Willem, after giving the princess her due deference, sat across from Clara in this comfortable little pavilion. The princess looked him in the eye. Since he’d come here, she hadn’t said a word—she was just watching him, her hands folded politely in front of her.

  “Her Highness has been instructed by her father not to speak to any of the contenders,” said one of the two ladies-in-waiting at her side. “Given that stipulation, we will be voicing her questions on her behalf.”

  Hearing that absurdity, Willem laughed a little and leaned back in the chair. “Very lawyerly, I suppose. Though I do have to wonder why the princess would be inviting the middle son of a barony to a meeting spontaneously,” he said, technically speaking to the ladies-in-waiting but in reality looking right at Princess Clara.

  “It’s a rare thing for anyone in the royal palace to have experience both diplomatically and militarily against the Avarians,” said the lady-in-waiting. “In the reports that Her Highness read, she noted that you protected an agent of Avaria while still nevertheless turning against them. This drew her interest.”

  “That matter is long settled,” Willem said.

  The princess stared at him resolutely as her lady-in-waiting continued, “Her Highness believes Avaria to be the single biggest threat to the prosperity of the kingdom. In this vision, she is united with her father. However, she diverges from her father in her opinion of how best it can be handled. Never before has diplomacy been attempted with the Avaria. She believes it to be not only a possibility, but the best outcome. As such, she wished to consult you.”

  Willem crossed his arms. “Sure. Diplomacy is always preferrable to war, in my book.”

  The princess craned her neck, but still said nothing as her lady-in-waiting asked, “So, you believe it to be a possibility?”

  “Diplomacy is always possible,” Willem said, leaning into the table. “That doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be ridiculously difficult. On top of that, some of the doctrines within Avaria are fundamentally incompatible with the faith of the goddess of life here. They don’t have a monarchy. They have an oligarchy, with the vast majority of the major national decisions made by many people rather than one.”

  Willem, ever since Petronella’s departure, had made sure to do a lot of research into the nation. Trade with foreign powers was always a way to make a tidy profit. That was part of how the Venetians had prospered, even in the wake of the Ottoman rise—they traded with the Turkic empire even though the rest of the Catholic world had declared them anathema.

  Plus, Willem was very interested in this matter of an invasion. Wars were something best ended long before they started. It was a delicate game, but it was his primary concern as someone who wanted to make soap instead of weapons and cargo ships instead of warships. War made all other industries suffer. It was the worst-case scenario.

  “The princess wishes to open relations with Avaria,” the lady-in-waiting continued. “But her father has expressly forbidden it. Even discussing the idea warrants execution for any but herself. She sees an opportunity with this event, however.”

  “The county livestock exhibit?” Willem asked. The princess smiled faintly at the joke. “Don’t see how.”

  Rather than explain, one of the ladies asked, “Are you open to the idea of contacting Avaria again?”

  Willem narrowed his eyes. “If I was going to kill myself, I think I’d start by finding a tall building. Maybe I’d consult an herbalist. But that? I’ll pass.”

  The ladies-in-waiting glanced at the princess, then back at Willem. One of them said, “Could you explain?”

  “After the stunt I pulled with Galahad, the king would need to have been dropped as a child to leave me unmonitored. I heard His Majesty’s mother was cruel, but not quite that bad. Plus, I wouldn’t consider myself a friend to Avaria at present. I did sell them out.”

  One of the ladies-in-waiting leaned in to whisper in the princess’ ear. She indulged patiently, then shook her head without a word. They looked back at Wilem.

  “Her Highness may call on you again,” one of them said.

  Willem stood up, a little relieved it was only a consultation. “Diplomacy begins with trade. So long as His Majesty keeps their ships away from the ports, there’s no hope there. But with things as they are, the best way to normalize relationships would only arise after a war, when negotiations begin.”

  The princess stared up at Willem, and he gave her a brief nod before he walked away.

  ***

  Petronella—though that was no longer her name—enjoyed a glass of wine as she sat on the balcony, peering out across the city of Ravenveld. She eyed one man in particular as he walked through the streets with his mother. Willem Jansen—formerly Willem van Brugh.

  Apparently, he’d dueled in the arena. Against Arend, no less. Had he been lying to her, or had he changed his mind? The mere thought of it made her beyond intrigued, and a little bit angered. If he’d gone through with the duel all those damnable months ago, she might not have been given this nauseatingly stressful assignment or received countless scourges.

  But Willem was being watched, she could tell. Royal guards, Cabinet mages… at least four people were tailing him, almost constantly. They were the best of the best. King Arnoud had the manpower to spare, but… it was certainly funny, the way fate worked. If things continued as they were… perhaps they’d run into one another, again.

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  “Eleanor. I’m going out,” the man behind her said.

  Petronella looked back at Duke Baptiste Dubois, who straightened his coat of the traditional green color of House Dubois.

  “I’ll have everything in order when you return, Your Grace,” she said, dipping her head.

  Baptiste nodded, then walked out of the door of his study. Eleanor. She certainly liked the name Petronella much more, for some reason. It’d be too conspicuous to use the same name over again, though.

