Book 3: Chapter 9: A Tremor of Ambition

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Chapter 9: A Tremor of Ambition

The quiet, lantern-lit streets of Lafeara slid past like an eerie reel of nostalgia that Kirsi didn’t particularly care for. Only three lifetimes ago, the Scarlet Witch had ridden through these streets to the resounding cheer of the populace, who welcomed and honored her as their General.

‘Now I’m stuck playing jack-in-the-box with this bleeding-heart little half-blood.’

As if on cue, Carina resumed her vigorous protests against Kirsi’s earlier orders. “You can’t just order the knights to kill plague victims! They should transport them to the hospital to receive care.”

‘Tsk,’ Kirsi rolled her eyes at Carina’s incessant railing and urged the mare to turn back onto the main street that would bring them to the fortress entrance. “There’s no point in exposing the knights to a deadly disease for which we have no cure. If the knights get infected, and it spreads back to the Duchy, that will weaken any position we have in the matter.”

“Of course. I know that, but—if this plague was created with magic, then can’t we just use magic to get rid of it?”

“The Saints were the only beings known to possess healing power,” Kirsi retorted sharply. “So, no. Magic won’t be of any help unless you know where to find one. The best course of action would be to focus on the origins of the plague. Magic bred plagues are just a complicated form of curses. And any curse can be reversed if you have the right tools.”

“Then—we need to investigate how the well got contaminated! That should help us track down who’s behind this plague—or curse.”

Kirsi drummed her fingers against her cotton trousers impatiently and glanced back at the knight trailing behind her. “Plagues are the territory of the Water Covens, specifically those still loyal to Arachne.”

“Wait—are you implying that some of the Water Covens aren’t loyal to Arachne?”

“It seems loyalty has its limits when it comes to child sacrifice,” Kirsi replied with a wry smile.

“Child sacrifice?”

“Arachne demanded that the firstborn babies of her most devote followers bed fed to her—demonic daughter. At first, the Water Covens could only oblige. Keeping one hungry spawn fed wasn’t too difficult. But then Arachne made three more of her eel children, and the price and frequency of these sacrifices went up. Eventually, three out of four of the Water Covens had had enough. They even went so far as to appeal to the Ice Coven’s for aid when Arachne’s most loyal followers began attacking their villages and ships to steal away their children and young women.”

“What—happened then?”

“I answered the Water Coven’s call for aid and killed Arachne’s spawn to end the sacrifice and persecution once and for all.” Kirsi smiled at the long silence that followed. “That was my first life—and yes, Arachne was furious, but she focused her anger on Viktor and me. That allowed the water tribes could settle their own internal disputes. Those who had remained loyal to Arachne were ostracized and are now referred to as the Plague Coven or Swamp Tribe. You can guess what sort of malice they specialize with. The more civilized Covens consolidated themselves under a single Witch-King, who continued the tradition of offering sacrifices to the sea, but only baby animals. Human sacrifices were forbidden.”

“Wow. I’m surprised everything turned out so well.”

“That depends on your perspective,” Kirsi replied as a heavy shadow fell over her face. “If I hadn’t interfered, Viktor would have been able to pass through the god’s rebirth ritual without incident, and I—would have lived a relatively normal life as queen and died a mortal.”

“Ohh.”

The Scarlet Witch scowled at the note of empathy in Carina’s voice. “Anyway, as I said, this isn’t the first time someone’s tried to pin a plague on me.

“Two lifetimes ago, I lived in Strugna as a—special friend of King Llyr the II. A plague came that ravaged the Water Clan. It killed the King and hundreds of other water witches, purebloods and otherwise. The bizarre thing was that the plague seemed specifically designed to only target members of the Water Covens. The kingdom was in a desperate state. The first prince was at death’s door, and the second prince, who had been sent away for his own safety, was too young to assume the throne. That’s when Queen Serenia and her hag of a Seer accused me of being the reason Arachne had unleashed her wrath upon them all. And not because I saved the Water Coven from their goddess in the past, but because I was now trying to persuade the King to turn his back on Arachne entirely.”

“What—why would she think that?”

Kirsi shrugged. “Serenia was King Llyr’s second wife and mother of a sickly third prince. She had little to no political influence, and Llyr spent more time with the older princes and me than he did with her.

In any case, the Water Covens were in no position to handle a civil war on top of the plague, so Queen Serenia took it upon herself to invite the Pope to Strugna. He removed the plague in exchange for—me.” Kirsi narrowed her eyes as a small shadow flew overhead. “That’s enough story time for today. It looks like our crow friends have caught up.”

