{CoRW: Book 3} Chapter 92: A Beguiling Honey Pot *Rough Draft*

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Chapter 92: A Beguiling Honey Pot

“You mean—He’s married her?” Eleanora blinked and set down her teacup while maintaining eye contact with the Duchess seated beside her bed. “Nicholas has a second wife?”

“Yes, your Highness,” Kirsi answered simply enough, though Eleanora imagined she sensed a hint of sympathy in the ice witch’s tone.

“But what about his mistress—Lady Rosamund—my father told me she’s pregnant?”

“Yes, that is also true.”

An awkward bubbled laugh erupted from the back of Eleanora’s throat as the Crown Princess lifted her teacup. She shook her head with a sigh of defeat and passed the cup to the Duchess out of habit. Kirsi appeared not to mind and transferred the still warm tea to its waiting tray on the nightstand.

“And I suppose—they’ll be moving in here—to Rose palace.” Eleanora barely registered the words as they spilled past her numb lips. She was too tired to fully grasp the news the Duchess had delivered minutes after waking up. What little energy she had seemed to ebb and flow completely out of her control as if half of her were still sleeping—refusing to wake up.

And yet Eleanora felt more awake than she had in weeks. It was as if the world around her had blossomed in scent, sound, and color. Gone were the days when she constantly wrestled between anger, jealousy, and fear.

The Crown Princess closed her eyes and listened to the quiet flutter of the bed curtains as they rustled beneath the sweet, warm breeze brought in through the open window. The entire capital was decorated in roses for the King’s coronation day—and she had missed it.

Strangely enough, despite the endless months of training spent preparing to become Lafeara’s next queen, Eleanora could bring herself to care at all. About the coronation, Rosamund’s pregnancy, Nicholas marrying that awful noble girl who would no doubt ruin what little peace Eleanora had found in owning Rose Palace.

“What am I to do now?” she muttered, gazing listlessly at the gold tassels that wrapped the crimson bed curtains around the post. “Should I even do anything? It’s not as if I’ll be Crown Princess for much longer.”

“Your Highness?” Kirsi’s momentarily troubled look shifted to a sudden understanding.

“So, you know about Percy’s plans to rebel as well,” Eleanora murmured with a cynical smile. “Then again, it only makes sense that you would, since Percy has always intended for you to become his Queen.”

“I have no interest in Lafeara’s throne.”

“Even though it belongs to you by right of blood?” Eleanora smiled as the Duchess blinked at her in surprise. “Yes, my father finally filled me in on a great many secrets that the people around me have kept hidden for so long.”

“If it helps, I only found out about my ancestry shortly before becoming Duchess,” Kirsi replied with an awkward smile before rising from her seat to pace around the bed.

The Crown Princess found herself gazing after the half-blood who had once been her attendant with curious intensity. Eleanora’s “awakening” appeared to have altered her view of the Duchess as well, or perhaps Maura had changed that much so quickly. “Will you do it then?”

Kirsi turned to look at the Crown Princess with a questioning brow.

“Help Percy with his—rebellion?”

The Duchess folded her arms silently before responding. “I—don’t know. My position has always been set against pointless violence and bloodshed, but—things are changing. A lot will depend on the King’s choices in the next two days.”

“I see,” Eleanora murmured. Although she sensed the half-blood was withholding some vital information from her—she couldn’t summon the energy to care. “Well, if you decide to support Percy—regardless of who takes the crown—I will have to forfeit my titles and—"

‘And what?’

The Crown Princess found her thoughts skittering at random through the past decade of her life spent preparing to become queen. She could still remember the proud, shy Tristan dressed in the black silks he preferred to wear, kneeling before her to propose.

‘So it was all for nothing.’

Eleanora found it hard to swallow the stone of unmovable regret that settled into the back of her dry throat. She blinked to banish the growing ache behind her eyes and the tears burning against her vision and gestured silently towards the waiting cup of tea.

The Duchess silently complied with her request and returned to her chair as the Crown Princess slowly sipped the sweet herbal liquid.

“Percy will look out for you,” Kirsi murmured with a reassuring smile. “Your father will certainly make sure that you are kept as far away from danger as possible.”

“Aha!” Eleanora chortled and wiped the bit of tea that spilled past her lips. “No one can guarantee that while I’m trapped inside this place by some sort of ghost curse.” She shook her and took another sip before adding, “Escaping the rebellion unharmed is one thing. But what does Percy intend to do about the Emperor?”

It was clear from Kirsi’s rather guarded expression that she didn’t know.

“What sort of future will we be dragged into if Percy liberates the Covens of Lafeara—only to force them into another war with another Witch King?”

Rather than look alarmed or even a little bit concerned, Kirsi appeared—indifferent. As if the possibility of Arius descending up Lafeara with his legions of fire witches were some far-off fantasy.

“Ha! Look at me,” Eleanora muttered with a cynical smile as she set the finished teacup back onto its saucer and leaned over the edge of the bed to return it to the nightstand. “Worry about things still far ahead in the future instead of the mess I’m in now.”