  “Such a shame…” she whispered into the wind.

  ***

  “So, what did the princess say to you?” asked Viviene once they’d returned to the Verdant Spring Guesthouse.

  “She said, ‘Willem, shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate…’” Willem recited, only intending for a short visit back to his room before he got back out there. “She didn’t say a thing to me. She’d been forbidden to talk to any of the contenders by her father, so she gave me the silent treatment while her ladies-in-waiting talked.”

  Viviene laughed. “She’s smart, I see. And rebellious. How did she look?”

  “Young,” Willem said simply, not wanting to take the time to assess that.

  “Fine. I’ll ask your brother tonight, maybe,” she said simply. They made it to their room, and Viviene stopped. “I’ll wait out here. Get what you need.”

  Willem nodded, entering their room. He went to the back, then looked around to make sure no one was watching before pulling a blanket off a large chest. The chest had three locks over it. Willem knelt down, then produced a key out of his boot. It clicked open. He produced another key out of his sleeve, then put it in the second lock. The third key… well. Wherever he got it from, suffice to say it opened the chest.

  Within the maximum-security chest was a tremendous pile of soap bars. Willem looked around before retrieving a few, stashing them away on his person. That visit to the royal palace had depleted his strategic supply. After restocking, he locked everything back up and went back outside.

  Viviene stood out there with someone Willem didn’t recognize. He wore fancy clothes, and stood rather close to Viviene. He could tell at once that something was wrong. Her arms were crossed, her feet were close together, her posture wasn’t rigid, and she wasn’t looking the man in the eye. Whoever this person was… she knew him. And she was afraid of him.

  Willem stepped forward, placing himself before her. “Hey, Viviene. Go talk to the staff. Looks like something leaked out of the toilet.”

  “Excuse me?” the man said, looking at Willem.

  “Willem, this is Duke Baptiste Dubois,” Viviene said in a quiet voice. “My uncle.”

  Now that Willem looked at him closer, he saw the family resemblance. The duke had sharp green eyes and dark hair, presumably constant features in House Dubois. He was only a little shorter than Willem himself, and had that same wiry, athletic build that Viviene did.

  “Ah, so you’re the one.” The duke studied him. “You look like your father, unfortunately enough. But at least there won’t be any doubt of your legitimacy, even despite abandoning your name.”

  Willem had a lot of choice retorts on his tongue, but kept it sealed in case it would get him into trouble.

  “As things are panning out, it’s looking like you’re the only relative of mine that’s going to be remotely near the endeavor for the princess’ hand,” the duke said, putting his hand on Willem’s shoulder. “As such, I’ve come down here to offer my support.”

  “I like my support in money,” Willem said without shame. “If you’ve got some of that, I’d gladly take it off your hands.”

  The duke’s lips pursed. “Well, we’ll get into the particulars in the days to come. For today, I wanted to introduce myself.”

  Willem reached into his pocket and pulled out a bar of soap. “Here. Consider this my calling card.”

  Baptiste took the soap, then chuckled. “Well… alright, sure. I heard about this venture of yours. Business is good as a hobby—lot of respect for it in Valdérie.” He hefted it. “Maybe I’ll put in an order.”

  “You’d do that for me?” Willem said sarcastically.

  “Your Grace,” the duke said. “That’s my address. I can overlook it because you’re family, but… still. It’s a matter of propriety. Society is very different in the barony, I imagine. Not so much formality. But here, matters of propriety come long before anything. The most talented, ambitious, intelligent, and formidable person can fall to the gutters from a lack of propriety.” He patted Willem’s shoulder twice. “But there’s time to learn before things begin.”

  “So, we’re introduced,” Willem said, subtly signaling he should leave.

  “That we are,” Baptiste said, glancing back at Viviene. “We’ll speak tomorrow, I trust.”

  ***

  Willem had been intending to go out, but now he and Viviene had gone back into their room to talk about what had happened. She sat at the table, looking into the distance.

  “You alright?” he asked. “Never seen you get this badly shaken. Not even fighting Arend rattled you that bad.”

  “I’m fine,” Viviene said, shaking her head. “Nothing to worry about.”

  Willem walked over to the table and sat across from her. “Don’t you trust me?”

  Viviene looked at him, then shook her head again. “It’s nothing. Tripe. He was just… a bit of bully, when we were kids. Even though he’s my uncle, he’s only five years older than me.” She rubbed her hands together, gaze distant. “When I was ten, he used to… pin down my arms and legs, and hang a glob of spit right over my face—letting it fall, then sucking it up. Then when I got older…” Viviene trailed off, then comported herself. “But I’m fine now. I just wasn’t expecting to see him.”

  Willem stared at her, unconvinced.

  Viviene seemed to shift, and she placed her hands on the table. “Besides, this is our opportunity to wring him dry. If he’s offering support… we have to take advantage.”

  “Yeah. Wring him like a towel,” Willem agreed half-heartedly.

  Willem leaned back into the chair, studying Viviene.