“I hate those damn birds,” Carina muttered. “Be careful, Kirsi.”

“I can manage, although that will be easier to do without you constantly whispering in my ear.”

The half-blood fell silent, and Kirsi smiled as she felt Carina’s presence lessen. ‘I need to make use of what little time I have now before she pushes to take over again.’ The Scarlet Witch sighed as she glanced towards the distant shadow of the palace, then pulled on the reins lightly, and turned the pretty white mare while she waited for the knight to reach her.

“Your Grace? Is something—” A faint whistling sound preceded the man’s startled flinch. The knight raised a hand sluggishly towards the feathered dart in his neck as he slid from his saddle with a dumbfounded grunt.

Kirsi quickly drew her blade as the surrounding air thickened with cold magic. “Show yourself and explain, or I’ll skip the excuses and take your heads.”

The four cloaked figures drifted down from the sky to the street, where they bowed before her respectfully. The Scarlet Witch kept her defenses up as the male pureblood rose to his feet first and pushed back the hood of his cloak. Kirsi narrowed her eyes at the notorious Earl that Carina had warned her about repeatedly.

“Lord Percy.”

“Forgive my impertinence, your Grace,” Percy replied as his winter-grey eyes rose to examine her curiously. “I heard that witch hunters attacked you.”

“And what does that have to do with my knight lying in a stupor?”

“Forgive me. I simply didn’t want him to overhear our conversation.”

Kirsi snorted and shifted her blade, resting it lightly against her shoulder as she studied him. “So, the crows belong to you? Well then, you should know I dealt with those witch hunters just fine on my own.”

“And—you let one get away.” Percy tilted his head with a faintly troubled frown. “Why?”

The Scarlet Witch smiled as she nudged the white mare closer to the Earl and then leaned towards him. “And who are you to me, Earl Hawthorne, that I should blindly reveal my plans?”

Percy blinked, his gaze fixated upon her face, the confusion in them as transparent as his thoughts.

The three kneeling witches behind him flinched as Kirsi flicked her wrist and hooked her short blade behind the Earl’s neck.

“Your Grace?” Percy raised an eyebrow sharply, but moved closer as the Scarlet Witch pressed the blade against his skin.

“You have far too much interest in me, Earl Percy Hawthorne,” Kirsi whispered as she maintained their unbroken stare. “I am intimately familiar with obsession. It clouds the mind and makes fools out of kings. I suggest you curb such feelings before I decide it is in my best interest to cut you short.”

The Earl blinked, but his gaze remained steady as he slowly raised his right hand to push her sword away. The black onyx signet ring he wore flashed in warning. Kirsi studied the ring with a curious smile and relaxed her grip as she pulled the sword away.

“You are not the Maura I know,” Percy stated coldly. “In fact, you hardly resemble her.”

The Scarlet Witch’s lips curled into an amused smile as she laughed and shrugged. “Maura was always more than she appeared to be.”

“Then you—are truly Kirsi? The Undying Scarlet Witch of Isbrand?”

‘Now you sound like a schoolboy who just watched a legend walk out of a history book.’

“I am both the first and the last Isbrand Queen,” Kirsi replied as she observed him curiously. “But you already knew that—or at least suspected. That’s why you wanted me to become your queen.”

The Earl flinched and stepped back as the white mare slowly paced around him. “I—only wanted to ensure your—Maura’s safety, as well as the survival of my Covens.”

“Your Covens?” Kirsi laughed and reined in the mare before she turned to face him. “So, Percy Hawthorne, you imagine yourself to be a Witch-King?”

The Earl’s winter-grey eyes narrowed as they darted towards the witches still kneeling behind him. “I do not imagine it. I am Lafeara’s Witch-King.”

‘He has a lot of pride, as expected of a Hawthorne. This Earl may prove useful yet.’

“And in return, you promised the Covens—what, exactly?” Her ice-blue eyes sparkled above a dangerous smile as she trapped him beneath her gaze. “What did you promise them, Earl Percy Hawthorne?”

The pureblood hesitated as his gaze returned to the Scarlet Witch. “You—as their queen.”

Kirsi rolled her eyes with an impatient snort. “More like you bargained to make me their queen to avoid further unrest between the Covens who would want to place one of their daughters beside you. What else did you promise them?”

“The death of Nicholas and the Hargreve bloodline.”

