THE HEIR

   “Francis, Gideon," a middle-aged lady called out from where she stood, "Be cautious, you shouldn't ruin your attire, for your father shall be furious". She yelled angrily at the two grown boys playing around in the dirt.

Maria Adelberg, the Queen of France, who sat close to the now flushed lady, laughed, "Be cautious Agatha, for shouting shall only leave you with nothing but silver locks. I speak from experience".

"Your Majesty, how on earth do you manage?" Agatha asked out of breath, "You should be outraged that two grown men still behave like children, chasing after each other in such a manner". She sat watching the children play in the dirt, awaiting a response to her question.

Maria giggled, "In my eyes, both remain young gentlemen, despite the passage of time." She put down her book and turned to see her boys playing with themselves as her daughter, Josephine, joined her to relax. "I have acquired the wisdom to permit them to indulge in childlike play, so that upon the return of their fathers, they may resume their rigorous tutelage."

But her words were not assuring enough for the old woman to stop fretting, she still watched the children with a kin sight. Maria, under her breath, laughed as she put a hand on Agatha's shoulder. "Don't fret Agatha, they shall be well, their fathers shall not arrive until noon so there is enough time".

Maria smiled. "I believe you are too anxious for those two".

"But she must, Mother," Josephine implied as she dropped her finished handkerchief and laid on her mother's shoulder, eyes closed "seeing as you have long forgotten them."

"I have not" Maria protested, "I simply believed all my children ought to have time to unwind and enjoy their youth".

Josephine opened an eye to give her mother a skeptical look.

"Indeed, Mother, we feel the same way," her son boasted as he and his friend, Gideon, made their way to the rest. Sitting by his mother's feet, he continued, “I do reckon, we ought to behave more like infants”.

Josephine, with her eyes still closed, laughed at her twin's choice of words as she teased, “Francis, I believe, you behave more like a babe than a child", she said, earning her a playful tug to her hair, she quickly got up and slapped her brother's hand away, “Ow, mother, warns Francis”.

“Children, do not vex your mother so. Her beauty is far too precious to be marred by the wrinkles from a headache”, Agatha implored, resting her head and closing her eyes, as Josephine threw her handkerchief at Francis. Maria playfully smirked at her son before picking up her novel to read.

Catching her handkerchief, he smiled at his sister, “Josephine, you must not vex Mother so”. Maria giggled as she continued to bury her head in the novel she was reading.

Josephine, staring hard at her brother, argued, “I do recall Agatha uttering 'children' and not 'child', I hope my memory did not fail me”.

Francis turned to Josephine as she spoke, “Really, I assumed the only child here was you”. With that, he tore the book from her hands and raised it in the air, making it hard for her to catch it. He threw it to Gideon, and they both sprinted around the garden, throwing her book to one another. 

“Return my book to me this instance”, yelled Josephine as she chased after them. Everyone else watched in amusement and laughed each time the book flew above her head.

“Children,” a voice spoke. Everywhere, and everyone in the garden, grew silent as they turned to see King Philippe.

 “Father,” Josephine called out, acknowledging his presence.

The Queen stood up and adjusted her dress, motioning for her children to join her. She took a step forward, “Your Majesty, I did not expect you would have concluded your meeting so soon”. She turned to her children, “Francis, return your sister's book”.

Underneath her breath, Josephine murmured "I hope your wife does possess a playful disposition; for if not, you shall find yourself buried deep beneath the earth" and snatched her book from him.

Francis was, in fact, not moved by his sister's threats. Instead, he watched his father's interaction with their family and how stiff the moment had gotten. , Two years ago, would have tried to make witty remarks to trouble his father or allow himself a good laugh, but things have changed since he left home…

He has changed.

So he remained quiet and observant.

“I believed your meeting held significance, did it not?” asked Maria, trying to keep the conversation going. "You were to come home by noon”.

