Arthur sat in his private quarters in the Archwizard’s residence, stewing over last night.

  The man that he’d confronted had managed to weasel his way out of any punishment. He’d claimed that when he’d been talking about the ‘trade of love,’ he was speaking about the finer arts like poetry. When he referred to a pleasure house, he’d only been referring to a house that makes people happy, not a brothel or something more indecent.

  That was the problem with those cretins. The things that they said never went quite over the line, only toed it. After that, he hadn’t been able to stand their presence any longer. He’d left decisively. He did feel some guilt about leaving Isabella there alone, but he couldn’t stand to rub shoulders with those people any longer. He’d be sure and explain that when he went to help her with her mana lock.

  Arthur reached over and retrieved a paper. Though there wasn’t much he could do about last night, he wanted to at least write a formal complaint about the people involved. Harassment like that would never be permitted in the Archwizard’s retinue—surely the king wouldn’t want such a thing to fester in his court either. He didn’t know much about the relationship between King Edgar and Princess Isabella, but they were siblings. That had to count for something.

  Arthur went through the events, documenting many of the things that the nobility had done at the direction of Count Faust. He made sure to tie it back to the count so that the man couldn’t avoid any reprimand. The writing came to him easily, as much of the harassment that she’d endured had stuck in his mind.

  When it was done, Arthur looked over his writing. It was neat, concise, and objective. Objectively, the princess had been wronged. Objectively, there was disharmony in the royal court. And as an objective party, it should be Arthur’s responsibility to set things straight, for the good of Dovhain. That was all this was.

  ***

  “The Duke of the Isles?” King Edgar listened, intrigued. “I didn’t think you had such tastes, sister. After your choice of partner last night, I was perhaps expecting to be pleasantly surprised. I thought you might offer Arthur of Hamore up to me on a platter. Instead… a baseborn pirate?”

  “It isn’t about his stock,” Isabella insisted. “It’s about what he can do for the kingdom. Everyone knows the name of the Duke of the Isles, from the far-flung north to the Republic of Ambrose. His mere presence at the ambassadorial reception last night quieted the room.”

  “Reputation is reputation, but power is power.” Edgar rubbed his hands together ponderously. “I fail to see how he could be more useful to me than Duke Albert.”

  Isabella swallowed—now that he’d brought Duke Albert’s name out to the open, this would be the final, decisive struggle.

  “His reputation came from the power that he once wielded. You’ve expressed some ambitions to build a grand armada,” Isabella continued. “And I believe that’s an idea that could decide the future of the entire kingdom. The Republic of Ambrose is only worthy of our time because their vast fleets depart to the shores of distant realms, bringing back vast riches.”

  “And?” Edgar pressed.

  “Duke Valerio was able to tap into those vast riches.” Isabella put a hand to her chest as she continued. “I could be the chain that binds him to Dovhain. And with such a mad dog chained to the kingdom… it would be inevitable for you to effortlessly propel the kingdom to an unprecedented golden age.”

  Edgar rubbed his chin contemplatively. “I’ll think about it. For now, leave me alone—my head hurts.” He waved her away. “I’ll have some gold sent to you for what you did. People say it was exceptional, apparently. I’ll decide for myself later.”

  It hurt a little for all of her efforts to be so casually dismissed with, ‘it was exceptional, apparently.’ Isabella wondered if she should push her luck and try for further persuading. Looking at the king, she judged he was hungover from drinking last night. It was often in nights like this that he would punish people arbitrarily for annoying him. She certainly didn’t want to be the subject of one such punishment.

  “Thank you for your time, Your Majesty,” she said in disappointment, hoping there would be another time for her to win his assent to the engagement.

  Isabella left the room with a heavy heart.

  ***

  “Did the talks with the Ambrosians go well?” Roderick asked as he poured tea for Duke Valerio.

  Duke Valerio watched the cup, then looked at Roderick. “Went quite differently from how I expected, but yes. It definitely went well.”

  Roderick looked at him brightly. “Can we perhaps expect a pardon from the republic?”

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  Valerio picked up his tea, raising it to his lips with a smile. “I believe we can, provided I pay some restitution. Since we still have some friends in Ambrose… I think the sentence will be relatively light. We can put things in motion once more.”

  Roderick exhaled in satisfaction. “Your Grace… that is perhaps the best news you’ve brought back in a long while. It will be a relief to no longer have to endure the presence of black-garbed men at nightfall, and hurried disposal of bodies in the wee hours of the morning.”

  Valerio set down his cup, then looked at his butler. “Things may be unchanged, actually.”

