Aalis took a deep, shaky breath and began the story of what had truly befallen her family.
It began with a legacy of service. Her family had long served the Royal House within the palace walls. her father had been a simple gardener, a man of earth and patience. The Queen, Isabeu, had noted his resilience and tireless work ethic, eventually taking a personal interest in him. One afternoon, she summoned him to her private chambers. The palace gossip was rife with scandal, many assuming he was to become the Queen's latest paramour, but the truth was far more demanding.
The Queen ordered her father to Chambery. She appointed him as the Laird of her personal residence there. Her father, stunned and uncertain, had been hesitant to answer, but under the crushing weight of the Queen's gaze, he had accepted the honour. He did, however, ask one favour: he had fallen in love with a palace maid and wished to take her with him. The Queen granted the request, provided the maid was not coerced.
He had rushed to the servants' quarters, proposed on the spot, and explained his new station. She had accepted gladly. Within days, they departed for Chambery with a small retinue of guards and servants under his command.
Upon arrival, they had worked tirelessly to tidy the estate. Though they were Lairds, not Barons, the local people—unfamiliar with such distinctions—began to address them as the new lords. The former Count had accepted the arrangement without complaint.
But years passed. The old Count died, and the title passed to his son, Regis. Regis saw Chambery not as a village, but as a stepping stone for his own fame. He began to scheme, desperate to install his own man in the Royal Estate. At first, he tried to sway the Queen with fabricated reports of his own man's capability. The Queen, however, ignored him.
A few years later, the Queen's interest in the Chambery estate seemed to wither. She sent no more overseers, and Regis saw his opening. He stopped petitioning the Queen and turned to his own noble faction. They seized the estate by force. Her father was accused of crimes he had never committed. At the time, Aalis and Ame were working as 'Still Room Maids' in the palace; they knew nothing of the disaster at home.
They only learned of the seizure five years later, when they were promoted to Chamber Maids. The news reached them as a foul rumour circulating in the servants' quarters. They wrote dozens of letters, but not a single reply ever came from the estate. Then, one day, they received a package and two letters from an anonymous source.
The package contained a pendant and a hairpin. The first letter was from their parents—a birthday greeting for a birthday that had passed seven years prior. The second letter was the killing blow: it stated that their parents had simply... vanished. They replied immediately, but days turned to months, and months to years. There was never another word from Chambery.
Silence filled the room as Aalis ended her story. Not a single word was spoken as the weight of her grief settled over us. I noticed Aldea's mouth twitching, as if she were desperate to speak.
"So, he killed your parents," Aldea said bluntly. "I shall avenge them."
Every head at the table turned toward her in a flash of disbelief.
"What?" Aldea asked, looking around. "Why are you all staring at me like that?"
Darryl, sitting beside her, didn't bother with words. He reached out and smacked her head until her face was pressed into the wood of the table. She remained there, grumbling into the grain.
"Aalis, Ame," I said softly, my voice breaking the tension. "You should retire to your room. Take this time to calm your minds and find some peace."
Without a word, the two sisters stood and made their way toward the stairs. Once they were out of sight, I turned back to the table, looking at the top of Aldea's head.
"Raise your head, Aldea."
"Yes... Your Highness," she mumbled, slowly sitting upright.
"I admit your curiosity is boundless," I said, "but you must learn restraint. What you said to them was entirely inappropriate. They did not say their parents were deceased; they said they were missing. To speak as you did crushes what little hope they have left."
"It is quite alright, Your Highness," Elpis said with a weary sigh. "Allow me to educate this dullard later."
"I only thought it would cheer them up," Aldea grumbled. "I didn't realise it was so offensive."
Louis leaned forward, his expression grave. "What shall you do regarding this story, Your Highness? If it is true, the Count has committed High Treason against the Royal Family. You could report this to Her Majesty immediately."
"No," I said firmly. "I shall not report this to my mother."
"And why not?" Louis asked.
"Because to do so would be an admission of weakness. Furthermore, it would expose us. Remember, I have technically committed my own form of treason."
"Your Highness committed treason?" Aldea asked, her eyes widening. "When?"
"You are sitting right here beside me," I said pointedly. "That is the treason. All of you are 'treason' in the eyes of the kingdom."
"How are we a treason?" Aldea asked.
"Forget the dullard," Elpis snapped.
"I am only asking a question!" Aldea protested.
"Because you ask for answers you have already been given," Elpis replied.
"When?"
"Cail," I sighed, "explain it once more to this dullard. Why is her very existence a threat to the state?"
Cail let out a long, exhausted breath. "You are a knight of Her Highness, yet you are not of noble birth. That violates the fundamental laws of the kingdom. It is treason. Simple as that."
"But earlier you said knighting Louis only 'offended' the nobles, not that it was treason!" Aldea argued. "And what about Aalis and Ame? Their parents weren't nobles, yet they were Lairds!"
"Did you listen to a word I said?" Cail snapped. "Laird is a courtesy title. It has no formal status in law or the noble court. A Laird is not a noble; therefore, the title is legally meaningless. That is why Aalis said it meant nothing."
"Ohhh," Aldea said, a look of sudden clarity washing over her face. "I get it now."
"Now that the dullard is caught up," Elpis said, turning back to me, "let us focus on something meaningful. Your Highness, what is your plan if you do not intend to involve the Queen?"
"I shall wait," I said. "I do not wish to prioritise this wretched Count just yet. My priority is this village."
"~My~, that is noble thinking," Elpis said, "but you are already surrounded by his influence. Are you certain you can afford to ignore him?"
"Surrounded?"
"Indeed." Elpis looked at Cail. "Cail, what would you do if you were this 'crap' Count?"
"I would report it to the Queen myself," Cail answered immediately.
"But surely that is Her Highness's move?" Aldea asked. "Why would the Count report himself?"
"Because his credibility and accountability are currently higher than Her Highness's," Cail explained. "He couldn't report the missing family while the village was unmanaged, but now that a Princess has arrived as Baroness, he has the perfect opportunity to wash his hands. He will report the missing Laird family and frame Her Highness as the main perpetrator. Even with the sisters' testimony, her chance of escaping punishment would be slim. However..."
"However?" I prompted.
"He needs time. He cannot report this immediately; it would look too suspicious if the family 'vanished' the moment a Princess arrived. The Queen is many things, but she is not a fool. She loves her servants—especially those she personally appointed. She would smell something fishy if the report came too soon. So, he will wait."
"How long?"
"It depends on Your Highness. If you focus on the village and remain quiet, he may wait two or three months before making his move. That is his window to strike."
"And how do we stop him?" I asked.
"Oversee every movement in this village," Cail said. "Specifically Rudyard's family. Do not let a single scrap of parchment leave that estate, let alone the village. Intercepting the communication between the manor and the Count is vital."
"A sound strategy," I mused, "though difficult with our current resources. I shall give it more thought. But for now, my focus remains on the village's recovery. Two or three months is time enough."
I turned my focus to Elpis. "And speaking of the village... I believe I have yet to hear your report, Elpis."
Elpis looked surprised. "Are you certain you wish to hear it now, Your Highness? With the threat of the Count hanging over us?"
"We cannot spend our lives staring at the Count," I said, a flicker of my old civil-servant resolve returning. "If we focus only on our rivals, we lose focus on the people. That is the mistake of every politician. Tell me, Elpis... what did you find in the soil?"