The mansion was grand and stately, crystals shedding soft light on precious marble and spotless glass windows and vibrant banners. Brightly colored pennons, showing the Pierced Goblin, fluttered in the evening breeze from slender towers. The place could have easily doubled down as a fortress, its impressive and brooding air only tickling the warrior aristocracy’s fancy.

A stately marble stairway led to the great entrance, which gate was open to let light and voices and laughter reach outside. Golden crystals, artfully carved into delicate forms, stood nestled in niches, spreading light on a complement of knights. They were a sight, these ones: tall and impressive, standing guard with professionalism and discipline, their armors gleaming under the light.

As they passed, the part of Edward that was a military commander nodded in approval: he knew good soldiers when he saw them.

For her part, Claire elbowed her sister, that had been looking with starry eyes at the plated warriors.

A valet, the Pierced Goblin embroidered in silver thread on a bright red tunic, came to welcome them: no need to show the invite, Duke Crofford and his family were personal guests of the Master.

Satisfaction thrumming in his chest, Edward led his family inside.

They entered a short corridor. A plush carpet of foreign and beautiful fashion softened the step underfoot. The walls were covered by colorful tapestries, each depicting Gods or mythical figures engaged in the tales of their legends. The family admired them, even Claire breaking her frown to blink at the images they depicted.

“Oh, but this is the Vain Quest of Sir Leopold the Mighty!” She breathed, eyeing with admiration one of the tapestry. It was a beautiful piece, this one, presenting with masterful strokes an armored man astride a horse. Slumping with tiredness while clutching a shield and a spear, the man strained his exhausted mount to climb a steep hill; but it was a vain venture, since, after that hill, another and another stood, one steeper than the other; and the same was for those he had already conquered.

“This is the Dragon Defeated!” Edward said almost at the same time as his daughter, looking wide-eyed at another tapestry. This one, albeit being just as beautiful as the other, was its opposite in every way: a knight, armor covered with dust and soot and grime, raising a broken sword in victory, stood with one foot on top of the body of a slain dragon, the top half of the weapon embedded in its chest. The visor of the knight’s helmet was open, revealing a smiling face stained as much as the armor, with one of the eyes covered with a bloodied bandage. But it was a wound destined to disappear, since, amidst a cheering crowd, a sorceress came solemnly bearing a healing potion.

Duke and daughter admired breathlessly the beautiful pieces of work for a moment, then realized what they had said and turned at each other in surprise. Their expression turned into frowns and, without a word from the Duke and a scoff from Claire, they averted their eyes from each other in disdain.

Lucelle giggled. Edgard laughed, turning his hilarity to a mute chuckle and an apologetic expression when his father glared at him.

The Duchess sighed softly, and herded her family forward.

The corridor ended in a white door, the bright wood carved with floral imagery. Edward gave his and his family name to a valet, then led them inside, while two smiling attendants opened the door.

And just like that, the Crofford family entered into a new world, one that seemed to belong to a fairytale.

The hall was grand and magnificent, filled with splendor and light. A great chandelier, cut by a single crystal the color of polished gold, hung from the ceiling, smaller crystals orbiting around it like small stars; it radiated like a gentle sun, shedding golden light over a ceiling from which Gods and Heroes looked down, each locked in their struggles and tales with radiant strokes of lines and colors. A multitude of globes of what looked to be glass dangled from the ceiling with long red ropes: gentle, multicolor radiance emitted from a small flame inside, that, as it crackled without a sound, sent petal-like wisps of light fluttering into the air. A cloud of the ethereal sparks danced in the top half of the hall, making seem like Gods and Heroes were watching down from the higher planes or Aria herself.

Vibrant tapestries, the match and more of those they had already seen, hung from the walls, covering veined marble that seemed to sparkle with an inner radiance. Polished armors, each a masterwork of dazzling beauty, stood at attention, metal limbs locked in martial postures around gleaming weapons.

Large tables, their cloths filigreed with delicate designs, stood at the ready, offering a variety of delicious-looking food, many traditional, many more of foreign fashion. Behind them, richly dressed valets waited smiling, ready for orders.

