeared in the doorway. My dear aunt... She looked nothing like her father or sister. I got the feeling she took after her mother.

"Alain!" she called her son with a slight agitation. "Time to come to the table!"

"Yes, of course!" Alain shouted.

Bidding me a warm farewell and thanking me again for the gift, the kid raised the claw over his head and ran off to his mother. As he ran, we locked eyes. Her black little eyes bore so much hate. She was also slightly afraid. After all, her son had just been standing next to her sworn enemy.

Removing my hat, I bowed and gave an ominous smile.

Chapter 16

I WAS STANDING NEXT to a dark heavy curtain that completely covered a window in the Watchmaker's office watching the man himself, who had no idea I was even there.

The Viscount de Tosny was sitting at his desk and pensively watching as the flame atop a candle, which was the only source of light in the room, danced around.

Two days after my visit to the Legrands, Gunnar, whose turn it was this week to go to the baths on Flower Street, saw a red pitcher on the Watchmaker's office windowsill. That was the signal the viscount and I had agreed upon. It meant I was being invited for a visit. And the Watchmaker didn't know exactly when I would be dropping by after he raised the signal. It could be the next night, or a week later.

"An uncommonly quiet evening," I came very softly, stepping out of the shadows into the dim sphere of light. "Excellent time for contemplation. Don't you find, viscount?"

The Watchmaker shuddered in surprise, then when he recognized me, breathed a sigh of relief.

"Monsieur," he said, wiping a forehead with his hand. "Things like that are going to turn me to a recluse one day."

"Or maybe you'll get used to it," I shrugged and sat down in a seat next to the desk. "So, you have my attention."

"I have good news," the viscount got straight to business and started hurriedly taking leather sacks from under the desk which gave a tell-tale clang when they landed on the wood surface. "I believe I have found a regular client."

"And is he trustworthy?" I asked.

"One can always be deceived in this line of work," he said with a shrug. "But I have had dealings with these people before, and we never had any trouble."

The viscount finished setting out a pile of sacks on the desk. I had a hard time not wincing. I was going to have to lug all that weight to the other side of town. Heh. The life of a smuggler...

"How much is here?" I asked.
"Including my percentage — one thousand two hundred silver crowns."

I had a hard time hiding my surprise. So Maître Jacob from the Amber Guild not only failed to give us a fair rate for the shadow wolf loot, he simply robbed us. And that was with me having given three small emerald hollowstones to the Watchmaker. They weren't even the most valuable kind of magic crystal.

I wondered how much the biggest whole brut from my collection might fetch. A crimson or lilac one, for instance. The only place to find out was in guilds I would not be allowed to enter.

Of course, I was not planning to go trading whole bruts. I needed the energy for myself. But to leave five or seven percent of the total mana in a crystal before I was done, then sell it? That was another matter. And that was not the limit. In the future, I could learn to produce that perfume and grow my income even more.

"The client was very happy with the high mana concentration in the crystals," the viscount told me.

I snorted softly. I would have to note that for later.

"He was very interested in the other kinds of bruts," the Watchmaker said, lowering his voice. "Naturally, their price will be much higher."

Uh, no... I was not planning to shine so bright. I was not going to give any crimson crystals to the viscount, much less lilac.

"I also have brown and amber," I replied and set a few small hollowstones on the desk.

"Any whole ones?" the Watchmaker asked with hope in his voice. "Alas..." I shook my head.

"Too bad..." the viscount said in disappointment and added in a livelier tone: "But they will also buy the other kind happily."

Quickly recounting the variously colored hollowstones, he announced: "Just seven of them, is that right?"
"Yes," I nodded.

Opening a small box, the Watchmaker carefully placed all the crystals into it and came with a satisfied smile:

"I believe within the next week, I will let you know when we can meet again."

"That is not all," I said, noticing that the viscount was starting to stand up.

"You have my undivided attention, chevalier," he said, placing his long arms on the desk.

"I need a consultation from you as an antiquities expert," I said, setting out in front of him several gold coins I had found in the castle hiding spot. I decided to hold onto the valuable stones for now. "What can you tell me about these specimens?"

I saw the viscount's eyes light up while his long fingers took on a life of their own.

"Oh gods!" he gasped, staring delightedly at the round gold pieces of various sizes depicting crests and the profiles of unknown rulers. "How did you get these?! Ghm... Well, I suppose... Why am I asking such stupid questions...?"

"Have you seen ones like them before?" I asked.

"These are coins of the forgotten kingdoms," the viscount replied. "And some of them are in excellent condition. As if they were minted just

yesterday."

The viscount changed completely. He seemed to blossom and look younger. Hm... A real fanatic.

"Just think about it, monsieur!" he continued with excitement. "The governments that minted these coins were swallowed by the Shadow long ago. They're forgotten now... But these coins seem like they were sent down from bygone times... They are valuable not only for the material they're made of, but as historical artifacts. By the way, not all members of the royal and princely houses were swallowed up by the Shadow along with their governments and countries. Like look at this gold mark."

The viscount slid me a medium sized gold coin.

"These coins were minted in the Duchy of Clèves," he said, poking a pinky nail into the crest on the back. "The House of Clèves is still in existence. Their holdings are in the west of Astland, on the border of the Shadow. Or this... Look... This one isn't in such great condition, but a connoisseur is sure to recognize it. Remind you of anyone?"

The viscount slid me a small gold coin. Then, opening the lower drawer, took out a small magnifying glass and extended my way.

"Here, eat your heart out," he came with a sly smile.

I went closer and, taking the magnifying glass, hunched over the coin. I wondered what he meant. Just a coin. The letters were almost Vestonian, but a bit different. The crest... Wait. The crest! But of course!

"I see you've spotted it," he chuckled.

I silently took the medallion from my bosom which had been the reason I first met the viscount and set it next to the coin. The crests on both were identical. A triangular shield with two foxes standing on hind legs — shield-bearers on the sides and a toothed crown over the shield. Honestly, the coin was badly worn, as was the motto. I was not surprised I didn't notice it. And there were no other coins with the same crest in the hiding spot.

"This is a golden thaler minted by the royal house de Lannois," the Watchmaker came. "The last member of that house, King Philippe the Fifth, was swallowed by the Shadow along with his entire government."

After the night's rendezvous with the Watchmaker, I collapsed into bed at home, but couldn't get to sleep. I couldn't shake a feeling I got from the conversation with the viscount. I had to test a theory.

After breakfast, I called Jacques and Bertrand. Ordering them to close the curtains and lock the door to the office, I announced I was trying again to

bring to life the magic mechanism hidden behind a bas-relief in the wall. But first, I gave them a quick recap of my talk with the viscount.

"What are you thinking?" Jacques asked, observing me closely.

"You see..." I rubbed the bridge of my nose and took the fox medallion from my bosom. "I cannot say for certain exactly how, but my instinct is telling me this artifact is connected with this manor and its former occupants. The Duchess de Clairmont must have had a reason to want to pay the Watchmaker one and a half thousand golden imperials for it."

"The rich have their quirks," Jacques shrugged. "I was once told the story of a count who bought a small dessert spoon for seven hundred silver crowns. All because the stem had a print of the crest of some ancient house that was wiped out by the falling of the Shadow."

Bertrand didn't look surprised. Stories like that must not have been new to him. He said:

"Aristocratic families have a custom of keeping historical artifacts from the forgotten lands in their treasure chambers. They are items of status, which keep the traces of the bygone greatness of the now extinct houses. Acquiring them is something of an investment. The prices for such artifacts only grow with every passing year."

"Here, here," Jacques supported.

Hm... And here by the way was exactly why I decided not to sell the gold coins to the viscount. I could hold onto them. Maybe they'd come in handy. I could always sell them if needed.

Rubbing my chin, I said:

"That's true... But the fox medallion is not a mere dessert spoon or silver crest. First of all, it is a functioning magic artifact... That is why I want to test something. I hope this time it will work."

After saying that, I switched to true vision and looked at the ancient mechanism inside the bas-relief covering nearly the whole wall of my office. The fox on it seemed to be laughing at me.

I let my aura share some energy with the medallion and stepped forward, raising the glowing magic object toward the mechanism. But nothing happened...

"I sense the solution is at hand, but something is missing..." I came thoughtfully and drew more mana from my reservoir.

Directing a constant beam of energy into the medallion, I forced it to shine even brighter. I touched the artifact to the intricately carved leaves. And waited.

For the first few seconds, nothing happened. Like a dry sponge, the medallion absorbed all the energy dumped into it. And then the thing I was hoping for came to pass... The artifact vibrated in my hands, and along the contour of the stem carved into the wall, just above where the medallion touched the bas relief, a little stripe lit up with magic glow.

It wasn't hard to guess what to do next. I turned the medallion sideways and pushed it into the glowing crack like a coin into a vending machine.

