The first ripples of change, did not take long to reach Lurington.
Grace set down the telescope she had been using to observe the file of knights leading a coach. The sight of Amelia’s silhouette in the coach’s window worried her, since it meant Amelia had not only read the entirety of the Historian’s novel in under a day, but was reckless enough to try and verify the book’s authenticity by meeting the ‘Princess’ in person. Her expectation that Amelia would delegate verification to Heimdall or her father, even though Grace had written the thing to be self-evident, felt like a reality-check slap to the face.
Though unlike Clarice, she wasn’t about to let any concerns extend past her own thoughts.
“N-No!” Clarice wailed, ringing the bell attached to the top of her shepherd’s staff while sobbing, “You dummies, there’s barely any grass over here, where are you going?!”
The flock of sheep continued ignoring their shepherd, seemingly content to chew on what little grass they could find between the dirt and rocks of the hill they were on.
“I don’t understand it Grace, it’s like they’re possessed!”
“Well, at least they’re not running away,” Grace said, before reasserting her control over the sheep, whose senses betrayed them into thinking they were grazing not on barren space, but upon luscious land, “Why don’t we let them do what they want?”
Clarice whimpered. Her staff tightly gripped, she worriedly kept fretting over her sheep. Grace resumed pondering what else she might have overlooked while trying to artificially create an encounter with the woman she loved.
“G-Grace!” Clarice suddenly shouted, “Something’s happened to the B-B-Baron’s procession!”
Grace felt her heart sink as the noise of panicking horses reached her before she had even spotted the now out-of-control coach dragging hard on the road; barrelling ahead of the escort of knights who rode hard in pursuit.
With the distance between her and the tragedy too great to intervene, Grace watched helplessly as the notion that God might be even crueler than she could ever imagine, played out before her.
Had God’s wrath for her transgressions of going against his law of nature really been that severe? Would Amelia be snatched away from her in this second life, before they could even converse? Or, could it be that the fault lay with herself. All because she had let her fond memories of the past, blind her of the fact that Amelia, even on the best of days, had a penchant for being an absolute jinx. Grace immediately discarded her assumption that she only had to worry about the ‘suitors’ who would eventually involve themselves in Amelia’s life. Apparently, Amelia also needed protection from her own actions as well.
Thank all there was for Havoc, who assuaged Grace’s immediate fears the moment he revealed himself and exited the carriage to put a stop to the nonsense. Though Havoc’s involvement created more questions, since Grace was positive that at this time the father and daughter might as well have been living like strangers in the same house.
Had her novel somehow influenced their relationship for the better? Probably not to any significant degree, Grace decided, after she and Clarice were dragged by Heimdall and tossed at Havoc’s feet, where they were ordered to explain their reason for being close-by.
Grace played clueless while sneaking glances around her. With a bottle in hand, and a vacant glaze coating both of Havoc’s eyes, along with Amelia’s clearly injured hand and there being specks of blood on the coach’s axle, Grace pieced together an idea of what must have happened, and became stressed to the extent she accidentally introduced herself as if she were still a princess.
Once again, Grace couldn’t help but feel that the Baron didn’t deserve Amelia. No shot Havoc was completely ignorant to his daughter’s behaviour, but he had still chosen to let her mess around to the point of self-hurt? Shackled by her promise with God, Grace’s indignation had her rethinking her initial plan to help the pair reconnect.
Falling deeper into her blissfully ignorant act to hide her emotions, while making sure to catch her friend’s eye whenever she could, Grace chose to not think about involving herself with Havoc yet, to better enjoy her first encounter with Amelia. Until she found herself being escorted back to the Lurington Bar by a Knight, who proceeded to manhandle the owner upon their arrival.
A tender smile creased the corners of Grace’s lips. She could practically envision Amelia giving the orders to punish the man who had taken advantage of her talents for his own gain
It was indisputable proof that in Amelia’s heart, she had been deemed to be a good person. And when the knight gave Grace, an envelope inviting her to come visit the Strightsworth manor for a job opportunity, despite feeling like she had died and could now go to heaven to try and kill God, Grace braced herself, and began thinking of how to keep Amelia safe from not only her past, but the wide world as well, no matter the method.