On the back, a band of musicians played their instruments on top of a dais. The music they played added only to the dazzling ambiance, caressing all present with delicate fingers, dancing in the warm air like a sylph.

Cages and containers of a variety of types showed strange and marvelous sights at the guests; in one, a couple of Dire Wolves stood, calm and tame, their coats running with highlights as they shifted their massive bodies while observing with calm curiosity the humans; in a jar of sparkling glass, a humanoid the size of a hand that seemed wrought out of purple light gently fluttered around on little butterfly wings. It moved shining eyes on the guests, tittering dreamily as it fluttered around in its confines, leaving a rain of purple, glittering dust in its wake. Behind the walls of iron and glass of a massive cage, a plant taller than a man offered, with its large drooping leaves and delicate violet flowers, a relaxing sight and delightful scent: if one showed some attention, it was easy to notice branches and roots twitch and slither slowly. The strange zoo only continued: spiders, dire rats, sylphs, even a bear. The animals and creatures on display shared one feature, though; none looked frightened or even bothered, they were all good nourished and placid, curious or even playful.

To complete that scene of splendor, a corner of the great hall had been transformed into a slice of paradise. A fountain of white marble stood beneath a corner that had been built using only glass. The water bubbled happily from the mouth of a jumping dolphin caught in stone, cascading over the branches of a tree and then falling, into a myriad of drops, into a large basin. The tree itself was beautiful, its bark and branches and leaves the same color of spun silver. It leaned over the basin, partaking of the water like a happy maiden on a warm summer day. Its leaves ran softly as they caught the water, sounding like so many silvery bells.

And, to complete that scene straight out of a fairytale, ladies and lords, all of them in colorful, elegant clothes, milled and talked, laughing, sampling food and drinks or admiring the many attractions in the hall, while waiters moved among them with trays filled with glasses or delicacies.

The Crofford were breathless. As members of the highest aristocracy of the city they had had their taste of elegance already, but that party surpassed anything they had ever seen before. Lucelle covered her mouth with both of her small hands, eyes glittering with admiration; Edgard gaped without remorse; even Claire, usually unimpressed when it came to the trappings of nobility, was wide-eyed.

The ducal couple retained a bit more of their composure thanks to a lifetime of exercising to keep one’s emotions in check, but even they were dumbstruck. Not even the great parties of the glory days, when the previous Lord-Mayor was still alive, could compare to the sheer pomp of that place.

The voice of the herald announcing the names and titles of the newcomers startled Edward and Aurora out of their shock.

The two shared a quick glance, that single gesture enough for their thoughts to be known to each other, then resumed their noble demeanors. A Duke and a Duchess couldn't be seen gaping like schoolchildren after all.

As Edward smoothed his tabard from unexistent wrinkles, Aurora launched a soft but firm glance at their children to make them behave themselves. All three of them obeyed right away, but their eyes kept shimmering with wonder.

The herald’s voice cut through the hum of the party like a knife through butter, helped by the heavy from the baton the man slammed three times on the ground.

The guests turned and raised their glasses in greetings, cheering at the newcomers.

Smiles on their faces, the couple advanced in the hall, followed by their children. A crowd of their friends came to meet them, and for a while, Aurora and Edward were busy receiving and sharing out greetings.

“It‘s a pleasure to have you here,” Lord Warstone greeted, shaking the Duke’s hand with a rock-hard grip. The usually dour expression the man wore was softened by a barely perceptible upward quirk of the lips. “As you can see, the place is somewhat… striking.” The thin man looked around with a mix of suspicion and awe.

“The Judge strike me!” Lord Buckener interjected, bullying his way to shake the Duke’s hand with eagerness. The large man’s face was red as ever, his smile reaching almost to his ears. “This is straight out of the books! Have you ever seen such magnificence? I most surely haven‘t! And the wine, my lord, the wine!” Like he wanted to show it, he drank from a large goblet, some of the cerulean liquid inside spilling down his chin.

Edward smiled at his friend’s hijinks. Buckener wasn’t exactly a paragon of courtesy but he couldn’t really wrong him here: that place was astounding.

“And where’s our host?” He asked with a smile.

