ESP 07

chapter 7

Dmitri did not stay in Shovary.

He first went to the relay station there, entrusted the carriage, and handed money to the workers, telling them to feed the horses well. Then he picked out the sturdiest and fastest-looking horse among those at the station, paying generously again to borrow it.

“My lord, we’ve just spent a whole week traveling here by carriage, and now you want to ride a horse again?”

The coachman who had accompanied him to Shovary asked. Dmitri answered, “I’m in a bit of a hurry,” and immediately mounted. Since they had traveled day and night for a week by carriage, if he rode at full speed, he could reach Ebony in just a couple of days. If the horse grew exhausted, he would change it once more along the way. His heart was urgent.

‘I served a foolish master.’

Still, he had thought himself lucky at least to serve under a wise mistress—but even she was divorced now. Count Keith Dalmore was nothing but a fool. On the day he had pressed his wife—no, former wife—for a divorce, Keith had downed an entire bottle of cognac and spent the day pacing like an addict. Surely, he would soon waste away to a pitiful wreck. If that was how it would end, he should never have pushed for divorce in the first place.

Yet, curiously, Keith, who normally consulted with his butler on all matters, had not said a single word about something so important. And then, just as the divorce was nearly finalized, he suddenly received a search warrant—from none other than Her Majesty the Queen.

As far as Dmitri knew, the Dalmore family had no particularly close ties to the royal family. Their founder had been granted a title centuries ago during the founding of the kingdom, but that was long in the past. Keith did work at the High Court, which was near the palace, but there were countless other institutions nearby. Nothing about it was special.

‘What in the world did he do?’

Aside from being born into one of the poorer noble families, Keith Dalmore was a man any butler could take pride in serving: rational, fair, intelligent, and even generous. His eye for a bride had also been impeccable—he brought home a woman calm and fitting for him. To Dmitri, Lady Briony might have been quiet, but she was by no means weak.

‘Why not trust in the lady more, my lord?’

Keith surely had reasons Dmitri himself did not know. After the divorce talks began, Keith had looked endlessly tormented. When Dmitri had gently suggested that he trust Briony, his master had shaken his head with a somber face.

‘I cannot ask someone I didn’t even marry out of love to make sacrifices for me.’
‘If you had married her out of love, would it be different?’
‘Have you ever loved someone?’
‘No. But I think I know what it does to a person.’

Even then, Keith would not reveal the true motive behind the divorce.

Had the count perhaps foreseen the Queen’s search warrant? If the two events were indeed connected, then Keith was in grave danger.

Dmitri was uneasy. There had to be a reason why his master could not confide even in him. And in these harsh times, he knew finding another position where he was so valued would be near impossible.

‘Please, remain safe until I return.’

It seemed hopeless, but he prayed anyway.

Dmitri’s prayer was in vain. Keith was anything but safe.

The day after Briony left Ebony, Olson and Owen—or was it Oson and Olun?—returned with six more men, as if avenging the time Keith had dared raise his voice and draw his sword against the Queen’s investigators. They ransacked the mansion from top to bottom. Keith had no choice but to give his servants another day off. At least Dmitri’s absence spared him the trouble.

“Now this is interesting.”

Said Olson, the mustached one, twenty hours into the search, holding a sheet of paper he had found in Keith’s study.

“Take it, then.”

Keith replied wearily.

“This looks like a letter that was meant to be sent, though there’s no recipient or signature.”

“Then it hardly counts as a letter, does it?”

“Even if it contains confidential military information?”

“That depends on how one interprets it.”

“Be careful, Lord Ebony. A single document like this could send you to the gallows.”

“You’re mistaken,” Keith sighed.

“Her Majesty prefers beheadings.”

“You know the Queen?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“I meant—have you met her directly?”

“Nobles must receive her approval to inherit titles.”

“You became Count only three years ago, correct? Then it wasn’t all that long ago you saw her.”

They were clearly trying to frame him as dangerous. Keith didn’t bother to defend himself. Any noble’s estate, searched for nearly twenty hours, would yield at least a suspicious scrap or two. And Keith already knew, if not the precise charge, at least that he would not escape unscathed.

‘No one can defy Her Majesty’s will.’