  Roderick looked uneased. “Surely the pardon will discourage further assassination attempts, even from rogue actors within the republic.”

  “I’m getting engaged, Roderick,” Valerio said, throwing his arms out.

  Roderick grew stiff from surprise, but quickly regained his composure.

  “My natural assumption is that this unfortunate woman is hiring assassins to attempt to end the engagement,” Roderick said dryly.

  “She asked me, actually,” Valerio said in amusement.

  “How desperate is she?” Roderick asked in concern.

  “It’s a temporary arrangement,” Valerio continued. “She’s receiving unwanted attention from a certain Duke Albert. She suspects he’s so desperate to have her hand as to send assassins after me.”

  “The princess?” Roderick said, beyond surprised. “May I inquire in the politest possible terms what in the world happened to living low-key?” The butler went silent for a bit, and then said more seriously, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but this considerably complicates our plans.”

  “We’ll simply have to change them,” the duke said decisively.

  “You sound like the new king, being so casually dismissive of the woes of your loyal subjects,” Roderick said, and Valerio gave him a pointed gaze. “But… you must have your reasons.”

  Valerio nodded, then looked to his butler. He paused a bit, mulling a question over in his head, then asked, “Do you think there would’ve ever been a time where I met the princess before being named the Duke of the Isles?”

  “I don’t see how,” Roderick said. “She’s a young princess who seldom left the royal palace her entire life. I doubt she’s been aboard a ship, let alone one you would’ve been able to raid. King Edgar I was not known for granting his daughters many liberties.”

  “She asked if my eyes had always been this color,” Valerio said, pointing to his eyes. “Changed the subject quickly, too, but I don’t think it was a question born of nothing. Maybe she heard something, or maybe we’ve met before. I can’t see how either can be true.”

  Roderick looked greatly concerned. “Who could’ve told her? You, myself… any others that come to mind are entirely trusted figures, or dead.”

  “I’m not sure.” Valerio pulled out his knife from his belt, and began to spin it through his fingers idly. “But she seems to know a lot of things that others wouldn’t, ordinarily. And she seems far from sheltered.”

  Roderick took the knife from Valerio’s hand and spun it through his own, until he offered the handle back to Valerio.

  “It’s considered improper to play with one’s knife in polite society,” Roderick criticized. “If you’re to be the fiancé of a princess, you need to learn at least that much, Your Grace.”

  The Duke of the Isles took the dagger back, then laughed as he stowed it away. “Always more to learn,” he agreed.

  “Only other men are impressed by twirling knives around like a dandy,” Roderick continued, making Valerio laugh. “It makes you look like a brute.”

  “It’s just a habit when I’m thinking about something, or when I’m angry,” Valerio defended. “Earned me plenty of respect among my fellows over the years.”

  “The ladies are impressed by other, more decent displays,” Roderick asserted. “It’s overdue for you to learn them, I should think.”

  Valerio leaned forward on the table. “The princess made it quite clear it’s a temporary arrangement.” He paused, tapping the table as if working through a thought. “Still… no harm in learning.”

  ***

  “Your Majesty…” said a servant in a quiet voice.

  “What is it?” King Edgar looked at the servant in irritation. “I told you, my head hurts. I don’t intend to do anything until it ceases to ache.”

  “The Archwizard’s heir, Arthur, has sent a formal complaint to you about the ambassadorial reception last night,” the servant said quickly, placing the letter on the table by his bedside. “That’s all.”

  After exhaling in annoyance, he let the letter linger there for a while. As his mind worked, though, he couldn’t stop his curiosity about what the letter might say. King Edgar reached over and took it, holding it to the faint light in the room from a distant candle. The text was neat and large, fortunately, troubling him none despite his headaches. As he read through it, he furrowed his brows in irritation. He didn’t even reach the end before tossing it aside and reaching for the sash to summon his servants.

  The servants hastily obeyed the summons, fearing to anger their mercurial master. In only a few seconds there were three people standing before him.

  “Prepare a regal attire with the color tones of war,” Edgar commanded tiredly. “Call for court in the throne room, convening in three hours. Ensure that Count Faust, Princess Isabella, Duke Valerio and Arthur of Hamore are in attendance.” He rose to his feet. “As a matter of fact, ensure that most everyone is in attendance. Tell Knight-Commander Gaspar that his attendance is required for an official act of royal arbitration.”

  “It will be done, Your Majesty,” the leading servant said obsequiously. “Is there anything else?”

  “Ensure that Gaspar brings a well-sharpened sword,” he said coldly. “Something that would have no trouble cutting through bone.”