Chapter 6
“What?”
The knights, absorbed in their food, froze with forks halfway to their mouths.
I’d assumed they were too engrossed in eating to notice me, yet they’d clearly been hanging on my every word. Tension crackled through the air at the table like frost on glass.
“I was only kidding. I never meant to imply I was spying.”
Feeling Hedrick’s piercing stare as he methodically worked through his meat, I hurried to clarify. “I figured you wouldn’t linger in the capital. With so little downtime, I wanted you to have at least one decent place to crash before heading out.”
“If we’d stayed longer in the capital, then…”
“The innkeeper would’ve raked in a fortune,” I said with an innocent shrug.
“I’ve heard everyone flocks to the Rowgee Inn when they visit the capital.”
“Spot on. It’s renowned even up in Blenheim,” one of the knights chimed in.
“Since you traveled all this way on my account, I wanted to show a bit of gratitude. Inviting you to my estate felt like it’d be the last thing you’d want.”
The knights bristled once more, hackles rising like wary felines.
My tongue! That cursed, impulsive tongue of mine!
I met Perel’s eyes directly and addressed him loud enough for all to hear.
“Nothing sinister behind it. Please, don’t take it the wrong way.”
“Not at all, Your Grace. We appreciate the consideration,” Perel responded smoothly, steering the conversation away. The knights eased up a fraction and returned to their plates.
Securing this spot had been twenty percent fortune, eighty percent coin.
My original scheme involved offloading some jewelry for ready cash.
Uncertain whether a straight trip to a jeweler might alert the Marquis, I required a discreet middleman.
A casual connection from the stables had connected me to an information guild that managed minor jobs for a price.
“You’re looking to sell jewels? Why not hit up a jeweler directly?”
The guild operative showed scant interest when I first broached the jewelry sale. But once I arrived laden with pieces, his demeanor flipped entirely.
Evidently, I ranked as either a prized customer or an easy mark.
On my following visit, the guild head appeared personally to welcome me.
We settled on a selling price, split the proceeds, and I walked away with two hundred coins.
“Feels a touch skimpy. Did you undersell?”
At my scowl, the guild leader dismissed it with frantic gestures.
“Push the price up, and our cut swells. This was a solid deal for you.”
Reasonable point. The tightfisted Marquis wouldn’t lavish finery on anyone short of his blood kin.
“I’ve got another favor to ask…”
I outlined my need: details on the delegation’s return to Blenheim.
He balked at first, citing the delicacy of travel logs. Persistent haggling and a bonus payout swayed him.
“We can’t hand over precise itineraries, but we can scan gate bookings for the week. Blenheim-to-capital runs go via the Marhen Gate through Eonveld. That week featured a single round-trip slot, both directions in the morning.”
Plain as day: wedding morning arrival, departure the very next dawn.
“Hang on—they show up wedding morning and bolt right after?”
“Spend under half a day in the capital… entirely feasible.”
That’s when it hit me: zero intention of lingering, much less savoring the city.
“I’ll need to trail them straight after the rites.”
I dug into Blenheim routes and learned of a traveler-favorite inn.
“Run by a former royal chef. Their roast pork is legendary.”
When I admitted ignorance of the Rowgee Inn, the guild leader arched a brow.
“Even aristocrats rave about it. What cave have you been hiding in?”
“But snagging a room…”
“Arrive at crack of dawn, perhaps. It books solid fast; stragglers pitch tents outside.”
Inspiration struck.
True hospitality began with foresight.
A sumptuous spread and cozy beds awaiting them post-capital…
“Could soften their view of me, just a smidge?”
Seized by the notion, I pressed the guild leader. “Can you reserve the rooms ahead?”
He rubbed his scalp thoughtfully.
“Doubtful. Unusual to hold space for no-shows.”
“What if I front the payment?”
“Might fly. Unprecedented for us, but no trader snubs upfront gold.”
“Would you manage it?”
Delight lit his face at the added business.
“Gladly. I’ll swing you a preferential rate.”
Thus, with a modest surcharge, I locked in the rooms and the banquet.
‘Pricey, but priceless,’ I mused, eyeing Leon summon extra dishes from the innkeeper. I savored a morsel of the famed roast pork, its crackling crust yielding to succulent, ideally fatty perfection—hype well earned.
That evening, a magical courier pigeon delivered Loic a letter that blindsided him completely.
“The Grand Duchess will travel back to Blenheim with us. Ready a chamber for her.”
His chiseled jaw clenched hard.
“Has this fool lost his senses?”
Perel had anticipated Loic’s ire, appending justifications: the Grand Duchess lacked escorts or retainers, rendering her solo return impractical.
The Marquis’s daughter proved equally baffling.
Most noble ladies would deem a groomless wedding mortifying enough.
Why tag along, anticipating chill reception?
Seeking to vent grievances?
Yet enduring such a grueling trek for spite alone rang hollow.
“We shall ready accommodations for Her Grace,” Whitley, the silver-maned butler, declared.
“Ready? For what purpose?”
Loic glowered.
Even so, hustling her back post-trek would spark whispers of bride neglect, arming the Marquis with ammunition. He’d grant no such leverage.
“Very well. One room only. She won’t linger.”
“Certain, my lord?”
Loic exhaled sharply, reading Whitley’s subtext.
“Position it as distant from my wing as the castle allows. I’ve no desire to cross paths.”
“Very good.”
As Whitley withdrew, Loic raked fingers through his hair, irked.
“The Marquis’s third girl? That notorious capital vixen!”
The knights’ recent prattle echoed in his mind.
He dismissed such tattle; dubbed the “savage duke who guzzled monster blood,” he knew rumor’s venom all too well.
Still, a Marquis’s spawn was no fragile bloom.
‘Call her resolute?’
The North culled the weak.
“What nonsense is this?”
Loic’s striking features creased in a scowl. Tough or tender, why should it concern him?
Somehow, it felt like the Marquis had outfoxed him anew, igniting a hot surge of fury.
Dispatching his daughter to that unforgiving clime, maidless?
Should it be a ploy to disarm him, it had succeeded masterfully.
But his nominal spousal courtesy extended no beyond this grudging hospitality.
Loic hardened this vow within.