I watched the whole process in true vision. At that moment, a little ball of energy separated away from the medallion and, slipping into the mechanism, raced down the narrow channels inside the walls, then dove down beneath the earth.

After a few heartbeats, I felt the floor give a slight vibration.

"Look!" I pointed at the middle of the room where a thick rug was starting to fold in on itself like an accordion.

Jacques and Bertrand hurriedly pulled the rug aside with eyes wide. Beneath it, a stone hatch had already opened up a quarter of the way.

When the tile that seemed like an unliftable mass of stone almost silently slid into the wall, the three of us hunched over the now open hole inside of which we could see the shadows of stone steps.

I felt a shiver run down my spine. I must have just found something very ancient.

"You know anything about this?" I asked Bertrand, nodding at the hatch.

"No-ope," the old man replied with a slightly rasping voice. He was clearly in shock.

Jacques wasn't far behind. Eyes burning, hands aflutter.
"I see," I snorted. "Wait here. Only come down if you hear my command." Jacques and Bertrand both nodded but came to their senses.
"What if there are traps down there?"
"Monsieur, I beg you — don't take this risk!"
I raised a hand and they both fell silent.

"Drop the panic! And remember — only after my command." With that, I went down.

Interlude 5

Herouxville
The Garden of the Royal Palace

"DO WE KNOW his identity yet?" Kiko was sitting on the edge of a fountain and running the fingers of his right hand over the smooth water's surface.

"No," the man standing next to him replied shortly. Folding wiry arms over his chest, he leaned back on the pedestal of a statue of some ancient hero and, eyes half shut, stared out into the distance. His prominent jawbone marked with scars held a bored frown.

Kiko cast an inquisitive gaze at the man.

Marcel de Gaben, head of the King's Shadows, just shrugged in silence when he saw the look.

Out of all of Carl III's subjects, these two were the most loyal. The Jester and the Shadow. Sometimes, they worked together, other times they were at odds. They each had their own ways of conducting business. They were not friends. In fact, they hated each other, but they were brought together by a

shared life goal — to be of service to their leader. And that was the reason they had tolerated one another all these years. Both understood that each of their existences served the good of the king.

"Not a single clue?" the jester asked. "I received reports that not all the attackers were killed."

"You probably also saw that all the attackers had poison crystals in their cheeks," Marcel responded. "While the oafs from the city guard dragged them to the torture chamber, they all died."

"What about Captain de Scalon?" the jester asked and laughed inside. He couldn't deny himself the pleasure of again seeing the look of dismay on de Gaben's face when the princess' chief bodyguard was mentioned.

"That goody two-shoes?" Marcel snorted with scorn. "Instead of quickly interrogating the prisoners, he left them to the city guard. Idiot... Then he said a nobleman shouldn't sully his honor by torturing prisoners."

"That's how we're different," Kiko shrugged.
"If the princess had a troop of my Shadows with her..." Marcel sighed.

"You know His Majesty surrounds the princess with the sons of his allies with good reason," Kiko said. "In the future, they and their families will be

a firm support for her."
"I even know who that idea came from," Marcel snorted pointedly.

"New times are coming," the jester sighed sadly. "Furthermore, the captain and his people upheld their duty and defended the princess."

"Times never change," Marcel shook his head. "Do not speak about what you do not understand. And yes... If they didn't have help from some mage, who wanted to remain anonymous, the crossbowmen would have stuck Her Highness and her esteemed bodyguards full of bolts. The princess said so herself."

Quickly touching his chin, Marcel said:

"As for clues... It was the Atalians. I think they saw an opportunity. And decided to take it. Even though they clearly came to the capital to force His Majesty to rush the attack."

"You think Alfonso has something up his sleeve?"

"More likely the supreme magister of the Scarlets," Marcel de Gaben came thoughtfully. "Alfonso V is a dodderer of weak character. Atalia has been ruled by fanatics clad in scarlet robes for a long time."

Marcel said something else, but Kiko was no longer listening. The king had enough military advisors without him. The jester watched Marcel's jaw muscles dance. Few were aware that the King's Shadow was true gifted. De Gaben passionately hated all priests and their orders.

"I will find a way to tell His Majesty your conclusions," Kiko said when Marcel fell silent. Unlike the jester, who Carl III considered a friend (as much as possible), the king had recently been treating Marcel as nothing more than another bodyguard. "By the way... An embassy will make for the north soon. Who would you suggest as a dueler? His Majesty needs a sure thing."

"Lord Gray, I believe would be up to the task," Marcel replied without a second thought.

"Not feeling like shaking the dust off yourself?" Kiko smiled. "After all, His Majesty once noticed you for that particular quality. I believe it was on the border of Astland. You defeated the Count de Malé at a tournament, one of the King of Astland's top strykers. Now would be a good chance to get His Majesty's attention again."

"Lord Gray can handle it," Marcel repeated in a dispassionate tone, looking coldly at the jester.

Kiko had a hard time not shivering under his gaze. Marcel looked unblinking like a predator getting ready to pounce. The jester knew that despite the fact they were essentially working together, one word from the

king and His Shadow would be all too happy to end the life of his "vile hunchback."

Kiko knew Marcel suspected something and had long been sniffing around. It all started on the day when word reached the capital that Prince Bastien and his wife had perished.

Marcel sent ten of his Shadows out with the king's youngest son. The best of the best. A pathetic group of pirates shouldn't have been able to kill them. For the record, Marcel fell into disfavor with the king after Prince Bastien's passing. Carl III never forgave and never would forgive his main bodyguard for the death of his beloved son.

"And one last question," Kiko said, suppressing his anxiety. "Ghm... The princess' mystery defender... Her Highness has been asking the king about him every day. There are people looking for him, but I'd like your opinion."

"He is a mage," Marcel replied. "Although I am inclined to believe a true one."

"Why?"

"Because we know about all the shadow gifted," Marcel replied. "Without instructors from the guild, it's nearly impossible to give one's self the gift. He'd have died in initiation. But a true mage could have received instruction from family."

"Hm... A true mage," Kiko whispered thoughtfully and again ran a hand over the water's surface.

Chapter 17

I WENT DOWN SLOWLY, carefully scanning everything around. Which had already borne fruit. In the wall, on the level of the third step, I found the first magic mechanism. I had seen something distantly similar when I opened the ancient hiding spot in the house of Paul Lepetit's gambling operation.

It was a magic trap of some kind. But this one was deactivated. When I opened the secret hatch with the medallion, I must have activated some kind of friend-foe system. And now, I was seemingly being perceived by the magic system as a "friend."

I detected a second deactivated magic trap at the end of a stair to the second to last step. Ahem... Whoever built all this was hard to call a hospitable host.

I made it down the stairs and, continuing to scan everything around, took a short step forward and froze. What I saw sent an even fiercer shiver down my spine.

Stone shelves with all kinds of dishware and items lining the walls. A dozen chests of various sizes, several small rotund barrels in the far corner — I must have happened upon the old owners' treasure chamber. The picture was completed by a wide stone shield with a fox's face carved into it.

I took a close look again, breathed a sigh of relief and called out softly: "Jacques! Bertrand! You can come down!"

A minute later, my friends were standing next to me with mouths agape, each holding a candelabra. The light of the ten candles cast our shadows on the wall and their heads touched the powerful joists holding up the stone ceiling. Scanning each joist, I concluded they were made of a material from the shadow. That was even more proof that the creator of this castle had ample financial capabilities.

Staring at what was before them, Jacques and Bertrand kept making strange gestures in front of themselves.

"I've heard of vaults like this," Jacques came finally in a rasping voice. "They're full of traps of all kinds."

"Yes," I nodded. "And so is this one. The stairwell for instance has two."

Bertrand and Jacques both shuddered and looked with fear at the stairs, trying to make out the invisible traps they'd just walked past.

"The walls have several curious examples. And right beneath us I see a deep pit with sharp spikes at the bottom," I added, causing Bertrand to gasp and Jacques to curse out in anger.

"Don't fret," I said calmly. "The traps will not harm us. Because we used the medallion to get in here. Which means the magic of this vault perceives us as its rightful owners."

I heard two sighs of relief.
"How much is down here?" Jacques asked, stunned and looking around.

"That remains to be seen," I nodded. "Bring more candles. I want to know the size of my inheritance."

A few hours later, I was sitting upstairs in my office, rereading the list of contents of the vault in the light of day. We had composed it quickly to avoid attracting attention from the other castle residents with a long absence. Later, Bertrand could spend a few days composing an exhaustive inventory of the treasures.

The medallion was again hanging around my neck. The hatch was shut, and the rug back in place. Were a member of service staff to enter my office now, they'd never have guessed that beneath us was an ancient vault packed full of magic traps.

Pulling away from the reading, I glanced at the bas-relief on the wall and responded to the fox's sly grin. It turned out the point of the picture was to be something of a clue with a false bottom.

