“Your Majesty,” Mouse began, straightening her back and drawing herself up, “there is an important matter on which I should like to speak with you. It regards Lady Agatha and her coming nuptials, specifically, the offer made to her by Sir Frederick of the lower Faunus. As you may be aware, the young man’s father, Lord Agneu, is the owner of a considerable quarry in the area and the steward of several others. Upon his passing, all his lands and holdings will pass to his son. I understand that some arrangement has been made with Lord Hildimar, but the crown stands to benefit a great deal from joining with the Agneus, and I dare say that the boy and his father will be more than glad to compensate the crown for any loss it suffers in breaking contract with Hildimar, and furthermore, to provide such a living as might be taxed at a valuation exceeding that which might—” She paused, trying to remember what it was she had meant to say. “—exceeding that which might—” She muttered a curse under her breath.

  “Very good, My Lady,” said the maid, drawing back the bed hangings and tying them in place. “I’m very convinced.”

  “Thank you, Lette,” said Mouse, “but I was not quite finished.” She paced in the front of the window, her hands worrying themselves as she chewed her lip in thought.

  “And furthermore,” she continued, trying to arrange her thoughts into words, “to provide such a living as might be taxed at a valuation exceeding that which might have previously been agreed upon.” She knew that was not what she had planned to say, but it would have to do.

  “And any dowry that might be paid on the girl’s behalf by her family,” she continued, “might instead be forfeit to the crown, as a show of gratitude for Her Majesty’s—” She paused.

  “Grace?” suggested Lette as she pushed past Mouse to empty the basin out the window. “Goodness?”

  Mouse shook her head.

  “No matter,” she said. “My argument cannot stand upon a single word. Nevertheless, I’m certain it will come to me in the moment.”

  “Very good, My Lady,” said Lette, returning the basin from whence it came.

  Though it was done in the name of love, Mouse knew that her appeal to the Empress must be based in practicality, and it was in the recitation of her beseechment that she had found herself confronted with an unfortunate fact of her own circumstance, namely that when it came to her own dowry, she had no family to pay it. This meant that it would fall to the crown to determine what, if anything, should be given in favor of her union, and she was therefore like to have even less say in her own marriage than Agatha.

  She had thereafter found herself preoccupied with the remembered claim that Sir Conrad had written asking for her hand, and though she had not formed any illusion of control over the thing, she was still eager to learn the truth of it. However, that would have to wait. For now, her object was singular: to convince the Empress that Sir Frederick was the superior match to Hildimar.

  Mouse crossed the room to look into the glass, straightening her posture and lowering her shoulders, as Ludger had reminded her a thousand times.

  You are the jewel of Aros, she told herself, not a mouse. You must do this for Agatha, and you must do this for yourself, in the name of love.

  She stood in front her table, the little wooden box containing the glass vial of tincture catching her attention, and for a moment, she considered whether she might dab another drop upon her cheeks and savor the warmth that spread over her. But the vial contained precious little of the tincture, and moreover, she wanted no distraction from her task.

  Mouse smoothed out her skirts and drew a deep breath, steeling herself for what lay before her.

  “Wish me luck,” she said, turning to Lette before she walked out.

  “All of Asta’s and then some,” the maid replied, stirring the ashes in the hearth.

  Mouse lingered a moment longer by the door, hoping that the maid might come and give her a proper blessing of luck, a kiss on each cheek, before determining that the woman had no intention of doing so and slipping out into the hallway.

  Mouse walked slowly down the hallway, muttering under her breath the speech which she planned to make to the Empress. Opportunity, she knew, was equally important to matter, and she must therefore be patient, waiting for the correct moment to present itself without waiting so long that it passes by.

  Just as Mouse neared the Empress’s chambers, she was stopped by the sight of the door cracking open and a backlit figure emerging from within. There was something about the way the person moved that suggested to Mouse that they were hoping to escape notice, and she found her heartbeat quickening as she stood frozen in indecision, trying to decide whether to remain or flee, to try and make out the identity of the person or leave the way she had come before she herself was discovered.

  However, before she could decide in favor of either, the man had already turned and caught sight of her.

  “Mouse,” he said in surprise, his ears turning a bright shade of pink as he stammered his excuses.