For as long as she could remain good in Amelia’s eyes, Grace was prepared to become the worst of them all.
**
Obtaining a position that would let her stick close to Amelia, went as smoothly as Grace could dare hope, despite the interview for becoming a handmaiden being an absolute mess.
Amelia’s attempt to emulate the princess of the Historian’s novel, might have been adorable to the point Grace’s facade of a damsel out of her depths had nearly slipped loose, but witnessing Amelia proudly show off her safe room, where she had died in the past… Grace had only managed to salvage her shattered mask of emotions by hiding within the awkwardness created by the few stories she knew about Amelia’s father.
It was strange, to see Amelia grow so abashed over the very tales she had once recounted to Grace, but it was also nice, since the longing loneliness that had always dampened those tender moments of sharing, was at present, nowhere to be seen.
And Grace, for the life of her, couldn’t figure out why that fact made her feel… uncomfortable.
**
Time passed in tranquility once Grace began working as Amelia’s handmaiden. A perfect lull Grace made full use of, to leave a lasting impression by working her hardest in all aspects of duty. From playing with Amelia in the garden, to gathering information while helping the maids, every moment spent was either to make Amelia’s life easier… Or used in planning how best to hurt others.
Despite Grace’s growing horror that it didn’t seem like Amelia had, or intended to, tell her father about the Historian’s novel, at all.
Meaning if things progressed as they ought, Havoc would once again leave without a word… Something Grace had by now realised would leave Amelia irrevocably distraught. Originally, she had been hoping Havoc would be receive her novel in some capacity, find it suspicious enough to investigate and deal with the West, before moving on to the Caneo Empire, leaving Grace to handle the Marquess of Rutherford who might lash out for having his plans foiled, as well as the ‘suitors’.
But that wouldn’t make Amelia happy. And Grace was finding that a happy Amelia, was much more open to reciprocating love and affection than a sad Amelia. So, when the love of her life started mumbling in the greenhouse about how upset she was of her father’s depression, Grace swallowed her perfect future, took a gamble, and agreed to help.
Despite knowing firsthand that there was a very real chance Havoc would notice her tainted drink’s effect on his mind and sniff out her involvement. An issue, since Havoc had a penchant for killing before asking questions. And fighting back against the person Amelia thought a god among men wasn’t an option even if she could do it. After how Grace had characterized herself in the Historian’s novel it would be far too suspicious.
Thus, Grace made the decision, to hurt Amelia, only a bit, for the greater good of them both. She began helping wherever she could as Amelia fretted. First by whispering suggestions about how swell of an idea it would be if Havoc could only remember what once was, then by speaking with Heimdall to dress a dining hall present up as the past.
All for the chance that Havoc would become enraged, then lower his guard to sooth his daughter’s distress. Allowing Grace’s magical drink to corrupt his taste buds, so that he might be forced to abandon his alcoholic crutch and think clearly for more than an hour in what must have been years.
Unfortunately, Grace’s plan to help now, then eventually remove her influence from Havoc’s senses so he would rebound and show Amelia how unreliable and unchanging of a man he truly was, hit a snag, when Havoc’s invincible ego shifted the blame for why his daughter was crying and blamed it all on the booze… To the point his belief cemented her magic into something she couldn’t take back.
**
Despite not knowing when Havoc had discovered the West had been making preparations for war, or why he thought killing a bunch of people would somehow endear himself to his daughter, Grace chose not to concern herself with the small details in life that didn’t impact her. Especially when it meant she got to relax and spend more time with Amelia.
Still, she had begun to develop a growing suspicion that things were going too well. Proven true when out of nowhere one morning, Amelia bashfully approached her while Grace was watering the greenhouse flowers and said:
“Let’s go shopping in town!”
