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.