The Scarlet Witch tilted her head with a faint smile. “Ah, now you’re only saying that to amuse me, but we both know it’s long been a part of your plans. What else?” Her grin stretched further still as she watched Percy’s eyebrows furrow. His eagerness to please her battling against his inherent caution and distrust.

“The death of Pope Jericho the first.”

“My, my, my,” Kirsi raised her eyebrows and shook her head in wonder. “You truly are ambitious. How commendable.”

‘And perfectly in line with my plans as well.’

“You—that is Lady Maura—did not approve.”

‘So, the Earl only knows Carina as Maura? I suppose that makes sense, given how mistrustful she is of him.’

The Scarlet Witch nodded and turned towards the unconscious knight sleeping on the road. “Maura is no fool, but she’s far too soft to handle the hardships that come with war.”

Percy's expression twisted with a flicker of regret as he watched her. “Is Lady Maura—gone for good then?”

Kirsi’s smile faltered and then drew into a grim line. “No. Not for good. Not yet, anyway.”

“I see.” The Earl lowered his gaze and hid behind an expressionless mask. “Then—what would Lady Kirsi have me do?”

The Scarlet Witch narrowed her eyes at him and considered for a moment before she sheathed her sword and extended her hand. “I would have you swear your fealty to me, Lord Percy. Prove to me you are on my side, and perhaps—we can work together.”

He blinked in surprise but stepped towards her hand without hesitation. “As the Earl of Hawthorne?”

“And the Witch King of the Air Covens,” Kirsi added with a smile as he took her hand lightly. “Swear that you and your subjects will remain faithful to Kirsi Valda Isbrand—and I will help you achieve your ambitions to be Lafeara’s next and only King.”

“I would gladly do so—but—” his winter grey eyes drifted away with another conflicted expression.

‘Does he feel guilty or simply displeased that he is making this oath to me and not Carina?’

Kirsi’s eyes narrowed as a breeze passed over them and carried to her a familiar nauseating scent. A sharp gasp came from the kneeling witches as the Scarlet Witch grabbed the Earl’s throat and yanked him towards her with a murderous glare.

“Why do you smell of Arachne?”

❆❆❆❆❆

“Enough! I’m tired,” Nicholas sighed as he pushed the roughly edited document towards the waiting steward. “I’ll deal with the rest in the morning. Peyton, please inform the Prime Minister when you return this to him.”

“Yes, your Majesty.” Peyton hastily rolled up the new bill on soap tax and placed it in a small oak box which he locked before carrying it from the royal office.

The Crown Prince rubbed his neck and shoulders as he leaned back in his chair to meet the gaze of his watchful bodyguard. “Is everything ready for the Royal Hunt, Captain?”

“Yes, your Majesty,” Beaumont replied as he moved towards the study door. “You should get some rest.”

“Bah!” Nicholas pushed himself up and winced as he stretched his aching back. “I still have a mountain of paperwork to get through, so wake me up at first light tomorrow.”

The Knight Captain nodded and moved to open the door.

“Wait!” The Crown Prince beckoned to the knight as he moved towards a velvet-wrapped box on the center reading table. “I almost forgot this was delivered earlier. I have a surprise for you.”

“For me?” Beaumont raised a brow as he watched the prince unwrap the decorative ivory box engraved with flowers adorned by pearls. “What is it?”

“A gift—for the Duchess,” Nicholas replied with a grin as he opened the lid.

“Why?” The Knight Captain growled as he narrowed his gaze at the lavish piece of jewelry. Six perfectly cut amethyst stones the size of chicken eggs and lined in diamonds decorated a glittering necklace. “Your Majesty—this is too much—”

“It is the an old tradition for a man to begin courtship by granting the lady a gift which matches the color of your eyes,” Nicholas replied with a satisfied grin. “And since the lady in question is a Duchess—you’ll need something of this caliber than satisfy her.”

“I’m not courting Lady Kirsi,” Beaumont replied with a strained sigh as he reached down to close the jewelry box.

“And why not?” Nicholas snapped as he watched the knight return to the door. “You can’t tell me you’re not interested in Lady Kirsi.”

“I’m not—”

“Romantically interested,” Nicholas corrected as he dragged the velvet over the jewelry box and crudely wrapped it. “So, what’s the problem?”

The Knight Captain’s mouth hung open for a moment before he replied, “I’m not sure what my feelings are towards the lady, or hers towards me.”

“Yes, you're both ridiculously stubborn when it comes to courtship and marriage.” The Crown Prince shook his head. “Look, I’ve already blocked several marriage proposals from some rather greedy, overreaching noble houses, but I can’t keep this up forever. If you’re not prepared to give up on her entirely, then you need to act first! A gift is as good a place to start as any.”