“The bookstore?” Grace guessed, despite her smile hiding another behind it, since she had by then influenced the owner to close up shop and go elsewhere. She had been waiting for this moment, since if Amelia ever did start investigating the Historian’s identity, having a false lead would be the perfect warning bell to let her know in advance.
But then Amelia started to stutter.
“Y-Yeah! J-Just the bookstore!”
The watering can, slipped from Grace’s hands. She hid her mistake with a “whoopsie”, then laughed away Amelia’s concern that Grace’s dress was now wet.
“Don’t worry about it,” Grace said, while she tried figuring out why Amelia would lie about visiting a bookstore of all things, “Why don’t we meet outside the manor? Just let me get changed.”
It didn’t make sense, until they’d arrived in town, where Amelia saw the abandoned bookstore, did a double take, before suggesting out of the blue, that they should split up so she could go window shopping… while looking towards Elmwood Street. Causing Grace to doubt whether she had in fact, made no mention of where Thompson Brown was staying in town.
It was too much of a coincidence, however despite wanting to join Amelia, she was so worried about not having a good reason that in the end, she decided to sprint to get her own shopping out of the way (purchasing the freshest, juiciest meats that were for sale at the market), before cutting through town to arrive at Thompson’s Brokerage all in under twenty minutes.
Hoping her guesswork was wrong, Grace reached for the brokerage’s doorknob and found it to be locked.
“Hey!” she called to a passerby, “Shouldn’t this place be open at this hour?”
“Ought a be,” replied the disinterested man, but it was a good enough answer for Grace to unlock the door with her magic.
“N-No! I swear I locked it this time!” shouted Erika, the shocked receptionist who appeared to be in the process of returning to her seat. “Ma’am, we’re closed for the day! Please come back again later!”
No doubt about it. With a foreboding comment like that, Amelia had to be present. A gut-wrenching realisation, since it meant Amelia planned on either revealing Grace’s identity on her own, or she was trying to save the Velvetican Kingdom, using a cobbled together novel half filled with lies, data from rumours, spies, and the royal archives.
Ignoring Erika’s complaints that grew closer despite having already faded into the background, Grace slammed her filled basket against the receptionist’s head, knocking her dazed.
“You’re tired, aren’t you?” Grace whispered, putting the woman to sleep, before eyeing the door at the top of the staircase, where loud music and noise was descending, signifying a party.
Thompson Brown would never spend money on a party. Which meant Vanridge Dowsinger had believed the letter Grace had sent him; having slipped information that the merchant’s reason for being in town was to sneakily expand his dealings under the cover of war, by stealing away the mob boss’s many debtors by acting as a benevolent creditor.
Grace considered the hallway leading to not only a cellar, but a set of cells, where Thompson was most likely locked up. Knowing Vanridge, he wouldn’t miss an opportunity to throw a competitor into their own holding space. Perfect for her, since Grace had, by rarely leaving Amelia’s side, made for herself an alibi against the merchant’s disappearance, unlike the rest of the cast in the Historian’s novel.
After all, if one red herring was good, two could only be better.
Stuffing Erika under the receptionist’s desk, Grace disguised herself as a dancer with a simple believable illusion, before slipping into the upstairs party in full sway. There she found Amelia, judged with a quick encounter that there wasn’t a way to warn her away without drawing attention, and found a corner of the room everyone else thought to be empty. She backed into the shadows and began hatefully watching, as Vanridge put on a show that Amelia fell for. Hook, line, and sinker.
There wasn’t a chance in hell the man who had once taken over the Barony’s governance after Amelia had become a princess’s lady in waiting wouldn’t recognize the frail, red-headed daughter of a notorious Baron. Grace could feel it, by pretending to defend Amelia from an out-of-control minion, Vanridge was already making plans to sway Amelia to his side, just as he had swayed the nobles Grace had assigned to help Heimdall manage the estate in their lady’s absence: One man at a time, using blackmail or bribes until even Heimdall had fallen for an underhanded conspiracy against his life.
