Ch#67
Chapter 67: A Sudden Blow
The pattern repeated itself in the perfume boutique we visited afterward.
“You understand, don’t you? Staying in Her Highness’s favor means your trade will flourish.”
Uttering that aloud now is only digging the hole deeper…
Yet the baron pressed on so fervently, dabbing at his brow with a handkerchief, that interrupting him seemed unkind.
“What are you standing there for? Attend to Her Highness at once.”
The proprietor, with evident reluctance, presented several scents for my consideration.
None particularly appealed, but lingering in discomfort felt worse, so I purchased a handful regardless. With a courteous nod of thanks, I departed.
“That proprietor’s demeanor was appalling,” Cecilia muttered as she caught up to me outside, shooting me a sidelong glance.
“I believe we’ve toured enough for one day.”
As the baron moved to usher me down yet another avenue, I raised a hand to halt him.
One more shop, and I feared my composure might shatter entirely.
“Ah, you must be weary from all this strolling. I should have considered that,” he replied, his features creased with concern.
“I only wished to showcase Goldrain’s finest side…”
“No need to fret. I truly appreciated the sights.”
I pivoted toward Cecilia.
“Time to head back to the palace.”
“Your Highness—”
The baron called out hastily as I began to turn away.
“Wouldn’t you care for tea at my café first?”
He clasped his hands in awkward entreaty.
“It would give you a moment to recuperate before the carriage ride.”
Refusal hovered on my tongue, but the slump of his posture tugged at my resolve.
He must be exhausted himself…
He’d expended such effort placating those merchants.
Brushing him off abruptly would only wound him further.
“…Very well.”
Thus, I trailed him upstairs to the Delitar Café.
“What did you say?”
My head snapped up, stunned by his words.
“Me? Accepting bribes from an innkeeper?”
“I assumed you were aware.”
Baron Gelfrey toyed with his teacup, his expression tinged with regret for raising the topic.
“No cause for alarm. Sane folk dismiss such gossip outright.”
Suddenly, it all made sense.
The chill from those merchants.
“Regrettably, that drivel has spread widely through Goldrain.”
I gnawed the inside of my cheek.
“As Merchants’ Guild leader, it puts me in a delicate spot as well,” he continued, before outlining how a simple public greeting to the shop owners might quell the rumors.
Troubles piled one atop the next.
Just as the day hinted at improvement…
Could I ever find genuine respite in Blenheim before the year’s end?
“I assembled the merchants ahead of your leaving—if you’d offer a brief address…”
A butter cake sat upon the table.
The very same cloying confection from my initial Goldrain excursion.
Abruptly, its rich aroma turned my stomach.
Nausea surged.
The day’s hostile glares slithered over my skin, constricting my throat.
The baron’s words blurred into incoherence.
I’m going to be sick. I need to get home.
Air came in ragged gasps as I lurched upright.
The chamber, the atmosphere—oppressive beyond endurance. I had to flee.
“Your Highness?”
“I must leave.”
Brushing past the astonished baron, I stumbled down the stairs, steadying myself against the wall.
Mercifully, the carriage waited curbside before the café.
Thank goodness I’d instructed Cecilia to prepare it.
The prospect of escape brought faint solace.
Until I spotted the throng clustered around the vehicle.
Who are these people?
Burly northern men glowered with unforgiving stares, prompting an instinctive recoil.
My gaze darted frantically for Tiern and the knights.
Spotting Tiern positioned protectively at the carriage’s fore, my pounding heart eased.
“These are the merchants assembled to bid Your Highness farewell,” announced the baron, who had hurried after me, his face alight.
“I hadn’t anticipated such a turnout.”
Cecilia hastened to my side, anxiety etching her features, and murmured,
“The Merchants’ Guild mandated shop closures to draw everyone here for your send-off. The vibe is hostile—best we depart swiftly.”
What absurdity is this?
Forcing such a spectacle without consultation?
I shot the baron a piercing look. He averted his eyes.
His smile held, yet lacked any trace of triumph.
“As I mentioned, moments like these call for Your Highness to show yourself to the merchants.”
