The setting Sun signaled Hadrian Castle to once again throw open its heavy gates. In the vast courtyard, rowdy farmers and craftsmen sat at the long tables and drank to their hearts' fill, as their wives gossiped, and their wee children ran on the grass. Young lovers danced arm-in-arm as minstrels belted out tune after tune on their various instruments.

Meanwhile, in the Great Hall, ruling lords and ladies stood conversing in groups, drinks in hand, while their teenage children and attendants paired up and whirl about on the dance floor.

Such a manor-wide celebration is a first for Meya. However, being the host, she must stay with the Baron, Baroness and Lord Zier, smiling and nodding as they made small talk with the guests. What's worse, her husband wasn't there to keep her company.

Coris hadn't put so much as a toe outside his bedroom throughout the day. Zier reported that the poor lad had fallen back onto his pillows right after he forced the last spoonful of breakfast into his mouth.

Meya had been stuck practicing embroidery with Baroness Sylvia and her attendants for the whole afternoon. By the time she had reduced her right forefinger to little more than a bleeding pincushion, the Baroness led her to the front gate to welcome the Baron and the lords back from hunting. After that, she was whisked away by the chamberlain to dress up for the feast. There wasn't one opening where she could sneak off to see Coris.

To make matters worse, whenever they turned up for a conversation, the guests kept asking where Coris was. Of course, the Baron wouldn't like telling them time and again that his son was too sick even to attend his own wedding feast.

As guest after guest repeated the same questions, Baron Kellis's mood became sourer. He would shoot dark looks at Meya once the visitors had drifted away, as if he had thought it was Meya's fault.

Meya strived to look as contrite as she could. Well, it was her fault. She knew Coris had a good reason to not be here.

At least, she thought that was the case. Because, say Beau was up to his job and the message did reach Coris, it wasn't likely that Coris would immediately make a noticeable move. After all, there was still a month of opportunity window left. They had only been in Hadrian three days. Meya didn't expect Gillian would obtain enough leads on the dowry's whereabouts to strike anytime soon.

Maybe Coris was actually just sick, Meya consoled herself, which makes it your fault anyway since your lady pillows excited him too much.

Meya blushed at the thought. Freda hadn't been gracious to Meya with her blessings, but she was generous when it comes to her bosom department. Coris couldn't seem to get enough of them last night, and to be honest, they were still somewhat sore.

Meya's head, hands and chest weren't the only painful parts of her body, however. Her stomach was starting its own riot as well.

Why isn't the food served yet?

It had been over half an hour since the feast started. Yet, the long table in the middle of the hall remained empty. The Baroness was surveying the guests every so often, making sure they were still content. Her husband has struck up yet another conversation with a balding, beer-bellied old nobleman, Marquess Fratengarde, and she couldn't nip away to check on the scullery.

Meya was also worried about the food, but not for the same reasons. With their measly manpower, Gillian reckoned he might have to knock everyone in the castle out when time came for the search.

Meya reckoned Gillian would use the fireplaces and torches to smoke the room with sleeping draught, but he could decide to spike the food as well. After all, every guest and most guards were gathered in the Great Hall now. It was a great opportunity to search the rest of the castle, and everyone would have to eat or drink something.

If Coris was as smart as everyone said he was, he would no doubt have realized this as well. Did he guess the food would be spiked and stopped it leaving the kitchen? Or was it Lady Arinel herself? She was working in the scullery, wasn't she?

As Meya assumed the role of Coris and Gillian to play her own version of Heist in her brain, the Baron and the Marquess's chat droned on.

"Yes, I understand you, my dear man. Though I have always been—still am—a skeptic of Uriel's interpretation, this time I fully support you." Fratengarde dabbed at his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief then waved it about to vent his frustration. "Freda's damnation aside, we couldn't possibly get a trade that has been outlawed for two hundred years back up in a month, could we?"

"Exactly. Our best course of action is to investigate what is happening to those ships and bring back some ores as soon as possible." Baron Kellis added, his expression solemn. Crossing his arms, he shook his head. "And in the meantime, limit the use of metals, but His Majesty would not be pleased if we touched on his reforms."

Despite having more pressing matters, Meya couldn't help her mounting curiosity. The Baron had been talking about this thing with ore ships and the king's reforms with the other lords, too. The whole thing sounded familiar...

Aha! Coinage shortage! The ore ships weren't coming back from Everglen, and Latakia was getting short on metal to make coins, tools, weapons and buildings.

Some of the lords agreed with the Baron about solving the ship problem and continuing to ship ores back from Everglen, but some were adamant about finally lifting the Mining Ban and restarting mining in Latakia, to stabilisize our ekonony, or some thingy. Unfortunately, the king was all for lifting the ban, too.

"Books and coins for the commoner, eh?" Fratengarde chuckled, as if he thought the idea was incredulous as well,

"I've known His Majesty since he was a little prince, I tell you. Far-sighted dreamer, he always is. But in times like this, we need eyes more grounded in the present. Take it one step at a time. He won't get his reforms unless he could get us enough metal to survive this year." He ended with a large swig from his mug of ale.

"Alden is young, naïve. He won't simply give up on his ideas. I've been thinking that perhaps, we might need to be discreet rather than drastic." Baron Kellis caressed his mustache, slipping an insinuating gaze at Fratengarde as he whispered. "That is where you come in, my lord."

For a moment the two men locked knowing gazes. The Baroness and Zier seemed to have no trouble getting the secret message, too. And though she had no clue on what was going on, Meya strived to seem well-informed as well.

"I take it you are talking about my niece." Fratengarde broke his gaze. He nodded with a heavy sigh and patted Kellis's shoulder.

"I will try, my good man, but I can't promise anything. Zephyr is a woman with her own mind. Very much like your fine lady here." Baroness Sylvia blushed, swaying as she waved the casual compliment away. Perhaps it had been a trick of her eyes, but Meya felt her movements were...sluggish?

"She's mostly kept her lips sealed, and Alden will listen to his queen when she does speak, so it all depends on her opinion."

It was then that the same phenomenon began with Marquess Fratengarde; he swayed on his feet, his eyelids drooping halfway down before jerking up again, as if he had little control over them. His speech became slow and slurry as he waggled his wooden mug.

"So far, she hasn't said anything, but if it turns out she backs Alden, I'm afraid there is little I can do to persuade her..."

"Sylvia!"

A split-second after Fratengarde dropped to the ground as if bludgeoned in the head, Baron Kellis dived in to catch Baroness Sylvia, who had fallen lifeless into his arms. As he tried to rouse his wife, Kellis staggered to the nearest chair, but before he could deposit her on it, he too collapsed onto the floor.

Yet, ,there were no screams from the surrounding women, nor voices of noblemen barking orders for the servants to tend to their lord. As Meya stared in horror, standing men and women teetered where they stood then crumpled to the floor.

Dancing couples had fallen onto each other. Those sitting around tables either smacked their faces into their mugs or the tabletop, or slid off to the floor. Minstrels slumped against their instruments and guards against the wall or their weapons. Maids and manservants let their drink trays crash to the ground, soaking them as they tumbled as well.

Meya felt a tug on her arm and whirled around just in time to see Lord Zier plummet to the ground by her feet, his mouth lolling open and the whites of his eyes still showing under half-shut eyelids.

In less than a minute, the lively party had been reduced to a hall strewn with passed-out, dead-drunk humans, plus one bewildered Meya Hild.

What in the three lands is going on?