Seeing Amelia begin to drunkenly giggle her way around Vanridge’s finger, Grace could only endure and place the blame on herself for having written the Historian’s novel like a pseudo-romance. She wondered whether having to watch her love be seduced by another, was divine punishment for her own incompetence.
Her head low, Grace discreetly slunk after Amelia who eventually made the decision to leave. Though at the top of the staircase, she froze in her tracks, because down below on the first floor Amelia had chosen to remove her shoes and head towards where Thompson Brown had been imprisoned as if she knew something was up.
A change of plans was in order. Amelia might very well be on track to free Thompson, but that didn’t mean Grace couldn’t still use a different suitor to achieve the same result of seeding confusion.
Retracing her steps, Grace returned to the room Vanridge was in, where the man had begun malevolently laughing between sips of his wine. His true nature, revealing itself only after he’d thought himself to be completely alone. Unfortunately for him, the drink he tasted happened to be something Grace had concocted. It wasn’t even a challenge for her to turn what he tasted from delightful into something his body wouldn’t be able to handle.
Vanridge collapsed, coughing up drink until he couldn’t no more. Allowing for Grace to approach him without worry and begin slicing away at his neck with a knife from her basket. Thinking it might prove useful in scaring away Thompson should Amelia’s misfortune cause another fly to buzz too close to her light, she stuffed Vanridge’s severed head beneath the meat she had bought.
Yet, Grace’s intentions again ran into a stumble, when from the brokerage’s second floor window, she spotted Amelia leaving the building not with Thompson… but all on her own. It felt like the world was conspiring against her. All Grace could have asked for was a normal day out in town, but instead it had turned into something she wanted to burn to the ground.
She made her decision. And ran down the stairs of the brokerage and out the back door, where Vanridge’s men had been waiting for a signal to come back inside. Still disguised as a dancer, she ran and fell against the chest of the man Vanridge had ‘killed’ and let her real emotions out in the fakest of manners.
“Fire! There’s a fire inside, and Vanridge can’t get out! I think he might have breathed in too much smoke; I was taking a break, but when I came back n-nobody was around and he… he was just lying unconscious and… and there was just so much smoke!”
“Useless woman! You could have at least tried to drag him out by his feet!” shouted the man, throwing Grace away to rush inside with the rest of Vanridge’s men, unaware of how their loyalty and trusting of her words did nothing but help Grace fuel her magic to turn more lies into truth.
The second floor of the brokerage went up like a struck matchstick.
Running away from the scene along with the rest of the entertainers Vanridge had brought in for his party, Grace rounded the brokerage with a hope to reunite with Amelia and put this charade behind them. Only to instead find Amelia in the arms of Thompson, staring enraptured at the smoldering corpse of Vanridge Dowsinger; having been blasted from the building purely by chance.
Knowing it should have been her holding Amelia and not Thompson, Grace stalked the pair as they hurried away from both the blaze and Vanridge’s men, before closing her eyes to pass them, least her jealousy cause her to do something she couldn’t take back, when Amelia took out her family ring and the two began acting dramatically.
Wondering whether she should leave Vanridge’s severed head on Thompson’s bed for him to wake up with, or if she should instead hang it inside of his shower, Grace found a shop and let her disguise drop upon entering in. Inside, she subdued an old woman manning the counter into a slumber and went back to the entrance.
Had Amelia been about to go anywhere else, Grace would have opened the door and drawn her attention by calling out, only fate for once seemed to finally turn in her favor since Amelia made a beeline for the shop Grace had chosen. And in the collision Grace made sure to occur, she even had the good fortune of hearing Amelia accidentally call her by her true title.
Given an inch of opportunity, Grace had taken a mile when Amelia had given her blessing to take charge, and made for themselves a magically veiled moment reserved only for them as they shared a tender, albeit slightly addictive kiss that made the day worth its troubles.
It was a moment, soured only by a slight scare when Amelia’s keen nose nearly sniffed out Vanridge’s head… Along with the reminder that there lay a rat of a prospective fiancé who still needed to be dealt with
The first ripples of change, did not take long to reach Lurington.
