Pacing had annoyed Rhosyn and made her dizzy, so she decided to go to the chapel to pray, maybe kneeling on the hard floor would drive the restlessness out of her legs—it didn't.
The room was too large and wealth clung to everything, like how a king wore jewels and finery. Due to its expanse and stone floors, frost tainted the air and seeped into her clothes. But what really irked her was Caerwyn's booted footfalls as he patrolled the chapel's perimeter. Apparently there were too many corners for shadows to hide.
When Rhosyn finally decided that the noise of the space was not worth the solace of her soul, she rose and headed for the door. Her own footsteps echoing off and crashing down on her as she left.
Maybe she offended God, or maybe salvation was something only holy spaces granted, for as the chapel doors shut behind her, a familiar face humbled Rhosyn immediately.
Lord Merrow noticed her stepping into the palace hall, a gleam of recognition and surprise coloured his face—which improved his usual disingenuous flat visage. He wasn't terribly unappealing if the light hit the right side of his face, but sometimes it felt like the man forgot not to smile too wide.
He was the lord of Gullmere, a county under the Duchy of Ravelocke and completely within her region. Uncle said that the man lacked the gall to step outside his province. She guessed he'd worked up some sort of nerve, as here he stood in the king's palace and looked quite at home within its walls—how peculiar.
"Lady Valewyn, so pretty and pious as all women should," he declared, that toothy smile of his already splitting across his face.
Normally Rhosyn would keep her distance from the man, mostly because there was something about him that made her itch. He stared too intently, stood an inch too close.
"I'd think that all of God's men should be pious, not just the pretty women," she quipped with her usual demeanour; sharp tongue hidden behind a gracious exterior as if she was nothing but a glamorous painting with honest words.
Most people didn't hear the words because they were too busy admiring her, whether for her beauty or her close-standing with the Crown Prince. Either way, her harsh words were censored by her audiences' obtuse one-dimension perception of the world. Who would've thought that a woman could be dangerous—because that's preposterous.
All they heard were pretty words from pretty women—like a kitten trying to roar.
"Indeed, for men should measure themselves by God's scales," Merrow replied, a glimmer of something slithering satisfied behind his smirk.
Maybe she was overthinking things, seeing deception in everything because numbers still crowded her head and the northern duke's words whispered doubt.
"May I ask what brings you to Hemsgate Palace, My Lord, because I'm sure it's not the grand chapel," Rhosyn queried, her words icy, but her tone pleasant as was her smile.
Merrow's gaze lingered on her lips and she knew he didn't see the teeth behind them.
"It's only a minor problem I am waiting to see the king to resolve."
"Or you can divulge to me and I'll ensure it's resolved promptly, My Lord," she applied a little too much strength behind her words, peeved by how she was so easily stepped over regardless of being a title inheritor.
The slightly stooped man bowed—barely. "I thank you for your thoughtfulness, Lady Valewyn, but I won't bother you with my trivial issues," Merrow placated, a little too disparaging. "As the receivership holder, the king would know how to best deal with the problem."
Rhosyn opened her mouth to retort when a flicker of movement stole her attention. Edrien strutted toward her with all the confidence of a battle well won and a grin that graced his tired features.
"Rhos!" he called out, a few staff glancing around at the sound.
"Your Highness." She curtsied.
Merrow turned as Edrien joined them, blinking at the prince as if recalculating, before dropping into a deeper bow than before. Edrien paused to take in the man and just as quickly dismissed him.
"Forgive me, my lord—Lady Rhosyn, I've news." And just as swiftly, the prince was escorting her away with a slight hand ghosting her waist.
"Well done, Your Highness," she praised, feeling warmth pool in her middle at his elation.
"I haven't told you how it went yet, Rhos," he argued back and set his brows low, the way he did whenever she forewent calling him by name.
Two maids hurried about their duties, a page boy rushing down the corridor with a letter in his hand. All glanced at them when they passed, curiosity that fed into the gossip—the rumoured 'Royal Couple.'
"You're very clearly wearing your victory on your smug face," Rhosyn exalted, nudging him with her hip when no one was looking and watching him sprawl dramatically as if she'd struck him.
A giggle burst out of her throat and Edrien bounced back to her side, a look of mischief glinting in his eyes.
"What if someone saw you?" he captured her in his arms, whispering his question in her ear.
"Someone always sees, Your Highness," Rhosyn murmured back, peeking deliberately over her shoulder, pointing with her eyes and Edrien followed suit.
"Ah," he chuckled, not able to resist the pull at his lips, "your partner in crime." He eyed up Caerwyn who only fixed them with an expressionless stare—a silent warning in such a public space.