“Indeed, I was, my dear,” he answered, smiling warmly. “But we were compelled to bring our proceedings to a close, for visits of high importance are set to grace our land after a protracted absence”.

Josephine's face lightened up. “The Soldiers”.

“Indeed, my precious,” said Phillippe, smiling tenderly. “The brave warriors have begun their homeward journey, and have achieved a glorious triumph over the realm of Tyron. This very eve, they shall grace us with their noble presence, bestowing upon us their esteemed honor".

He turned to Francis, “And to honor my son on his arrival home, back to us,” he exclaimed with a sense of pride. Everyone turned to look at Francis, waiting for him to speak.

A smile grew on Francis's face as he returned the gaze everyone had given him. “Thank you, Father”

“At last, our ancestors have smiled down on us once more,” Agatha smiled, looking up to the sky. 

“This joyous occasion warrants a grand celebration”.

“Indeed, my liege,” said Maria, as she curtsies, then turned to Agatha, “Would you mind assigning maids to aid in preparing the children for tonight?”

“Yes, my queen,” she bowed before attempting to leave, only to be stopped by the king.

“Certainly, I shall inform my mistresses of the celebration,” he turned to Maria, “They need to be prepared, for tonight requires the presence of everyone”.

Everyone went silent as they turned to the Queen. For many years, Maria had to hold up a facade that had given her freedom from being involved in her husband's affairs. She believed interference would destroy the peace and picture she had worked hard to create.

     Everything needed to be practiced well, from how she carried herself to the face she gave. She taught her children not to allow society to know of their struggles, and that society does not care. They believed since you were of royal blood and had certain privileges, that you were not someone they should pity.

  A lesson her mother had taught her when she was a little girl, a lesson she taught her children, and a lesson that had saved her throughout her reign from humiliation, gossip, tonight's event, and this exact moment.

Maria, covering any inch of disgust that was to appear on her face, smiled at her husband.

“Indeed, everyone must be present”.

In La Cour du Palais, not to far from the garden. Francis wandered through the palace courtyard, his gaze swept across the bustling scene. Servants scurried about, meticulously attending to every detail in preparation for the grand event that would soon take place. The air filled with anticipation and excitement. Suddenly, a figure caught at the corner of his eyes - his uncle, Duke Leon de Valmont, approaching his nephew with a regal stride.

Francis smiled, for it had been a long time since he last saw him, “Uncle,” he called out.

“Good day, is it not the heir to the throne himself?” Leon spoke as they both shared a hug. He took a moment to see his nephew's now-grown stature, “You have flourished since mine eyes last saw you, you have transformed into a man.”

“And you remain the same, uncle,” Francis joked, making Leon laugh.

“I have missed you, dear nephew,” Leon said, then pointed to Francis's head, “and that brilliant mind of yours”.

Not too far from where they stood, a soldier shouted instructions to his men, gathered a load of carts from a wagon, and offloaded it at the doorway leading to the kitchen. A few maids walked past, and seduced Francis with their eyes, giggling among themselves. Francis noticed this, smiled and returned their gesture. He turned to see his uncle, sensing the confusion at the sudden arrangements and preparations happening all around him. 

“What sort of event unfolds in this world?” asked Leon, staring at the servants offloading items, “has your father passed?” 

Francis chuckled, “No uncle, France is rejoicing”.

“Ah, the soldiers have returned”.

“Indeed, they have,” he smiled, picking an apple from one of the carts beside him. “He seems rather joyous”.

Leon watched his nephew take a bite from his apple. “Well, it appears France has achieved its first victory since your departure two years ago,” he said. “Surely, the news of this triumph brought great joy to his heart”

“Has my father discovered anything of late?” Francis asked his uncle, who had been staring at the bossom of a servant as she was in a conversation with a colleague. “Does he know why you have been away for long while?”

“No, he believes I left France to-, what were his words exactly” he recalled, still staring at the lady “Ah, yes, sleep with Harlots and disgrace our home”.