“But—”

“And Lady Kirsi’s birthday coincides with the Royal Hunt, so you’ll need a present either way,” Nicholas interjected firmly as he pushed the jewelry box into the knight’s chest. “So, please, take it. Consider it a gift from a concerned friend.”

“I don’t need you picking out gifts for me,” Beaumont growled as he ignored the box. “And why are you so insistent about this?”

“Because!” Nicholas snapped as he grabbed the knight’s hand and slammed the box into it. “I can tell you like her whether you want to admit it or not. And such an engagement would help strengthen your position as the heir to Hargreve.”

Beaumont snorted. “I can hardly inherit the Hargreve Dukedom if I become engaged to the Duchess of Bastiallano.”

“Why? It would suit me just fine if you did.” The Crown Prince smiled as he placed a reassuring hand on the Knight Captain’s shoulder. “I know you to be the most loyal subject and friend I have, Beaumont. I admit that in the past I’ve had my misgivings about Lady Kirsi in the past, but she has shown herself to be a reliable ally.”

“I’m touched to hear you say so, your Majesty.”

“Always so formal,” Nicholas joked as he stepped aside to retrieve his jacket. “Fine, if you won’t court the lady, then at least seriously pursue the position of General Striker’s heir. With you and Lady Kirsi backing me—both the Royal Faction and Noble Faction will have little choice but to step in line.” The Crown Prince moved to the mirror tucked between two bookshelves beside his desk and adjusted his collar.

“Your Majesty knows I have no interest in politics.”

“Ahh, but you have an interest in protecting others,” Nicholas pointed out with a glance over his shoulder. “Like those half-witch boys, Lady Verity sold to the witch hunters.”

Beaumont clenched his jaw and furrowed his brow over a stern glare.

“I don’t mean to touch upon such a sore point,” Nicholas hastily apologized as he returned to the knight’s side. “But if you became Duke of Hargreve, that would make it easier to stamp out the slavery of children in Lafeara once and for all. And you wouldn’t have to worry about Lady Verity carrying out her threats to have your mother’s grave transported outside their territory.”

The Knight Captain scoffed and opened the door to the royal office to find a breathless Lieutenant Leander standing beside Steward Peyton on the other side.

“Your Majesty! Captain!” Leander hurriedly bowed his head. “The Duchess of Bastiallano is at the fortress gate demanding an audience with your Majesty.”

“So late at night?” Nicholas scoffed with a worried frown. “Did Lady Kirsi say why?”

“Ah! She gave me this!” The Lieutenant presented a folded slip of paper. “The Duchess said it was for your eyes only, your Majesty.”

The Crown Prince quickly took the note and opened it with little regard for Beaumont, who read the simple message over his shoulder easily.

‘Plague.’

Nicholas inhaled sharply and crumpled the note in his fist. “Bring the Duchess to my study at once.” The Crown Prince then turned to the waiting steward. “Peyton, you had better track down Prime Minister Attwood before he leaves the palace grounds. Bring him to my study as well.”

“Yes, your Majesty!” Leander and Peyton hurriedly bobbed a respectful bow, then both men turned on their heel to rush back down the hall.

The Crown Prince exhaled slowly as he stared after their retreating figures. “Two days before my coronation—this happens.”

“Let us wait to see what the Duchess has to say first,” Beaumont replied calmly. The Knight Captain stepped aside as Nicholas sighed and returned to the study. “Perhaps we should forgo the Royal Hunt this year.”

The Crown Prince shook his head as he rifled through a box of maps and pulled out the one labeled Capital City of Lafeara. “Frost has been setting up hospitals all over the Capital. I thought it was just to advertise his fancy soap, but perhaps he anticipated this.” He carried the map over to the reading table, unfurled it, and placed the books nearby on each corner.

Beaumont watched him from the doorway and pivoted at the sound of rapidly approaching feet. He frowned as the Duchess came into view. There was something—strangely off about her movements. Lady Maura had always had an underlying, unshakable confidence, even when she hobbled about on one foot. But now, the way the Duchess moved along the hallway with Lieutenant Leander trailing behind her—it was as if she owned the place.

‘She looks more like Kirsi now—perhaps.’

The Duchess’s ice-blue eyes narrowed in on him with an expression of uncertainty. For a moment, her confident walk faltered—then she stopped altogether and reached towards the nearest wall for support.

