Chapter 88: Of Politeness and Poisoned Intent
Chapter 87: Of Politeness and Poisoned Intent
"You are dismissed."
The words settled into the air with a finality that ought to have ended the matter.
"Your Highness," Julian said.
Jacinta turned her attention to him, her expression serene, her smile once more perfectly arranged.
"Yes, Baron Redwick?"
There was nothing in her tone to suggest irritation.
Nothing to suggest that anything at all had gone amiss.
Julian inclined his head.
"If I may speak plainly," he began, his voice measured, "I would seek clarification on a matter of some concern."
Jacinta’s smile deepened.
"You may always speak freely, Baron."
"Do you intend," he said, "that the maid’s dismissal extends to her position within your service?"
For the briefest moment Jacinta’s eyes twitched in obvious irritation.
It was small and gone almost as soon as it appeared.
But Lyria saw it.
And in that instant, something settled into place. She had suspected before, but now it was obvious—Jacinta knew.
Jacinta gave a soft laugh, the sound light and airy.
"Dismiss her from my service?" she echoed. "Baron, I fear you misunderstand me entirely."
Julian did not smile.
"If that is so, Your Highness," he said, "then I would be most obliged by your correction."
There was a pause.
A delicate one.
Jacinta’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer than necessary, as though assessing the shape of his intent.
Then she turned—slightly.
"Lyria," she said.
The name was spoken with a thoughtful lilt, as though she were testing it upon her tongue.
"That is your name, is it not?"
Lyria almost laughed at the act. Jacinta pretending not to know her? The same Jacinta that made sure her life was a living hell?
Lyria almost told her outright to stop the pretence. But she had no right to do so. She was naughty but a shadow, after all.
She bowed her head instead. "Yes, Your Highness."
Jacinta nodded, her smile softened.
Or rather—it appeared to.
"You need not concern yourself, Baron," she continued, turning her attention back to Julian. "Miss Lyria’s position is quite secure."
Julian inclined his head slightly.
"I am relieved to hear it, Your Highness."
"Indeed," Jacinta said. "It would be most unfortunate to lose a servant over... an incident."
Her fingers tightened imperceptibly around the handle of her parasol.
"Honestly, Your Highness, the matter is quite curious," he said. "A substance of that nature does not find its way onto garments by happenstance."
"Which leads one to consider," he continued, his tone turning almost contemplative, "that perhaps the intended target was not Miss Lyria at all."
Jacinta’s smile looked frozen on her face. "Really?" she asked him.
"Yes," he said with a nod. "If such a substance were applied within your household—within your immediate vicinity—then it suggests a degree of access that is... troubling."
He paused.
"And if Miss Lyria was merely... unfortunate enough to come into contact with it, then it raises a more pressing question."
Jacinta’s eyes met his.
"Which is?"
"What if the intended recipient was Your Highness?"
Jacinta’s silence lingered a moment too long.
Then she released a polished laugh.
"Baron Redwick," she said, her tone warm with gentle amusement, "you credit my importance far too highly."
"I do not believe I do, Your Highness," he replied.
"Then you believe someone within my own household would seek to harm me?" she asked lightly.
"I believe," he said carefully, "that it would be prudent to consider the possibility."
Jacinta regarded him for a moment.
And though her smile did not falter—her eyes cooled.
"How very thoughtful of you," she said.
Then, with a graceful shift, she turned once more to Lyria.
"You see?" she said. "The Baron is quite right."
Lyria remained still.
"Yes, Your Highness."
"It would seem," Jacinta continued, "that you were merely... caught in an unfortunate circumstance."
She paused before she continued.
"And for that, you have my... consideration."
Lyria bowed her head further.
"Your Highness is most gracious."
Jacinta smiled.
"Am I?"
There was something in the way she said it.
Something sharp beneath the softness.
"Rest assured," she went on, "your position is not in jeopardy. You are not being dismissed from my service."
Lyria’s fingers curled faintly.
"Thank you, Your Highness."
"You are, however," Jacinta added smoothly, "to return to your chambers and rest. You look quite... distressed, after all."
"I would not have my servants in such a state," Jacinta said lightly. "It reflects poorly."
Julian opened his mouth—
Perhaps to speak.
Perhaps to object.
But Lyria moved before he could.
She bowed—deeply this time.
"I understand, Your Highness," she said. "You are most kind."
And then she turned and left, urgently.
Julian watched her go.
His brows drew together slightly. He suspected foul play here. There was something he couldn’t quite place and the princess... he was very certain she was pretending not to know who Lyria was. But why?
His gaze lingered a moment longer, unaware that he had been watching Lyria that long until someone cleared their throat.
He turned back to the person at once and locked eyes with the princess.
"Shall we continue?" she asked, her tone light once more, as though the interruption had been no more than a minor inconvenience. "I believe we were in the midst of a most pleasant morning."
Julian inclined his head.
"Though I would love to," he added, adjusting his gloves with a small, precise motion, "I find myself in need of a brief reprieve."
Jacinta’s smile did not waver.
"Oh?"
"Yes," he said. "As a precautionary measure."
He glanced at his hands.
"These gloves have been... exposed. And it would be prudent to change them," he continued. "As well as, perhaps, my outer garments."
Jacinta’s fingers tightened again around her parasol.
"I see."
"I would not wish," he said, "to continue our engagement in a manner that might be considered... less than proper."
"Of course," she said smoothly.
"Therefore," he went on, "if it would not inconvenience Your Highness unduly, I would suggest that we resume our engagement at a later time."
Jacinta’s eyes twitched badly in irritation, and this time it was not subtle. There was a smile on her face, but it was obvious she was annoyed.
How reasonable, she thought to herself. How perfectly reasonable.
Jacinta inclined her head.
"Very well," she said.
Her tone was flawless.
"Another time, then."
Julian bowed.
"My gratitude, Your Highness."
And then he turned and left, just as Lyria did—although with considerably more composure.
The garden fell quiet once more.
But this time, there was no pretence of serenity.
Jacinta stood very still.
Her smile remained for precisely three seconds.
Then it vanished.
Her hand tightened sharply around the handle of her parasol, the delicate structure creaking faintly under the pressure.
This—
This was not the plan.
Lyria was meant to falter.
To panic.
To disgrace herself so thoroughly that no one—least of all Baron Redwick—would look upon her with anything but disdain.
He was meant to see her as she was.
A servant.
A liability.
An inconvenience.
Not—
Jacinta’s jaw tightened.
Not something worth defending.
Her gaze darkened. It had been clear. Painfully clear—from the way he had looked at her, from the way he had spoken, the way he had stepped between her and the swarm without hesitation.
Lyria had seduced the Baron. And she was going to make Lyria pay.
She turned to Kyia, whose face was pale, and growled at her,
"Summon Lyria to my chambers this instant!"
