A Silent Game of Spies

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Varley

Varley

Ahh. That was much better.

He hauled her up and shoved her away, letting go of her blonde hair at last. “Go on now,” and he tossed his head in the direction of the door.

Ugh. Varley extracted a strand of the maid’s hair from his hand and shook it to the floor. Maids. He was reduced to maids, he scoffed as he tucked himself back into his breeches.

But ladies-in-waiting would talk, complain even, and in a foreign Court, who was to say whether he would be believed over them or not.

Stupid girl, she’d slobbered all over his breeches. He’d have to discard them. But he would wear them for the rest of the day, just in case, for his surcoat would cover it, he thought.

As he stood lacing the silken buckles of his blue surcoat, one of his servants called to him from outside the door. Varley had taught them never to enter his chamber, given that he was often occupied.

“Your Highness?”

“Enter,” Varley called in a bored tone. This had better be worth his time.

The servant bowed and presented a pigeon parchment. Varley already recognized the paper as Storden’s.

“For you, just arrived, Your Highness.” The steward immediately exited.

Varley pulled the seal off the parchment and unrolled it.


To: Your Royal Majesty, Varley Whittemore Goddard, First of His Name

King of Storden

Your Royal Father, King Harvick Whittemore Goddard of Storden, died peacefully in his sleep less than one week ago. We of Storden eagerly await your arrival so that you as the new King can acknowledge his death and that we may Change the Guard.

With All Due Respect,


Varley stopped reading and smiled. At last. The old coot was dead.

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