“Really? You could have deceived me”. 

“She looks familiar, like I know her from somewhere”.

“Ah, and perhaps her chest will give away the full identity of this lady” Francis joked, smiling at his uncle. He loved the connection he had with Leon; trusts, loyalty, and respect something his father had always long to have with him. 

“One day,” his uncle laughed. “You shall know the essence of falling in love, or, in my case, the importance of admiring the beauty of every woman in the land, and should fortune favor, securing them in bed.”

“However, what I wish to inquire, dear prince, is the reason behind your return,” he continued. “For I recall vividly, in our last conversation, you spoke of the prospect of no longer wanting to be King”.

Francis smiled, taking another bite from his apple. “My father demanded I be brought home at once”.

“Your father's men will not have found you if you do not want to be found,” Leon said, eyeing his nephew with keen interest. “Why have you come, tell me?”

Francis turned to face his uncle, with a stern gaze, he watched him. Leon has always been by his side from the beginning to now. He believed trusting his uncle could be risking, but also an only option. If this plan was to work, he had to have faith his uncle would support him. 

“A missive of great importance arrived at my doorstep. A missive…from my dear brother,” he answered after much thoughts. Taking another bite from his now half eaten apple, he looked around the courtyard, thinking carefully on his next words. He continued, “I believe some misfortune had befallen him, perchance someone orchestrated his demise”. 

With a sharp turn, Leon stared hard at his nephew, as if the look would bring an answer, “Do you know of anyone who could have committed such an act?”

“No uncle, that is why I have arrived,” Francis glanced behind his uncle to see three lords looking at their directions. “I have come to investigate the matter”. 

Following the eyes of his nephew,  Leon looked at the men, who have now discarded their meeting.

 “What did the missive contain?” Leon asked in a hushed tone. He knew, ever since Francis’s arrival, that words would be hushed and secret passages would be used more frequently. Something was happening in the palace, he could feel it. The eyes watching his every move, the talks on what plan he was going to make…everything that should feel normal – felt wrong. “I believe it presumed names?” 

“It did not,” Francis assured, eyeing the Duke of Le Gosier as he entered the courtyard with a few other nobles by his side. “But I believe we shall find names for ourselves.”

Duke Florian of Le Gosier, a well known Duke of Le Gosier. Who grew up with the King of France, becoming an ally and companion. He is believed to have the people’s heart and best interest – such drivel!

Francis watched him take an apple from a crate, before locking eyes with him. He raised his hand in a friendly gesture and waved. Leon watched his nephew and Duke Florian exchange complementaries and wandered if the Duke had anything to do with it. “Your thoughts betray you, Nephew,” Leon said softly, leaning closer. “Is it he whom you suspect?” 

“Suspect, uncle?” he smiled. “I am not one to cast aspersions without cause.”

“The wounds of your brother’s death still remain fresh, even after two years since his demise,” Leon’s brow arched, his keen eyes boring into the side of his nephew’s face. “Surely, you have considered the Duke having a hand in his untimely end”. 

Francis could remembered the letter that he had recieved a few months ago. His brother had already been dead, but seeing the letter, which bore his unmistakable hand, he began to wonder if it could have been written minutes before his death. It’s ink was smeared, the lines hurried, but the message was clear: Beware the Council, brother. Their allegiance lies not with our house, but with their ambition. If i fall, it is by their design…you must not let them take the crown, for they will only bring ruin to the realm. You must not fail in your duty to protect what is rightfully ours…trust no one.

Those words stuck to him as he replayed every sentence in his head, days after days. Since then, he trusted no man except Gideon, and now his uncle. All his life, he had believed he had not belonged in the Kingdom. That he could never see himself as ruler of france. Cowardly running away because of the sins he committed. His brother’s letter had brought him back home, to fix what was damage and bring peace. 

