"How—"
"I am a Horan, Your Grace," Rosentine says as if repeating her family name will ring any bells. "We have a long history, dating back to where magic still exists."
Amalia slowly nods. Somehow, she understands. Her family herself is old, and, like the Horans, has seen and used magic in its prime. The Cranes, with the ability to see the future, had helped Deoritus of Ereon to rise as the first emperor of the land.
"While the Cranes can see the future and the Ereons can make magical beasts kneel at their feet, the Horans are protectors of the past… or more like, we know the secrets of the dead." She bites her lips. "…and so I know everything that has happened and every prophesy that was spoken by the dead members of your clan as well as the saints."
"I see," Amalia replies, "But how come I never read nor learned about you until now?" she asks, covering the truth about the emperor's words. She doesn't trust either of them, and so doesn't want to give away information.
"There are… powerful families that want us quiet. Some want us dead," she smiles, but Amalia could see the bitterness in it. "It doesn't matter, as the Horans are in the verge of death anyway. What matters is this lady beside me."
Amalia looks at the girl. She is just a young lady, but already old enough to understand what she is listening to. She is smiling and tending herself to a cupcake, but Amalia knows she does listen to them.
"Frealwoods always had female leaders as they tend to thrive with them, and the previous emperor, Gloriam, knew it," Rosentine continues after a sip of tea. Amalia looks at her, listening. "Emperor Gloriam was known to be greedy, and wanted to continue subduing Frealwood. Well, the Frealwood clan is known to share blood with magical beasts—"
"So it's true," Amalia blurts. Rosentine smiles.
"Yes, that legend is at least true," she replies, and then grabs a cookie. "It was the reason why they were the first to fall during the Great Northern War. But Gloriam wasn't satisfied with it. He wanted full control of the Frealwood Marches, and so he decreed his son and former duke of Adendiff, Jacob, to marry the supposed to be heir of Frealwood, Elene. It created a bit of tension, but in the end, The Frealwoods had no choice but to oblige. You know what happens after."
Amalia nods. The Frealwood territories are at its weakest after the Dowager Marchioness stepped down due to her poor health, and the Marquess, despite its elaborate title, started to beg the crown for protection. All falls to deaf ears, and the situation worsens when the then Marchioness didn't give birth to a girl.
"But how do I know that Lady Ingrid is in fact, a Frealwood?" Rosentine looks over at one of the closed windows, sighing.
"I guess I shouldn't hide it if I were to seek your help," she says, "I and Ermeo had known each other before he went abroad to study. We were young, and it was short, but we had a daughter." Her hands are trembling as she reaches for her cup. "I… didn't have a the heart to tell him, as Ingrid's eyes are not of a Frealwood. I am sure Ermeo might not claim her as his own, and so I kept her. But the clan is constantly on the run, and not fit for a child to live, so I made necessary measures to meet you, despite the leader's objections.
"I see." Amalia takes a sip from her own cup. She can of course validate whatever she said about Ingrid, but it will take time. For now, she will have to rely in her guts wanting to trust her.
Rosentine told her explicitly the secret of the Horans, a family that is supposed to be powerful, and so she will get caught up in the lie in nearest future if Amalia could only keep her by her side.
And well, about Ingrid…
"Do you know why Ingrid has golden eyes?" Amalia asks. Ingrid's eyes reminds of Henrick, and so she has a sudden urge to know.
Rosentine shakes her head. "No, Your Grace. It isn't well known, but some Frealwoods throughout the history have had golden eyes. Your husband is also one of them."
Amalia nods. And there she was thinking that maybe Henrick inherited those eyes from the Imperial family.
"I will help you just until Lady Ingrid is fifteen," Amalia replies after the thought. Rosentine nods, expressing her gratitude. "She can stay in the orphans' school we are operating in Lemore. And about the payment…"
"I will pay you yearly, as well as Ingrid's school fees."
"But money is not really an issue," Amalia smiles. "Instead, I want you to be my maid-in-waiting."
"What?"
"You can think about it. Come back again once you have decided, but do not come back so late. I will be in the capital in a week."
"If I say yes, then shall I be with you in Strolis?"
"It's only natural," Amalia replies and drinks from her cup. Rosentine gulps, and then nods.
"Then I shall give you an answer before then."
Amalia reminds herself that she should thank and apologize to the duke now that she is back. It sure took hours, and by the time she is back, it is already almost midnight. She hurries in the castle, with Gilda aiding her in settling her horse.
"You must hurry, Your Grace," she says as she unstraps Cielo's saddle, "the Dowager Marchioness Frealwood is here."
"What?" Amalia curses under her breath as she tries to help Gilda. She hasn't seen the Dowager Marchioness' before, and she doesn't know what her intention for visiting is, and so it makes her nervous.
Gilda must have noticed. She takes the reins from Amalia, almost too forcefully, and then pushes her out of the stable.
"Hurry inside now," she smiles, the lines on beside her eyes now visible. Amalia sighs, but smiles back in the end.
"Thank you, Gilda," she says, and then holds the hem of her skirt before bolting to the Lord's Keep.
She is already panting when she reaches the door, but Jane still pushes her to her room for a change of clothes, muttering hurry, we must hurry as she ties Amalia's new dress. Amalia lets her muttering and doesn't complain when Jane pulls the strings a littles too tight.