They found Cartus in front of one of the largest cages. The old man was just offering a group of wide-eyed nobles some explaining about the beast it contained.

Edward recognized Lord Torn and Lord Wellworth among the listeners. He and his wife offered them and the others gestures of greetings, but theirs and the attention of their family was soon all for the master of the house.

Lucius Cartus wore an elegant black doublet patterned with snow-white trimmings, the neck of which let the hem of the shirt underneath, white and modestly puffed out, come out under his chin. His leggings were of the same color, and so for his boots. White gloves were thrust in his belt, which was graced with an iron buckle. The only exception given to ornamentation was the silver brooch the old man wore on his breast; showing the Pierced Goblin with exquisite details. Even at the party, the old man seemed unwilling to go around without preparations: small pouches were at his belt, as he expected to go on a quest at any moment.

Everything about Cartus’s figure spoke of austere elegance, not a wrinkle to mar his apparel. That, plus his straight-backed bearing, gave him the air one could imagine a general could have.

And yet, any impression of severity slipped away the moment the old man turned his eyes upon the Crofford. Deep, they were, and piercing, but at that moment there was a softness and hospitality into them that caught at the heart.

“Ah, my lord Crofford,” the old man greeted with a smile, grabbing the hand the Duke offered him. “I hope you find my mansion to your taste.”

“It’s, well…” Edward was divided between how impressed he was and the need for propriety.

“It left us breathless, sir Cartus.” Aurora came to his rescue. “This mansion is a match even for the Old Palace.”

Cartus said nothing; with a closed fist on his chest, he bowed to the Duchess.

The family proceeded to give the old man their regards: Edgard’s handshaking was enthusiastic, the young man smitten by the splendor of the place. Under their mother’s gentle gaze, Claire and Lucelle performed a perfect curtsey; only the youngest sister was completely sincere though. After the first shock, Claire had been quick to retake a bit of her frown.

“May you be welcome to my house,” Cartus welcomed them all, his expression soft. “My house is bettered by the honor of having so many esteemed guests, and that is something that no wealth can buy.”

Lucelle raised her head to smile at the old man, eyes glittering. Claire didn’t imitate her sister: her gaze remained on the floor, frown deepening.

With the honors done, the attention of Cartus and his guests turned back to the cage they were admiring earlier, or better said, to its occupant.

The beast was a bit smaller than a bear, with a sparse, piebald fur the color of autumn leaves covering all of its heavyset body; it grew thick only on the barrel-like chest and in a crest that ran all along the spine. Its head resembled that of a large hyena, golden eyes nestled deep into the sockets.

The beast rested on an artificial conformation of rock, six thick legs folded beneath its body. It seemed to be calmly staring at the humans, but to any acute observers it would have been soon clear that it was a scene: the muscular body was tense, the long legs only slightly folded, like if the beast was as much ready to pounce as it was to slump down and sleep.

“Wonderful!” Edward breathed, stepping toward the cage. “A Barghest!” He turned to Cartus. “Where have you found such a rare beast?”

Cartus didn’t answer right away. For a long moment, the old man stared at the Barghest, the beast staring back with its feral eyes.

“A prize,” he eventually rumbled. “From my days as a hunter in the woods.” He admired the beast with something that could have been satisfaction. “A sturdy foe, this one was.”

Impressed murmurs passed through the nobles. Edward exchanged a glance with his wife. Barghests were wild creatures that were said able to take down bears on their own. Cunning, intelligent and with strange powers, they were among the most dangerous predators of the woods.

Lord Torn hit the cage’s bars with his cane, making them ring. The Barghest’s ears twitched.

“Loathsome beast,” he spat in disgust.

The nobles held their comments. Back in his youth, Torn had been a very prolific hunter. A Barghest, it was said, was responsible for almost killing him.

“My old wound aches only at watching it.” The old lord clutched the head of his cane with both hands, keeping the beast’s stare with his own. He glanced at Cartus. “Was it hard?”

Cartus’ eyes glinted with iron, the same glint in Torn’s gaze. “I have aching wounds on my own.”

The reply seems to satisfy Torn. The old lord sniffed and turned back to gaze hard at the beast.

