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chapter 5
“Madam, please do not come down.”
Dmitri tried to stop her, but Briony didn’t listen. The butler quickly gave up trying to dissuade his mistress and ran toward the source of Myrtle’s shout. Briony followed close behind.
“You can’t just barge in here! Butler, these men—”
Myrtle’s cheeks were flushed red with agitation as she looked up at the two of them.
The front door stood wide open. Briony fixed her gaze on the two men standing at the threshold. Both were broad-shouldered and looked strong, but their demeanor held the restraint of high society. They were dressed in uniforms she had never seen before.
“Who are you?”
Dmitri stepped forward.
“Is Lord Ebony at home?”
The older one, the one with the mustache, asked.
The butler answered.
“He is absent at the moment. Since the ladies are present, perhaps you might return at another time.”
“Then we shall wait until Lord Ebony returns.”
“There is no guarantee of when he will be back.”
“Did he not say where he was going?”
“I am but a mere butler, not his knight-escort.”
“What business brings you here?”
Briony spoke up. Dmitri tried to stop her with a glance, but she ignored him. When the count was absent, all his responsibilities and authority fell upon the countess. Even though the divorce papers had already been signed—making her and Keith strangers in the eyes of the law—until she left Ebony’s estate, she wanted to show the dignity of the countess.
The mustached man replied arrogantly.
“We have come with a search warrant.”
A search warrant?
But these men weren’t Ebony’s constables. Each domain’s law enforcers were appointed by its lord. Briony had once been introduced to Ebony’s constables by Keith himself, so she remembered their faces well.
Besides, constables had no right to investigate the lord or the lord’s family. In the entire kingdom, there were very few institutions with the authority to issue a search warrant against a noble of baron rank or higher.
Dmitri seemed to reach the same conclusion.
“Where was this warrant issued from?”
“How dare a commoner ask—”
The one without the mustache growled, but his companion restrained him. With feigned importance, he said:
“From Her Majesty the Queen.”
The shock of those words was tremendous.
All three—save for the uninvited men—froze in place. Myrtle staggered back against the wall. Even Dmitri had turned pale. Briony gripped the banister tightly.
Her Majesty the Queen…?
In all her life, she had never once heard “Her Majesty” used as a proper noun in relation to herself. Even though House Dalmore was old and distinguished, the gap between a count’s family and the queen was a high wall indeed. Yes, nobles could attend court three times a year, but that didn’t mean they shared a table with the queen. Had Keith ever even spoken a single word to her?
Dmitri was saying something, but Briony barely heard him. A search warrant—issued by the queen herself—against Keith? There had to be some mistake.
Far away, the sound of hoofbeats rang out. Someone was riding hard, drawing ever closer to Ebony Heights, though Briony hadn’t yet realized it.
“…Then show me this warrant.”
Briony stepped down in front of the men.
“I must see for myself if it truly bears Her Majesty’s signature.”
“Madam, it would be wise to stay back.”
No sooner had the mustached man spoken than a shadow appeared outside the door.
Keith.
He yanked the reins, the horse skidding to a halt, and with a single fluid motion leapt from the saddle. Briony could only watch as he strode forward, placing himself squarely between the intruders and his household.
He was disheveled and breathless from the ride, but when he spoke, his voice carried not the slightest tremor or unease.
“What insolence is this so early in the morning?”
“You are Lord Ebony?”
“State your affiliation.”
“We are the Queen’s Eye—Her Majesty’s investigators.”
“Your names?”
“Olson.”
Keith did not move. At last, the other man was forced to give his name as well.
“Owen, sir.”
“And so, what is this insolence in another man’s home at dawn?”
“As we have said, we are Her Majesty’s investigators. We have brought a search warrant.”
Olson drew an envelope from his coat. It bore the royal seal of Algonquin. Authentic.
Keith snatched it from him, broke the seal, and scanned its contents. A moment later, he returned the documents.
“Very well. By Her Majesty’s command, I will cooperate. Search whatever you wish, take what you need. But do not lay a hand on the people of this house.”
“The warrant requires your active cooperation.”
“That warrant grants you the right to search the premises, not to search bodies.”
His contempt was unmistakable.
