I slept poorly. I spent until midnight messing with the journal entries and even asked for a mug of hot cider when I realized how late it had gotten. Half of what was written was practically illegible, but that was understandable — Margarita had been writing for herself, not for outside readers. Eventually, guilt gnawed at me, and I shut the journal, stashing it away.
Even then, I only drifted into a shallow sleep, like a man adrift on a capsized boat in a stormy sea.
Finally, the sky began to lighten. Thin, silvery-blue rays pushed under the edges of the canvas, and the camp stirred like a massive, sleepy beast. People coughed, horses stamped and snorted.
I rubbed my face with both hands and forced myself to sit up. The wool blanket slid off my shoulders and crumpled around my waist. My hair was mussed, and my back was damp with sweat, though I could feel the distinct morning chill sneaking in through the tent's seams.
Today was the second and final day. Time here seemed to crawl compared to back home.
I didn't dawdle. I washed with the warm water that had been heated for me ahead of time, got dressed, and pulled on my boots. On my way out, I glanced at myself in a copper mirror. There was a reddish imprint on the right side of my face where I'd been sleeping on my hand. My cheeks looked a little puffier, probably from the alcohol I'd had before bed. Shaking my head, I tied my hair into a low ponytail and left the tent.
The meadow was wrapped in gray fog. The grass was wet and slippery with dew. Damp cold crept under my collar, making my jaw clamp tight. But there was a certain charm in it. I had always loved watching this kind of weather when I was at home.
In a wooden structure nearby, there was a long table covered by a stretched blue canopy to shield it from the weather. Servants buzzed like flies, laying out plates of hot breakfast and arranging small cups of bitter coffee.
I found Count Wellinor near an open gazebo. He was looming over his sleepy wife, who was scribbling something into a notebook, her brows furrowed in irritation.
"Good morning," I rasped out.
The man flinched, his fist jerking up, and then he turned to me with a wide smile.
"Good morning, my lord. How did you sleep?"
I shrugged and yawned.
"Very well. Thank you for the warm bed."
He waved it off quickly.
"We'll be having breakfast soon. Do you like goose meat soup?"
My stomach growled hungrily, but I covered it with a cough.
"Of course. Will you be heading out hunting again today?"
Eleanor leaned back against the bench, adjusting the velvet on her white collar with her fingertips. She stared at the count's jiggling stomach, then turned away as if suddenly fascinated by a jackdaw flying past.
Had they fought? Yesterday she hadn't seemed so distant.
The count looked toward the jagged line of hollow trees scattered across the forest.
"Yes. We decided last night to go deeper into the woods today. We didn't manage to catch a boar yet, but we intend to fix that. Will you join us, my lord?" His deep masculine voice carried a grain of hope, but I crushed it with a shake of my head.
"No, sorry. I'm not in the mood today. Could I find a quiet place to sit after breakfast? I brought some newspapers I'd like to read."
The count raised his eyebrows in surprise, deep wrinkles creasing his low lids.
"You're behaving just like my grandfather, Your Grace," he said, then clapped his heavy hand on my shoulder and laughed again. "No offense, of course. But I understand. It'd be a shame to waste such peaceful beauty. I'll have them set a chair for you by the river."
Where else could I find such an understanding man?
"Thank you."
I had already turned to leave when Eleanor finally spoke:
"My lord," she dropped her quill onto the table and pinned me with her cold, piercing gaze. "Would you like to visit us today? My husband and I thought about showing you the jasmine garden we just finished building last week. We also wanted to introduce you to our son. He would be thrilled — he's dreamed of meeting someone as distinguished as you."
I blinked, momentarily stunned.
How had her tongue not tied itself up from all that flattery? On one hand, such deference stroked my ego. But on the other...was it really worth forging closer ties just for someone else's benefit? The count had nothing more to offer me. I already had everything the title of Duke of Vaukh Ton could bestow.
It made me hesitate.
Wellinor and his wife watched my face intently, like two foxes waiting for a piece of cheese to fall.
"Apologies. Perhaps we can arrange such a visit for another day? I'll bring my sister. She's mad about gardens and would love to see yours."
Truth be told, my greatest wish was simply to go home as soon as possible. I had no intention of changing my plans for anyone.