“I can liberate you from this marriage if that is your wish.”

“What?” The Crown Princess ignored the falling cup and saucer as she whirled around to face the Duchess’s calm gaze. “What do you—is it even possible? The curse—”

“I am already working on removing it,” Krisi explained with a patient smile. “Some—witches—will be arriving after sundown to remove its effects from Rose Palace—and you.”

“Who?”

“It’s better if you don’t know.”

For a moment, Eleanora almost agreed with her. What was the point in knowing, planning, or carrying about anything when it would all simply disappear or be ripped away from her without warning or consent—just like Tristan.

‘But this is my life we’re talking about.’

Eleanora exhaled slowly and folded her hands across her lap as she met the Duchess’s gaze squarely. “I’m tired of being left in the dark, Lady Kirsi. Tell me everything—please.”

***

Lord Norley was still wiping the blood mixed with paint from his fingers when his carriage pulled up in front of the great cathedral. He tucked the soiled handkerchief beneath his seat cushion and pulled on a pair of riding gloves before opening the door to disembark.

A priest waited from him on the lower set and bowed his head courteously. “How may I help you, my Lord.”

“Lord Callum Norley to see his Holiness and his Grace, Duke Stryker. I believe they are expecting me.”

“Ah, yes. I was told to wait for you.” The priest gestured for the nobleman to follow him and turned to climb the large marble steps.

A shadow of distain mingled with nostalgia washed over Norley as he passed through the arch doorway. He registered one or two nuns who appeared to have survived Jericho’s cleansing as they made their way down the side hallway that led to the private residences.

The same winding steps Norley had traversed innumerable times as a child living under the care of the church were now much easier to climb as they made their way to the second floor that was reserved for Pope and his attendants.

“One moment,” the priests muttered as they paused before the giant oakwood door.

Norley offered the man a thin smile and clasped his hands together as he turned to survey the sickeningly clean corridor.

‘I wonder what pitiful orphan they had scrub this place to perfection.’

The priest emerged and beckoned permissively. Norley ignored the man entirely as he brushed past the priest impatiently to enter the room.

“Callum,” Duke Stryker greeted with a glimmer of distaste. “Do I have you to thank for Priscilla’s ruined wedding?”

“Your Grace?” Norley offered the Lord Commander a formal bow, then quickly shifted his attention to the Pope, seated beside a familiar young woman. “Your Holiness. Madam Maylea.”

“You may address me by my true name now, Callum,” Deanira replied with a smile as beautiful as it was vicious. “I have no secrets from our friends here.”

‘You have more secrets than any person I’ve ever met,’Norley mused while offering her a barely respectful nod.

“And I was responsible for the incident at the chapel today, your Grace,” Deanira added as she turned to challenge the Duke with a single arched eyebrow. “I thought it necessary to stir the pot—keep our opponents on their toes if you will.”

Duke Stryker widened his eyes before laughing incredulously. “That’s your excuse? Keep them on their toes? Who exactly are you referring to, Madam?”

“The King didn’t exactly buy your little ploy,” Jericho commented quietly, his attention otherwise immersed in a curious vial of glowing fluid that sparkled like gold.

“Priscilla, on the other hand, fainted from shock. Need I remind you, Lady Deanira, that Duchess Kirsi butchered her father?”

“Which is why it will help her,” Deanira retorted with a dramatic eye-roll. “Nicholas can’t trace this back to her. Priscilla’s reaction would be too genuine for him even to consider the possibility. Which means her suffering will generate empathy from him.”

“Empathy?”

“It’s not as if he loves her. Nicholas would have spared Marquess Borghese’s life if he held even a sliver of affection for Priscilla.”

“That—”

“In any event, it is better that Nicholas continue to look at Priscilla with sympathy. While he feels the need to protect and shield her—other affections may grow. When Rosamund falls, we must ensure that Priscilla appears to be just another victim of the Crown Princess’s jealousy. That is how we will replace thistle weed and a wildflower with a rose of our own.”

“Victim?” Duke Stryker pressed his lips together and blinked slowly before responding in a tense tone, “Just what sort of suffering do you have planned for my niece?”

“Nothing,” Jericho interjected as he tucked the vial of gold liquid into the sleeve of his robe. “Lady Deanira will do nothing further to your niece.” The Pope shot the spymaster a look as if seeking assent, which Deanira offered reluctantly before returning to her wine. “Now that our future queen has been granted access to the palace and Eleanora. We should focus on the true obstacle to Lafeara’s salvation.”

“Kirsi,” Deanira murmured with a tight smile. “That might prove difficult. She has the King’s ear, the support of the Air Covens, and the forces of Bastiallano. Since you let go of the golden opportunity to deal with her here during the coronation, I feel our options are extremely limited.”