Grace set down the telescope she had been using to observe the file of knights leading a coach. The sight of Amelia’s silhouette in the coach’s window worried her, since it meant Amelia had not only read the entirety of the Historian’s novel in under a day, but was reckless enough to try and verify the book’s authenticity by meeting the ‘Princess’ in person. Her expectation that Amelia would delegate verification to Heimdall or her father, even though Grace had written the thing to be self-evident, felt like a reality-check slap to the face.
Though unlike Clarice, she wasn’t about to let any concerns extend past her own thoughts.
“N-No!” Clarice wailed, ringing the bell attached to the top of her shepherd’s staff while sobbing, “You dummies, there’s barely any grass over here, where are you going?!”
The flock of sheep continued ignoring their shepherd, seemingly content to chew on what little grass they could find between the dirt and rocks of the hill they were on.
“I don’t understand it Grace, it’s like they’re possessed!”
“Well, at least they’re not running away,” Grace said, before reasserting her control over the sheep, whose senses betrayed them into thinking they were grazing not on barren space, but upon luscious land, “Why don’t we let them do what they want?”
Clarice whimpered. Her staff tightly gripped, she worriedly kept fretting over her sheep. Grace resumed pondering what else she might have overlooked while trying to artificially create an encounter with the woman she loved.
“G-Grace!” Clarice suddenly shouted, “Something’s happened to the B-B-Baron’s procession!”
Grace felt her heart sink as the noise of panicking horses reached her before she had even spotted the now out-of-control coach dragging hard on the road; barrelling ahead of the escort of knights who rode hard in pursuit.
With the distance between her and the tragedy too great to intervene, Grace watched helplessly as the notion that God might be even crueler than she could ever imagine, played out before her.
Had God’s wrath for her transgressions of going against his law of nature really been that severe? Would Amelia be snatched away from her in this second life, before they could even converse? Or, could it be that the fault lay with herself. All because she had let her fond memories of the past, blind her of the fact that Amelia, even on the best of days, had a penchant for being an absolute jinx. Grace immediately discarded her assumption that she only had to worry about the ‘suitors’ who would eventually involve themselves in Amelia’s life. Apparently, Amelia also needed protection from her own actions as well.
Thank all there was for Havoc, who assuaged Grace’s immediate fears the moment he revealed himself and exited the carriage to put a stop to the nonsense. Though Havoc’s involvement created more questions, since Grace was positive that at this time the father and daughter might as well have been living like strangers in the same house.
Had her novel somehow influenced their relationship for the better? Probably not to any significant degree, Grace decided, after she and Clarice were dragged by Heimdall and tossed at Havoc’s feet, where they were ordered to explain their reason for being close-by.
Grace played clueless while sneaking glances around her. With a bottle in hand, and a vacant glaze coating both of Havoc’s eyes, along with Amelia’s clearly injured hand and there being specks of blood on the coach’s axle, Grace pieced together an idea of what must have happened, and became stressed to the extent she accidentally introduced herself as if she were still a princess.
Once again, Grace couldn’t help but feel that the Baron didn’t deserve Amelia. No shot Havoc was completely ignorant to his daughter’s behaviour, but he had still chosen to let her mess around to the point of self-hurt? Shackled by her promise with God, Grace’s indignation had her rethinking her initial plan to help the pair reconnect.
Falling deeper into her blissfully ignorant act to hide her emotions, while making sure to catch her friend’s eye whenever she could, Grace chose to not think about involving herself with Havoc yet, to better enjoy her first encounter with Amelia. Until she found herself being escorted back to the Lurington Bar by a Knight, who proceeded to manhandle the owner upon their arrival.
A tender smile creased the corners of Grace’s lips. She could practically envision Amelia giving the orders to punish the man who had taken advantage of her talents for his own gain
It was indisputable proof that in Amelia’s heart, she had been deemed to be a good person. And when the knight gave Grace, an envelope inviting her to come visit the Strightsworth manor for a job opportunity, despite feeling like she had died and could now go to heaven to try and kill God, Grace braced herself, and began thinking of how to keep Amelia safe from not only her past, but the wide world as well, no matter the method.