While Jacques and Bertrand kept busy looking over everything on the shelves, I walked along the wall, discovering two doors camouflaged as masonry leading into underground passages.

They were simple to open. There were levers disguised as torch holders. Both underground passages led to the surface with exits into the eastern and western parts of the garden.

Yes, I discovered a few deadly surprises in the narrow tunnels waiting to take out anyone pursuing the castle's owners, but nothing was too complex.

That was when I remembered the clever look on the carved fox's face. In the picture, he was leading his family down a secret, third tunnel. Closely scanning and probing every rock on the wall, I finally found what I was looking for. The third passage. I pushed the stone that served as a button, activated the mechanism, and part of the wall slowly crept to the right.

While Jacques and Bertrand looked on in amazement, I refused to take a candelabra because I didn't need it and walked down the tunnel. It led deep underground and ended in a dead end. But there, beneath one of the flat stones paving the tunnel floor, I managed to glimpse a magic mechanism. From it, thick tendrils stretched deep into the earth, blocking the last twenty paces of the tunnel like the bars of a cage. If any pursuers figured out the riddle of the bas-relief, this track would put an end to their plans.

I thought back and shivered... The fox on the bas-relief just had such a sly and bloodthirsty smirk.

But that was not all... I found another tunnel, number four. And whereas the previous three doors had standard mechanical locks, the way into the last was magic and wouldn't open without the medallion.

The final underground passage I discovered led first into a small room, then snaked off to the north. I decided to study it the next time.

I took another look at the fox, shook my head, and went back to reading.

So, after a quick survey of the vault's contents, I was now the proud owner of four barrels packed full of silver crowns and thalers of an old minting, as well as another smaller barrel of golden imperials, also of old minting.

Beyond the old Vestonian coins, my assistants discovered a silver chest containing gold and silver coins from the forgotten kingdoms arranged into neat stacks.

And on the stone shelves was a wide variety of dishware made of glass, porcelain, silver and gold covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs. The boxes and chests made of shadow materials contained gemstones, multi- colored pearls, rings, earrings, bracelets, pendants and all kinds of other goodies. Almost every item was stamped with a crest.

And for an appetizer, so to speak, in a dark niche Jacques happened to find a shelf of dark bottles of various shapes. I spotted a very faint magic glow in almost all of them. My wine collection, which cousin François was so kind to gift to me, was today growing by a few dozen particularly valuable varieties.

Beyond jewelry, money, and dishware, on a broad marble table under a pile of dust covered by gray cobwebs, I found a couple sheets of paper with writing in magic ink. Apparently, this was once either a secret ledger, or the personal diary of the former occupant. The language written on them was unfamiliar both to me and my assistants.

On the table, I also discovered a scrap of a very primitive map rendered in a strange magic ink on the hide of what had clearly once been a shadow beast. Labels under the big fat dots were written in the very same unknown language. I would have to look deeper into this discovery.

I set the scroll aside and looked thoughtfully out the window. In the garden, Marc stood droning out something to a gardener in a wide-brimmed straw hat.

I would have to talk to my butler today. He most likely was not aware of the secret basement, but perhaps he could tell me more about the people who constructed this castle.

That evening, I dined alone. Jacques went off to meet up with some old war buddies. Candidates for my personal guard team.

Now, with a basement full of gold and silver, I could afford to push my timeline ahead slightly. Everything down there would be easy to sell through the Watchmaker. Yes, there were a lot of flashy items, but they weren't as risky to sell as bruts.

And speaking of bruts... Down in the basement, specifically in a small room hidden behind a fourth door, in a long slot in the wall I discovered an energy reservoir feeding the whole system of traps and mechanisms. It was a large lilac brut bolted into the wall with four special brackets and its mana levels were at rock bottom.

I replaced the nearly empty crystal with another. Not quite as large but bursting with mana.

I was distracted from my thoughts about the discovery by a footman walking through the doors holding a tray. The butler, a marble statue frozen against the wall as ever, watched closely as his master was served.

"By the way, Marc," I addressed the butler and looked around at the dining room. "I've been meaning to commend you for how well you look after the castle. I see a few traces of fresh paint. I was thinking someone should get to that."

"You have my gratitude, Your Worship," the butler tilted his head. "It is the duty of every servant to keep order in the house of their master."

"And yet," I came. "After dinner, I will instruct Bertrand to pay you out a five crown bonus for a job well done. On top of that, I want you to draw up a list of servants I could also reward with, let's say, a silver crown. Let's say three... Hm... No... How about five people? Bring them before me. I want to pay their bonuses myself."

"You are very generous, monsieur," the butler bowed.

And whereas not a single muscle twitched on Marc's face, the pair of footmen standing at the wall were clearly very happy.

"I intend to give regular bonuses to all top performers," I added some fuel to the fire, watching out of the corner of my eye as the footmen blushed more and more with excitement.

"As you wish, Your Worship," the butler came, casting a sidelong icy gaze at his subordinates. Which made them instantly go pale.

"And another thing," I came, pretending not to notice the body language. "Next week, I expect an attorney to visit, and I would like you to be there for our conversation. I will need a consultation from you."

"As you like, Your Worship," the butler looked slightly puzzled.

"By the way, I was meaning to ask," I came, instantly changing the topic. "How often do you have to 'patch holes' in this building? When was it built?"

"As far as I know, monsieur, the castle was built over two hundred years ago," Marc responded without hesitation. "And yes, at times we have to do a lot of renovation. But the majority of the work is interior decorating. The walls of this castle will stand for centuries and could even withstand a siege."

"Remind me, who built this castle again...?"
"His Grace Duke Robert de Clairmont," Marc replied.

"Most likely, the duke was very prudent and knew his way around defensive construction."

The butler again shrugged his shoulders and answered:

"The only thing I know is that Robert de Clairmont was a passionate collector of antiquities. His descendants I have had the honor of serving often made mention of his passion and marvelous collection. They believed

it to even contain several symbols of the authority of the kings and dukes of the forgotten lands."

"How interesting!" I feigned surprise and frowned straight away: "You said 'believed...' Do the descendants of Robert de Clairmont no longer possess his collection?"

"Alas, it was lost," Marc again shrugged his shoulders and, added with a slight conspiratorial smile: "They say the duke hid it somewhere very secret before the end of his days."

I saw smiles on the footmen' faces. There must have been a lot of tall tales about Robert de Clairmont's collection.

"Is it possible we are currently directly above the treasures?" I snorted, stomping on the floor.

"No, Your Worship," Marc shook his head and the footmen kept smiling. "There is nothing beneath the castle. It has been investigated by the duke's descendants on a number of occasions. He even invited mages in."

That information gave a lot of hope. But the duke must have been a real rogue. He didn't want anyone to get his collection. Did gold take his mind in his old age? However, that story was probably so overgrown with rumor that it wasn't possible to tell where the lie ended, and the truth began. Well, almost... Heh... I knew some things. When I decoded the records and figured out the map... I mentally rubbed my hands together. The de

Clairmonts would be surprised to find out who managed to open their secret vault. Anyhow, that was most likely exactly why the duchess was willing to pay so much for the medallion. She must have known or guessed that it was the key to unlocking the mystery of her ancestor's treasure.

"Very curious story," I smiled. "I'm no longer so bored, Marc."

The butler bowed with respect and, when I stood up from the table, I commanded the footmen to get to work.

Leaving the dining room, I headed to my office. I was unable to get seated properly in my chair before I heard a knock at the door.

"Come in," I permitted.
It was Jacques. I nodded at a chair, waited for him to sit down, and asked: "How'd it all go?"

"Not great," the veteran replied, sitting back in the chair. Jacques smelled of sour beer, roast meat, cheap tobacco, and bad feelings. The meeting with his old army buddies must not have gone to plan.

"How so?"

"Some died, some are still in the service and fighting the Atalians, others have families and no longer want to take up arms," Jacques replied.

"If your buddies don't work out, we can hire other people," I shrugged. "I just wanted to have dealings with people we could at least somewhat trust."

Jacques was tense and angry. I wondered what was wrong with him. It was as if he wanted to tell me something but couldn't make up his mind.

"Come on, talk to me," I encouraged him.

Jacques sighed and, glancing at me from beneath his black brows, said decisively:

"There is one person. You might say the two of us traversed the entirety of Mainland shoulder to shoulder. A good fighter, good head on his shoulders. Saved my life in battle many times. I trust him like I trust myself."

"Did he refuse?" I suggested when Jacques fell silent to gather his thoughts. "And you want me to talk to him personally?"

"It's much more complicated than that," Jacques muttered. "I wasn't able to talk to him at all because he is presently located in the dungeon of the Herouxville city hall."

"I see..." I came thoughtfully.

I had already heard of these dungeons several times. Popularly, they were known as the Herouxville Catacombs. One of the most infamous prisons in Vestonia.

