Fin was speaking in hushed tones to Annika’s closest maid, Clara. Servants passed by them without sparing a glance at the sight, and with the Viscount’s black tunic and the maid’s navy blue gown, both blended easily into the shadows despite it being a little after midday.

Brendan noted the seriousness in the redhead’s face, and the maid’s usual cold expression.

After another few brief words, the head of the Ashowan family straightened and glanced around them casually, which was when his shimmering blue eyes met the Troivackian King’s.

A moment of stillness passed between the two men, before the Viscount turned, his expression blank, as he began to move towards the west wing exit towards the barracks.

Slowly, and without making a sound, Brendan followed him.

He didn’t try to hide his presence, but he also didn’t draw unnecessary attention either.

When he ambled outside towards the Knights barracks, he noticed the redhead speaking to the Captain once again in lowered tones. The military leader frowned darkly and nodded, then appeared to be asking a question.

Brendan watched the back of the Viscount’s neck remain straight, until it suddenly swivelled so that his profile looked over his shoulder and his ethereal gaze landed on the monarch once again.

There was a sharpness in his look that appeared threatening, and there wasn’t a hint of the infamous kindness or warmth that people spoke of anywhere around his person.

The Captain noticed the King, and asked the witch something else, making the Viscount’s head turn back to him to answer before he turned away, and began to walk away from the barracks. His hands pressed into his pockets.

Brendan shared a stiff nod with Captain Taylor before continuing following Finlay, but missing the worried look the military leader donned after the exchange.

The Viscount had disappeared around the southwest turret, and so Brendan picked up his pace. However, when he rounded the same turret, his hand instinctively went to the dagger on his hip.

Finlay Ashowan stood leaning against the stone wall, his arms crossed, his expression dark, but his eyes glowed brighter than before.

“Your Majesty, is there something I can help you with?”

“I see you’ve already forsaken the appropriate greeting for a monarch,” Brendan observed, the edge in his voice impossible to miss.

Fin stepped away from the castle wall and bowed, then locked eyes again with the Troivackian, his eyes no less frightening.

“Have I done something to anger you, Viscount?”

Fin tilted his head to the side. “I don’t particularly like being followed and spied upon.”

“We have that much in common at least.” Brendan’s gaze was direct and unwavering.

The Viscount stiffened, but his expression remained the same. “Is there something special about today that has you tailing me?”

Brendan dropped his hand from his dagger and clasped his hands behind his back, his head tilting ever so slightly over his left shoulder. “I had an interesting discussion with the Princess recently.”

Fin’s eyebrows twitched in surprise, but said nothing as he waited for the King to continue.

“The conversation made me realize just how strange it is, that no one seems to have seen, or heard of the Crown Prince’s whereabouts or well-being in three years. No one knows what city he is in, let alone if he is in good health. He hasn’t attended a single meeting or been a part of any diplomatic envoys since before the Queen’s death. He was supposed to be present during the Princess’ courting season, yet no word has been sent to confirm or deny his attendance.”

The Viscount waited, knowing exactly the question that was beginning to bubble to the surface.

“No one, not even the King seems to know very much. Not that I’ve asked him yet… but of all the people in this castle, the one and only name I keep hearing about this situation is yours, Lord Ashowan. You were the last one to have seen the Prince, but you haven’t relayed any information. To anyone.”

Still not moving a single muscle, the redhead stood patiently as the Troivackian King spoke.

“Then imagine how strange it is, that I hear that your son is one of the partners courting the Princess. A son of a Viscount amongst heirs to Dukedoms and royalty. It seems rather… suspicious.”

“Is there something you would like to ask me, Your Majesty?” Fin’s voice was calm, but it was clear one aggressive move would put him into action. Brendan could see it in the man’s eyes.

“Yes. Where is the Prince? Is he alive? And are you plotting to put your son on the throne to rule all of Daxaria?” Brendan waited, his dark expression conveying the latent threat of his questions.

Fin caught him off guard then, by relaxing and answering him flatly.