Some of the nobles fidgeted at unease. Very suddenly, they felt a bit like intruders in a private conversation.

“And yet…” Cartus’ rumbling voice attracted their attention. “Behold.”

The nobles let out alarmed cries. Edward almost let go of his wife’s hand in an instinctive reaching forward. Because, disregarding any safety, the man had suddenly stuck his hand amongst the bars and inside the cage.

The Barghest sprang in action like lightning. It leaped forward and struck the hand of Cartus with one of its front paws. Another beast would have slammed against the bars, dragged on by its own momentum. The Barghest twirled around instead and came for another pass, but the old man had already retracted his hand out of the cage.

“Cartus!” Mind whirring, Edward was at the old man’s side in a flash. What in the Gods’ name had possessed him to do something so rash?

To his surprise, he found that Cartus didn’t seem to be wounded. With a smile that was a mix of challenge and satisfaction, the old man showed him the hand he had been nursing. No blood, no wound, there was only a bruise on the back, where the Barghest’s paw had connected.

Edward blinked in astonishment. How could it be possible?

Torn’s laughter shook him out of his daze. The old lord, renowned for his serious bearing, was shaking with mirth.

“Of course! Of course!” He said, and hit the bars with his cane again. “You ate your last serving of flesh, you monster!”

For a moment, nobody understood what he meant, then one of the nobles cried out and pointed at the beast’s claws.

Everyone watched, and more cries of surprise went up: the Barghest’s claws had been filed to harmless stumps!

“Barghests are born from Goblins.” Cartus’ rumbling voice grabbed everyone’s attention. The old man had taken out something greasy from a satchel hanging from his belt and was smearing the back of his hand with it. “If a Goblin eats enough human meat, he enters in a frenzy of hunger. It lasts for a day or two, and during that time he can eat as much as four times his own weight. Some cannot find enough sustenance and die; some die when their stomach gives out under the stress. But some end up turning into Barghests, usually after devouring their own tribe mates.” The old man watched the beast, eyes shimmering with fierce satisfaction. Miffed by the lack of blood, the Barghest was returning to his position, this time slumping down for real. “Don’t you think fitting for such a monster to end up like this, unable to feed and kill?”

“Yes!” Torn slammed the butt of his cane on the floor, his voice cutting through the nobles’ stunned silence. “By the Gods, a hundred times yes! You won’t hurt anybody ever again, you beast!” The cane hitting the bars for the third time coincided with a snarl from the Barghests and the nobles finding back their voices.

“Yes!,” they said in complete approval. Impressed wasn’t enough of a word to describe the thoughts whirring through their minds. That spectacle was astounding!

Gorren turned fully to his small audience.

“Barghests are cunning and intelligent,” he said. “But only as animals go. In exchange for their great strength, they renounce whatever little intelligence they had as goblins. And in so doing, they become worse than beasts, they became monsters. And yet, we humans, using the gift of intelligence given to us by the Gods, can defeat them. We can cage them so that their hunger can reach no victims ever again. And so, my lords, even the savage Woods can be tamed by man‘s might.”

Absolutely delighted, Lord Torn slammed his cane down, laughing the low laugh of a hunter that sees his hated enemy forever humbled. The nobles cheered and clapped.

Edward was smitten. As a warrior that had devoted his life to defending the lands of Blackstone by the dangers of the Woods, that demonstration of superiority over the monsters of the wildlands inspired in him pure, reverential awe.

Aurora’s delicate touch on his elbow shook him out of his reverie. Wide-eyed, he turned to his wife.

His expression must have been something, because she smiled, thoroughly amused.

It was enough to make him understand what kind of fool was looking right now.

“I really need to stop worrying for him…” he mumbled, lowering his gaze. Despite the grumpy tone, awe danced in his chest. What a man Lucius Cartus was!

Aurora softly squeezed his arm, smiling.

“But this is not all, of course,” Cartus resumed, folding his arms beyond his back.

The nobles murmured. There was something more as well?