For as long as she could remain good in Amelia’s eyes, Grace was prepared to become the worst of them all.
**
Obtaining a position that would let her stick close to Amelia, went as smoothly as Grace could dare hope, despite the interview for becoming a handmaiden being an absolute mess.
Amelia’s attempt to emulate the princess of the Historian’s novel, might have been adorable to the point Grace’s facade of a damsel out of her depths had nearly slipped loose, but witnessing Amelia proudly show off her safe room, where she had died in the past… Grace had only managed to salvage her shattered mask of emotions by hiding within the awkwardness created by the few stories she knew about Amelia’s father.
It was strange, to see Amelia grow so abashed over the very tales she had once recounted to Grace, but it was also nice, since the longing loneliness that had always dampened those tender moments of sharing, was at present, nowhere to be seen.
And Grace, for the life of her, couldn’t figure out why that fact made her feel… uncomfortable.
**
Time passed in tranquility once Grace began working as Amelia’s handmaiden. A perfect lull Grace made full use of, to leave a lasting impression by working her hardest in all aspects of duty. From playing with Amelia in the garden, to gathering information while helping the maids, every moment spent was either to make Amelia’s life easier… Or used in planning how best to hurt others.
Despite Grace’s growing horror that it didn’t seem like Amelia had, or intended to, tell her father about the Historian’s novel, at all.
Meaning if things progressed as they ought, Havoc would once again leave without a word… Something Grace had by now realised would leave Amelia irrevocably distraught. Originally, she had been hoping Havoc would be receive her novel in some capacity, find it suspicious enough to investigate and deal with the West, before moving on to the Caneo Empire, leaving Grace to handle the Marquess of Rutherford who might lash out for having his plans foiled, as well as the ‘suitors’.
But that wouldn’t make Amelia happy. And Grace was finding that a happy Amelia, was much more open to reciprocating love and affection than a sad Amelia. So, when the love of her life started mumbling in the greenhouse about how upset she was of her father’s depression, Grace swallowed her perfect future, took a gamble, and agreed to help.
Despite knowing firsthand that there was a very real chance Havoc would notice her tainted drink’s effect on his mind and sniff out her involvement. An issue, since Havoc had a penchant for killing before asking questions. And fighting back against the person Amelia thought a god among men wasn’t an option even if she could do it. After how Grace had characterized herself in the Historian’s novel it would be far too suspicious.
Thus, Grace made the decision, to hurt Amelia, only a bit, for the greater good of them both. She began helping wherever she could as Amelia fretted. First by whispering suggestions about how swell of an idea it would be if Havoc could only remember what once was, then by speaking with Heimdall to dress a dining hall present up as the past.
All for the chance that Havoc would become enraged, then lower his guard to sooth his daughter’s distress. Allowing Grace’s magical drink to corrupt his taste buds, so that he might be forced to abandon his alcoholic crutch and think clearly for more than an hour in what must have been years.
Unfortunately, Grace’s plan to help now, then eventually remove her influence from Havoc’s senses so he would rebound and show Amelia how unreliable and unchanging of a man he truly was, hit a snag, when Havoc’s invincible ego shifted the blame for why his daughter was crying and blamed it all on the booze… To the point his belief cemented her magic into something she couldn’t take back.
**
Despite not knowing when Havoc had discovered the West had been making preparations for war, or why he thought killing a bunch of people would somehow endear himself to his daughter, Grace chose not to concern herself with the small details in life that didn’t impact her. Especially when it meant she got to relax and spend more time with Amelia.
Still, she had begun to develop a growing suspicion that things were going too well. Proven true when out of nowhere one morning, Amelia bashfully approached her while Grace was watering the greenhouse flowers and said:
“Let’s go shopping in town!”
