“His Highness is pursuing a relationship with just one of his fiancée candidates. Meanwhile, the son of the western tiger seeks out the premier’s son at every opportunity.”
“You mean they’re trying to secure both Clarke children as allies.”
“In all likelihood.”
Recently, nobles had begun whispering about the remarkable talent of both of Duke Clarke’s children. If Riley and his future aide had set their sights on them, perhaps they had a keen eye after all. Brendon kept that revised assessment to himself, however; admitting he had once thought poorly of the crown prince could be construed as disrespect toward royalty. For now, he could only watch how matters unfolded.
“Anything else?” Marquess Kenneth asked.
Brendon shook his head.
The marquess hadn’t seemed to expect more anyway. “I suppose you can’t move around so freely either,” he concluded.
“Do you think His Highness should involve House Locard as well?” Brendon asked, cautiously but clearly.
Marquess Kenneth studied him with an unreadable expression. Though faintly intimidated, Brendon waited patiently for his response.
House Locard was known as “the shield” among the three largest ducal families. Its influence was said to rival House Ealdred and House Clarke, yet most nobles knew little about it. Brendon, a commoner, knew even less. He had hoped the marquess might enlighten him, but the man merely smiled and shook his head.
“They can’t possibly reach them.”
“So even His Highness stands no chance...”
“It’s precisely because he’s the crown prince that I say so.”
Their verbal tug-of-war made Brendon furrow his brow. Clearly, Marquess Kenneth had no intention of giving a straight answer. The knight was almost ready to give up when his uncle continued.
“Do you know the origin of our kingdom’s royalty and its relationship with the nobility?”
“Yes, sir,” Brendon answered, caught off guard. As the marquess’s relative, he had received a far better education than any ordinary commoner could hope for. “Their relationship was contractual.”
“It was, but not anymore. Officially, the king is absolute, and the feudal lords obey him. It’s a far cry from how things started.”
During the three demonic centuries, when the kingdom had been fractured by civil war, each region had been ruled by a powerful family. Then a man emerged who could unite them, and the people called him king. He provided and protected the feudal lords’ domains, and in exchange, they mobilized their armies at his request. Thus began the relationship between royalty and nobility—though it had changed entirely since then.
“House Locard is different,” the marquess continued. “It still upholds the contract made with royalty when Slivegrandia was founded. Others have altered the terms over the years, but not the Locards. From the start, the contract they made with royalty stood apart from the other houses’.”
Brendon frowned. Was this not a state secret? Should he really be hearing it? Marquess Kenneth must have sensed the knight’s unease, for his expression softened.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “Anyone with ducal-level power knows at least this much.”
If so, the marquess barely met the threshold. Brendon wasn’t his direct descendant, so he couldn’t help wondering whether he was permitted to hear something so sensitive. Not that he could complain; he’d raised the subject to begin with.
Marquess Kenneth continued matter-of-factly, brushing off his nephew’s hesitation. “Naturally, the only ones who know the terms of that contract are the king and the current head of House Locard.”
Brendon paused in thought. “You mean nobody else knows the conditions that would compel House Locard to act?”
“Precisely,” the marquess said with a smile. “Still, it’s wise of His Highness to seek allies among the three ducal families. He won’t have any luck with House Locard—but since no one can win them over, I wouldn’t call that a cause for concern.”
Brendon wasn’t entirely convinced, but he refrained from pressing further. The marquess gave a satisfied nod, then changed his tone, adopting a more sober expression.
“How is the boy from House Calvert doing?” he asked.
“He’s as healthy as ever.”
“Good, good.” Though the corners of the marquess’s lips curved upward, his eyes remained sharp. “Get in touch with his family as well. Our targets are too good at covering their tracks.”
“Did using Georg as a decoy not bear fruit?”
“We only caught some hired goons,” the marquess replied, his displeasure plain. “But we know the premier’s daughter was involved.”
“What...?” For once, Brendon had to doubt his ears.
“She isn’t our enemy, but I wouldn’t call her an ally yet either,” the marquess said, unbothered by the knight’s wavering composure.
“What do you mean?”
Marquess Kenneth didn’t answer; he merely sank into thought. A seven-year-old girl had negotiated better than the average adult, and she had used a hex to locate Georg with startling efficiency.
They hadn’t found anything at the location the hex indicated. Georg—and the other kidnapped children—had apparently escaped and reached the manor on their own. The place they claimed to have been held was in the opposite direction from where the hex had pointed, and the kidnappers were already tied up when they were found. None of them could remember who had restrained them.
It seemed unlikely that Liliana had done everything herself, but there was no doubt she was entangled in the affair.
The entire situation was too absurd to put into words. What could a seven-year-old possibly do? Marquess Kenneth didn’t expect anyone to believe such a story; they would assume he’d lost his mind.
Still, he trusted his intuition.
“Listen carefully, Brendon—don’t take your eyes off that girl. Do what you can to bring her to our side.”
“Understood.”
At some point during their conversation, the moon had risen. It hung bright against the night sky.