Cartus courteously gestured for them to follow, then, without another word, walked away from the cage of the Barghest, the nobles moving quickly out of his way. Leaving Lord Torn to admire the defeated Barghest, Edward hurried to follow. The irrational part of his mind feared Cartus would risk his hand again, and that he needed to be ready to jump in just in case.

The old man stopped in front of another enclosure, this completely different from the other. Instead of heavy bars, a simple, low fence surrounded a small, pleasant meadow, just as what one could find during a stroll in sunlit woods.

A low protrusion throned at the center of the artificial landscape, amidst a knot of shrubs and leafy plants. It was covered in green, its summit showing only verdant grass shadowed by a walnut tree. Its sides were sandy where bare and if one looked intently, you could see, there and then, holes in them, half-hidden by the vegetations.

Round, soft rabbits grazed around the little hill, played catch or groomed themselves, all at ease despite the humans close by.

Lucelle squealed with delight at seeing the little animals, and even her mother’s gentle reproach did nothing but have her almost jump in her arms with excitement. Many of the nobles covered their smiles. Claire had to bit her lip to keep the word “cute!” from escaping her.

With a gesture and a soft word, Cartus led their attention to the summit of the small hill.

Sounds of awe and hitched breaths escaped the nobles as they watched where the old man wanted.

Another rabbit stood on top of the burrow. This one was a bit smaller than the others but whatever he lost in size he made up in nobility of posture and aspect; he stood tall, looking all around like a king upon his kingdom. His fur was thick and luscious, with a lustrous mass on his chest, the color of the snow when hit by the sun’s rays. A single, straight horn raised from his forehead, elegant and fearsome at the same time.

“Gods,” Lord Wellworth breathed, advancing toward the fence. The old lord leaned on it with both hands, drinking on the sight of that strange rabbit with an awed expression. “A Muran! So many years!”

The nobles were surprised by the lord’s reaction. If Torn was the hunter, Wellworth was the scholar. He had dedicated decades to the study of the wonders of the Woods, not only to find the weak points of monsters, but also to understand what wasn’t completely feral. If he was so taken, that creature had to be really something.

“Mh?” Wellworth needed a moment to understand the question one of the noble asked him. “What a Muran is? Ah, but of course.” The lord never took his eyes off the horned creature as he spoke. “A Muran is a creature of legend, they call them the Rabbit Kings. Ah, a magnificent, beautiful being.” Enthusiast, the lord turned to Cartus. “How did you ever manage to get your hands in such a good specimen?”

Cartus smiled, eyes narrowing with soft mirth. “By using a weapon i am sure you’re very familiar with: talking.”

Wellworth clapped his hands in delight. “Ah, but of course!”

Some of the nobles fidgeted, not understanding.

“Muran are shepherd,” Wellworth explained, returning to his admiration. He almost seemed to have forgotten the presence of the others. “They protect their flock and the land they live on. And woe to those that dare to threaten them!” He let out a short laugh. “They are intelligent, peaceful and, most importantly, they can be reasoned with! Do you think him captive? No! If he’s here, it’s because he wants to! Because he understands that his flock is much more secure here than anywhere in the Woods!”

The passion of Wellworth surprised the nobles. Some exchanged glances. They were warriors; speaking with the creatures of the Woods was a bit… extravagant to their mindsets. And yet, it was true. There were peaceful creatures in the Wildlands, marvels that walked and breathed. And Wellworth was one of the most influential minds of the city when it came to that.

And that meant that Cartus was right there with him.

Aurora looked at his husband, her smile hiding a bit of concern. “Are you feeling alright, my lord? You look a bit pale.”

Edward passed a hand over his forehead, and not to wipe any sweat produced by the heat. “Well, considering that we’ve been here less than five minutes and, well…” He made a helpless gesture. “…all this.”

Aurora chuckled softly, covering her mouth with a hand. “It’s alright to feel overwhelmed,” she whispered. “Judging by Lord Wellworth’s enthusiasm, this is not a sight for any other day.”

Edward was grateful for the attempt at relieving his tension, but that didn’t change the fact that he was acting like a goofy kid.

“Ah, but where are my manners.” Thankfully, Cartus came to his rescue. The old man fixed a kind smile on poor Edward and his wife. “I start rambling about my glory days without even offering the Duke and his family something to drink.”