The Council – his father’s most trusted allies – all had a hand in his brother’s death, and now they wish to rid the kingdom of his bloodline…

“Do I believe he orchestrated my brother’s demise?” Francis asked, more to himself than to his uncle. “Yes, I do”. 

“Do I have a plan to unveil the truth, and rid this kingdom of their pernicious ways?” he asked, turning to his uncle with a smirk plastered on his face. “I most certainly do”. He was going to expose each and every last of them of their crimes, and have his brother’s death justified. “Will you join me, uncle?”

Leon studied him for a moment before turning his gaze back to the courtyard. “What are we waiting for? Let’s get on with it”. 

Philippe stood outside the balcony to watch as the preparations for the night were going, feeling victorious and proud. His mistress, Eliane laid on his bed with nothing but the bed sheet covering her body. She wakes up to find the king no longer sharing the bed with her, but watching the people downstairs.

“Your Majesty, you must cease your concerns regarding the arrangements, for I am confident that the Queen attends to every detail as befits her station,” Eliane smiled tapping the space next to her. “Now, do you not wish to return to bed with me, where we may intertwine in each other's arms until the hour of celebration begins?"

“I do yearn for such, my beloved, yet alas, there are other weighty matters that demand mine attention,” he stated as he went back inside to wear his outfits. “The guests shall presently arrive, and as the sovereign, it is incumbent upon me to extend a gracious welcome within the confines of my abode."

“Wherefore am I debarred from welcoming them in unison with you and the Queen?”

Phillippe signed and sat close to his mistress, who happened to be the youngest of all. The young lad was destined to be a submissive wife to his eldest son, Sebastian. But because of his untimely death, he decided to rid her of the name ‘widow’ and make her his mistress. He caressed her delicate face with his finger, letting it stroll down to her chin, gently as if he would break her face if he used his whole hand “Forsooth, my dearest, for it is the duty of both the King and Queen of France to undertake such a task”.

 He got up to leave, when he spotted, in the midst of the chaos, his son and his brother, Leon, having a conversation. He has always felt that his family were all conspiring against him, but he believed it  not to be true. He loved his family, and they love him, as so he assumed. Philippe understood the anger Francis had towards him, but he believed his son needed to be rational and understanding in cases that happened. For he had not known of the outcome, and it was a long time ago, his family needed to understand that it wasn't his fault and move on. He believed his wife and daughters had moved on, why couldn't Francis? 

“My liege”. A voice called out. Philippe turned around to see Sir Gerad, the head of the Royal guards by his door. 

  Gerad glanced at Aline, to which she responded by pulling the bedspread even closer to cover herself. He cleared his throat, before diverting his gaze back to the King. “Your Grace, the guests have arrived, and your kinsfolk stand poised, eagerly awaiting your presence”.

“I extend my gratitude, Gerad. I shall join you forthwith”. The king said as he puts on his crown and adjusted his attire. He looked at his brother through the window one last time. “Why don’t you go ahead and converse with your lady friends, and enjoy your evening”.

“Summon my brother,” he instructed as they both headed to the party. “And do convey unto him the significance of the matter at hand”.

In the Queen's chambers…

Queen Maria sat on her bedside stool, looking straight ahead at her standing rearview mirror, as she stared at herself. She realized that her young beauty, which everyone had adored her, had long ago started to fade. Her wrinkles were seen and visible, the insecurities of a girl in her youth started to occupy her mind and she began to doubt her appearance even more. Her daughters, who were all around her getting ready, didn’t seem to be bothered about the strange behavior of their mother.

Francis walked in at the exact moment she was caressing her face unconsciously. “Mother”. He called out. But she doesn’t answer…

“Mother”.

“Yes, my dearest,” she responded, getting up from where she sat. “What is it?”

“Have you seen Uncle León?” He asked as he sat among his sisters making the question more general.

“Yes, I saw him today in the hallway,” Isabella answered knitting a handkerchief. “he appears rather different from the last time I laid eyes upon him”. Dropping her hand, she appeared to be concerned, “is he eating well?”