“She didn’t even attend the King’s wedding,” Stryker muttered as he scratched his beard. “My knights tell me that Kirsi has holed herself up inside Rose Palace. And no one, aside from trusted servants, has been allowed in or out for the last two days.”

“Could Kirsi be planning something?” Jericho muttered tensely.

“It’s more likely she’s taking advantage of the Crown Princess’s illness to remain inside the royal fortress where she’ll continue to have access to Nicholas,” Deanira pointed out with a cynical smile. “My spies tell me that she and Earl Hawthorne ambushed the King before his coronation this morning.”

“And what was discussed?”

The spymaster shrugged sheepishly. “I had people in place to listen—but mortals can’t hear past an air witch’s silence spell.”

“We should be prepared,” Stryker barked out with what might have been a twinge of nervousness. “The Duchess has over a third of Bastiallano’s forces camped less than a day's ride from the capital.”

“If Lady Kirsi brings her army within a mile of the capital without the King’s permission, she will be labeled a traitor by every noble in this city,” Norley replied with a shake of his head. “She brought the army to remind Nicholas, the nobles, and his Holiness that she is not without protection.”

“The Calamity Witch needs no such protection,” Jericho spat out venomously, then took a steady breath and continued. “Regardless of why she brought an army, Kirsi will not simply stand by while I take Nesta back to Zarus.”

“Then your only choice is to attack her here, as planned,” Deanira commented neutrally.

“Here?” Stryker sputtered in surprise. “Inside the Royal Palace?”

“The Royal Ball tomorrow night would be the perfect opportunity,” Deanira continued, ignoring the man. “Every noble will be in attendance, witch and mortal alike. You could kill Kirsi and half the Coven’s leaders in a single night.”

“Is that even possible?” the Duke demanded, looking just a bit paler than he had a moment ago.

“We would need access to the ballroom in order to prepare,” Jericho replied with evident conviction as his pale golden eyes locked onto the ice-blue eyes of the spymaster.

“Lily Palace is unoccupied at the moment,” Norley pointed out as he grasped the plan. “We could easily gain entrance using the Duke’s knights.”

“Will a single night be enough time, your Holiness?”

Jericho answered Deanira’s smug smile with one of his own and nodded. “More than enough. It appears we have a plan.”

“But—what about the Duchess’s armies—and the Covens?” Stryker demanded as he shifted to the edge of his seat. “Won’t they respond to such a blatant attack? And what about the King?”

The Pope glanced towards the Duke with a drawn-out sigh as if faced with the constant badgering of a child. “Your Grace. The only way the house of Hargreve will ever inherit the throne is when the last King of Havardur is dead.”

Stryker clenched his jaw and glanced towards Norley before responding. “Is that really necessary?”

“Don’t worry, your Grace,” Deanira replied as she rose from her seat and circled the table to stand beside the unassuming nobleman. “You won’t be asked to kill the King or break your oath. Your son is more than capable of claiming the throne himself.”

Norley stiffened slightly at the title he had long since rejected since Lady Verity banished him to the life of the church. He found himself looking into Deanira’s beguiling ice-blue eyes, the same eyes that had lured him from a path of faith to one of vengeance. He blinked, then turned to look at the man who had sired him only to abandon Norley as punishment for killing his mother.

The shadowy expression that might have been guilt filtered over Stryker’s face before he turned away from his only legitimate son.

“And far more suited to the task, it would seem,” Jericho commented with a cynical smile as he rose to his feet. “Come, your Grace. A great endeavor requires our full attention. The fall of Kirsi and Lafeara’s proud Air Covens begins tomorrow.”

“But—what if the Duchess doesn’t attend,” Norley interjected quietly. “She is cautious by nature. If she has regained all her memories, she may suspect our very intent.”

“He has a point,” Jericho muttered as he glanced from Stryker to Deanira. “Any suggestions?”

“We could have the King invite her personally?” Stryker fumbled out with a shrug.

The spymaster laughed, rolled her eyes at the proud Duke once more, and then trailed her fingers over Norley’s gloves with a secretive smile. “To trap a cunning witch, you merely have to offer up something she can’t resist.”

“Kirsi has the power of an immortal—what else could she want?” Jericho snapped impatiently.

“Stop thinking of her as a supernatural being, your Holiness. Kirsi is flesh and blood still. We already know her weaknesses, and one of them is freely at our disposal.”

“You want us to use the Pope’s sister?” Norley muttered aloud. He hastily squashed the smile of appreciation that slipped past his composure and shifted his attention to Jericho. The Pope stared at them intently as if trying to decipher some hidden agenda behind their words.

“It will ensure that Kirsi comes. It will also guarantee the enchantments we need to contain a room full of witches works at full effect,” Deanira pointed out impatiently as she met the Divine Heir’s stare. “Or we could keep Nesta locked up here, far from Lily Palace, and rely on chance.”

“You’ve made your point, half-witch,” Jericho snarled before he spun on his heel and headed towards the inner chambers of his quarters. “So be it.”