A Few Moments Ago

Vencian traced the same worn path through the outer garden for what must have been the tenth time. The gravel crunched beneath his boots with each pass, a rhythm that was starting to grate.

He'd arrived too early.

The thought stuck in his mind like a splinter. The royal palace estates sprawled before him, their manicured hedges and marble fountains somehow managing to look both welcoming and utterly inaccessible. Guests wouldn't begin filtering in for another half hour at least, and standing here in full view like some eager puppy waiting for scraps made his skin crawl.

He stopped mid-stride and turned to his valet, Revik, who stood a respectful three paces behind. "You can go. Join the others at the servants' entrance."

Revik hesitated. "My lord, are you certain,"

"I'm certain I don't need someone hovering while I loiter in a garden."

The valet bowed and retreated without further protest, disappearing around the eastern wing of the estate. Vencian watched him go, then resumed his pacing with slightly more room to breathe.

Attend the engagement. That was the easy part. Show his face, exchange pleasantries, play the role of the grieving lord who'd somehow clawed his way back into society's good graces. Duke Hadethon Dawnforge had specifically requested his presence, which meant refusing would have been noted and likely dissected by half the court.

Find a Pentarch member. That was the harder part.

Terin's confession still echoed in his mind, the driver's voice rasping out those final words before the possession had taken hold. A meeting with someone from the king's council during the crown prince's engagement. The information had cost him a safehouse and nearly his anonymity, and he wasn't about to waste it.

He ran through the list again, matching names to faces he'd studied in preparation. The council members who would attend tonight: General Raphathonel Herrera, whose blunt military demeanor made him easy to read. Chancellor Peranorath Varethion, whose son Pereneth had already proven himself a walking headache. Exchequer Davulonel Valorian, whose attention rarely strayed from the kingdom's coffers.

Then there was Elariel Avaloren, the Legate of the Light, the Church's voice on the council. Magireth Zarethiel, the Lord Inquisitor, whose title of "Eye of the Crown" suggested she saw far more than most. And High Justiciar Jerelorath Thalorien, who presided over the kingdom's legal machinery.

Any one of them could be compromised. Or none of them.

Vencian turned sharply on his heel, mind churning through possibilities. The Pentarch had orchestrated his father's downfall, murdered what remained of his family, and now operated freely enough to schedule meetings during royal events.

Something solid struck his shoulder.

He checked his balance, while the girl he'd walked into tipped sideways and hit the gravel with a sharp breath. Her palms scraped the stones as she landed.

Vencian halted in front of her, the jolt cutting clean through the spiral of thoughts he'd been turning over. For a beat he only stared, startled at how he'd failed to notice anyone close enough to collide with.

"My apologies," he said, stepping back to give her room. He'd meant to offer a hand, but the dark band across her eyes stopped the impulse short, the detail landing too late for instinct to catch.

She pushed herself upright, one hand brushing gravel from her gown. "No, that was my fault. I wasn't paying attention."

Her voice carried the crisp articulation of nobility, though something in it sounded warmer than the usual court polish. Vencian found himself studying her with sharper focus now that he'd registered the blindfold.

Dark fabric wrapped clean around her eyes, held at the back with a small silver clasp. The way she held her weight, balanced yet cautious, suggested long practice moving through spaces she couldn't see. She seemed close to his age, perhaps a year younger.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, tilting her head slightly in his direction.

"No." He blinked, refocusing. "Are you?"

A faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "I've survived worse collisions."

There was something oddly disarming about her expression, a kind of wry amusement that made the entire situation feel less awkward than it should have been.

"I didn't realize there was anyone else out here," he admitted.

"I was told the garden would be empty." She gestured vaguely behind her. "My father was supposed to escort me inside, but someone called for him. I thought I'd wait near the entrance rather than stand around in the foyer like lost luggage."

"Sensible."

"I thought so." She paused, then added, "Though I seem to have miscalculated where 'near the entrance' actually was."

Vencian glanced back toward the palace. The main doors were visible from here, but they were a good thirty paces away across open ground. "You're close enough. Another few steps and you would've been right there."

"Another few steps and I would've walked into a hedge."

He couldn't help the laugh that escaped him. "Fair point."

She smiled again, and this time it reached her expression more fully. "Would you mind helping me the rest of the way, I would rather arrive inside before my maid realizes she's lost track of me. She'll panic, and then I'll have to spend the next hour reassuring her that I'm fine."

"Of course."

He offered his arm, and she took it with the ease of someone who'd done this a hundred times before. Her grip was light, her steps measured as they started toward the palace entrance. Vencian matched her pace, keeping his stride shorter than usual.

"Thank you," she said after a moment. "I don't usually need help, but unfamiliar places are trickier."

"First time at the palace?"

"First time at this part of it. I've been to the smaller halls before, but nothing this grand."

They crossed the remaining distance in companionable silence, the sound of distant conversation beginning to filter through the open doors ahead. Vencian felt the shift in atmosphere as they approached, the polished marble floors, the faint scent of perfume and wine, the low hum of nobility gathering for spectacle.

"Here we are," he said, slowing as they reached the threshold.

She released his arm and turned toward him, her blindfolded face angled in his direction with unsettling accuracy. "You've been very kind. I appreciate it."

"It was no trouble."

Before he could say anything else, a woman in a maid's uniform appeared at the edge of the entrance hall, her eyes widening as she spotted them. She hurried forward, her expression equal parts relief and mortification.

"My lady, I'm so sorry!" The maid reached them in a flurry of movement, her hands fluttering as if unsure whether to touch her charge. "I only stepped away for a moment to check the arrangements, and when I returned,"

"It's fine, Maren." The girl's tone was calm, almost amused. "I wandered off. This gentleman helped me find my way."

The maid turned to Vencian, her relief shifting to gratitude. "Thank you, my lord. I should never have left her alone."

"She's perfectly capable," Vencian said, though the maid didn't look convinced.

The girl reached out, her hand landing on the maid's arm with practiced ease. "Come on, Maren. Let's get inside before you start apologizing to every person we pass."

The maid flushed but nodded, guiding her lady toward the entrance hall. They'd taken three steps when the girl paused and glanced back over her shoulder, her blindfolded face somehow managing to look directly at him.

"See you soon, Lord Vicorra."

She turned away before he could respond, her maid leading her into the crowd.

Vencian stood frozen for a beat longer than he should have, his mind catching on the detail that refused to settle. She'd used his name. Known it without seeing him, without asking, without any visible cue to work from.

How?

"Vicorra!"

A voice called from the far corner before he could process what had just occurred.

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