His judging gaze as always, cutting through the humour and drying up their fun. With a sigh and a roll of the eyes, Rhosyn fixed Edrien a composed look.
"So, what did the council think of your idea?" she asked, steering them back on track as they neared the prince's apartments.
"You mean your idea," he pressed, but didn't stop. "Well, we lost one, Rhos. He'll keep his head and his land, but he's paying through the nose and Father made damn sure everyone saw him squirm."
Good, Rhosyn was worried Duke Talmir would wiggle out of it. He held the kingdom's best farmland and thus the power to feed it—gold was sometimes measured in wheat, uncle taught her. But if Talmir was being punished, that meant that the king understood the aim of the plan. That, or he grew a heart—unlikely.
"The others?"
"We wrapped their sins in 'harvest remission' and 'festive generosity' and called it a day."
Perfect.
"Father is pleased with himself. Believes he cut the legs from underneath the north." They turned into the last hall, Edrien's long strides and confidence brimming. "He thanked me—if you can call it that. Then told me not to 'grow sentimental' and not to let you 'meddle too much with my policy.' So that went about as well as expected."
King Alestan had always tolerated her presence next to his son. His affection for her was as tender as that of a lion looking down upon a kitten. But he'd never admit that she was as useful to Edrien as her uncle was to him.
"So, I'll say that's a war won," Edrien said, beginning to push open the door and pausing when she didn't follow.
His brows hitched, confused as she hesitated in the threshold—she never hesitated.
"You're staying for brunch at least, right?" Edrien insisted, taking a step toward her again.
Another maid wandered past, her steps slowing just enough to tell Rhosyn she was listening in.
"It's been a tiring past few days and you should get your rest," Rhosyn decided, pulling on her persona—the one that separated herself from everyone else, even Edrien. "I'll see you at the party next week—you will save me a dance, Your Highness?"
As always, Edrien saw the mask, noticed her pull back, but he didn't see any deeper. She could identify him trying to study her harder, or recant what was said to discern the reason for her to withdraw. But nothing.
"Then, I'll bid you farewell until then, Lady Rhosyn," he replied, the recent excitement draining from him, leaving him looking exhausted.
"Your Highness." Rhosyn curtsied deeply and turned to find Caerwyn appraising her act.
The door hung a moment as she retreated back down the corridor, and then it finally closed.
Caerwyn's silence as always felt thick, as if a living thing. There was beats to it, a stillness that sometimes Rhosyn thought she could read—and normally she wasn't far wrong. They've been together for a long time now, having learnt how to read each other's reticence as people read between the lines.
It was a language she learnt quickly as it didn't rely on words. It was the slight ticks of muscles reacting to thoughts the person concealed. It was the way a person breathed, or the slight squinting of their eyes that told her if someone was suspicious or nervous or scared. It was the way she mapped every room and defended herself as much as she attacked.
Caerwyn was right, the staff was watching too closely and listening for far more than just idle gossip. There was a threat here that Rhosyn needed to heed. Because the walls had ears and courts change as swiftly as the seasons do. Here in the Kingdom of Aramor, painted smiles and careful lies haunt every hallway.
Another carriage ride, another uncomfortable nap that resulted in a knot clawing into her back that no amount of stretches relieved. But after another ten or so hours later and Rhosyn's feet finally touched ground and she nearly sank into it. She almost expected herself to float, or the floor to shift beneath her feet—she's been in a carriage too long, enough for a lifetime she'd argue.
"My Lady!" Elin ran over and caught her arm, aiding Rhosyn as they made their way inside. "I thought you'd stay—"
Caerwyn's sharp cough cut her off—not here.
Soon they were in the confinement of Rhosyn's chambers and the three of them could breathe freely.
"I'll ready you a bath," Elin said, already prepping the copper tub.
"I don't need a bath, I need this month's Ravelocke's finance ledger," Rhosyn declared, striding across the room and sinking into her small desk.
Her brain wouldn't switch off, though her body begged it to. Patterns refused to make sense and numbers didn't add up, which definitely meant something was amiss.
"Is it about the taxes going up a second time this year alone, or the fact that bread has all but doubled in price?" Elin asked, craning her neck around the room divider, ignoring Rhosyn's dismissal and still readying the bath.
She wasn't wrong. The kingdom's finances were atrocious, all cudgelled by the post-war taxes designed to refill coffers. But over ten years later and taxes had only risen despite peace, leading to everything else in the realm stagnating or rising just to afford the costs.
Though that wasn't what felt off here.
Rhosyn was only just noticing the water levels rising, for the holes in her region's proverbial ship were small but many. And if she didn't find the reason and plug them, she'd go down with the ship.
"Is that what you and the handsome prince have been working on for the past few days?" her maid's voice called from the obscure space, the sound of water sloshing and draining her out.