Josephine looked up from her novel. “The time you laid eyes upon him, you were but a young maiden of ten years. How would a little girl of that age know what is different in a man?”

Isabella flustered, her tender pale cheeks starting to heat up. She looked like she was about to explode but instead turned to their half-attentive mother and called out her name for help. “Mother, warn Josephine . Her words will put her into a lot of trouble one day”. 

“Trouble?” Josephine scoffed. “Truly, you possess a mind corrupted by impure thoughts”.

Maria didn't respond, she had suddenly gone back to her to her doubtful thoughts. Francis realized what she was doing, she did it everytime she felt insecure. Having the man she loved walk away from her to other ladies like she was nothing. She had slowly noticed her skin and time fading all away at once. 

“Mother,” Isabella, unconcerned with what was going on, called out. “Mother, are you paying me any attention at all?”. 

Maria once again out of her thoughts and back on her daughter's complaint. “Yes I am dear, what seems to be the matter?”

Francis looked at his two sisters, one older than him and the other bearing his face but in female form, both an inch above five feet with slender shoulders and melting brown eyes. They each sported thick chestnut hair—much the same color as his own. He loved his sisters, but they were sometimes oblivious to anyone but themselves. A problem he wished he hadn’t come to meet.

But before Isabella could speak, Francis spoke up. “It's nothing, just your daughters playing again”. 

“Oh, well we all better get ready,” Maria said getting up from her stool to attend to her daughter's hair “Your father may send for us soon”. 

"Mother, do we need to go for this feast?" Madeline asks her mother as she properly positions herself for her mother to fix her hair "Why can't I stay up in my room tonight?" 

“Because, my sweet child,” She smiled at her daughter. Her voice calm and soft. “Your father and I have decided that tonight may very well be the night  you find yourself a gentleman–or a lady–to marry".

Josephine sprung up in her chair startled and turned to stare at her mother. “What?”

“I assumed you three would be happy about this,” Maria said, calmly. She shifted her gaze to the direction of her son, who hasn't spoken for a while, she smiled. “What about you, my son? Do you have a lady in mind?”

Francis hesitated. His posture straightened slightly at his mother’s word. He had known this converstion was coming. After all, he had been gone for two years. It was long enough for his mother to fret over his future. He did have lady in mind, but he had not been able to contact her for a while. His plans to bring his brother’s murderer to light had invaded his mind more frequently. Hiding her away from the people he knew but couldn’t trust was the best decision he made. Now was not the time to be vulnerable while his enemies were at large. 

With a heavy heart, he responded. “No, I not met any ladies during my time away, mother”. His voice calm but distant.

“Oh, really? What about the Count Fredrick's daughter?" Maria asked. “You two appeared exceedingly close when you were younger. Oh, what was her name?”. She glanced up the ceiling as if the words would magically appear above. 

“Do you mean Lady Abigail?” Isabella asked, sewing her handkerchief.

“Aha, Abigail,” Maria repeated, her gaze turning back to him. “What happened between the two of you? You were such dear friends, and yet I cannot recall ever hearing of her since you arrived” Maria asked. 

 Abigail. Of course, his mother still believed things were completely fine between the two of them. The only reason he allowed himself to have a relationship with Abigail was that he needed to fulfill his mission at the time. But she had fallen for him, and he felt nothing for her. A friendship that was prone to disaster from the very moment she started harbouring feelings. It wasn’t her fault though, it was his…the fact he never acknowledged her all because he had someone else in mind.

 Someone he shouldn’t have gone after…

“I am no longer in acquaintance with Lady Abigail,” Francis responded to his mother's question. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he appeared to study the intricate patterns on the floor as if the answers might lie there. “We stopped speaking after I left, I haven’t seen nor heard from her ever since”. 

Maria gazed at her son in disdain. “And is she well? Has she…moved on? Surely, a girl as charming as Lady Abigail would have found someone by now”. 