Leaving Wellworth at admiring the creatures, the old man invited the Crofford at the refreshment’s table, something that Edward was just too happy to oblige to.

The food they found splayed before them was a delight for the eyes just as much as it was for the palate. Cartus was thorough in explaining to the couple the delicacies that they knew nothing about it: Samosas from the Far East, Hummus and Tahini from the lands behind the sea, Semla from the nordic lands, and much more. It was like all the lands of the world had decided to meet that day on that table to create a dizzying culinary landscape.

And dazed Edward was. It was far too much for a soldier like him, used to austerity. The Duke ended up settling on a dumpling-looking kind of food, while his wife, very graciously, limited herself to a glass of ambercolored liquid. Of their children, only Lucelle shared her mother’s attention to manners; Edgard filled his plate with a bit of everything, while Claire frowned down to everything, only to settle on a common-looking food.

“I am glad to find you in good health, my lord,” Cartus kindly offered after they had refreshed themselves.

Edward smiled, grateful for his tact. “Thank you.” He put a hand behind his head, somewhat embarrassed. “I beg your pardon if i looked foolish. The welcome has been somewhat…” He searched for the right word. “…overwhelming.”

Cartus’ expression flashed with amusement. “Ah, think nothing of this, my lord,” he said. “All this is but an old bird showing off his feathers.”

“Feathers, Lord Cartus?” Lucelle asked with innocent curiosity.

“Indeed,” the old man replied, smiling at the girl. “My memories, young lady. I displayed them here for you to see and…” He turned to look away, gaze turning distant. “My youth. My glory days. It’s as sweet as it is bitter to see them arrayed like this in front of me.”

There was a moment of silence as the Crofford thought about those words. And yet, before any bittersweetness could settle in, Cartus was smiling back at them, any shadow of sorrow gone.

“You could say that i am showing off a bit,” he joked softly. “Nothing like an animal circus to make a good impression, isn’t it?”

That snatched a chuckle from the family. Cartus’ joke lightened the mood. Seizing the chance, Edgard tried, without much subtlety, to prod the old man for details about how he intended to hold two parties at the same times; Aurora had to stop his son from making a fool of himself with a soft but firm gaze. The young man took the message and moved away from the topic.

From that, the discussion went to small talks and pleasantries.

Claire morosely picked at her food, eyebrows scrunched down. She already disliked being there, and couldn’t care less about that discussion.

“Hey”, she whispered, elbowing her sister.

Lucelle stopped admiring the hall ecstatically to smile at her sister. “Isn’t it beautiful?” She started. “It feels like a fairy tale, like…” Words failed her. She was practically shaking out of excitement.

Claire rolled her eyes. She loved her sister, but Lucelle got excited far too easily for her tastes.

The raven-haired girl looked toward the cages and bottles and whatnot, where nobles admired the collection of the host.

“They don’t stink…” she murmured.

“Mh? What do you mean?” Lucelle’s bright eyes followed her sister’s gaze.

“You’d think that with so many animals there would be a strong stink…”

Lucelle blinked, then giggled. “But of course not, silly. What party would be if it stank? The animals have surely been all washed before, and then, look”, the girl pointed at a valet aspersing the cages with perfumed water. “They keep it perfumed.” She giggled again. “You’re so silly, Claire. Everybody is so admired and you think to the stink.”

Claire didn’t answer, picking at her food with a frown. She knew that Lucelle didn’t intend to be mean-spirited. She was too good for that. Yet, it stung all the same. She hadn’t noticed the valets with the perfumed water.

The girl lowered her plate with a frustrated sigh. It was that place, getting at her. She hated parties, and this one in particular.

She narrowly glanced at her parents. The couple was deeply in conversation with Cartus, practically hanging from his lips.

Claire frowned at the old man. She didn’t trust him, not one bit, and it frustrated her to no end that nobody else seemed to share the sentiment. How could they be so blind? That old man appeared out of nowhere was wriggling his way in their city, in their hearts, so damn quick. It wasn’t normal! It couldn’t be normal!