“Your Grace?” Leander hesitated beside her, but the ice witch waved him off.

When Kirsi finally raised her head and turned towards him, Beaumont let out a sigh of relief and slowly lowered the hand he had unconsciously lifted towards the long sword on his back.

“You look tired, Lady Kirsi.”

“It’s been a long night,” Kirsi replied with a faint smile as she closed the distance between them. “Is his Majesty inside?”

“Yes. He’s waiting for you,” Beaumont replied as he stepped aside and waved for her to enter.

Kirsi nodded but chewed her lip hesitantly as she brushed the windswept ash-brown hair towards her tangled braid before stepping inside.

The Knight Captain narrowed his eyes at the scent of blood and ice that followed her.

❆❆❆❆❆

Marquess Rupert Borghese had long considered himself a night owl. Perhaps because of his younger years spent working as a royal secretary to the House of Lords. The habit of working late into the night stayed with him long after Rupert inherited his father's seat at the table and title.

But the previous Marquess had left his only legitimate son with more than just an honorable inheritance. There was a sizeable mountain of debt levied against the family’s estates and one too many greedy mistresses, with their hungry bastards chasing after him for reassurance and additional handouts. After his father's funeral, Rupert’s first course of action was to have them all quietly eliminated. He sold off their possessions, the lavish garments, jewels, slaves, and houses that his father gifted them and repaid whatever debts he could with the proceeds.

After the nobles officially nominated him to the position of counselor, Rupert used his promising potential to court the most powerful maiden in the social circle, Lady Aliana Hargreve.

An older woman with many suitors, a notable political ambition, and a religious upbringing, Aliana was not at all impressed with the Marquess’s offer of marriage. After all, her younger brother was set to become the next Duke of Hargreve. It took some convincing and groveling on Rupert's part to convince Aliana that he would make a valuable asset to the Royal Faction and be loyal to their marriage. After six months of circling and testing each other’s patience, Aliana finally consented.

The day she became Marchioness Borghese, Aliana graciously paid off all his father’s debts with her dowry to “ensure that no one looks down on us.” Rupert had taken the blow to his pride in step, pleased in either case to be liberated from his father’s less savory legacy. The couple spent the first years of their marriage happily ruling the social circle of the Royal Faction and planning for their children’s future.

Lady Aliana had proved to be a fine wife in every aspect, except the matter of providing Rupert with a son and heir. There were several miscarriages, which soured the Marchioness’s mood greatly. And the only infant to survive birth despite being born prematurely was a daughter—not a son.

The Duke himself set sail to the Holy City to procure a blessing from the Pope to ensure the tiny baby girl named Priscilla survived. For months afterwards, Rupert felt as if he were stepping on eggshells. Aliana focused her attention on either Priscilla or the internal disputes between Lafeara’s political factions, which left very little time for “the distraction of marriage.”

After another two failed pregnancies, Lady Aliana declared herself “done with having children.” She returned to her position as lady-in-waiting to the Dowager after securing no less than three governesses to look after Priscilla’s wellbeing. When Rupert dared broach the subject of bringing in a mistress on Priscilla’s second birthday, he had felt the subsequent wrath of Aliana, the Duke, and even the Dowager. He never raised the topic again.

His younger sister, Lady Verity Borghese, married the Duke soon after Priscilla turned five, at which point, the families were all but inseparable. Rupert appeased his wife and brother-in-law by spoiling Priscilla and focusing on the Royal Faction itself, which rose in power behind the two families.

Despite her incredible stubbornness and imperious personality, Aliana’s death had left Rupert feeling robbed. The Duke and Marquess buried their grief in their work. Stryker on the battlefield, and Rupert in the House of Lords. It was on Priscilla’s eighth birthday when his shining, beautiful daughter declared herself to be a princess that Rupert seized upon a new ambition.

‘After all, a daughter ought to be good for more than buying dresses and jewelry.’

Rupert made use of his wife’s sudden death to ingratiate himself to the Dowager and the Second Queen. With their help, the Marquess was able to convince King Henri to approve an engagement between Priscilla and the Second Prince, Nicholas.

There was simply no way the Marquess would even tolerate the idea of Priscilla marrying a boy with witch blood running through his veins.

The foundation of his plans firmly laid; Rupert focused on the two remaining obstacles in his path: Prime Minister Ethan Hawthorne and Crown Prince Tristan.

It was the Dowager who steered the Marquess towards the less than happy Countess. Between the three of them, a clever plan was hatched that left the arrogant, overstepping Earl vulnerable and at the mercy of several handsomely paid thugs. The Second Queen died soon after, and Octavia took over the princes’ education and grooming.

