Rhosyn had fallen asleep and he didn't blame her. They'd stayed up until the early hours of dawn, two piles of papers stacked next to each other. Some grouped and bound by a bent metal clip, and when they'd ran out, they switched to tying the groups of pages with twine. The late-autumn sun already abandoned them to candlelight.
Sir Caerwyn had napped while they worked, returning after Rhosyn had already dozed off, her face resting against the hard wooden desktop, her breathing sending a curled edge of paper fluttering every two seconds.
She was the strongest person Edrien knew—and he knew his father.
Rhosyn purred a soft snore and he marvelled at how such strength came from someone so delicate. She was fearless and she was his vow to keep—when he was king.
His finger carefully tucked a loose strand of hair out of her face, admiring her beauty.
When they were playmates as children, he used to poke fun at her lanky legs and freckle flecked nose. But now it suited her.
She was his closest friend and priceless ally.
Caerwyn eyed him up from the doorway. Edrien was the only man whose touch on Rhosyn he didn't oppose—mostly because she didn't.
There was no one more blessed than him, being the sole audience of her laughter, her honest words, her dedicated dance partner at her disposal—for no one else had the privilege to know Rhosyn.
He called her his hedgehog. A creature with intimidating quills to ward off others, and yet for him, she was cute and cuddly. Which earned him her rolled eyes and a ghosting of amusement shy on her lips.
Her finger twitched and Edrien rested his hand over hers. In a start she sat upright, blinking away sleep and searching for the forgotten thought that whisked away the hour before. Then her blue eyes crashed into his and she stilled.
"You'll get a bad back sleeping like that, Rhos—why don't you take the chaise?"
"We don't have time for sleep, why didn't you wake me up?" she chastised, her eyes squinting with accusation and her lips pressed tight, trying to fight the smile curling at the tips. A response only born from Edrien's own smirk—something she couldn't resist.
"I tried, but I'm surprised you didn't wake yourself up from how loud you were snoring," Edrien mocked and Rhosyn retaliated with a light slap, pulling her hand free as if actually offended.
He laughed heartily. "Assault on the future king—"
"I have no idea what you're talking about, as far as I'm aware nothing of the sort occurred, Your Highness," she spoke every word with a deliberate taunting tone underlining her eloquent words, feigning innocence. "Sir Caerwyn would attest that nothing of the sort happened."
Edrien's laugh came out in a blast of amusement. She was as poised and sharp-witted as always and he lived for it.
"Fine, you win today."
But her demeanor changed to seriousness in a heartbeat. "What's that?"
Rhosyn reached over, eyes already reading the words scrawled across the page in front of him. It was the last ledger to address and one he struggled knowing what to do.
"We have to do something," she implored, studying the paper in front of her.
Lord Grange of a small county on the south coast had just had his third marriage—a debate for his unlucky marital life. Within the ledger, it stated that Lady Alia of a poor family and the heir to her father's estate would mean that her family estate would become Lord Grange's upon her father's passing. The main issue was the debate of what the lady's mother and sisters kept when her father dies, as Grange had been known to kick out his first wife's parents after her passing and in his second marriage, he kicked her out with divorce.
"He'd gained land and wealth from his previous marriages—even from the divorce," Rhosyn stated, reading over a financial docket and comparing it to a listing of Grange's holdings. "I can't clearly point this as his motive, but we need to protect those women from becoming homeless. He'll become Lady Alia's sister's legal guardian..."
Rhosyn was thinking again, her bottom lip slightly protruding and the squint of concentration as she calculated. When she put her mind to something, there was no stopping her—and Edrien had tried. It was like she was lost in another world, seeing something that only she could see, a sum only she understood and weighing variables of information like a tradesman weighed a sack of gold.
She was brilliant. But sometimes he didn't understand her.
Her maid, Elin, entered quietly, Rhosyn off in her own world not noticing. The nice maid waited patiently for direction from her lady, gaze flickering between Edrien and Rhosyn in turn.
"Don't worry, Rhos, we'll secure a widows' bond if Lord Grange tries anything underhanded," Edrien assured, snapping Rhosyn out of her mind and awarding him her brilliant sly smile.
"Perfect, well that's everything!" she exclaimed. "Let's drink."
"You don't drink." he accused.
The room muttered in a collected breath of agreement.
"I do too," Rhosyn almost whined. "And thank you to the collective opinion of my trusted staff," she tossed into the room, a flat expression painting her face.
Her staff were the only family she kept now, and only a select few held the honour of that claim. They'd been with her since the beginning—and in some cases, the end of things. Elin came to work at the estate before Edrien knew her, when Rhosyn's mother passed from illness. Caerwyn had always been a constant, from father, until he came to her. And Oswin had helped her uncle manage the estate, transferring to help her when the man died.
There were times like these when Edrien felt part of that family. When Elin turned in his direction to hide a smile, or when Caerwyn glanced at him to emphasize his point, humour gleaming in his eyes.
Rhosyn inspired love and laughter, if you were allowed to know her that was. She could cut you out just as fast, her composed exterior armour that not even Edrien could disarm sometimes.
"Here you go, Your Highness, My Lady." Elin served them a glass of wine, before carefully extracting the plates of food dotted here and there, some half-buried under papers.
"Elin," Rhosyn paused the maid's movements, "don't worry about that, join us for a moment."
"Honestly, My Lady, I should run these out and ready your change of clothes." Elin nervous eyes flickered to Edrien and skittered away just as fast.
She was jittery around him sometimes, as if only remembering he was the Crown Prince in afterthought. Elin balanced a few plates, curtsied as best she could with the awkward weight of it and disappeared out the door.
Now alone—mostly, besides Caerwyn—they clinked their glasses and for a moment sipped on the sweet weak alcohol, the flavour a nagging familiar thing. Rhosyn lost herself in the numbers scribbled across a page, her mind always occupied. Where Edrien stared off over the brim of his glass admiring the safe that dominated one wall, mounted and displayed as if a framed painting wouldn't do the job—very Halvar.
The metal vault held secrets that could make a prostitute blush. But that's just speculation, because no one truly knew what the metal beast held, just that its master was a friend of many kings and had a cunning disposition. Now the safe entombed the enigma, locked and an impossibility to open without both code and key—Edrien knew, he'd tried.
His hand itched and he could feel the metal of his picks in his pocket.
"Don't you dare think about it," Rhosyn warned, her attention still seemingly on the parchment in front of her.
"I was just thinking—"
"Good," she smirked, "keep it that way." Her eyes rose to meet his—she was as coy as her uncle.
With a sigh, she savoured the last of her wine and stood.
"We should get going, we're cutting it too close—we still need to change and get to the palace," Rhosyn fretted, gathering the papers and apprehension slipping across her pretty features. She worried too much, she'd get wrinkles at this rate.
It was late and they needed to get to the palace by tomorrow morning when the council would be called for a weekly summary.
Edrien stilled her hands with one of his. "Go get changed, I'll pack this up," he hushed.
She hesitated and he hung onto the moment. But then she nodded and slipped out the room, Caerwyn glancing once at Edrien before following his charge.
With a sigh of his own, Edrien compiled the parchment and filed it into a large satchel, tugging it over his head.
Doubt stalled him and he knew he'd have to confront his father again. He didn't have the time to let tiredness make him question himself. With his fingers stroking at the thin metal picks in his pocket, Edrien stepped out of the office, his guards stepping into formation behind him.