Then, he projected his voice toward the assembly.
“Her Highness has journeyed here to Goldrain expressly to bolster your spirits. Consider it an honor!”
The merchants’ gazes hardened further.
Composed, the baron gestured me onward with an open palm.
“Your Highness, a few words before you depart?”
The impulse to silence him flared, but I advanced.
No choice now but to face it.
I’d speak briefly and bolt.
“You must all have pressing duties, so I appreciate you gathering on my account.”
Curiously, addressing knights never rattled me thus.
Pressure banded my ribs.
“Your tireless efforts sustain Goldrain’s vitality. Each visit leaves me in awe.”
No room for levity here.
A misstep, and objects might fly my way.
The tension crackled like dry tinder.
Words tumbled out in rote civility, devoid of thought.
“…The Guild head will surely advocate for you, but should I assist in any way, don’t hesitate to ask.”
Scarce had I concluded—
“Leeching off others once more?”
A venomous shout pierced the crowd.
What?
Heads swiveled, but the mass obscured the culprit.
“Here to bleed the North dry of its toil!”
Another barb from the far flank.
Tiern’s eyes narrowed; he unsheathed his blade. The knights mirrored him.
“Who said that?!”
The baron whirled in frenzy, hunting the voice.
“Your Highness, to the carriage.”
Cecilia seized my arm insistently. I wheeled to obey, but fresh barbs sliced the air.
“Parading as more than a marquis’s spawn!”
“Shameless intruder!”
Vitriol erupted from every direction.
“Carriage, immediately!”
Tiern’s order rang out; knights encircled me, forming a bulwark against the mob.
Swords bared, the foremost merchants recoiled in alarm.
Others, wary of guilt by association, melted from the edges.
Then—
“Here—now scram!”
Splat.
A chill glob struck my foot’s arch.
Glancing down, viscous yellow oozed into my gown’s hem.
A raw egg.
“Your Highness! Make haste!”
Cecilia implored, yet paralysis gripped me.
A second egg arced through the air.
She lunged, but it eluded her grasp.
Smack!
Her cry reverberated through Goldrain.
A heavy thump pulsed in my head.
Fingers brushed my cheek: yolk-slick residue.
It trailed down my jaw.
Frozen in disbelief, I stood immobile.
Raw egg stench permeated the scene.
Behind Cecilia’s shock, horrified murmurs rippled outward.
Tiern’s panicked visage flashed in my periphery.
The world tilted, inverting.
The Duke will be horrified…
That final notion preceded oblivion.
I gazed upon the vacant execution scaffold.
So… I perished.
No overt clues, yet certainty gripped me.
I’d met my end atop that platform mere instants prior.
Had time elapsed?
Spectators, headsman—all vanished. Silence reigned.
Blood trickled down the timber steps, diluted by hasty rinsing.
Clinking armor heralded a slow ascent.
A fully armored figure.
Broad of build, yet his stooped shoulders bespoke fragility.
“…”
He contemplated the marred planks briefly, then sank to his knees.
“…Forgive me. I’m so sorry.”
His choked whisper quivered.
“I arrived too late…”
Clasping his chest, he wept.
Who is this, grieving my demise so?
Detachment colored my observation.
He raised his gaze.
The Duke?
Why here?
I willed myself nearer, to no avail.
Our stares locked—his obsidian eyes brimming—and an unseen force wrenched me away.
Gasp!
Eyes flew open on a inhaled sob.
Bedside lamplight bathed the shadowed chamber in gentle haze.
A nightmare.
Trembling fingers probed my throat.
Damp tresses adhered to chilled flesh.
Had dread conjured it?
Anette’s canonical demise replayed with harrowing clarity, as if endured firsthand.
Today’s assault had rattled me deeper than realized.
More rest, then.
Fumbling for the coverlet, I sought to draw it higher.
“Don’t stir.”
An unfamiliar timbre halted me.
I stiffened, twisting toward the sound.
A figure in opulent robes occupied the chair beside the bed.
“Who are you?”
Vigilance sharpened my query.
Long hair bound at his nape. A stranger—no face recalled from palace halls.