Jacques shuddered and jerked forward.

"Luc Devers is no criminal! He is in prison for debts! It was usurers, may the abyss swallow them, that drove him to ruin."

I sat in silence and, drumming my fingers on the tabletop, looked at Jacques.

"Are you sure there isn't any other story behind his arrest?" I asked coldly. "Luc may be many things, but he is no criminal," Jacques replied sullenly. "Any family?"

"An orphan like myself," Jacques replied. "Never found a wife. I walked through the area asking around... I was told that Luc took out a loan. Opened a tavern in a crafters' quarter in the old city. He always liked cooking. On campaigns, everybody knew that if Luc was working his magic at the pot, nobody would have stomach troubles."

"And then?"

"They say he got off to a decent start. Customers praised his cookery from all around the quarter. All his tables were constantly booked. And he didn't water down the beer. Then there was a fire..."

"Not competitors, I hope?" I suggested.

"That was what Luc thought, too. He went over to the long-established tavern on the other end of the street. Got into a fight. They say he got really beat up. He got laid up with a fever for a few days. Some good people helped and left. Then the bailiffs came and took him to prison. And that's the whole story."

Jacques breathed a heavy sigh. His gray face made for a fearsome sight. It was like he'd aged several years.

"What kind of money are we talking about?"

"I don't know," the veteran shrugged. "I tried to go see him. But got shooed away. They said he'd had his day in court. For a thaler, the old man hinted that all more or less fit male inmates and work campers were sent into the Legion of the Wretched."

"And there, I assume, they don't last long?" I asked rhetorically.

Jacques breathed a muted sigh.

"Alright," I patted the table and Jacques glanced at me with hope. "Ready the buggy tomorrow early morning. I'm going to have to meet the provost of Herouxville."

Chapter 18

"OH, MONSIEUR, the capital city magistrate is a monster of many faces and many arms!" came Zacharias Beron with a smile. This was the same financier I was recommended by the Watchmaker and who showed up at my manor gates early that morning. "And like any monster, it has a ravenous appetite."

Despite his plumpness, the little redheaded man was very fidgety. He seemed to have a hard time sitting still. Need it be said that such behavior was not typical for locals?

"As far as I understand, this monster primarily feeds on gold and silver," I said with an understanding nod, which made Zacharias burst out laughing.

"Quite right, Your Worship. Quite right!"

Zacharias, it turned out, had tried to visit me once before but we missed each other. I checked out of the inn a day before his visit.

This morning, it nearly happened again, but Jacques and Gunnar got delayed with the buggy, which in the end I could only be glad about.

When I was finally given the carriage, I offered Zacharias a ride, during which we could discuss business. He agreed.

It was a very productive conversation. The financier agreed to try working for me. Then, a conversation about promissory notes and grain prices smoothly shifted to the purpose of my visit to the magistrate. I had nothing to hide, because I had already given a detailed recounting of everything Jacques told me about his buddy.

After hearing I wanted to meet the provost of Herouxville, Zacharias looked very surprised. Apparently, it was very difficult to get to the provost and, for our case, meeting with him would be pointless. Such business was normally dealt with by birds on lower perches but, as I found out, with no less appetite.

Zacharias advised us to go to an attorney who handled similar cases. Then nearly a week later, Beron again came to visit me while Jacques, Gunnar, and the attorney headed out to collect his war buddy from the Herouxville city dungeon.

Zacharias and I were sitting in my office drinking some brandy from my wine cellar when I shared with him my impressions of local bureaucrats.

After a brief pause, I asked:
"I assume you have news for me?"

"Indeed, monsieur," Beron nodded and, opening his big fat travel bag, took out a thin pile of papers. "This was all I could get my hands on. Promissory notes from Count Ferdinand de Gramont to the tune of just under fifty thousand silver crowns. Some of them were secured against the Barony of Valff."

I looked them over closely, scanning every sheet, then asked:

"What amounts? And are there other promissory notes like these on the market?"

"This includes my commission," Zacharias replied and set on the table a full report, then added: "As for question two... They are out there, but I suggest you wait before buying more and focus on other promissory notes from the list you gave me. Despite the fact I acted cautiously, it is possible the price of these promissory notes could rise. Speculators will quickly sniff out the fact that someone is now interested in Ferdinand de Gramont's papers."

"Makes sense," I nodded. "You know best. Here, please..."

I took from a desk drawer two hefty sacks of coins and handed them to Zacharias.

He hid the money in the travelling bag and got up. Squeezing my hand to leave, he came:

"I still can't see a reason to spend so much buying up 'dead' promissory notes. But as I said, it's none of my business."

I just gave a pointed smile and gently tugged on the signal cord. A moment later, the door to my office opened and a footman appeared in the hall.

"Show Monsieur Beron his way to the door," I ordered.

When the door closed behind my broker, I thought it time to take a drive around to capital city jewelers to sell a couple gemstones. I decided not to show off any of the collectibles just yet. Even the old minting Vestonian coins would draw too much attention. And that left gemstones.

Jacques and Gunnar came back that evening. Looking tired and gloomy.

"How'd it all go?" I asked, standing on the step of the servants' washhouse where Jacques' old war buddy, Lucas Devers was now lying on the wooden floor unconscious. I approved of placing him temporarily in the castle, in the wing where the footmen stayed.

The washroom stank unmistakably of festering wounds, blood, and shit.

"The prison guards had a hard time finding him," Jacques replied darkly, casting a sad look into the washhouse. "We had to do a bit of walking around in the catacombs. It was like hell..."

"I assume things are bad?" I asked, stepping over the doorway.

"Yes," Jacques replied in a rasping voice but, essentially, I didn't need to hear an answer.

When I hunched over his body, I had a hard time not wincing at the stench. Jacques had already started undressing him, throwing his now ragged clothing straight into the furnace. Next to the cot there already stood a wooden washtub filled with hot water.

Switching to true vision, I started giving Lucas' energy system a closer look. I found a few black spots in the rib area, back of the head, arms, and legs.

This guy was hard to kill. I was surprised he was still alive. Then I realized something... The huge number of black spots in his energy system made it hard to tell, but there was evidence to suggest Lucas was not quite human. I found a tiny magic reservoir, indicating that Jacques' old war buddy was

gifted. His gift was very faint, but that was what was keeping Lucas on the mortal plane.

I raised my head and glanced at Jacques. In his eyes, I saw hope and pleading. Seemingly, he was willing to do whatever it took to save his friend.

"Despite the grave wounds, your friend will live," I said.

Jacques gave a loud sigh and covered his eyes. A moment later, I saw a smile on his pale face.

"Luc was always tough," he snorted.
"I assume your friend was born in Vestonia." Jacques nodded.

"He was born in Atalia, but his family had to flee here on a ship many years ago... But by the time they made it to the port of Craat, he was already an orphan. His parents and little sister died at sea from a disease."

Jacques glanced at his friend, who was whispering disjointed nonsense, and asked:

"Can you heal him, monsieur?"

"That will depend on whether you answer my next question about your friend honestly," I came.

Jacques stared into my eyes. What I said must have been a surprise.

"Monsieur, I do not rightfully understand what you are talking about," he came. "But I give you my word to be honest with you."

"I believe I'm starting to guess what your friend's family was fleeing from," I came.

Jacques gave Lucas another glance, then looked at me foggily.

"Or rather who," I added and nodded at the injured man. "Dare I suggest that he was being pursued by the Scarlet Knights? Were you aware?"

"Priests?" Jacques asked in sincere surprise and his brows shot up. "Monsieur, you have my word that I never heard anything of the like from

Luc! You must be mistaken... What could the Scarlets want with a simple peasant? After all, they only go after..."

And Jacques shuddered. His jaw started hanging down and a flame lit in his eyes.

"I see you're starting to understand," I said. "Your friend is a true mage."

Interlude 6

Herouxville
The Manor of the Duke de Gondy

PRINCE LOUIS STOOD at a broad window overlooking the Duke de Gondy's manor garden and, pressing his overheated head against the cool glass, thoughtfully looked down at the happy, fussing groups of young nobles idling away on the edge of the miniature pond. Each of them had visible red bands on their elbows.

Louis sighed bitterly. They were supporters of his elder brother, Prince Philippe. Here... In the house of his beloved... Oh gods! How hard it was!

Louis, setting all etiquette aside, had come uninvited to the de Gondy manor. Furthermore, he waited for the duke himself not to be home for a one-on-one with the marchioness.

Blanca wasn't answering his letters. And Louis had written her a minimum of ten since the de Gondies came to the capital. Without a single response!

Prince Louis refused to believe Blanca de Gondy was intentionally ignoring all his letters. What was more, he wasn't even considering it. His Blanca

could only not be answering for one reason — she simply was not receiving his letters. This was a plain conspiracy against their love! That was what Prince Louis was really thinking. And burning with emotions overflowing his heart, he lost patience and hope with every passing day. Which was why he decided to come on his own.

