Winter had dragged its chill all the way down to Hemsgate by the time the Winter Festivities began. Frost filmed the high windows and candles fought back in shivering pillars of gold, throwing light over silk, jewels and too-loud laughter. Every lord and lady seemed determined to pretend the kingdom wasn't cracking at the edges.
Rhosyn stood near the edge of the crowd, a forgotten drink sweating in her hand, watching the swirl of colour around King Alestan's dais and counting problems instead of partners.
Rhosyn was busy tracking a Lord Regin who she'd seen arguing with a man in a quiet corner not long ago. There had been gossip whispered in the air of a scandalous affair and she was just about to learn the names, until the room buzzed anew.
An instant eruption of chatter washed through the hall like a wave, spreading out from the entrance. Gasps and excited murmurs bubbled up. The aristocrats found the smallest of things entertaining—pleasures of living life laid out on a whim, rather than forced this way and that due to unforeseen troubles. Money for these nobles did buy them happiness.
"What do you think made those ladies so excited?" Edrien asked, pointing out a particular group of ladies giggling senselessly amongst themselves.
"Maybe they caught sight of one of Duke Fairfax's sons again," Rhosyn waved it off uninterested. But Edrien craned his neck, using his height to peek over the heads of the crowd.
Regin had just disappeared behind a swarm of nobles rushing to crowd the dais where King Alestan sat on his throne. Rhosyn was far too curious in the hushed rumour to let it go now. She took a step toward the last sighting of the lord and a hand came up to seize her arm.
Edrien's face pulled close, distaste shaping his features.
"What's under your skin?" Rhosyn questioned, following his gaze to the dais steps.
"Duke of the North," he ground out.
In one quick sweep, she'd taken the man in. His fine navy suit, embroidered in silver stitching, a raven stitched into his lapel—crest of House Karsyn. He moved with ease through the hall, if Rhosyn hadn't known any better, she would've thought the man a southern lord. But his face was slightly more rounded, hair a lighter brown than that of the low lands and he wore it short and neat.
He wore an aura of indifference about him that set him apart from the other wide eyed nobles. He almost seemed to not notice the rush of excitement at his arrival—to anyone else he probably did look unbothered. But Rhosyn noticed the way he carried himself and walked with hand on belt, a purposeful pose. He was showing off for the crowd.
The Duke's eyes snapped over to her and she knew he wasn't lingering on Edrien close to her. His own measuring gaze ran over her, pausing on Edrien's hand on her arm and her skirt before sweeping up and locking with her own stare. It lasted for the briefest of seconds and then he was before the king.
"Your Majesty." He swept into a perfect low bow and rose.
"Duke Leoric Karsyn of Harrowfen," King Alestan's voice projected into the hall, bouncing off the surprising quiet in the aftermath of such clamour and with a simple wave of the king's hand, the duke bowed and retreated into the crowd again.
"He never shows up to these events, especially in the south," Edrien grumbled beside Rhosyn.
Then maybe he's up to something.
The young man who Regin had berated earlier stepped out of an alcove, skittish as he made his way for the far exit. Rhosyn was already moving, hearing Edrien's weak protest behind her. But he knew how she was. When she narrows in on something, it's near enough impossible to steer her away.
Curiosity killed the cat and all—lucky she's not a cat.
Besides, Sir Caerwyn never let her out of his sight. Even now he's relocating from the balcony overhead, following her movement around the hall.
The deafening bustle of the ballroom halted at the large doorways. The corridor ahead stretched off down one of Hemsgate Palace wings. It was a guest wing, equipped with plenty of luxury rooms for events such as these.
Shoes brushing against carpet lined floors told Rhosyn that the young man was retreating further into the maze of hallways. She needed to be quick if she didn't want to lose him.
She chased him down one external facing corridor, then into an internal one. The setting sun didn't stretch its light this deep into the palace's depths and the lamplighters had yet to make the rounds. Shadow clung to shapes protruding from the walls and whispers up ahead called Rhosyn to draw closer.
Aware that the light illuminated her form, Rhosyn kept her movements deliberate and casual. If she was to be spotted, she'd pretend she was on her way to the chapel before retiring for the night.
The voices became more distinct, the shaky resolve of a young man. "I thought you said that we'll free Lady Naome from her father, not make Lord Regin more angry," he sounded desperate, his words only inflicted with a warm twist of the northern accent.
So, Regin was trying to keep this man from his daughter. An act by the sounds of the scandalous rumours, wasn't working.
"He said that me and father will pay for the shame," the young man continued, "I don't care what happens to us, but what will happen to Lady Naome?"
"Calm down, Lord Dowly."