Petronella watched all of the male scions of House van Brugh exit Willem’s Society of Assured Prosperity. Her human heart was still, but the metaphysical heart of the wild monster within beat quickly and rapidly as she gazed upon Baron Tielman once again. Her stalemate against him in the Grand Crusade echoed in her mind.

  In particular, a scar on her abdomen throbbed. Battles with aura users were incredibly dangerous. On the event that one of their aura-infused blows didn’t kill, the resulting scar would be infused with that aura until the one who’d caused it perished. The scar would shine, and when the one who’d delivered it came near, it would glow brighter and cause pain. She’d earned a scar from Baron Tielman—and right now, it was itching fiercely.

  The man who could break castle walls with a swing of his sword, who could stand against an army alone, had come to Gent. To all but the most discerning eye, he looked no worse for wear. Petronella saw it, though—the poison disturbing his aura, the malignant Clatgrass infecting his being. Seeing him, every instinct in her monstrous soul screamed at her to take the chance, to try and kill him.

  But she’d been given no orders. All of his sons except Willem stood around, cautious and armed. They were his lesser, but together, Petronella couldn’t be certain she’d emerge on top. Their spy network in Gent was less important than the baron’s death, but the gap wasn’t so wide as to be worth risking one without total certainty.

  Still, Baron Tielman’s presence warranted extreme caution. The only reason she could explain his arrival with all of his sons and their mother—who herself was dubbed the Belle of the Blade before she lost her eye—was if he expected a fierce fight. Perhaps her owners had missed something, and he’d gained some lead onto his poisoners.

  But Petronella was an expert at this. She wouldn’t miss an opportunity to gain information.

  She made some noise with her shoes deliberately, a plan already brewing in her head. As predicted, Tielman took notice of her presence. She slunk away into the alleys, listening deliberately. She heard him wrap around, just in place to cut her off. When she turned the corner, nearly bumping into him, she made a show of yelping in surprise and backing away.

  “A priestess.” Tielman narrowed his eyes. “Why were you watching us?”

  “Who…” Petronella trailed off, acting surprised and shocked before she recognized things. “You’re Baron Tielman, aren’t you? The Shield of the North?”

  Tielman moved his cloak, exposing the pommel of his blade. “I’d advise you answer my first query.”

  “I’m Matriarch Petronella,” she explained, acting as though she was gathering the composure she’d never lost. “I was going to visit Willem, but I saw your party exit and decided to return.”

  “Why?” Tielman pressed.

  “I thought I recognized you,” Petronella explained. “I underwent a Divulgence in the church with Willem, you see. I thought he might not appreciate company presently.”

  She didn’t say anything, but those two sentences alone would surely make Tielman think a thousand thoughts. He shifted, and his cloak hid his blade again.

  Tielman scrutinized her closely. “What was the purpose of your visit?”

  “What business is it of yours, baron?” Petronella asked, crossing her arms defiantly.

  Tielman’s icy blue eyes chilled the air. “Willem is my son. And you’re an unrelated party, prying into affairs that shouldn’t concern you.”

  Petronella spoke defensively, “On the contrary. Willem is my date for an event hosted by Dowager Countess Anne Claire.”

  All of the brothers looked at her more closely, and then at each other. Even Tielman shifted on his feet uneasily.

  “I was… unaware,” Tielman said, his stern demeanor unsettled. “Still, you—"

  “Willem would never say it to you, and he may be upset at me for taking it upon myself, but it needs to be said. He was deeply hurt by the actions of your son after the incident,” Petronella lied, acting like she was speaking up on behalf of her abused lover. “I only hope you were here to apologize, instead of exacerbating things.”

  “For what?” Hans laughed incredulously from behind.

  “By now, you must’ve found evidence that exonerated him.” Petronella looked between them all, scrutinizing their expressions. “Correct?”

  “Can’t find the nonexistent,” Godfried said pointedly.

  “Godfried,” said Tielman firmly, looking back with wrath. When the man went quiet, the baron looked back at Petronella. “I still endeavor on that front, matriarch. But rest assured, I know Willem isn’t responsible.”

  Petronella almost smiled upon hearing the information she wanted to hear. Willem must’ve done a great job of hiding his tracks.

  “You’re truly no closer?” Petronella asked, shocked. “Willem has to continue to bear the blame?”

  “I’ll find the ones responsible.” Tielman gestured behind. “Ignore my sons. They’re ignorant. And henceforth… they’ll keep their opinions to themselves,” he finished, voice so low and guttural as to be a growl. It seemed to be a warning to each of them.

  “That’ll be one injustice corrected, at the very least.” Petronella looked upon each of them. “Still, I hope each and all of you can make your behavior up to him. He would never admit it to any of you, but I know there’s still a place in his heart for all of his family.” She clasped her hands together. “By the name of the goddess, go in peace.”

  Petronella left, armed with new valuable information that her employers would doubtlessly be very pleased with. She’d exposed herself somewhat, but given her newfound connection with Willem, thought that only a positive. The closer Willem got with the rest of the family, the closer access she would get.

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  A dangerous game, to be sure. But she loved it all the more. This upcoming event might become a game of life and death.

  ***

  When Willem walked downstairs the next morning, he was surprised to find Dirk sitting by the window, looking out as if in paranoia.

  “Stalking someone, Dirk?” Willem greeted.

  Dirk looked over. “Good morning.”

  “Not for you, looks like. You seem even more terrible than usual.” Willem sat on the desk. “What’s up?”

  “I…” Dirk hung his head. “Do you think...”

