Chapter 62: Meeting an Old Acquaintance

Candlelight glowed gold and low across the long oak table laden with wine, fruits, and half-eaten game. Music had long stopped. The servants had been dismissed. Only three remained in the chamber now: Prince Benedict, tall and striking in his dark crimson doublet; Lord Percival Breyne, cold-eyed and ambitious; and Lord Perrin Halstone, lean, calculating, and always smirking at something no one else found amusing.

Benedict poured himself another cup of wine, lips curving upward.

"Well," he said, raising his goblet lazily, "to His Majesty's blessed sleep. May it stretch long and uninterrupted."

Perrin chuckled as he clinked his own goblet to the prince's. "A toast to silence. The first time the old man's finally doing the kingdom a favor by shutting his mouth."

Percival did not laugh, but his expression was sharp with satisfaction. "Three weeks now, and not even a twitch. The physicians dare not speak of death but they all know. The king will never wake."

Benedict leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling with slow pleasure. "And with the Crown Prince still a ghost and the Queen clutching her skirts and her prayers, the kingdom needs a spine." He looked between them. "And I intend to be that spine."

Perrin grinned. "The regency?"

"Of course," Benedict said. "By law, if the heir cannot be found and the King is deemed unfit to rule, the burden and the power of regency falls to the next most capable royal." He sipped slowly. "And I am nothing if not capable."

"You've already taken half the Council," Percival said. "They'll back the motion when you make it. Even the Chancellor is wavering."

"They can waver all they want." Benedict stood and walked toward the fire, watching the shadows dance. "Once they see what I've built, they'll fall in line or be crushed under it."

Perrin leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "Shall we speak of the soldiers now, Your Highness?"

Prince Benedict turned, his face half-lit by flame. "Ah yes. My little secret army."

Percival gave a rare smile. "Five hundred thousand men. Trained beyond the Crown's eyes. Paid by merchant lords and loyal vassals from the Eastern Borderlands."

"Seven hundred thousand," Benedict corrected with pride. "New recruits arrived from Thorneport last week. Archers, bladesmen, even a few siege engineers."

Perrin's brows lifted. "And all sworn to you."

"Not to me," Benedict said, walking back toward the table. He leaned both hands on it, eyes dark with fire. "To the future."

"I believe the Queen suspect something" Percival said.

"She suspects everything,"Prince Benedict said with a smirk. "But without proof, she's just a woman with fraying influence. Her allies are afraid. Without Stefan, she has no heir to push forward. No sword to stand behind."

"And the Duke of Wycliffe?" Perrin asked. "He's returned from his little mishap."

Benedict's smile flickered. "A setback. Temporary. If he proves difficult, we'll deal with him again. Permanently."

There was a silence, weighty and cruel.

Benedict refilled his goblet once more, then raised it again, eyes gleaming.

"To the throne," he said.

Perrin and Percival rose with him.

"To power," said Perrin.

"To war, if need be," said Percival.

And as the goblets clinked, a storm brewed behind their smiles, silent, sharp, and inevitable.

Hartmoor Townhouse, London - Late Morning

Julian had only just finished reading through correspondence when the butler entered with a bow and a hesitant clearing of the throat.

"My lord, Lady Honora Belgrave is here. She insists she cannot be turned away."

Julian sighed quietly, closed the letter he was reading, and nodded. "Show her in."

A moment later, Honora swept into the drawing room like a breeze filled with perfume and purpose. Her soft pink skirts rustling like the petals of some over-eager spring bloom. Her cheeks were flushed, a wide smile bloomed on her face and her eyes gleamed with something between joy and old affection.

"Julian," she greeted breathlessly, using his name without permission, as if no time had passed.

Julian rose politely. He offered a small bow. "Lady Honora."

She didn't curtsy. She didn't need to, not here, not with him. Instead, she took three quick steps forward and grasped both his hands.

"I heard you'd returned. I came as soon as I could. Julian, it's been years."

He smiled faintly but didn't argue.

Honora hesitated, then closed the distance and embraced him.

It was a bold move too familiar but not surprising, not from her.

Julian stood stiffly in her arms, his hands never quite rising to return the embrace. After a second, she pulled back and studied him with keen eyes.

He gently withdrew his hands and motioned to a nearby chair. "It has. Please, sit."

She obeyed, though the brief rejection left a trace of hurt flickering in her eyes. "You look well. It feels so good seeing you here again. England hasn't been the same since you left."

Julian seated himself across from her, his demeanor calm but unreadable. "That's kind of you to say."

"I mean it," she pressed, leaning forward. "When I heard rumors you were back, I thought it couldn't be true. You disappeared so completely. No letters, no word. And now you're here, just like that."

Julian studied her for a moment. "I had reasons for leaving. And for the silence."

"You haven't changed much," she said lightly, trying to hide how closely she was watching him. "Though I dare say the world has roughened you up a bit. Still the same proud jaw and brooding eyes, though."

Julian offered a nod, "Would you like tea?"

"I'd rather you tell me why you vanished," she said, "You left without a word, Julian. Not even a goodbye."

His expression didn't shift. "I had my reasons."

"I'm sure you did," she said, then added more quietly, "But you could have written to me."

Julian looked at her fully now. "Honora, I never meant to cause offense. But you know why I left."

A pause.

She did know. But she wasn't ready to give it up so easily.

"I confessed how I felt about you," she said, voice suddenly softer. "And you rejected me. for her. You said it kindly, but it still hurt. I waited. I waited a long time."

Julian exhaled through his nose, not quite sighing. "I was honest with you. I didn't want to lead you on."

"You didn't," she said. Then, with forced brightness: "But that was years ago. We were just foolish children back then."

Julian finally looked her in the eyes. "I would. Because the truth hasn't changed. My heart..."

"Still belongs to Evelyn," she finished, forcing a lightness into her tone that didn't reach her eyes. "Even after all these years."

He didn't reply, but the silence was answer enough.

Honora sat back, gaze drifting across the room as if searching for something to anchor herself. Then she smiled again smaller, sadder.

"Well, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. I was never her match. Not in beauty, not in spirit. But I had hoped… time would change something."

"Time changes many things," Julian said quietly. "But not this."

There was a pause. Then Honora stood, brushing her skirts as she did.

"I won't take more of your time. I only came to see for myself that you were truly here."

Julian stood as well and offered a faint bow. "It was good to see you, Honora."

She turned toward the door but hesitated at the threshold. Her voice was soft when she spoke again.

"Then I suppose I'll have to watch you chase a ghost. Just know… not all love waits forever."

She left without another word.

Julian remained in the drawing room, unmoving, the scent of her perfume lingering in the air. But his thoughts were already drifting elsewhere toward a woman with solemn eyes and a laugh she rarely let free anymore.

Toward Evelyn.