“The bookstore?” Grace guessed, despite her smile hiding another behind it, since she had by then influenced the owner to close up shop and go elsewhere. She had been waiting for this moment, since if Amelia ever did start investigating the Historian’s identity, having a false lead would be the perfect warning bell to let her know in advance.
But then Amelia started to stutter.
“Y-Yeah! J-Just the bookstore!”
The watering can, slipped from Grace’s hands. She hid her mistake with a “whoopsie”, then laughed away Amelia’s concern that Grace’s dress was now wet.
“Don’t worry about it,” Grace said, while she tried figuring out why Amelia would lie about visiting a bookstore of all things, “Why don’t we meet outside the manor? Just let me get changed.”
It didn’t make sense, until they’d arrived in town, where Amelia saw the abandoned bookstore, did a double take, before suggesting out of the blue, that they should split up so she could go window shopping… while looking towards Elmwood Street. Causing Grace to doubt whether she had in fact, made no mention of where Thompson Brown was staying in town.
It was too much of a coincidence, however despite wanting to join Amelia, she was so worried about not having a good reason that in the end, she decided to sprint to get her own shopping out of the way (purchasing the freshest, juiciest meats that were for sale at the market), before cutting through town to arrive at Thompson’s Brokerage all in under twenty minutes.
Hoping her guesswork was wrong, Grace reached for the brokerage’s doorknob and found it to be locked.
“Hey!” she called to a passerby, “Shouldn’t this place be open at this hour?”
“Ought a be,” replied the disinterested man, but it was a good enough answer for Grace to unlock the door with her magic.
“N-No! I swear I locked it this time!” shouted Erika, the shocked receptionist who appeared to be in the process of returning to her seat. “Ma’am, we’re closed for the day! Please come back again later!”
No doubt about it. With a foreboding comment like that, Amelia had to be present. A gut-wrenching realisation, since it meant Amelia planned on either revealing Grace’s identity on her own, or she was trying to save the Velvetican Kingdom, using a cobbled together novel half filled with lies, data from rumours, spies, and the royal archives.
Ignoring Erika’s complaints that grew closer despite having already faded into the background, Grace slammed her filled basket against the receptionist’s head, knocking her dazed.
“You’re tired, aren’t you?” Grace whispered, putting the woman to sleep, before eyeing the door at the top of the staircase, where loud music and noise was descending, signifying a party.
Thompson Brown would never spend money on a party. Which meant Vanridge Dowsinger had believed the letter Grace had sent him; having slipped information that the merchant’s reason for being in town was to sneakily expand his dealings under the cover of war, by stealing away the mob boss’s many debtors by acting as a benevolent creditor.
Grace considered the hallway leading to not only a cellar, but a set of cells, where Thompson was most likely locked up. Knowing Vanridge, he wouldn’t miss an opportunity to throw a competitor into their own holding space. Perfect for her, since Grace had, by rarely leaving Amelia’s side, made for herself an alibi against the merchant’s disappearance, unlike the rest of the cast in the Historian’s novel.
After all, if one red herring was good, two could only be better.
Stuffing Erika under the receptionist’s desk, Grace disguised herself as a dancer with a simple believable illusion, before slipping into the upstairs party in full sway. There she found Amelia, judged with a quick encounter that there wasn’t a way to warn her away without drawing attention, and found a corner of the room everyone else thought to be empty. She backed into the shadows and began hatefully watching, as Vanridge put on a show that Amelia fell for. Hook, line, and sinker.
There wasn’t a chance in hell the man who had once taken over the Barony’s governance after Amelia had become a princess’s lady in waiting wouldn’t recognize the frail, red-headed daughter of a notorious Baron. Grace could feel it, by pretending to defend Amelia from an out-of-control minion, Vanridge was already making plans to sway Amelia to his side, just as he had swayed the nobles Grace had assigned to help Heimdall manage the estate in their lady’s absence: One man at a time, using blackmail or bribes until even Heimdall had fallen for an underhanded conspiracy against his life.