At that moment, Dmitri subtly shifted, opening a path for Briony. He meant for her to slip outside under his protection. Briony hesitated—she worried for Keith, but staying would help nothing, and Myrtle was trembling in terror.
Just as she began to move, Owen noticed and blocked her way.
“Madam, this house is now under investigation. You are not free to move as you please.”
He lifted a hand as though to restrain her.
Keith’s patience finally snapped.
“Do not touch my wife!”
The sheer ferocity of his voice made everyone blanch—Briony, the investigators, even Myrtle, though she bravely stepped away from the wall to stand at her mistress’s side. Briony grasped Myrtle’s hand tightly.
“Lord Ebony, we only wish to conduct our investigation smoothly—”
Owen stammered. Olson, however, was more forceful.
“You are obstructing an investigation, my lord. We are agents of Her Majesty herself. To oppose us is to oppose—”
Keith didn’t wait for him to finish. He strode to the wall, where a decorative rapier hung—something Briony had hardly noticed before. Ornamental or not, it was well kept, its edge flawless. He drew it and leveled its point at Olson in one practiced motion.
“You dare claim to represent Her Majesty, you lowly investigators?”
“My lord…”
“My lord? A good word. This is my domain, and all who dwell here are my people. You have no authority to command them.”
Briony couldn’t tell if Keith was right. In Algonquin, the queen’s authority was absolute. The Queen’s Eye was her personal investigative body, empowered to issue warrants to nobles without due process. Keith should by rights comply. Yet by that same token, a low-level investigator had no right to claim he “represented” the queen himself.
It was Dmitri who broke the tense standoff.
“…This lady is not Lady Ebony.”
All eyes turned. Briony saw Keith’s shoulders slacken slightly. He lowered the blade, though he didn’t put it away.
Briony spoke quickly.
“That’s right. I am divorced from Lord Ebony.”
“Then this lady… who is she?”
One of the investigators—perhaps Owen—asked stupidly. Dmitri answered for her.
“She is Mistress Arlington.”
‘Lady’ was reserved for daughters of counts or higher, ‘Mistress’ for unmarried daughters of viscounts or below. Recognition dawned on the investigators’ faces.
Could word that our three-year marriage ended already have spread through society?
Briony felt a pang of unease.
“Mistress Darlington, then—”
“Arlington,” she corrected.
The investigator ignored her correction.
“May we ask the reason for your divorce from Lord Ebony?”
“Is interrogation included in a search warrant?”
Of course it wasn’t. The investigators had no choice but to back down. Keith seized the moment, turning to Dmitri with clipped orders, never once looking at Briony.
“Dmitri, escort Mistress Arlington to her family home.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“The carriage is ready, I trust?”
As if he had anticipated this very situation, a carriage was already waiting outside the back gate, not the front. Briony wondered whether the driver was prepared for departure—but Dmitri seemed ready to take the reins himself if need be.
“Young miss, quickly now,” Myrtle urged.
Reluctantly, Briony moved. Was she truly to leave without a proper farewell, after three years of building some semblance of attachment here?
Without even a word of parting to Keith?
As she passed him, she found herself gazing up at his profile—cold, expressionless, unlike any she had seen before.
The horses were already hitched. The driver wasn’t in sight—perhaps resting before the long journey—but Dmitri calmly helped Briony into the carriage regardless.
“You must hurry.”
“But—”
“Miss Meyer, as well.”
Myrtle climbed in after her. Dmitri shut the door. Moments later, Briony felt the movement of someone taking the reins.
This was all too unreal.
Keith had done nothing wrong, and yet a royal search warrant had descended upon him. And she—she was fleeing Ebony as though in the middle of the night!
“Wait, please, wait…”
Her voice was too faint to carry. Dmitri clucked his tongue, and the carriage jolted forward. Briony shoved Myrtle aside and clung to the window, staring at the receding garden she had tended herself in her first year here, the garden Keith had liked so much.
When the carriage had drawn far enough to see all of Ebony Heights in the distance, she spotted someone rushing out the back gate. Even from a hundred yards, she recognized him instantly.
Keith.
He stood there, shoulders slumped, watching the carriage disappear. His face was too far to read, but his posture said everything.
“Young miss, you’ll fall out,” Myrtle pulled her back.
Briony sank heavily into her seat, her heart weighed down with unspeakable emotion.