Since the first time she had laid eyes upon Cartus, she had felt something was wrong with him. She just couldn’t put her finger on it.

It’s just that he was so… perfect. Warrior, entrepreneur, affable and charismatic talker. He seemed… custom-tailored to grab the hearts of everybody he met.

She still blushed in shame when she thought back to the incident at Bone Ridge. Her fault, sure, but Cartus had been there, just in time to save them and reap all the benefits. Was it a coincidence?

And now that party. Was it a coincidence that Lord Wellworth and Lord Torn, two of the most respected elders when it came to hunting and studying the Wilds, were right where Cartus spoke of the same topics? Showing off alone what he knew and had accomplished could have ruffled someone‘s feathers, risked to make him pass as an arrogant upstart. Like that, instead, he had had the approval of elders nobody would dare to gainsay.

It just was too… too perfect, too convenient.

Claire looked at the old man. That kind smile of his, it didn’t look so welcoming right now…

Feeling her stomach close, the girl put down his plate and excused herself.

She felt her sister’s concerned gaze on her back as she walked away, but ignored it.

She wandered around for minutes, taking note of the place and the various exits and entrances. Valets and waiters came and went from a double door, she noticed, while three other doors led in what she supposed to be other parts of the mansion. They were all guarded by guards armored the same way as those they had met at the main entrance.

Trying to look inconspicuous, Claire wandered close to one of the doors. She stopped as soon as she felt the guard’s eyes move over her. She put up a friendly smile and turned away.

The smile was replaced by a scowl as soon as she was out of the guard’s sight. It was out of frustration for the security as much as for herself. The hell was she doing?

After asking for indications from a waiter, she went to the bathrooms. Even those were a work of art, with murals decorating the floor and ceiling, and delicate houseplants gracing the corners.

Inside her stall, her gaze wandered at the little window up the wall. It was small, but not so small as to stop someone of her size to pass through…

Claire bit her lip. The idea was ridiculously dangerous and would probably see her end up in trouble, or worse. And yet, that nagging feeling that something wasn’t right, that Cartus was… suspicious…

She was still mulling over it when her hand went to the sleeve of her dress. Tucked inside, there was a small leather case. She opened it, revealing a series of delicate-looking burglary tools.

Her fingers had brushed against a lockpick that could have gone well for the latch of the window when she finally realized what she was doing. She snapped the case closed like it was filled with snakes. The hell was she thinking?

She made to get out of the stall but paused. Her gaze strayed to the window again. She had taken a good look at the mansion from the outside, and, if she wasn’t mistaken, from that window one could easily reach beyond the guarded doors and enter another part of the mansion. You just had to walk a small tract of roof, climb a bit and then…

She hesitated. She was good at this; lockpicking and climbing were only two of the many unconventional skills she had picked up over the years. Father didn’t approve, but yet again did he ever approve anything of what she did?

The thought of the Duke inflamed her. She had tried to warn him of Cartus, but the slightest mention against the old man was enough to make his dumb father apoplectic.

“Moron…” she whispered under her breath.

She looked at the window, feeling her resolve harden. There was the security of the family to take care of, maybe of the entire city. And if that dumb father of hers didn’t see it, it only meant that it fell to her…

The latch wasn’t any match for her skills, and the climb out the window and then back in managed only to procure a little rip on her dress.

She landed back inside with a small jump. The dress didn’t impede her movements: she had bunched it at her waist with a series of pins she kept just for that, so that her legs were free.

She closed the window and latched it back, then took in her surroundings.

She was in what looked to be a side room used as a closet. Crates were piled up against the walls, alongside racks filled with tools and barrels.

Voices brushed against her ears, making her go stiff. Carefully, she made her way to the door and opened it a smidge, just enough to peek outside.

She saw an elegant corridor, sun crystals spreading light over a red carpet and marble walls from niches in the walls. In the distance, a group of people talked, their lively voices reaching to her.

She narrowed her eyes, then blinked. She recognized them: they were members of the Guild of the Gray Goblin. What were they doing there? Acting as security?

Excitation thumped inside her chest, any doubt gone. She was going to get to the bottom of it, no matter what.

Carefully, she opened the door and slunk out.