Seeing Amelia begin to drunkenly giggle her way around Vanridge’s finger, Grace could only endure and place the blame on herself for having written the Historian’s novel like a pseudo-romance. She wondered whether having to watch her love be seduced by another, was divine punishment for her own incompetence.
Her head low, Grace discreetly slunk after Amelia who eventually made the decision to leave. Though at the top of the staircase, she froze in her tracks, because down below on the first floor Amelia had chosen to remove her shoes and head towards where Thompson Brown had been imprisoned as if she knew something was up.
A change of plans was in order. Amelia might very well be on track to free Thompson, but that didn’t mean Grace couldn’t still use a different suitor to achieve the same result of seeding confusion.
Retracing her steps, Grace returned to the room Vanridge was in, where the man had begun malevolently laughing between sips of his wine. His true nature, revealing itself only after he’d thought himself to be completely alone. Unfortunately for him, the drink he tasted happened to be something Grace had concocted. It wasn’t even a challenge for her to turn what he tasted from delightful into something his body wouldn’t be able to handle.
Vanridge collapsed, coughing up drink until he couldn’t no more. Allowing for Grace to approach him without worry and begin slicing away at his neck with a knife from her basket. Thinking it might prove useful in scaring away Thompson should Amelia’s misfortune cause another fly to buzz too close to her light, she stuffed Vanridge’s severed head beneath the meat she had bought.
Yet, Grace’s intentions again ran into a stumble, when from the brokerage’s second floor window, she spotted Amelia leaving the building not with Thompson… but all on her own. It felt like the world was conspiring against her. All Grace could have asked for was a normal day out in town, but instead it had turned into something she wanted to burn to the ground.
She made her decision. And ran down the stairs of the brokerage and out the back door, where Vanridge’s men had been waiting for a signal to come back inside. Still disguised as a dancer, she ran and fell against the chest of the man Vanridge had ‘killed’ and let her real emotions out in the fakest of manners.
“Fire! There’s a fire inside, and Vanridge can’t get out! I think he might have breathed in too much smoke; I was taking a break, but when I came back n-nobody was around and he… he was just lying unconscious and… and there was just so much smoke!”
“Useless woman! You could have at least tried to drag him out by his feet!” shouted the man, throwing Grace away to rush inside with the rest of Vanridge’s men, unaware of how their loyalty and trusting of her words did nothing but help Grace fuel her magic to turn more lies into truth.
The second floor of the brokerage went up like a struck matchstick.
Running away from the scene along with the rest of the entertainers Vanridge had brought in for his party, Grace rounded the brokerage with a hope to reunite with Amelia and put this charade behind them. Only to instead find Amelia in the arms of Thompson, staring enraptured at the smoldering corpse of Vanridge Dowsinger; having been blasted from the building purely by chance.
Knowing it should have been her holding Amelia and not Thompson, Grace stalked the pair as they hurried away from both the blaze and Vanridge’s men, before closing her eyes to pass them, least her jealousy cause her to do something she couldn’t take back, when Amelia took out her family ring and the two began acting dramatically.
Wondering whether she should leave Vanridge’s severed head on Thompson’s bed for him to wake up with, or if she should instead hang it inside of his shower, Grace found a shop and let her disguise drop upon entering in. Inside, she subdued an old woman manning the counter into a slumber and went back to the entrance.
Had Amelia been about to go anywhere else, Grace would have opened the door and drawn her attention by calling out, only fate for once seemed to finally turn in her favor since Amelia made a beeline for the shop Grace had chosen. And in the collision Grace made sure to occur, she even had the good fortune of hearing Amelia accidentally call her by her true title.
Given an inch of opportunity, Grace had taken a mile when Amelia had given her blessing to take charge, and made for themselves a magically veiled moment reserved only for them as they shared a tender, albeit slightly addictive kiss that made the day worth its troubles.
It was a moment, soured only by a slight scare when Amelia’s keen nose nearly sniffed out Vanridge’s head… Along with the reminder that there lay a rat of a prospective fiancé who still needed to be dealt with