“Eric is alive, he is in Sorlia. My son will never be a King. It is not what he wishes to be.” Fin slowly withdrew his hands from his pockets and folded his arms. “Any further questions regarding the Prince should be addressed to His Majesty, King Norman.”

Brendan nodded. A loyal answer. Short and to the point, and nothing indicated the Viscount had lied. Though it was interesting that he was on a first name basis with the Daxarian Prince. The way the witch had said it had been natural, as though he hadn’t even thought about it either…

Even so. With everything he knew about the Viscount’s family, he took the exchange with a grain of salt.

“I see. Thank you for your frankness, Lord Ashowan.”

Fin gave a shallow bow, his eyes no longer glowing quite as brightly as before.

“Has your wife sent word to her spies to withdraw from my court?”

Finlay straightened, a small smile touching the corners of his mouth.

Brendan didn’t like it one bit.

“Your Majesty, are you telling me you believe my wife to be the one in charge of the leaks in Troivack?”

The King widened his stance and straightened his shoulders. “It is only us here, Viscount. Not to mention I imagine with your abilities, you’ve already seen to ensuring this conversation to be private. Annika Piereva is the sole survivor of the great spymaster Georgio Piereva’s grandchildren. While men of the older generations chose not to suspect her because of gender, I am not nearly so closed minded.”

Fin’s smile faded, but his features then became… unreadable. Brendan couldn’t tell if the witch was laughing at him, curious, or angry.

“Your wife killed my father, and countless others. Some in self-defence, I’m sure; it goes with the territory of her work. However, we are not at war anymore, and she needs to realize that if things are to remain peaceful, there needs to be trust. I am no more like my father than you are like yours, Lord Ashowan.”

Fin’s smile returned, only his eyes were calculating. “You don’t like me much, do you?”

“Your entire family has built wealth and power based on deception and secrets. While the citizens of your kingdom see you as the champion of their home, I see something very different.”

“What if we built our house off of good intentions, my wife’s brains, and I am not jesting when I say this, a frightening amount of luck? Especially with your father stabbing me to death...”

“That would be easier to believe if your wife withdrew her spies and your son wasn’t courting the Princess who could be the next heir to the throne.” Brendan pointedly ignored the legend of the Viscount’s two way trip with death’s carriage driver.

Fin’s smile turned genuine, a strange knowingness crossing his features. “My son and the Princess have no interest in marrying each other, but you seem quite fixated on that point.”

Brendan didn’t know why but something in him suddenly felt… uncomfortable. What was the witch getting at?

“Why is he bothering to attend the courting dates with Her Highness if there isn’t the possibility?” Brendan countered before realizing that the man had sidestepped yet again the matter of his wife’s spies.

“My daughter is usually with them on the courting dates, Sire. They’re friends.” Fin was having an absolute ball of a time as he watched the hint of panic in the younger man’s face. “You may want to mind your possessive nature, Your Majesty. Alina won’t like it.”

“Since when did the Princess say you could call her-”

“Viscount! Is everything alright?” Clara, the Viscountess’ maid approached the Lord, her eyes briefly sweeping over the Troivackian King before giving a graceful curtsy.

“Yes, Clara, by the way. I want to apologize for telling you to stop teasing Annika about our relationship.”

Brendan and Clara both looked to the redhead who had dropped his hands to his hips.

“You were right. It is fun watching it happen to someone else.”

Letting out a long sigh Fin shook his head and patted the King on the shoulder before continuing to walk towards the castle kitchen.

“Viscount! What are you trying to say? When did the Princess tell you to use her first name?!” Brendan called after the redhead who had a small spring in his step as he strolled away.

“I’m a King, he can’t just walk away like that whenever he-” the Troivackian was beginning to grumble before he realized the maid Clara was staring up at him blankly for a brief moment before she too began smiling.

“Try not to let on too much to the Viscount that he’s gotten to you, or you might end up like Mr. Howard.”

Brendan’s face darkened. “What did the Viscount do to the King’s assistant?”

