Benedict had barely made it three steps down the grand staircase when he heard the shuffle of boots and the low, excited murmurs. He slowed his pace, dread already crawling up his spine like a premonition he couldn't shake off.
By the time he reached the bottom, he saw them—half a dozen men and women gathered in the well-lit chamber, lit by the glow of ornate sconces. Familiar faces, he did not know them that well, they were simply acquaintances. Well used to, until the pupper Benedict allied with those followers of the third prince.
Now, they were smiling at him like he was a beloved brother.
"My lord Duke!" One of them, a man in a burgundy doublet with a crest Benedict didn't bother identifying, stepped forward. He clapped Benedict on the shoulder hard enough to make him stagger. "What a wedding! What a decisive, daring move. You've changed the game for all of us."