The count's body went rigid. Eleanor smiled unexpectedly — and that smile was far more unnerving than her usual lifeless face.
"Of course, my lord. We'll send you an invitation."
I stepped away, turned, and headed for the table. My boots squelched loudly in the mud. The odd feeling clung to me until I sat down and the others finally emerged from their tents. Soon, the clearing came to life, and the curly gray cloud above dissolved, letting the pale sun bathe the earth.
The goose meat soup turned out far too greasy. I fished out chunks of meat with my fork and shoved them into my mouth, chewing slowly. Beside me was a platter of cold cuts and fresh, still-warm bread. I tried to avoid looking at the greasy pink sausages and plump, overboiled eggs sitting just two jugs away.
The captain stood near the tethered horses, surrounded by a handful of already lively soldiers. He clearly noticed my gaze and immediately straightened his back like a ramrod.
I took a sip of coffee, squinting and smirking.
Wouldn't surprise me if he showed up at my estate with a warrant next Monday.
After breakfast, I headed down to the river. The shore was framed by long green branches and a rocky bank. A servant had set up a chair with a soft red cushion for me, along with a small table and a stack of newspapers from the chest. I sank into the chair, the cool breeze off the water easing the heat prickling at my neck.
My fingers unfolded the first newspaper. The paper was thin and crisp.
The main headline screamed in bold letters about unrest near the border with Panum — clashes, burned villages and fields. Further down, smaller columns mentioned taxes, a new law banning private militias in the capital, and rumors of the king's illness, though royal scribes insisted he was "in good health."
Nothing about the princes.
Next came a headline about a new theater opening. My fingers trembled slightly when I saw the name.
«Grand Meridian.»
I would have been happy never to set foot in that place again. But Margarita would insist, I knew it.
A resigned sigh escaped my throat.
Setting that paper aside, I reached for the next one. The river burbled and swayed. The wind kept tugging at the thin pages.
When the first shot rang out from the woods, I was already finishing my third newspaper.
Eight more shots followed. As my fingers touched the fourth paper, still tightly bound with twine, I heard a shriek.
Out of the bushes to my left burst a brown boar. It raced toward the river at full speed. One tusk was broken and dangling, slapping against its snout. A red streak followed behind it.
When the boar reached the water and waded in up to its tail, another shot rang out, and its bulky body froze instantly.
A hand pushed aside the bushes, and Braunt strolled into view, rifle slung over his shoulder and a dandelion stem clamped between his teeth.
Noticing me, Braunt stopped nearby.
"Seems to me, you enjoy watching other men's triumphs, Your Grace."
I ignored him and went back to reading the newspaper.
For a couple of minutes, nothing happened.
I hoped he had left, hauling the boar's carcass with him, but that hope quickly died when I heard the rustle of clothing and the clatter of a rifle being carelessly dropped onto the table beside me. Braunt leaned over, resting a hand on the back of my chair, and his square jaw ended up right next to my ear.
"You weren't at the hunt, you skipped the evening card game too, and today you missed all the fun again...I have a question," he said, pinching the corner of my newspaper and folding it over. Lowering his voice, Braunt leaned in even closer, his breath searing the side of my ear. "Are you avoiding me? I don't want to jump to conclusions, but I don't recall doing anything especially vile to you."
"Your very existence is enough to ruin my day," I thought, without lifting my eyes.
"Do you have some grievance against me?"
The viscount gave a short, dry laugh, pressing his lips together.
"None. But it seems you do."
"You're bothering me."
He lingered near me for a moment longer, then abruptly pulled back and straightened up, squaring his shoulders.
"Bothering you?"
I set the newspaper down on my lap and gave him a dark look.
"Yes. I can't read because you're blocking the sunlight. Step aside."
"There's hardly any sun to block."
"Exactly. I wonder whose fault that is."
A loud horn sounded across the field. Horses' hooves churned the damp ground as Count Wellinor rode into the clearing, leading a whole procession of people. He pointed at the felled boar, blood still trickling from the back of its head.
"Viscount! You're an incredibly lucky man!"
With a sigh, I got up, gathered the newspapers into a stack, and strode firmly toward the tent, wanting nothing to do with the barrage of praises about to be showered on that man.
"Get ready," I told the servants clustered around the carriage. "We're leaving."