  It had been some months now since the guardsman had fallen into the Empress’s favor, and though Mouse had initially been surprised that Bo of all people should have been the one to catch the woman’s eye, the more time she spent with him, the better she began to understand the charms that might have attracted the Empress to him.

  Though he was not the sort of man Mouse herself might find handsome, he was young and tall and had a head of thick dark curls, and there was no denying the appeal of such manifest attractions. But more than that, Mouse knew him to be clever and capable, confident without being arrogant, easy without being simple, and steady without being dull.

  “You do not have to make excuses to me,” she said, pretending against the awkwardness she presently felt. “I understand perfectly well how these sort of things work. In fact, as I recall, it was I who put you wise to the Empress’s interest in the first place.”

  A deepening blush spread from the guardsman’s ears across his cheeks.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “It’s just,” he said, “well, I wouldn’t want anyone thinking I don’t take my job seriously, would I?”

  “Nonsense,” said Mouse with a smile that she hoped would put the guardsman at ease. “Everyone knows you’ve earned your post. You were with the guard long before you caught the Empress’s eye.”

  Bo nodded, though he could not conceal his discomfiture.

  “I suppose you’re right,” he said.

  Though Mouse thought it somehow worse to see the guardsman come out of the Empress’s rooms than Johannes, she could not help but be thoroughly charmed by his apparent embarrassment.

  “As luck has it,” she said, “I’m glad to have found you. There’s a favor I’ve been meaning to ask.”

  “Go on then,” Bo said, his complexion beginning to return to a somewhat more usual color.

  “Well,” said Mouse, straightening herself so as to appear taller, “I would like to learn the sword, and I was hoping that you might teach me.”

  Bo raised his eyebrows in surprise.

  “You want to learn the sword?” he echoed, his mouth easing into a smile and a glimmer coming to light in his grey eyes. “What for?”

  Mouse shrugged her shoulders. She had been entertaining the notion for some time; in fact, if she thought about it, she had wanted to learn the sword for as long as she could remember. Perhaps it had sprung from a sense of powerlessness, a desire for control, some means of not only defending herself but asserting herself. However, she had not the autonomy to pursue it when she was younger, nor the confidence as she grew older. But recent events had renewed her desire to learn, and fortified by the Foilunder’s letter, which had excited every feeling of strength and courage within her, she could see no better time to pursue the thing and certainly knew no better person to ask.

  “I suppose I should like to improve myself,” she said in favor of a lengthy explanation. “And seeing as you’re the best swordsman I know…” she let silence finish the rest.

  “You don’t mean that,” Bo said with a grin that betrayed his delight.

  Mouse nodded.

  “I most certainly do,” she said, “even if you were walloped by that Foilunder in a game of knights.”

  The guardsman winced.

  “Oi!” he cried. “Save the low blows for the training ring.”

  Mouse laughed.

  “I am only teasing,” she said with a smile, “ you know that. But truly, does that mean you’ll teach me?”

  Bo looked at her, his grey eyes tracing her from head to foot as if to assess her sincerity.

  “Alright, I’ll teach you,” he said. “But I’ve got one rule—” He paused. “No crying.”

  Mouse reached out and smacked the guardsman across the arm.

  “Oi,” he said, “how many times do I have to tell you that’s my bad arm!” And with that, he trotted down the hallway with a grin on his face.

  “Oh, thank the gods,” the Empress said the moment she saw Mouse enter the room. “I’m starving practically to death. Send for something, would you?” She reached over the edge of the bed, retrieving her chemise from the floor and pulling it over her head. “Oh, and tell the maids they can come back in.”

  Mouse bowed and dutifully obeyed, feeling even more awkward now than she had in the hallway. It was strange to think that the woman she loathed so thoroughly and the man she cherished so dearly were in any way attached. But luckily, she did not have to suffer the sentiment long, for within a few moments, the maids had returned, bringing with them fresh water for the basins, and were followed not long after by a tray of boiled eggs, bacon, and fruit with honey sent up from the kitchens.