“I have kept in touch with her, actually,” Josephine, who had been long consumed by her book to pay attention, spoke up. Her tone relaxed, she had on a faint smile on her lips. “She went to live with her uncle and aunt after Francis left. I believe she is quite content there”. 

Maria studied her son closely, watching him look out the window, distancing himself from the conversation. “Well then, perhaps it is for the best. You cannot linger on the past, my dear Francis. Not when France needs you right now,” she said, still gazing upon him with a stern look. Francis had believed he imagined what she had said. Does that mean she knew about his brother’s death, or is she just referring to Abigail…he wasn’t sure. But before he lnger on it more, she turned away and looked at her girls. “Besides, this evening will be a new beginning for you two. A chance for you to find someone who might share your future. Someone worthy of you”.  

His mother’s words hung in the air, a reminder of the pressure he had always felt to marry well. He believed that he had run away from that responsiblitity when he left france two years ago. But now he has to fulfill his duties; bring out his brother’s murderer, prevent anyone from destroying his family’s bloodline, and securing the throne–becoming the Heir. It wasn’t only his duty, he had made it his destiny. And no matter who his mother thought would be a perfect match, his heart belong to someone. A person he had sworn to protect from the people he had promised to destroy.

The door creaked open, and the King entered with a commanding presence. His royal cape  swept behind him as he crossed the threshold, and the moment he did, his family stood in motion. “It is time”. 

“Your grace, if I may present to you the Chasseur who delivered our land from war,” Count Fredrick announced, his voice ringing out over the room as soldiers marched in, their proud faces illuminated by the firelight. The crowd erupted into applause, their cheers resounding through the grand hall. Count Fredrick continued, raising his voice with fervor, “They have fought valiantly, and now, they return home to celebrate—not only with their families, but with their friends, and most importantly, with their king.”

“My king,” he said, turning to the royal table, “has once again delivered us from harm, with the aid of his most trusted armies. France, as a whole, is forever grateful to be ruled by such a remarkable sovereign.” With that, the Count raised his cup high in the air, as the crowd joined in, clapping and singing praises to King Philippe.

Leon, seated near Francis, cast a brief glance toward his nephew and smiled before returning his attention to Count Fredrick, who continued to speak with unabashed enthusiasm.

“Let us raise our cups to our fierce Lion,” Count Fredrick proclaimed, his voice booming with pride. “The breaker of chains, the path maker, the first of his name, the conqueror, the king of France and many nations to come! All hail the king!”

“All hail the king!” the crowd chorused, their cheers growing louder as they lifted their goblets. Leon and Francis exchanged a glance, their eyes briefly meeting before shifting to the figure of King Philippe, who now stood, commanding the room’s attention.

Philippe raised his goblet high, his posture regal and commanding. “Thank you, all of you,” he began, his voice filled with authority, yet softened with gratitude. “Thank you, Count Fredrick, but most of all, I thank the soldiers—our brave men—who left this land and returned victorious. Though lives were lost, and some have been wounded, we defeated our enemies. We won a battle that will forever be etched into history as the battle of conquerors.” He paused, his gaze sweeping across the gathered assembly. “Our children and their children’s children will know of this day—the day we feasted and celebrated our victory.”

The crowd, hanging on his every word, cheered even louder. Philippe’s eyes sparkled with confidence as he continued, “Our lives will forever be changed, and I promise you all, this will not be our last battle. We will conquer more nations. But tonight, tonight we feast and drown ourselves in wine—and more wine!” He lifted his goblet once more, and the sound of the crowd’s cheers filled the room, infectious and jubilant.

Leon, still watching his nephew, leaned toward Francis and murmured, “Now I see why you didn’t seek to take all the glory.”

