CHAPTER 28 You Can’t Judge an Assassin by Their Dress

CHAPTER 28

You Can’t Judge an Assassin by Their Dress

Brownie

This always happened. The duke had almost died, and here Brownie was, playing away the afternoon with some lighthearted string music.

At least the experience points were good.

The rest of the afternoon was an excited murmur of contemplations among the guests. Duke Wyldon was an upstanding member of the royal court, nephew to the king, and he kept good company. As such, the conversations available for eavesdropping were of excellent quality.

Brownie turned her attention to the young man that had been talking to Rufus at the start of the party. Lord Peter. From what she knew, he was the second son of the minister of foreign affairs, and set to inherit a barony on the northern coastline.

“I finally got to witness one of those blasted assassins everyone’s been on about!” Lord Peter sat at a table with a blue selkie count, a black human nobleman, and a calico catkin miss.

Brownie wouldn’t look too closely at anyone—she was supposed to be background noise—but after a few sweeping glances, she’d placed most of the guests. The catkin, one Miss Cara Sassafras, actually growled, “I’m sure that is the real Lady Tate. That woman is a menace .”

“You’re only saying that because she punched you in the eye during morning training last week,” the human, Lord Owen Law, said.

“No,” Miss Cara snapped. “I’m saying that because she is constantly wearing ruffles . The dress she wore today should be burned .”

Lord Peter chided, “You can’t judge an assassin by their dress, Cara!”

“Watch me.” Miss Cara sniffed, dramatically looking up and left with her eyes closed, crossing her arms haughtily .

“We don’t even know if that was Lady Tate Terpenlily. The Terpenlily’s have been a loyal and proud noble family since the revolution,” Lord Peter said.

“It might, actually,” Count Cypress, the selkie with short blue bangs that covered his eyes and a blue vest, rebuked. “We all know she was hoping to marry Marquess Chadwick—”

“That old man?” Lord Peter blurted, not hiding his shock. “ Ow! ”

“Shh!” Miss Cara mumbled something Brownie couldn’t hear, and the table quieted for a moment. Finally, Peter grumbled, “If her family owed that much money, then they should have tried something else.”

Brownie pocketed that bit of information and turned her ear to other conversations.

“You should come to the Dark Enchanted Forest sometime,” Rufus was telling a purring grimalcat. “We have a few hidden dungeons.”

Brownie chanced a glance and smiled to herself. The beastman was scratching the grimalcat below his chin as the creature lay curled in the commander general’s lap.

“I always enjoy a new challenge.” The grimalcat headbutted Rufus’s paw when the beastman paused in his administrations, and Rufus continued his pets. “Maybe I will visit after this. When are you returning, Commander?”

“If I may,” the duke interrupted from further down the table. “Why does the Dark Enchanted Forest have hidden dungeons? Isn’t it better for trade to spread that information?”

His eyes were practically shooting daggers between the commander general and his lap companion. Brownie didn’t blame the duke; both the grimalcat and the lap he rested on were very desirable.

She pushed away the inappropriate thought and turned her attention to the guard from earlier.

A maid had just hurried out from inside the hall and stopped beside the guard at the top of the stairs. She was standing politely at attention, ready to collect plates or serve tea with the other maids at any second … but in actuality, she was shooting barbs and concerned comments at the guard.

Both women were whispering, but Brownie could read lips, and she didn’t worry about staring openly at a guard.

“Tina, I’m fine, love! It’s just a bit of armor bite at my side where I landed wrong.” The guard wore light plate from head to toe. She had a short helmet with an open face, a gorget at the neck, chest plate, upper arm guards, gauntlets, a tasset belt over black leggings, and greaves. Brownie winced; pinched armor was the worse. “I’ll be right as rain by tomorrow.”

The maid swatted the guard on the arm even as a single tear fell down her cheek. “You’re not fine; you almost died . ”

Brownie left them to their own devices. At this point, her music was cut off by a loud trumpeted fanfare near the garden path entrance. The minstrel finished her arpeggio and put down her lyre.

“All rise for His Highness, Prince Zachary Servalt,” a woman in palace liveries announced, and everyone in attendance quickly stood to welcome the royal.

Except Rufus, of course. He had a grimalcat on his lap.

Prince Zachary was an eighteen-year-old half elf; his mother an elf and his father a selkie. While he had the usual features of a half elf, with slightly pointed ears and sharper nose, as well as multiple shades of brown hair that resembled tree bark, his dark teal coloring and slit-pupil eyes were testament to his selkie heritage.

“Cousin!” The prince smiled at the duke, who was pushing up his glasses and hiding a neutral expression behind the sun reflected on the lens.

The duke bowed and addressed his surprise guest. “Prince Zachary, welcome. I thought I wasn’t going to see you until this evening?”

The prince frowned, and Bronwynn would have sworn it bordered a pout before the man took a breath and airily waved away the question. “That is the formal dinner; I wanted to wish you a normal happy birthday like everyone else.”

“I’ll have a seat prepared.” Duke Wyldon nodded stiffly. Brownie felt pity for the duke; the tension in the man’s shoulders couldn’t be good for his back. As a musician bent over an instrument for hours, she could attest.

The smile that bloomed on the prince’s face would have melted butter. “Really?! I mean”—cough—“of course, thank you.”

Duke Wyldon raised his eyebrows and swept a look at his guests, still standing. The prince quickly caught on and loudly declared. “You may be seated.”

His royal voice was strong and confident, belying the actual appearance of the eager young man joining the head table.

The grimalcat was not amused when the prince took his seemingly empty high chair. Of course, the prince apologized and returned the seat to the creature.

Which was followed by obligatory pets.