"I can explain."

Trisha tapped her foot impatiently.

It would explode if anybody tampered with it, so Braster remained absolutely still as he inquired.

"How's the baby."

"Fine. Same as an hour ago when you last asked me. What happened here?"

"I... um. I was attempting to cook."

"You drool at cooking. That's why we've employed Misses Vale and her cooking staff."

"Soup?"

"Thank you, Vienna; maybe later."

Trisha declined the offered bowl of soup politely. Then she snapped back to her downed husband.

"We can't explain this to Lady Wyre. She'll think us insane. More than she already does."

"I was hoping you could freeze it, so it doesn't make a mess when we move it?"

Braster spoke from under a pile of cooking implements, pots and bowls, a spatula and rolling pin, and there was a whisk poking him in the cheek. If he moved an inch, the pile would collapse and spill the precarious pot of soup dangling from a rope. A rope that somehow managed to get tied to Braster's wrist.

"How did this even happen? Who created this Rube Goldberg contraption with my husband as a component?"

Misses Vale adjusted her weight and spoke in a way only a mother with rowdy children could.

"Duke Braster decided to butt-in and attempt to cook when I specifically told him to watch me first."

"What were you cooking?"

Denice presented a tray of burnt crisps fished out of a fire.

"These were supposed to be pretzels, Duchess. Bellavarn's invention."

Trisha's face went through a slew of emotions, wrestling with what she was seeing in front of her and the fact it somehow came from a place of good intentions.

"Trish? A little help, please."

The spokes on the whisk poked his face as his jaw moved.

"My arm is getting sore."

Trisha, completing the emotional rollercoaster, tilted her head back and pinched her nose.

"This is the man I married."

Without another word, she summoned her aura, focusing it on the pot. It took nearly two minutes to get the chili soup solid enough not to be called a slushie. The container of frozen food was extricated and the rope was untied from Braster's arm. Hands reached in, pulling implements away from the pile and handing them backward. The crowd cleared, and Braster was on his feet, dusting himself off. Not a drop on him. Nary a hair out of place. Like magic.

Trisha kinked her neck. Parcy presented a neck pillow from somewhere but was waved off.

"We're late."

Braster locked arms with his wife. With a smug smile on his face, Braster escorted the Duchess out as if they were leaving a royal banquet.

"How was the wine, dear?"

"Non-alcoholic."

"Did it help alleviate your stress?"

Two guards joined them. Potter and Kyle. Parcy trailed behind them and to the right. Henry appeared adjacent to Parcy.

"Tell me I'm seeing things, please. That better not be you, Henry."

Henry ducked his head, and Braster intervened before his wife could chew his head off.

"Yes. About that. I wanted to tell you that your son sent Henry back."

Trisha stopped in her tracks. Her voice was incredulous beyond comprehension.

"And you listened to him? Why didn't you follow him? Who is protecting my son? Kerv better be with him, or I'll start wringing necks here and now. How could you let him go without proper guards?"

"I was with him, Duchess. We were about to set out when he ordered me home. Changing his mind proved impossible Still, I was determined to at least follow from a distance.

"Then why are you here?

"Bellavarn created a device that could spot me no matter how I hid and he used it as an argument that he won't be easy to assassinate. When I wasn't persuaded, he started pointing Kerv in my direction.."

Trisha was pulling on her hair. All this stress couldn't be good for the baby.

"Dear, It's okay. He didn't send him back empty-handed. Your son managed to get a lead on the Talon.

Trisha blinked rapidly. Seeing her husband's look, she pulled out a talisman from her pocket and supplied it with mana. Their words would no longer extend past twenty feet. Baroness Wyre shouldn't overhear anymore. Those inside the radius included the Duke and Duchess, Henry, Parcy, plus the guards, Nem, and Kyle.

"Explain."

Braster allowed Henry to explain a second time so that things didn't get mistranslated.

"Bellavarn claims he caught on the night before the expedition started marching. Lady Wyre's daughter, April, visited him."

There were questions, but they were held until the end.

"He didn't know I was eavesdropping at the time, so I heard everything. There was a clue in their conversation. April explained that she was affected by some strange mind magic; attacked by a chain demon. There was something about a battle in her head involving miniature versions of herself and strange machinery. Past that, I couldn't decipher what she was saying. Bellavarn seemed to understand something that I didn't."

He took a breath.

"Apparently, the first clue lies in with the royal family. He believes that the same magic that affected April once affected Princess Lecil. The way she acted the night that she tried to commit suicide was the same. Bellavarn surmised that the perpetrator was one in the same. The so-called Talon and his compatriots."

"Do you believe his reasons?"

"I was there before the duel with Klein Raiden. The way the First Princess acted was suspect. Like she couldn't believe the person in front of her was Bellavarn. As if she was realized for the first time that he'd been the one to save her. I have zero experience in mind magics, but the way she acted was like someone coming to terms with reality."

"It's small. But it is something."