Francis, ever the observer, looked at his uncle but feigned ignorance. “Why?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

Leon’s eyes lingered on the celebration before him, and with a deep sigh, he replied, “Hope. These people need hope, Francis. As much as I loathe to admit it, only my brother can give it to them.” His gaze softened slightly as he surveyed the room—his words carrying a weight only he could truly understand.

The sound of music filled the air as the royal band struck up a lively tune, and couples began to rise, moving to the center of the ballroom to dance. Francis watched them intently, observing how the men approached their chosen maidens with boldness, asking them to dance. Some women stood aside, waiting to be asked, while others gave flirtatious glances in hopes of catching his attention. But Francis, unmoved by their overtures, remained still. His mind was elsewhere, focused on the task ahead.

Leon, noticing his nephew’s demeanor, turned back to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “But your time will come, Francis,” he said, his tone laced with both confidence and caution. “And these people, they need to start having hope in you.”

Francis nodded, his eyes never leaving the crowd as he took in the sight of his fellow countrymen, all celebrating, all longing for more. “I know,” he said quietly, his voice firm. He then turned to his uncle, meeting his gaze with resolve. “And I know it’s time to begin our plan.”

Leon’s eyes narrowed with understanding, and without another word, he turned and exited the room, slipping away unnoticed by the others. Francis stood there, his eyes shifting toward his father, King Philippe, who was now speaking with various courtiers, enjoying the adoration of his people.

Francis whispered under his breath, a promise he had made to himself long ago. “I will find your killer brother…” His voice trailed off, a shadow of something deeper behind his words. “And restore our family’s name”.

***********

Outside the palace, In the dim-lit streets, a solitary figure emerged from the shadows, his steps quiet and calculated. Cloaked in dark fabric, his face and body concealed, he moved cautiously, to avoid anyone recognising him. He approached a modest house at the end of the street, the faint sound of crickets chirping in the distance, and gently rapped upon the door.

A moment passed, and the door swung open, revealing a young woman. As her eyes met the stranger’s, her expression shifted swiftly, from calm to one of surprise and then unmistakable anger. Her dark, straight hair blew gently in the cool evening breeze, and her hand instinctively tightened around the shawl draped around her shoulders. The change in her demeanor was immediate, and she spoke in her native tongue, her voice laced with frustration.

 “Tu... que veux-tu ?” She said with disgust visible in her tone. Her black straight hair flowed as the wind blew around the night's cool air, she readjusts her shawl as she waited for the man's response.

The stranger hesitated only briefly before responding, his voice somewhat halting, though still clear. “Where is Chester?” His English was not as fluid as that of a native speaker, but the intent was unmistakable.

She narrowed her eyes at him, her frustration deepening as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Que voulez-vous avec mon Chester?” she asked, her voice colder now, the words flowing naturally in French, her gaze unyielding.

“I need him to deliver a message,” the stranger replied, his words measured but firm.

“À qui et de qui?” she demanded, her brow furrowing as she waited for an answer.

The stranger’s lips twisted into a thin, controlled smile. “That is not your concern… but rather the business of the person who sent me to give him this letter,” he said, handing her a sealed envelope. “And this, to keep both your mouths shut.” He placed a small, heavy bag of gold into her hand, the clink of the coins the only sound in the otherwise quiet night.

She glanced down at the gold, her expression unreadable, before meeting his eyes once more. “I will deliver this to him,” she said, her English flawless despite the situation. She turned, stepping back inside the house, and with a soft click, the door was shut behind her.

The stranger walked back in the direction which he came from, passing one street to another. At the intersection of two roads, he spotted a figure waiting. Standing still, his back to the cloaked man. 

“Master,” the stranger said, removing the cloak covering his head, as he bowed his head slightly to the man.

“How many times must I tell you to stop calling me ‘Master’?” the man said, turning around to face the strange man. “It is Leon”. 

“Has it been delivered, then?” Leon asked as he moved closer to him.

 “Indeed”. 

“Good,” Leon smiled, turning around again facing the palace. "Let us be off...we have a feast to attend".