How he had caught her attention, he could not fathom. He had never given her cause. Among the many illustrious nobles of the High Court, he was just a clerk. Though his marriage to Briony had briefly made him richer, he was nothing compared to dukes or marquesses with larger lands and titles. He hardly mingled in society. There was no reason for the Queen to notice him.

And yet, she had.

‘So, you are Lord of Ebony?’

He should have denied it then. Should have walked out of her presence, quit his post as clerk, and fled with only Briony and Dmitri. Perhaps then he would not have needed divorce. (On second thought, yes, Dmitri was essential.)

‘Yes, Your Majesty.’
‘Your name and title?’

Albraid’s Leopoldine—styled as the noblest of women, sovereign of Algonquin, queen of vassals.

Keith had heard only the grandest epithets. But when he finally met her, she was just a woman. A queen, yes—imposing and beautiful—but no one could rival Briony in beauty, so he was unmoved.

‘Keith Dalmore, Count.’
‘Would you serve as my court secretary?’
‘Forgive me, Your Majesty. I am unworthy. I am but a clerk, not even a judge at the High Court.’

That had been their first conversation.

They spoke only twice more. The fourth time, instead of words, she sent a warrant. Keith might have been a pitiful man who failed even to make his wife happy, but he was not dull enough to miss a queen’s threat.

‘Become my secretary and serve at my side.’

That was what she truly wanted. Not because she lacked candidates—there were countless willing applicants. Her interest in him was far more personal. By the time Keith realized the implication, it was too late.

‘Refuse me, and your family will not survive.’

That was the message hidden in the search warrant.

“—rd of Ebony.”

The investigator’s voice pulled Keith from his brief recollection. The mustached man wore a vile smile.

“This letter will serve as key evidence against you. I’ve already sent Owen to the court for a warrant.”

That meant an arrest warrant was imminent. They must have intended it from the start. In that case, it would be better to leave before Dmitri returned. It would be easier to tidy things up without anyone at home.

“So then, my charge?”

“You know well enough. Collusion with the enemy, of course.”

“No emergency arrest?”

By law, investigators could arrest immediately, noble or commoner, if the crime was grave and undeniable.

“You High Court men are sharp. I do have the authority, but I thought I’d give you time to put your affairs in order.”

Keith needed no such time. Dmitri knew better what Ebony Heights required. And what use was it to stay in this house without Briony? To him, Ebony Heights without her was no different than a prison.

Olson went on babbling.

“You may want to pack some clothes—it could take a while.”

Though he spoke glibly, his hands fidgeted nervously at his mustache. Keith soon understood why.

Collusion with the enemy—treason—was punishable by death, often extending to one’s entire family. Such a heavy charge demanded undeniable proof, lest the accusers themselves face punishment for false accusation.

Not even the Queen herself could escape that formality, not after the backlash years ago when a royal family member was executed for treason and the punishment was seen as excessively harsh.

“If anything’s needed, my butler will handle it.”

“Visits will be forbidden. So will letters.”

“If my innocence is proven, will you compensate for the damage you’ve done to my home?”

Keith asked, partly just to irritate him. Olson looked even more uneasy.

“There is more evidence than this.”

“I’m sure there is.”

“And when Her Majesty learns you once raised your sword against her investigators, that too will be punished.”

Even the Queen could not so easily send a noble lord to the scaffold on baseless charges. It would provoke the entire aristocracy, destabilizing the realm and inviting conflict with neighboring enemies.

Queen Leopoldine was harsh, but not foolish. Keith’s only hope was her reason as a ruler.

‘Will Briony be safe?’

He hadn’t even looked at her face properly when she left. He had feared his resolve would weaken if he did. Now he might never see her again. He should have looked.

Still, he could recall her clearly: that jet-black hair befitting the name Ebony, the ivory skin pale even under the sun, the intelligent brow, the slender nose, the soft lips—stern when pressed together, yet tender when parted in a rare smile. A faint dimple marked her youthful cheek.

And those deep amber eyes, always thoughtful, that drew him in whenever they met his.

From afar came the sound of hooves—not just one horse, but several harnessed to a carriage.

The investigator smiled spitefully.