  The rest of the ladies soon enough made their appearance, though among them, Agatha was conspicuously absent, and sat, as usual, on their little cushioned stools in the corner, stretchers and needles in hand as though today might be the day they actually produced something. Meanwhile, the seneschal who had carried in the letters planted himself where he might make well-timed observances to the Empress as she read.

  The Empress now sat propped up on her pillows, alternating using her hands to take up another piece of bacon or open a sealed parchment.

  “The Heir of Vejle writes again,” she remarked between mouthfuls of her breakfast, wiping her grease-stained fingers on the bed covers.

  “That is the virtue of the ill-born, Your Majesty,” said the seneschal, “persistence.”

  “Mmm,” the Empress murmured, turning the parchment in her hand over. “He says he now commands some eight thousand men. That’s twice as many as the last time he wrote.” She cast the letter aside. “He’s been busy.”

  “A wonder he has time to write,” the seneschal quipped, proffering another letter, which the Emprss waved away in favor of a boiled egg.

  Perhaps now is the moment, thought Mouse to herself, now, while she is rested and fed and before she becomes elsewise distracted.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat and prepared herself to speak.

  You are the jewel of Aros, she reminded herself, not a mouse. You must do this for Agatha, and you must do this for yourself, in the name of love.

  She drew a deep breath.

  “Your Majesty,” she said, “there is an important matter on which I should like to speak with you.”

  But before she could utter another word, there was a sound at the door, and the Captain of the guard strode into the room, standing at the foot of the Empress’s bed and bowing.

  “Your Majesty,” he said. “I assume you will not allow me to address you privately.”

  “You assume correctly,” said the Empress, hardly bothering to look up from her breakfast tray.

  “Then I will be brief,” Ulrich said. “Osgar Lorenz has been arrested.”

  “I beg your pardon, who?” asked the Empress.

  “Osgar Lorenz,” replied Ulrich, “the former Captain of the royal guard. He has been charged with conspiracy against the crown of Aros, known endangerment of a member of the royal family, and willful neglect of sworn duty to the crown. He was taken in last night on testimony of such crimes and has renewed his avowal this morning.”

  The Empress drew herself up on her pillows. The room had fallen silent, and every eye was turned upon the Captain.

  “What do you mean?” the Empress asked.

  Ulrich shifted somewhat uneasily.

  “The man has taken responsibility for what happened at Silver Lake,” he said. “He claims that he had no intent of doing harm, and that he had no knowledge that any harm had in fact been done until a much later time.”

  “Explain,” the Empress said, the solemnity of her tone matching her grave expression.

  Ulrich hesitated.

  “Your Majesty,” he said, “I do not think that this is the time or the place to—”

  “Explain,” demanded the Empress, her voice rising in anger. “That is an order, Captain.”

  Ulrich’s shoulders rose and fell with a measured breath.

  “Osgar claims that on the morning of our departure from the Inn, that is, the morning that he was relieved from your service, he rode ahead of the rest of the party, reaching Silver Lake before we had crossed the Vellows. As he neared the village, he came upon an archer in the woods and bade the man be wary of strangers passing through. He says that no ill intent was meant by his remark, that it was little more than a greeting. He claims that it was not until much later that he realized there might be any connection between what he had said to the man and what he later learned had come to pass.”

  The Empress looked at the Captain, her eyes dark and unreadable.

  “Do you believe this testimony?” she asked.

  Ulrich was quiet, and Mouse could tell he had no wish to answer. She could see the pulse of the vein in his temple, the clench of his jaw, the telltale signs of the conflict he suffered each time he was compelled by duty to do that which contradicted with what he knew to be right.

  “I asked you a question, Captain,” said the Empress. “Do you believe the man’s testimony?”

  “I have no reason to doubt it, Your Majesty,” Ulrich said at last.

  Mouse’s heart wanted to be glad, to rejoice in the notion that if Osgar were to take the blame for what had happened at Silver Lake, Jasper might at last be freed. But she had seen something in the Captain’s face, something which she had not seen before, an almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth, and as her gaze fell to the hand that rested by his belt, the slight, involuntary movement of his fingers.

  The Captain’s eyes flashed to Mouse for only the briefest of moments, but it was enough to tell her that something was wrong. Either he was afraid, Mouse thought to herself, something she did not think very likely, or he was lying.