Duke Stryker’s younger brother, Viscount Attwood Hargreve, soon replaced Earl Hawthorne as Prime Minister, and the Royal Faction gained a firm monopoly on the flow of power in government.

The Crown Prince, however, remained a glaring threat and a problem. King Henri simply loved the boy too much, and even Duke Stryker admired the fearless prince and praised Tristan’s natural swordsmanship and leadership. Despite Earl Hawthorn’s death during negotiations, Tristan became engaged to Emperor Arius’s adopted daughter, Princess Eleanora, and his position as Crown Prince became even more unshakable.

Realizing that his painstaking efforts were in jeopardy, Rupert appealed to the Dowager for help once more. The white-haired monarch provided Rupert with a dangerous secret that he quickly put to use, forever severing the bond between King Henri and Tristan. After that, it was a simple matter to send the First Prince to his death on the battlefield.

Just when every obstacle had been dealt with, an unexpected complication arose. The Emperor refused to acknowledge the engagement between Lafeara and Princess Eleanora as broken and insisted that Nicholas replace his older brother as Eleanora’s future husband. The Royal Faction behind Marquess Borghese fought this decision with tooth and nail, but none of them had the strength to stand against the Emperor.

And so Rupert had to explain to his bright, beautiful, and infatuated sixteen-year-old daughter that Nicholas would marry the granddaughter of a slave instead of her. The look of disappointment and betrayal on Priscilla’s face reminded Rupert of the broken expression Aliana had worn for weeks after her first miscarriage. After being engaged for nearly ten years, Priscilla could not accept that she would no longer become queen or even a princess.

“This was your plan, Father, your idea, your ambition! If you were just going to bow down to a half-witch barbarian, then why did you push me into this? How can I possibly bear to show my face publicly after being so humiliated?”

“I am sorry, my darling Princess—”

“Don’t call me that!”

“—but as long as the Emperor insists upon it, there is nothing I can do. Even the Dowager herself is powerless to stop their marriage!”

“Fine!” Priscilla stopped pacing and turned to stare at him with the same look Aliana had given him when she refused to surrender to anyone's demands. “They can get married. It’s not as if Eleanora will be the first woman Nicholas has slept around with.”

“Priscilla!”

“But I will become his queen! I will not give that position to her!”

“Priscilla! How am I supposed to make you queen when Nicholas has already agreed to give that position to Princess Eleanora?!”

Priscilla narrowed her chartreuse-green eyes at him with a cruel smile Rupert recognized all too well. “You already helped the Dowager get rid of two queens and a prince—I know you’ll think of something.”

Rupert sighed as he listened to the rain pelt loudly against his office window. He rubbed a hand down his meticulously groomed beard and returned to the papers that waited on his desk. Nicholas’s coronation was rapidly approaching, and Priscilla was losing patience. And now, somehow, while taking her anger out on a half-blood noble that served Crown Princess Eleanora, Priscilla had offended the Dowager. Rupert had been utterly shocked by Octavia’s betrayal. To this day, he did not understand how the old monarch could gift the Duchy of Bastiallano to Lady Maura over Priscilla, her goddaughter.

“And now this Lady Kirsi and Nicholas want to come after me?” The Marquess snorted as he flicked the small, furled document sent to him by a loyal spy placed beside the Crown Prince. “Well, two can play at that game. I already have Nicholas’s weakness well in hand.” His chartreuse-green eyes shifted to the locked document box that contained several monthly records of Lady Rosamund’s activities. “Now I just need to dig up the half-blood’s past—or better yet—simply kill the bitch.”

‘Perhaps an opportunity will present itself at the Royal Hunt. I’m certain the Duchess will attend. After all, Nicholas himself put her in charge of his security.’

Rupert smiled grimly as he seized a small bell from the corner of his desk and shook it.

The office door opened as the butler quickly stepped inside. “Master.”

“Send a message to Captain Weylin. Tell him to prepare my army to move by mid-day tomorrow.”

“Of course,” the butler replied and watched patiently as the Marquess wrote out a quick note and sealed it inside an envelope.

“And have this delivered to Lord Coldwell. Do it now. Tell him this can’t wait until morning.”

Everyone had a secret or some weakness they did not want to be exposed. A half-blood like Lady Kirsi, who had only survived this long because of the Hawthorne family’s charity, would be no different.

‘What was her family name again? Turnbell?’