"Bellavarn says the First Princess is the key. He's still missing too many pieces and now he's unable to confirm his suspicions now that he's been sent to war. He sent me back because he believes you are the next target, Duchess."

"Because I'm pregnant."

Braster wrapped a hand around her protectively. Henry nodded slowly.

"And you're his mother."

The information sank in as Henry finished. Bellavarn's logic was sound enough. It was the first clue that was backed by any type of logic and supported by a gut feeling. Though, if they tugged on the tail of the tiger, it might get away clean. With tensions so high, the Royal Family would never allow anyone from House Sallow near the First Princess. Even getting a formal audience with the King was out of the question.

"I accept his reasons for sending you back. A note wouldn't have sufficed, and I'll accept his gesture of familial love by wanting me and his future sibling safe. That love goes both ways. Who remains with him?"

"Kerv. And he requested Ester be sent to replace me."

"Ester? Forget it. Another time. We must meet with the Baroness before she has a fit."

"My assignment is guarding you."

"Yes, yes. You may accompany us but remain hidden."

Henry gave the Duchess a bow. When she turned away with Braster, he gave a "look-forward-to-working-with-you" inclination of his head to Parcy.

The entourage continued to the atrium. The doors remained open, allowing the scent of freshly watered flowers to permeate and drift. The glass exterior brought in brilliant rays of light. Stepping inside was like stepping into an alternate world with ultra-vibrant colors and scents. One couldn't help but be distracted by each budding plant and drooping leaf. It was their favorite place in the mansion. Undoubtedly the best in the capital. It's the reason they brought Wendle along.

Sitting at a round table in the center of the atrium, glimmering with dispersed blue light, was Baroness Guinevere Wyre, April's Mother, and all-around bitch.

"So you've decided not to stand me up. Again."

Her bright orange hair cascaded down her shoulders and back, shielded by a wide-brimmed sunhat. Her skin was flawless save one tiny freckle on her chin. She wears it proudly to counteract the subdued loathing she has for the blemish. Now, she always sits with her back to the light. At the best of times, it makes her look picturesque and peaceful, like now. At the worst of times, she's a shadowed villain shrouded in mystery.

"You kept me waiting long enough. Another minute and I was going to burn this atrium to the ground."

Talk about going from 0 to 100.

There was no mystery when it came to Guinevere. She made her displeasure known whether people wanted to hear it or not. Burning down the atrium was going a bit far, though. She likely didn't mean it. Not while she was inside, anyway. It's a miracle that her daughter turned out so pleasant. Or maybe not.

"Lady Wyre, thank you for your patience. I apologize for our lateness. I was held hostage by a group of cooking implements."

Lady Wyre sneered, almost dismissing the Duke as she addressed Trisha.

"Another one of the Duke's unfortunate mishaps? Like when he invaded my home."

Trisha patted Braster's arm as they moved to sit. He held out the chair for her.

"That was unavoidable, Guinevere. Our son was hurt and we needed to gather evidence. We asked you here to apologize for that event and make amends. Shall we discuss ways of doing so or should we continue with exchanging bitter remarks?"

"I'd rather cut all contact with your cursed family. If it weren't for your financial and military power, I'd sooner eat my husband's green bean casserole than make up."

Kyle gave a discreet look to Nem. Like asking if he heard correctly or if he imagined it. Nem nodded ever so slightly so as not to draw any ire.

"Be that as it may. You do laud our power, and our children seem infatuated with each other. I've heard April not only snuck out to view the duel but also escaped your watch in an attempt to meet my son before his expedition. Further involvement could be beneficial for both of us."

Lady Wyre opened her mouth for a scathing remark but held her tongue in a rare act of self-preservation. Better not to mention the chances of their son returning.

"You don't need to advise me of my daughter's whereabouts. I caught her trying to run off with your son and disciplined her extensively. It seemed to have the opposite effect I wanted. Now she's conjured up the idea of being a soldier and trying to chase after him."

The Sallows were taken aback by this revelation. Braster questioned curiously.

"She wants to join the army? Does she have any training in martial or magical arts?"

"No, she doesn't. Other than swinging around a clunky tool she scrounged up. I counted eight new blemishes on her hands and arms and discovered that her hands were blistered. She is not bred for soldiering, and I'll be damned if I let her ruin her appearance. The Royal Guard is no place for a Lady."

The Sallows both leaned forward, eyes wide. They filed away the somewhat chilling revelations that were being spouted so freely. On any other occasion, they would have brought it up, but something more important caught Trisha's attention.

"She wants to be a Royal Guard? Not the army, but part of the palace's retinue?"

Lady Wyre waved a dismissed gloved hand.

"One of my servants says she calls herself a demon slayer—a childish fantasy. I assume she means to become a Magic Knight, but what do I know?

For the first time since meeting with the unpleasant Lady, Trisha and Braster both beamed broadly.

"Let's talk about that, shall we?"