The maid’s grin turned devious. “I suggest you ask him yourself. Though perhaps have some moonshine ready when you do.”

Then, with another proper curtsy, the woman turned and followed her master towards the kitchen, however Brendan found himself wondering if he had heard a small giggle from the infamously icy maid of the Ashowan house.

***

At long last it was the night of the ball.

Alina stared at herself in the mirror and smiled nervously. Her maids really had outdone themselves.

She wore a white dress as tradition dictated, though a triangle of pale green began at the golden rope that settled around her hips and flared out into the crisp white of her skirts. Her sleeves were wide and loose, the neckline square, and the veil pinned to her shining locks sported golden flowers embroidered along its edge. Her crown held it in place as it ran back into her train, and when she turned back from staring at herself, her heart fluttering in her chest, every single one of her attendants were smiling.

Even Marianne looked slightly less sour than usual.

“Your Highness, you look exquisite!” the younger girls gushed excitedly.

Alina blushed, but accepted the maid’s hand to step down off of the stool she had been on while the seamstress finished sewing the back shut.

“Thank you all for your assistance. I couldn’t ever have done it without you all.” Alina nodded her chin regally to them, and received curtsied responses.

It was then there was the knock on her chamber door.

“Your Highness, the King is here to escort you,” Mr. Howard’s voice rang out into the room, and Alina felt her face break out into a nervous smile as her attendants opened the chamber door, and her father dressed in his finest clothes, and clad in the emerald cloak of the Kingdom. His golden crown with its emeralds and diamond glinting in the glow of the setting sun.

“Princess, you look… beautiful.” Mr. Howard smiled, an uncommon glimmer of pride in his eyes.

Alina turned to her father, already feeling horribly embarrassed by the extra attention. Only her face fell into a worried frown when she saw the pained tears in his eyes.

“Your mother would… she’d be so proud.” Norman’s voice cracked as more than one errant tear escaped his hazel eyes that matched his daughter’s.

Stepping forward hurriedly, Alina immediately reached out and brushed the tears from her father’s face, her own lump in her throat threatening to choke her.

But she couldn’t succumb to her own feelings just then. Her father needed her.

“Father, I’m sure she’s still watching over us,” Alina whispered, while pretending not to see Mr. Howard’s own misty eyes searching around the chamber desperately for a distraction.

“She… she was so happy that you didn’t get her massive feet…”

“Father, Mum’s feet weren’t-”

“They were huge. Trundled on every toe I have thousands of times.”

Alina couldn’t help but laugh while for some reason her father cried a little harder.

“I inherited your small feet, but if you’d like I can try to stomp on them a few times when we give the opening dance,” she offered, her voice beginning to croak.

“I’d like that,” Norman managed to say while Alina used the sleeves of her dress to dry her father’s face before accepting the handkerchief Mr. Howard offered her.

Her heart ached seeing her father’s grief resurface anew…

“Then brace yourself, Father. These shoes have heels so that I don’t break my neck trying to stare up and dance with the Troivackians. So your beloved toes will be bleeding through your stockings.”

At her final jest, Norman finally managed to straighten his shoulders again. He then reached out and grasped the back of his daughter’s head, drawing her forehead to his lips to plant a fatherly kiss that nearly had Alina breaking down in tears then and there.

“Well, shall we face those good for nothings who don’t deserve you?” the King asked, offering his daughter his arm with a smile, despite his eyes still being bright with pain.

“Might as well indulge them, hm?” Alina wrapped her hands gently around her father’s arm, and it was then for the first time since the entire courting season began that it occurred to her that the days where she could comfort her father and have him be her partner to the balls were… dwindling.

Swallowing with great difficulty, she began to question whether the surprise performance was really something she wanted to do when the cherished moments with her father were drawing to a close.

As the royal pair left the Princess’ chamber, Alina’s stomach in knots, and Norman’s cheeks still damp, both couldn’t help but feel the excitement of the night fade into sad reluctance.