"Where is the Dowager Marchioness?" Amalia asks she rushes to the door.
"Oh, she's in the duke's study. I'll take you there, Duchess," she says and runs to open the door for Amalia. They both don't get the opportunity to step out of the room as the Dowager Marchioness is already in front of them.
"Dowager Marchioness," Amalia greets hurriedly, her head almost bumping the doorframe as she bowed. Gulping, she rises and tries a welcoming smile she reserves to nobility. "I apologize—"
"No need to apologize, child." The Dowager Marchioness' voice is subtle, but her crimson eyes are as unyielding as the duke's.
Speaking of the devil, Amalia thinks, why is he also here?
"Henrick told me you were out on business," she continues with a slight smile. "I didn't expect that I would see you tonight. I was just curious as to where Henrick sleeps."
"Oh," Amalia stutters as she looks at Henrick for help, but the duke looks like he doesn't know what to answer either. Sighing, she improvises, "W-well, we do sleep together," and smiles at the Dowager. If she is correct, then the Dowager Marchioness is one of those old northerners who believe spouses should sleep in the same bed.
The north has an old saying, anyway. The marriage is strong if the bed is warm.
"Good to know that we arrived in the right room, then," The Dowager smiles. "I bid you good night," she says and then walks away, leaving Henrick alone outside of the room.
"Then, why don't you come in?" Amalia says. Henrick's eyes go wide as if he didn't expect the invitation.
"Are you sure it is fine?"
"Well, you have been in my room without my knowledge before, so this cannot be any worse," Amalia reminds him, albeit the memory is embarrassing. To hell with the dagger if she'll sleep on her enemies.
Even if she remained awake that night, she doubts she'll have a chance if Henrick was to strike her. She might have learned how to properly wield it, but if Henrick is really what Alexei tells he is, then dying will always be the option come a combat with the duke was to happen.
Speaking of the dagger, she will have to keep it in her drawers for a while.
The duke sighs as he makes his way inside. Jane tells them she would prepare some refreshments before closing the door behind her, leaving Amalia, still in her tight dress, who walks to the couch where the duke sits.
"I think it would be better for us to sleep in the same room while the Dowager Marchioness is here," says Amalia, who glances at the duke for some kind of agreement. The man still looks distraught as if he did some kind of wrong, but Amalia doesn't want to ask. "I apologize for leaving you alone a while back," she continues, changing the topic. This time, Henrick looks at her.
"No need to apologize." He sighs once more, and then looks at his lap. Amalia takes a moment to look at him, contemplating if she should reach for his hand and console him. In the end, she decides against it.
"Do you hate the idea of sleeping with me?" she asks, and although it sounded odd to her ears, she tries not to blush. It is Henrick who feels embarrassed for her, with his ears reddening.
"What?"
"I won't repeat the question as I believe you heard me clearly," she says. "But do tell me if you are uncomfortable. I would never force you to sleep here just to appease the elders."
"Grandmother is a very traditional woman, so she'd be disappointed if she learns we don't share a bed," he replies solemnly. "I would never allow that after she sang all those praises about you."
"Praises?"
"Well, she told me how you gathered the Crane knights to defend Frealwood." His lips curled into a small smile. "It was phenomenal, she said, on how you rally the knights, and how you give them morale, and how you subdued the beasts in three months."
"It was my duty, so she didn't have to praise me like that." Amalia's eyes fall to the door when Jane comes back with tea and some biscuits. One glance over at her bed and Jane knew she has to retrieve her dagger.
"Not all men can do their duty as well as you," Henrick replies. "And Grandmother is hard to please."
Amalia smiles as she takes her cup, "Oh, but lest you forget, my lord, I am not a man."
Amalia almost drops her teacup as she hears Henrick's laughter, deep but vibrant, as it fills the room. His smile is just as vibrant, but Amalia only stares.
He is beautiful when he has the smile that reaches to his eyes. It takes some years from his age even when his smile lines are more visible. Amalia is so fascinated by the fact that this man can actually laugh that thinking the reason why becomes an afterthought.
"I apologize," he says after catching his breath. "Of course, you are not. Still, you are the most wonderful person I know."
Amalia averts her gaze upon hearing those words. She feels suddenly hot—maybe it was the tight dress—that she almost fans herself. She asks Jane for a glass of water, and then turns back to the duke.
"How are things going on with the Lord of Eule?"
"It's not a matter of your concern," he replies, and Amalia feels hear her heart stop and sink after a race, and she didn't even know that hearts could do it like hers did. She looks down at her cup, deciding if she should throw it at the duke. "More importantly, you seem to have a fever," she hears him continue, along with the rustle of his clothes against the couch.
"I am fine," she says as she pushes his hand away from her face. She doesn't know what face Henrick makes as she hurriedly walks away, avoiding his gaze and ignoring his call.
That didn't end well, she scoffs as she walks to her bath—now she doesn't know if the duke is angry enough to kill her before their divorce. She might be disappointed in his response, but she now realized that her action was a bit much, considering she is not the real duchess. She could've just gulped it down and smiled at him in agreement.
Sighing, she calls for Jane for help and thinks what her gain will be if she would continue caring and helping the dukedom. Maybe, she doesn't have to care.
From now on, she will regain her peace in not caring at all.