He was brought into a big stone room and asked to wait, being told that the marchioness was not expecting His Highness to visit, and thus had to get herself together.

It took an unbelievably long time. There were also the people out the window making merry and laughing hideously... Louis was certain his Blanca had been forced to tolerate the presence of Philippe supporters in her home. The courtly and highly educated marchioness was most likely suffering greatly from the company of the stupid and simpleminded people. She simply could not disobey her father's will, or that of the king.

Recalling his father, Louis clenched his fists and squinted. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes. He would never forgive him... Never!

Finally, the far door flew open and in strode Blanca de Gondy, accompanied by her handmaid. Middling height, raven hair, and dark golden skin — just how he remembered her from their first meeting.

For a moment, Prince Louis took in the marchioness' beauty and found himself tongue-tied. But suddenly, he realized his love for the woman had only grown over the past year. He admired her refined chin, sensuous little mouth, thin waist and chestnut eyes — the most beautiful eyes in the world.

Blanca de Gondy immediately performed a perfect curtsy and, hurriedly waving a fan embroidered with little rainbow pearls, came:

"Your Highness, I beg forgiveness for keeping you waiting so long."

The familiar aroma of crimson orchids wafted through the room. It smelled just like the marchioness' letters.

"Ah, dear Blanca!" Prince Louis exclaimed and walked over to the marchioness. "You needn't apologize. I am the one that should be begging you forgiveness for the intrusion!"

Taking Blanca's hot little hand in his, he raised it to his lips and, closing his eyes for a brief moment, froze to savor the scent and warmth of her skin.

When he raised his head, he realized a slight rosy glow had taken hold on the marchioness' cheeks while a strange little light flickered in her chestnut eyes. The prince found an easy explanation for her state — Blanca was happy to see him.

After a quick wave, her handmaid bowed and went out the door. The prince and marchioness were left alone.

"My love!" Louis exclaimed shakily and took a step forward. "I do not understand... You haven't been responding to my letters..."

"Ah, my prince!" Blanca shuddered and looked toward the door warily. "Please! We must maintain caution!"

"But..."

"Have you forgotten that I am engaged to your older brother?" a sad, bitter look was frozen in the marchioness' eyes. "And you will be going north for your future wife..."

"Oh, gods!" Prince Louis clenched his fists. "I... I'd sooner die! I..."

"No, my prince," the marchioness shook her head, covering her little mouth in fear with a hand. "If something were to happen to you, the grief would kill me. I will throw myself from the cliffs into the raging sea just like the Copperhaired Hélène in Antoine de Thoriez' Moonlight Verses."

"Oh, gods," Louis whispered and, clutching the marchioness' hands, started smothering them in tender kisses. "What should we do, my dear?!"

"We must submit to fate," she sighed heavily, and led a hand over the prince's cheek. "But our love shall live in eternity!"

"Eternity!" Louis eyes were alight with a flame of passion.

"And here a year ago, I thought the Most Luminous Mother had answered my prayers..." she said sadly. Tears shimmered in the corners of her eyes. "But our parents decided otherwise... Although, let me tell the truth. My father was glad to find out about our love..."

"It was all my father!" the prince hissed angrily through his teeth. "That vile little dwarf put it into his head..."

With a fearful shudder, she touched her fingers to the prince's lips, then turned toward the door warily.

"I beg you, stop, my love..." she whispered. As if hypnotized, Louis looked at her sensuous little mouth, tiny white teeth and pink little tongue. "Even the walls here have ears. If His Majesty finds out the things you're saying..."

"I swear I'll be cautious, my love!" the prince whispered hotly and, no longer able to hold back, buried his face in her plump lips.

At first Blanca pulled back in surprise, but then she lurched forward and, eyes closed, kissed him back. It didn't last long. Just a few moments.

Placing her little hands on the prince's chest, she pushed away gently, with an air of reluctance.

Looking down and fully blushing, she covered her face with a fan and said choppily:

"My prince... I beg you..."
"My love..." Louis took another step forward.

"No!" Blanca exclaimed in fear. "We cannot... It isn't right... My father will be back soon... It's time for you to go..."

"I'm going!" the prince said, squeezing both of her hands in his. "But promise me that the flame of our love will never be extinguished!"

"But we are not destined to be together, my love..." "We'll see about that!" the prince exclaimed.

His cheeks filled crimson, while a fire of passion and determination set his eyes ablaze.

Somewhere outside, many voices cried out in delight. Blanca shuddered and looked out the window in fear.

"My prince! Please! You'd better go before they see you!"

"Yes, my love!" Louis nodded and pressed his lips to her hand one last time before hurrying outside.

In the doorway, he turned and said:
"Remember, my love! You will be mine one day!"

When the door slammed shut behind the prince, and the sound of his footsteps faded, Blanca de Gondy breathed a sigh of relief. Shaking her head, she took a little lace kerchief from her sleeve and wiped her lips in disgust.

A moment later, next to the fireplace a wall curtain slid to the side and a broad-shouldered young man in a dark blue kaftan with gold embroidery appeared. A self-satisfied acrid smile danced on his thin lips. His powerful chin was slightly upturned while a little light of superiority and disregard burned in his dark eyes.

"Blanca, don't you feel the least bit bad for my poor brother?" he chuckled. There were clear notes of derision in his commanding voice.

The marchioness sighed and walked over to a silver pitcher of wine on a tray on the table. Prince Heinrich, and that was who it was, jumped ahead a bit, taking the pitcher off the tray and pouring two glasses of the bright ruby liquid into the silver gemstone encrusted glasses.

After a little sip from her glass, the marchioness gave a smirk and answered:

"I seem to recall someone assuring me recently that he did not consider him a brother."

"You are mistaken, Blanca," Heinrich replied and, draining his glass in a single gulp, came over to the marchioness. His powerful muscular hand enwrapped her thin waist and pulled her dainty feminine body toward him. So hot, and so saturated with desire. "That was in the past. Now, my great- great grandmother's portrait hangs in the royal gallery. It is the spitting image of my younger brother, who adores you and who you care not a whit about."

"Your brother has a role to play in our plans," she came softly and, slightly raising a right brow, asked: "And by the way, are princes even capable of love?"

Heinrich and the marchioness met eyes. The prince felt Blanca's body shivering in his hands. Her dark eyes were slightly squinting. The tip of her little tongue licked her full lips and she chuckled. She was like a kitten obediently allowing herself to be picked up, but ready at any moment to put out her claws.

Heinrich laughed back. That really was Blanca de Gondy. Cruel, calculating, and volatile. But he had known her true face for many years. That of Vestonia's future queen. His queen.

Chapter 19

I WAS SITTING IN THE SHADE of a small tree growing on the banks of a small pond in my garden and watching my gardener, Benedict.

A wide-brimmed straw hat made the old man look like a mushroom. He was fully engaged in rooting around in the dirt a few paces from me, all the while unsuspecting of my presence. A few times, Benedict bent over with a faint wheeze and, wiping the back of his hand on his waist, looked side to side. Once or twice, he even looked at me. Or rather, in my direction.

My lips stretched out into a satisfied smile. It seemed to have worked...

A few days earlier, while meditating, I used another magic pearl and, after a quick scan of my energy system, saw that my reservoir had finally grown to an acceptable size. Since then, I'd started experimenting more boldly with the aura, and today the experiments bore fruit.

The only thing to darken my excellent mood that sun-soaked morning was the realization that continuing to increase the size of my reservoir would take even more magic pearls, which were harvested from the shells of mollusks I'd left far behind in a river south of the lands of the Lao tribe.

Alas, my reserves of the shiny little balls melted away like ice in the hot sun. And that meant soon I would have to make another trip to the Shadow.

Ahem... I thought I had more time.

Another expedition would require a lot of preparation... First of all, I did not want to run around nude swinging from tree to tree slathered in all kinds of toxic acid again. I needed to look for an artifactor who could make me a suit of armor and weapon. Ah... Easier said than done. And that was with all the materials on hand. The snakeskin and fangs were awaiting their hour.

Hm... I was reminded that the armor and weapons created by Ursula Hoog, which I had seen in her stall in Abbeville, were of incredible quality. At the very least, they were no worse than what I saw here in Herouxville. Perhaps even better.

Honestly though, if I went back to Ursula with an order like that, I would have to give up on trying to stay incognito.

Benedict, stumbling on some dirt, started softly singing a song, which distracted me from my thoughts. I didn't move a muscle, glancing at my hand. It was enshrouded in lilac energy as before. After that, I checked how much mana I had left in the lilac crystal my aura was using as an energy supply and nodded in satisfaction. So far, everything was going surprisingly well.