  “Did you break something? Did something happen with Viviene? Were you rejected by the love of your life?” Willem pointed upstairs. “Could those last two questions be related?”

  “No, it’s…” Dirk looked up at Willem. “Can I ask to receive my salary early?”

  “What’ve you gotten into? Gambling debts?” Willem crossed his arms. “If it’s that, then tell me who. I’ll rat you out to earn a commission and teach you a lesson.”

  “Just… please?” Dirk pressed. “No jokes. I need it. I can tell you why after.”

  “I can,” Willem nodded. “Still, tell me now. I’m not unreasonable if you’re not a useless gambler.”

  “I’m worried that things… won’t be as good between us as they are now,” Dirk admitted.

  “You’re very bad at getting people to stop being curious,” Willem said. “I think you have to tell me what this is now.”

  Dirk inhaled and sighed. “Your father… from the beginning, when you were destined for the capital, part of my employment contract included writing reports. About what you were doing, everything.” He looked at Willem seriously. “He asked me to pick up that task again. So… I want to pay back the salary he gave, releasing me from the task.”

  Willem brought his hand to his face, quietly chewing his nails as Dirk waited nervously. Finally, Willem looked at Dirk incredulously.

  “Are you insane? Just write the stupid report.” Willem stopped leaning on the desk, then walked to his office. He called out over his shoulder, “You lost sleep over that? Really?”

  “What do you mean?” Dirk stood up. “You don’t… I mean, you don’t intend to keep what you’ve been doing hidden?”

  “I never do anything I’m not proud of, Dirk,” Willem called out from within his office. “You can tell him what food I eat, what company I keep, or what color my bowel movements are. I don’t care. He already knows where I live. He could probably find all those things out for himself.”

  “You’re serious?” Dirk walked closer, stopping at the entrance to the office. “You’ve no reservations about me spying on you?”

  Willem pulled free some papers off a stack, scanning through them. “It isn’t as though I’m making drugs or killing people. I have nothing to hide.” He looked at Dirk. “And I’m the last person to suggest that you shouldn’t get paid two salaries at once. Especially not when I have to be the one to advance you the money.”

  Dirk swallowed as he stared at Willem. “Will you want to read what I write?”

  Willem paused, looking at Dirk. The temptation was obvious.

  “No. No,” Willem eventually said. “I don’t need reviews. I don’t need to worry about what other people think of me. If I did that, I’d never get anywhere.” He waved Dirk away. “Well, go on. Write. I have a great deal to do today, and you may be needed for some of it. It’s becoming abundantly clear to me that that we sink or swim based on how well this first monthly meeting goes. To ensure it’s a success, I’m going to ask the baron and his ex-baroness to attend.”

  “Well… alright.” Dirk shook his head, looking both exhausted and relieved.

  Willem looked up, inspiration flashing. “Tell him that, will you? That I’d really, really, like it if he came to my little party. His presence would make me happy. Quote me directly, if need be.”

  ***

  "Aren’t you worried about your mother?”

  Count Ventura II looked up from the book he read, regarding his wife evenly. “Am I worried about my mother? Did you just ask me that?” He closed his book, sensing this would be a longer conversation. “Really? My mother? Anne Claire, that mother?”

  Catharina walked into the starlight. It made her blonde hair and emerald eyes gleam brilliantly, and Ventura fell in love all over again. She sported a pout, and pulled away his book.

  “Willem is a menace!” she insisted. “But she spends all of her time talking about him, doing favors for him. I’m really worried.”

  Ventura crossed his legs, tapping one foot against the ground. “He really hasn’t done anything too awful.”

  “Not yet,” she emphasized, jutting her head forth as she said it. “But Godfried told me he probably poisoned father. And he was… quite cruel, even when he was young. He’s more than capable of stringing someone along for a long while, then pulling the rug out from under them.”

  “Do you know my mother to be foolhardy? Rash? Trusting?” He pointed at her, teasing, “I’d call you all of those things, Cathy, but not my mother.”

  “I’m just worried.” She looked out the window. “Anne Claire’s been so nice to me. I don’t want her to get hurt, least of all by my own family.”

  “Most of the Brughs have been sleeping outside the city walls, from what I hear. I doubt Anne Claire would give Willem special treatment unless he deserved it.” Ventura crossed his arms. “Perhaps Willem changed, somehow. You could go speak to him.”

  “I don’t know…” she sighed. “They still scare me.”

  Ventura said nothing, but they scared him, too. He’d seen Baron Tielman. The Shield of the North had an undeniable pressure, like everything held more weight with his mere presence. He was glad his mother was dealing with all of this. She dealt with most everything, in fact—he merely did the administrative work behind the scenes, and occasionally spoke to vassals. He much preferred reading books to swinging swords, unlike his late father.

  “Could I go to Willem’s party with the thing?” Catharina clasped her hands together.

  “The thing?” Ventura repeated.

  “The hairpin thing,” she continued, nodding like an eager puppy.

  “The disguise magic?” Ventura narrowed his eyes. “I suppose, but… I don’t see how you’d get in disguised.”

  “I’ll just come with Anne Claire,” his wife said with a shake of her head. “As a servant! Her servant! And then I could—"

  “How about, more simply, her friend? Her acquaintance?” Ventura held his hands out. “You always go for the most extreme choice.”

  “I’ll go ask her right now.” She rose, heading for the door. “She’s back, right? She’s in her room?”

  “You might wear something more than a nightgown, first,” he called out.

  With a flush, Catharina headed toward the dressing room. Ventura shook his head with an amused chuckle, then opened his book back up to resume his reading.