"No, Elin," Rhosyn shouted back as to be heard over the commotion Elin was making. "We were refuting another attempt from the north—"
"You were attacked again?" Elin ran into view, her face pale and voice trembling.
"No, not in the same manner as last time," Rhosyn waved off her concern. "With more paper, but nothing me and Edrien couldn't handle."
Her back ached, the knot buried in her bones at this point and she bit on a yelp of pain. Maybe a bath was what she needed. That, some food and a soft bed.
Sighing, Rhosyn stood and walked over to Elin who already saw how she relented for pampering. Caerwyn quietly disappeared out the door, leaving the women alone, and Elin began undressing her.
"So, that duke is beaten?"
"Edrien thinks so," Rhosyn answered.
"But you don't..." The maid narrowed her eyes looking for clues on Rhosyn's face she wouldn't find. But the woman knew Rhosyn enough to know that she'd guessed right.
"No," she replied, a twist of something anxious gripped at her stomach and Rhosyn wondered if she was hoping or just hungry.
With her clothes removed, Rhosyn eased into the hot water, the heat scorching and strangely comforting. She didn't know why, but Rhosyn loved the warmth, the heat, a complete contradiction to her being a winter baby. But maybe she suffered enough coldness that she longed for something warm.
"So, more working days with the prince?" Elin sounded a little too excited and Rhosyn knew the maid hinted at something, but was too tired to seek it out.
"Maybe..." She closed her eyes, letting the hot water blanket her and hummed in delight.
"Are you going to make me ask it outright?" Her maid huffed.
Rhosyn knew Elin was hinting at a hidden question that she'd normally instinctively answer as if it had been voiced. But a headache had settled in where normally she'd be so observant.
"Fine," Elin exclaimed, "are you going to tell me if the prince proposed yet?"
Rhosyn practically rolled her eyes, though they were closed. Her maid bought into the rumour that she and Edrien were a couple, probably already secretly engaged and would marry one day. It was the more respectful version of the 'Royal Couple' rumour.
"How many times do I have to tell you, I am for the prince, not for the prince?"
"You literally said the same thing twice there," Elin snapped back in her overly casual tone.
Rhosyn sat upright, feeling the chill press against her damp skin and regretting it. Elin began rubbing a cloth along her back, massaging and relieving the tight muscles there.
"I don't know if I even want to marry..." Rhosyn sighed again, feeling like it was pointless.
"Well, your 21st birthday is only six weeks away," Elin pointed out.
Yes, her birthday was coming fast now and with it, the fret of marriage. One of Aramor's oldest laws was that if a twenty-one year old noble lady was still unattached, the king would arrange for an appropriate engagement to be made. One that didn't lower the lady's standing nor station. So it was unlikely she'd be able to remain unattached and due to the title her husband would inherit when he marries her, she was sure even the most unlikely candidates would queue up for a chance at her hand.
The issue was, she'd never pictured that future. She'd always seen herself standing beside Edrien, but not entwined. Rhosyn always saw the prince with a foreign princess or someone who at least had royal blood flowing through their veins, someone lively and sweet—and that wasn't her.
Elin's smile turned wicked and gentle at once. "At this rate you'll marry the ledgers."
"Ledgers never try to kiss you at the top of a staircase," Rhosyn said, and then regretted the line because the picture it painted was too near and too bright.
She didn't know why her heart jumped when she thought of a puzzle to piece together or a challenge to sink her teeth into, but felt no desire nor passion when she thought of a lifelong companion. Maybe marriage was just a contract after all, and lust was reserved for more courageous acts—whether that was body or mind.
"If I marry someone, I hope he is kind to my people and intelligent enough to let me aid in the running of the region," Rhosyn turned tired eyes to her maid friend.
"And handsome—he has to be handsome," Elin interjected as if Rhosyn had forgotten to add it to her short overzealous list.
"I don't even expect him to be born within the same decade as me, Elin."
Which had the maid blanching, imagining the worst.
"Fine," Rhosyn conceded, watching her friend worry. "He has to be handsome at least."
Elin finally nodded, satisfied with Rhosyn's appeasement. "Then we'll write your future the same way the prince writes his letters; fancy lettering, big words and no lies."
He wasn't the only one who wrote letters like that—except maybe for the lies...
Rhosyn's mouth tilted. "You should run a council."
"I do," Elin said primly. "The kitchen council. We are more dangerous than the king's. We control knives."
They laughed, and it was the kind of laugh that rinsed grit from a day and left it almost clean. But the winter chill was already seeping into autumn and Rhosyn needed to keep her ears turned to the north. Because it'd be foolish to underestimate an enemy on your doorstep.