The idea of learning a stryker ability, and more specifically — how to become invisible without using any special armor — had attracted me for a long time. And now, after many unsuccessful experiments mixing various kinds of energy, I finally could boast of success.

However, I still had a lot of work ahead of me... For instance, to remain invisible, I had to remain perfectly still. Beyond that, complete invisibility didn't properly exist. It was more like a kind of camouflage that did a decent job in the shade but for some reason disappeared in full sunlight. Shadow magic didn't seem to appreciate direct exposure to the sun of this world. But I was stubbornly pushing ahead with my experiments. The first steps had been taken, and I was not planning to stop yet.

Bit by bit, my thoughts shifted from magic to the events of the last few days. Lucas Devers, Jacques' old war buddy, had been in my castle for three days. Marc had given him a room in the servant wing.

The next morning, after Jacques and I had a talk, I sent for a healer, who cleaned and bandaged Devers' wounds while also selling me a few phials of red hollowstone dust infusion. The mana concentration in the potion was vanishingly small, but now nobody would have any doubts that Lucas had gone on the mend after a visit from a healer. Still, if that really were all he got, the potion the healer sold me would have done precious little against the dark spots in Lucas' energy system. It more likely would have just prolonged his suffering. As an aside, Jacques paid for the healer and potion out of his own pocket.

Over three days of my treatments, Lucas' energy system gradually cleared. However, he was unconscious nearly the entire time, only occasionally gaining his senses before fainting again. Beyond Jacques, most of the care was performed by Gunnar and Kevin. They did not have to be told to try and help their instructor, who had gained their respect quite a lot over the last few months. Seemingly, my strange little community had slowly started to sprout curious processes of its own.

As an aside, speaking of curious processes... The day before last, I got a short letter from Isabelle Legrand, elder sister of Max's mother. It told me that I had permission to visit the Legrand family crypt the following week. I wasn't totally sure why next week instead of, for instance, the next day but even that was progress.

As an aside, Max's relatives had practically buried me in correspondence since I'd moved back to the capital. Other than letters from Valerie giving brief retellings of the situation in the de Gramont home, I got a few letters from Yveline inquiring about my health and reminding me of the upcoming reception at my aunt the duchess' manor.

My cousin also warned that this reception would be very well attended, and among the crowd would be my future wife and her brother, who I simply had to make an exceedingly good impression on. And most importantly, the central figure of this whole high-society event would be Prince Louis.

Uncle Heinrich also reached out with one letter. In his typical manner, he told me that, despite my father's crimes against the crown and my tarnished reputation, I should have felt very honored to have been invited to the duchess' reception and I simply could not embarrass myself in front of society.

And the final letter from the de Gramonts, which I couldn't help but smile while reading, was a quick note from François angrily demanding that I return his wine.

"Monsieur, despite the fact that you refused the flowers your aunt was insisting upon, I must admit — I like your choice more!" declared Jean- Claude Sylvain, younger son of Robert Sylvain, one of Herouxville's top tailors while peeking over my shoulder at the reflection in a mirror.

Jean-Claude was the man I'd put in charge of my new outfit, which was being fully bankrolled by my aunty the duchess. His father didn't have time for me. Capital-city nobles from exalted houses had flooded him with orders. Thankfully, Robert had four sons who mopped up the minor work from lesser chevaliers such as myself.

As for me... I was happy it worked out this way. I had an easier time getting through to the junior Sylvain. The thing was that in her letter to the tailor, the duchess was insistent that my outfit be embroidered with green flowers and shades.

The father relayed these wishes to his younger son and immediately put my existence out of his mind. And when Jean-Claude and I were left alone, I asked him to show me fabric samples without any red, blue, or green flowers.

The tailor's son spent a little while hesitating but then, like any creative person, quickly got carried away by the process and started sketching out my outfit on a sheet of paper.

In the end, after a few hours of arguing and discussing, we came to the joint conclusion that I would be very well suited by a black brocade jerkin with a

moderate amount of silver thread embroidery and a soft, form-fitting shape that got bigger at the bottom. With a few silver buttons on the top to close it. The tails of the jerkin on the bottom would slightly spread to the sides.

The huge number of buttons, bows, and lace at the flaps and armholes of the jerkin, which Jean-Claude wanted to sew on even more of, I rejected firmly much to his dismay.

The flaps of the lengthwise slits on the arms we decided to embroider with gray fabric with a silver sheen. The side seams of the narrow straight pants that came halfway down my calf Jean-Claude suggested with adorn with silver embroidery. I also refused all the lacy frills and bands. Not least of all because I was preparing to wear it with knee-high black leather boots rather than stockings and uncomfortable shoes with wide buckles and high heels that were so in fashion here.

The overall picture was completed by a black tricorn, a sash holding a basic sheath with a sword, and a dark cloak.

When I saw everything Jean-Claude was planning to do, I expressed doubts about the timeline. But the kid reassured me that his atelier had an army of seamstresses and embroiderers. And that the order would be completed on time.

Jean-Claude did not let me down. Today was the final measurement in my castle. At it, the kid spun around me deftly a few times, periodically tugging and straightening things with a light touch. In the end, what I saw in the

mirror was also to my liking. And a few hours later, I would stand before the Duchess du Bellay and her guests in that outfit in her palace.

"One last detail, monsieur," Bertrand, who had been helping Jean-Claude dress me all that time, poked the silver wing into my chest.

The tailor's youngest son looked over the unremarkable decoration unenthusiastically and just shrugged as if to say, "it's your money." The kid must not have known what he was looking at. And how should he have known about Shadow Patrol decorations?

Despite the fact Max's aunt had paid all the costs, I personally thrust a small purse into Jean-Claude's hands, making his face light up like a polished copper basin.

Before saying goodbye, I asked the kid to sew me another few day-to-day outfits in a similar style. Jean-Claude agreed with satisfaction. In the end, we arranged that as soon as he had the sketches ready as well as fabric samples and mock-ups, he would come pay my castle another visit.

We reached the Duchess du Bellay's palace early on my instructions. Jacques parked the buggy in the shade of a tall wide-branching tree near the main gates of the manor.

Bertrand wouldn't be joining me at the reception, so he gave me a brief rundown of every guest as they passed through the gates.

I was most of all interested in who Max had met before. To my surprise, as far as Bertrand knew, Max had never been introduced to most of the attendees. I of course was aware though that the old man couldn't have possibly known everything about Max's life. After all, he didn't drag his valet around with him everywhere. But still this was better than nothing.

Nearly every buggy entering the gates of the duchess' manor was adorned with a green armband. Only a few of the carriages and buggies were undecided. Overall, Max's aunt had gathered Prince Louis supporters as well as a few fence sitters who had similar sympathies.

As for greens, Bertrand spotted a few buggies with raucous groups of young nobles the former inhabitant of my body used to carouse with a year before. As an aside, none of them had written a single letter to Max in Abbeville. Pretty shoddy friends, if you ask me. Mere acquaintances who didn't give a crap about a bastard's fate.

"Monsieur," Bertrand came with a bow. "You should be going. Better to arrive a few minutes early than to be late and show disrespect to Her Grace."

"Alright," I nodded, and the buggy touched off.

A minute later, we made it to the wide visitor's patio, atop which stood the Duchess du Bellay between a pair of wide columns welcoming guests. Wearing a chic dress in shades of dark green, an emerald collier, earrings, rings and a diadem, the princess was fully suited up for Prince Louis' visit.

Finally, I reached the front of the line.
"My dear aunt, you are captivating!" I smiled and gave a respectful bow.

The duchess extended a little hand for a kiss, and it was cold as ice. Touching my lips to her smooth, jasmine-scented skin, I took a step back.

Looking me cantankerously from head to toe, Jeanne du Bellay rendered a verdict with a smirk:

"Cheeky boy... Oh well, this will make things more interesting."

She wanted to say more but didn't have time. Her attention was drawn by a dark green carriage pulled by a team of four pure white horses.

Jeanne du Bellay's lips stretched into a self-satisfied smile but at the last moment a shadow ran over her face. I looked where she was looking to see what had changed the duchess' mood.

Following the green carriage through the gate came another dark blue carriage drawn by a team of four raven horses. Based on the color and crest on the door, it wasn't hard to guess who else had come to make an appearance at the reception.

I glanced at my aunt's gloomy expression and realized that two princes didn't fit into the schedule for the day.

Following Prince Heinrich's buggy, loudly laughing and shouting in-jokes, a group of riders with blue armbands came galloping. Among them, I spotted a few old friends: Marquess Olivier de Hangest, the banker's son Gaspard Craonne, and of course Viscount André de Châtillon. De Châtillon's forehead was still marred with a dark spot he did his best to conceal beneath a hat. As an aside, the viscount today looked slightly forlorn and contemplative.

It must have been because he was not at the center of the happy company while the tall broad-shouldered blond with a satisfied smile dancing on his cruel face and a long slightly curved blade hanging on his belt. Based on his appearance, it was not merely for decoration like Max's cousins' blades.

A scan also revealed that the rider was also gifted. His lilac energy system was less developed than the Wild Duke's strykers', but the quality of the gift was more than made up for by the large number of bruts he was wearing under his clothes.

"Baron von Herwart," the duchess squeezed out through her teeth. I was clearly not the only person to notice the tall blond with the eyes of a killer.

"Who is he, aunty?" I asked softly.

"Prince Heinrich's best swordsman," the duchess enlightened me just as softly and added: "Beyond that, the baron is a combat mage. You have to keep an eye out around him and watch what you say."

So, the blond man's gift was not a secret.

"Thank you for the concern, aunty," I nodded. "I promise I will make the most positive impression on Baron von Herwart."

The duchess squinted and hit me with a suspicious look but, at the last moment, she was distracted by another carriage driving in through the gates. It was adorned with red bands and tassels.

As an aside, I was familiar with it, too. I had seen it on my entry to the city a few weeks prior. Like the last time, the same pretty woman with dark eyes was staring out of the carriage window at the palace and duchess' guests with intrigue.

Based on the Duchess du Bellay's eyes, the Duke of the South's visit was no surprise. Most likely, in contrast to Prince Heinrich, the Duke de Gondy and his daughter had been invited to this reception.

"You may go inside," Jeanne du Bellay came, not looking at me. "Your sisters and cousins are already there."

I gave a quick bow and walked toward the palace entrance, but then snuck behind a wide column and out of my aunt's view. I was curious and wanted to watch what happened.

Meanwhile, the princes had already gotten out of their carriages and were speaking with the Duke and Marchioness de Gondy. The elegant pale- skinned Prince Louis looked like a flower bending in the wind compared to the thorny crude vine of the tall broad-shouldered Heinrich, whose shock of tar-black hair looked like a horse's mane.

Even the untrained eye could see that both princes had sympathies for the elder brother's future wife. Each in their own way... Until Prince Louis looked into the Marchioness de Gondy's black eyes with adoration and excitement. Heinrich looked at her more as one looked at a trophy.

The marchioness meanwhile was artfully playing up to both the first and second prince like a kitten giving its prey one last chance to prove itself before its inevitable death.

The Duke de Gondy had a haughty smile and mocking flicker in his black eyes as he watched the two young princes' rivalry, trading periodic short but pointed looks with his daughter. The two of them were clearly up to something and the king's sons didn't seem to notice at all.

When all four stood opposite the Duchess du Bellay at almost the same time, Prince Heinrich started:

"Madame!" he exclaimed with a broad smile. "I know I've come uninvited. I hope you'll forgive the intrusion."

The duchess performed an elegant curtsey and, putting on an overjoyed smile, responded:

"Your Highness, you are always welcome in this house!"

While the upper aristocracy exchanged greetings, I felt someone staring at me. Turning around, I saw the sullen gaze of André de Châtillon standing below at Prince Heinrich's carriage. If the viscount could cast fire balls with his eyes, I'd have turned into ash on the spot.

I sent him a welcoming smile and nodded as I calmly proceeded inside the palace. The evening seemed full of promise for action. Hopefully, my aunt wouldn't get too mad at me if I had to spill a bit of blood.

Chapter 20

BEFORE ENTERING THE MAIN ROOM, a footman in ceremonial livery accepted my cloak while another led me to a wide door with the master of ceremonies standing at the step.

In a well-composed sonorous voice, he slowly and solemnly announced the arrival of the guests slowly streaming into the ballroom.

On the way in, I heard a nonstop howl, which turned out to be a medley of seemingly hundreds of human voices, musical instruments, the rustling of women's dresses and the clinking of wine glasses.

Regardless of the power of the master of ceremonies' voice, it was no match for the cling-clang monster within. Nobody noticed when my name was called except a few people nearest the door who ran indifferent looks over my person.

The ballroom was dominated by a seriously vivacious atmosphere. And of course! After all, news that Prince Louis had been joined at the reception by his brother Heinrich, as well as the Duke of the South and his daughter, had already leaked to the crowd. And the elites immediately began discussing that loudly. Meanwhile, a lot of people were constantly impatiently glancing at the front door, where Carl III's sons were supposedly going to appear any moment.

I looked around slowly. Ahem... Max's aunt must have had very deep pockets. Most likely, she had spent a whole fortune on candles alone. And she still had to feed us. The dishes could not be basic like the lentil, lardon, and red pepper sausage stew so beloved by local commoners.

Sculptures of half-naked ancient gods and bas reliefs depicting scenes of fairy-tale balls in blue and rose marble, elegantly painted ceilings, golden chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, a wide music balcony containing an orchestra, and the mirror-polished marble floor — the ballroom's opulence was blinding. Seemingly, the late Duke du Bellay had left a massive fortune to his wife after his untimely passing.

"Cousin, finally!" I turned my head toward the cheery familiar voice.

A pair of pretty girls came walking my way quickly, and one had on a big welcoming smile — Yveline de Gramont. Wearing a light green dress, elegant emerald jewelry, and a small diadem — I got the feeling Jeanne du Bellay looked just like that in her younger days. I even wanted to rub my eyes to cast off the illusion. The resemblance was simply striking.

Yveline made her friends simply fade away by comparison. They lacked her charisma and vivacious beauty, though they overcompensated for it with a huge amount of jewelry, ribbons, and bows. It was evident that Yveline was aware of her superiority over her friends and accepted it as a given. Something definitional like, "snow is white, and pitch is black."

At any rate, Yveline and her friends looked at me and my outfit with zero interest. They even looked down on me a bit. Were I the real Max, I'd

probably have felt acutely like a bum. But Max had long departed this world, and his body was now inhabited by the mind of a man who didn't care about scornful looks from girls who were utterly worthless without the wealth and high status of their families.

"My dear cousin," I bowed. "Looking charming as always."

"Dear cousin!" Yveline snorted happily, extending her hand for a kiss. "I am very happy to see you again!"

After that, she introduced me to her companions, who were viscountesses. They paid only distant attention to my greetings and compliments. They seemingly could not understand why Yveline dragged them over to meet me. The young women were occasionally shooting burning gazes into the crowd, searching it for the gentlemen they'd come there to get to know better.

My cousin, meanwhile, was no different. Hitting me with a distracted look, Yveline promised to come see me again later and flitted off with her friends for more fun.

"I see you decided to disregard our aunt's recommendations?"

I turned. Valerie was standing a few paces from me. In contrast to my cousin, her outfit was darker and with less gemstones. But at the same time, Max's blood sister looked stunning. I found myself unwittingly admiring her. She noticed, and a slight blush appeared on her cheeks.

"Good evening, sister," I bowed and kissed her warm hand. As ever, she wafted with an aroma of eastern spices. "You look stunning!"

Although my compliment was not the height of elegance and refinement, it came from the heart and, based on my sister's embarrassed and burning gaze, she could tell.

"As for the recommendations..." I smiled. "I took them into account." "But..." Valerie gave a wily laugh.

"But I didn't think it right to wear something not conforming to my taste," I replied and, patting my stomach, added: "Beyond that, I came to the conclusion that green makes me look fat."

Valerie, sticking out her upper lip amusingly to reveal little white teeth, laughed quietly.

"I was imagining how you would explain that to our aunt," she said, continuing to smile. "I do not envy you."

"You know," I said thoughtfully. "Something is telling me our fantastic aunty will be glad I chose this color by the end of the night."

"You have caught my interest," Valerie said, her thin little brows shooting upward. "What scheme have you cooked up now?"

"That's just it — none," I shrugged. "It's just from time to time, things happen that I have no ability to predict and so I have to play it by ear. For instance, today. Whoever would have thought Prince Heinrich would decide to visit tonight's reception?"

"I suggest you keep your distance from the prince and his circle," Valerie said softly. "At any moment, they might bring up de Lamar's death. Heinrich doesn't like having his toys taken from him."

"Thanks for the warning, sister," I nodded. "Our aunt has already received my assurances that I will make an indelible impression on his Highness' people."

Valerie's suspicious expression was in some way reminiscent of the way the duchess looked at me a few minutes earlier. Wanting to change the topic, I nodded at Max's older sisters, who were stuck to their older cousin like glue, and said:

"I see our sisters are wasting no time. After all, today they are likely going to draw the attention of the offspring of some high house. And who knows? Maybe this evening, the spark of a new love will be born."

Valerie was not fooled by my pathos-laden tone. Curling her lips a bit, she replied:

"Love? Ha! What do you mean love? We are children of a traitor. We are only tolerated here because we are the nieces of the lady of the house."

"Then we're very fortunate to have such a caring aunt." Valerie furrowed her brow.

"The Stone Lady cares only for increasing the greatness of our house. The Duchess du Bellay, daughter of the de Gramonts, uses her nieces and nephews to marshal her wordless automaton soldiers to shore up breaches in defenses or attack with their bodies. She doesn't care about our feelings and wishes. All of us will marry who we are told — you, me, and our cousins. It's the way things have always been. Our grandparents and great grandparents did the same. Or do you believe Jeanne du Bellay married the Duke du Bellay because she truly loved him? The only good thing about the duke was his massive fortune. But alas, we can't even dream of such a thing. We have been branded children of a traitor. We cannot possibly dream of such a bright future..."

Valerie would have said more, but her monologue was interrupted by the coming of princes along with the lady of the house, the Duke de Gondy, and his daughters.

As soon as the master of ceremonies announced at full yet insufficient volume that the highly placed guests had arrived, everyone in the room bowed in greeting. Valerie and I followed their example.

A minute later, on the duchess' signal, the orchestra on the music balcony again started playing their broken melody, while nobles quickly started flitting around the princes and de Gondy, hurrying to greet the king's sons and inform him of their esteem.

Watching all the fuss, out of the corner of my eye, I glanced at Valerie, who was breathing agitatedly and watching Prince Louis' every move.

I suddenly wondered whether she considered how things might have unfolded had the king's uncle, the Duke de Harcourt, not lost the struggle for the throne. Because Max's father was one of his closest friends and cohorts. One could only imagine the future Ferdinand de Gramont's children would have had in store then. Valerie's hands and heart would now be sought after by Vestonia's most elite and wealthy gentlemen. And why just Vestonia's...? All Mainland's... She might have even married into the royal house...

The farther Prince Louis went into the ballroom as a large number of ladies looked on coquettishly with promising smiles, the more goosebumps covered Valerie's neck and the uncovered part of her back as if there had been a sudden gust of icy wind. Blush appeared on her cheeks, while a fleeting sparkle flickered in her eye. The Viscountess de Gramont was squeezing her fan so hard her thin little fingers went chalk white.

She was probably imagining very hard. But couldn't conjure the image. I wouldn't have been surprised to learn that she sided entirely with the conspirators in her deepest thoughts. And the only thing that bothered and tormented her was the fact her father was too weak to prevail.

The princes were being trailed by a merry company of nobles who had arrived with Heinrich. The duchess' guests looked on them with caution, some even outright hostility. Honestly though, that was more done quietly or at their backs in case, gods forbid, the fearsome broad-shouldered blond von Herwart might notice.

"What are your thoughts on the baron?" I asked Valerie in half voice.

The viscountess gave a slight shiver in surprise and, opening her fan, hid her lips.

"Don't even think about messing with him, brother," she replied drily. "These aren't the sons of some western counts like the ones you playfully slung mud at. They aren't even de Lamar. Friedrich von Herwart is gifted. He is one of Vestonia's most powerful combat mages."

I snorted to myself. Rumors of the might and power of the man we were talking about were, to my eye, very exaggerated. Up close, I was able to scan him in greater detail. I was forming the impression that von Herwart was sophomoric. Well, not exactly. He had obviously not given much attention to improving his energy system.

His energy channels were thin, and nodes not reinforced. I wouldn't be so wrong to suggest the baron relied completely on his dozen large lilac bruts, or rather the huge amount of mana within them.

I wondered what he might do if one of his energy channels got overstrained in the heat of battle and simply burst. But that it would happen I was one hundred percent certain. Were he to cross paths with a stryker as powerful as those I'd seen on the frontier, those bruts wouldn't have done much good.

Most likely, the Astlander had not often faced off against others like him. And why would he have? All he needed was for the rumors of his power and invincibility to spread. Beyond that, combat mages were vanishingly rare. Particularly considering the fact a whole party of them had recently fallen near the lake next to the Shadow.

I even found myself wondering if I could take him down. What would he even have been capable of without the magic armor?

"I thought all Astlanders at our king's court sided with Prince Philippe," I came.

"Baron von Herwart's father fought for Conrad the Fifth in the famous Battle of Lüneburg," Valerie replied. "He passionately despises Otto the Second, who currently rules Astland, same as all supporters of Conrad the Fifth, who was beheaded and quartered at Wolfsburg. They consider him a usurper."

Hm, that made me wonder what the bellicose Prince Heinrich could have promised the baron.

My thinking was interrupted by a muted sob from Valerie. She suddenly went pale, and terror seized her eyes. Grasping for my hand, she whispered hotly:

"It's him... He's here... The monster is here..."

I followed Valerie's line of sight.

Hm... I see...

"The Viscount and Viscountess de Marbot!" the master of ceremonies announced loudly.

The couple strode into the ballroom. Opposite people. Beauty and the beast. A woman of uncommon beauty who had been designated to be my bride, Aurélie de Marbot, and a six foot broad-shouldered giant, her elder brother Émile de Marbot. Émile the Lizard, or Émile the Toad.

Valerie was not lying. The man looked extremely rough. The magic scalding on his skin made him appear reptilian. The finishing touch was a wide lipless mouth, flat nose and yellow, magic-disfigured eyes that looked out at the world like a herd of sheep. Or even prey.

He didn't seem the least bit concerned with the disgust in peoples' eyes when they looked at him. Out of interest, I decided to take a look at the giant in true vision.

Hm, now that was curious. Émile de Marbot was true gifted. With an energy system of his own that, while unconventional and hideous, was quite developed. He had clearly been cultivating it for years. Baron von Herwart wouldn't stand a chance against Émile the Lizard. The viscount would eat him for breakfast. And quite literally at that. Émile had an unmistakable stench of blood on him. I wouldn't have been surprised to find out that, before coming to the duchess' reception, the mutant had eaten the flesh of his most recent victim raw and bleeding.

Compared to the hideous giant, Aurélie de Marbot looked like a fairy-tale nymph. Her light hair with a pearlescent shine seemed to sparkle in the light of a thousand candles. The little diadem in her hair, which was shaped like a branch, was dotted with white pearls, emerald leaves, and turquoise buds.

The necklace, earrings, and miniature bracelet on her left arm were all in the same style as the diadem. Her soft turquoise dress accentuated all the curves of her enchanting figure to great effect. I believed Aurélie to be nearly thirty, but she looked so fresh and spry that I never would have given her more than twenty.

As repellent and frightening as Émile de Marbot's appearance was, his sister's amazing beauty was just as powerful at drawing the eye of everyone in the room. The Viscountess de Marbot was doubtless the prettiest woman

in the room. I found myself unwittingly admiring her uncommon beauty and grace.

A moment later, the Duchess du Bellay appeared next to her brother and sister and, as a good host should, started saying something to the new arrivals with an iridescent smile.

A minute later, the de Marbots were set loose and got lost among the crowd. I felt Valerie's grip weaken. I even heard her breathe a sigh of relief. Waves of shivering ran over the viscountess' body.

"Convinced now?" she whispered with a shaky voice.

"You were right," I decided to defuse the situation. "Aurélie de Marbot is very beautiful."

Valerie looked up at me uncomprehendingly and, seeing a smirk, was about to say something very mean. But before she could, my old pals came over to pay us a visit.

"Chevalier Renard!" came the Marquess de Hangest, standing a couple steps away from us. A pointed smile blossomed on his puffy face. "It really is true when they say the world is small. What an unexpected meeting!"

At his side stood Gaspard Craonne, a light of happiness burning in his eyes. Already tasting more fun.

The third man was André de Châtillon. He looked gloomy and upset.

Valerie, her mouth slightly open in surprise, tried to find an explanation for what was happening on my face. I gave her a furtive wink and, with a slight bow, smiled back at de Hangest:

"Indeed, monsieur! If I knew last time we met that you were friends of my dear aunty, I would have been much more obliging! How is your health, viscount? Last time, alas, for entirely explicable reasons, I was unable to ask. You were a bit out of sorts."

André de Châtillon's face filled with red spots and his jawbones started grinding. De Hangest just shook his head while Craonne struggled to hide a smile.

Based on her stunned look, Valerie was seemingly starting to figure things out. People standing nearby were drawn in by the unusual scene and started quietly walking over to us.

"Chevalier," de Châtillon squeezed out through his teeth. "I assume you will not refuse me the pleasure of another meeting whenever is convenient for you."

"Monsieur, I got the impression that last time we left with unfinished business," I came calmly, nodding at his forehead.

"You are correct," the viscount barked dully. "It was a mere impression. Hence why I insist we meet again."

"But given you wish for final clarity, I am at your service. Time and place?"

"Tomorrow morning," the viscount replied sharply. "On the banks of the Legha, near Westbridge."

"I'll be there."

"Mademoiselle," the viscount and his friends gave gallant bows, then turned and headed toward their lord.

Valerie glanced at me. Her cheeks were burning red in excitement.

"So you're the country aristocrat everyone at court is talking about? The one that took down the Viscount de Châtillon in a single blow?"