In the Great Hall, chaos reigned. Tables that normally lined the walls had been dragged to the center, where servants polished them with rags until the wood gleamed. Others stood on ladders, dusting cobwebs from the high ceiling beams, while a team of boys swept the stone floor with bristle brooms.
Beth watched a harried maid furiously scrubbing a blackened silver goblet with what looked like a handful of straw.
“You know, a bit of vinegar with salt cleans silver faster,” she offered without thinking.
The maid froze, wide-eyed, as if Beth had suggested bathing in dragon blood.
“Boil it together, then dip the goblet. It’ll sparkle.”
The maid slowly backed away with the goblet as if Beth might set it alight with her stare alone.
Lady Eleanor paced near the massive hearth, a scroll clutched in one hand, her normally carefree expression replaced by a frown that creased her forehead.
“What’s happening?” Beth asked, weaving aside as a servant rushed past with a crate of pewter goblets.
Eleanor barely glanced up, brow furrowed and her arms full of fabric. “The preparations for the royal visit,” she said, voice tight with urgency.
“The king, the queen, her witch mother and who knows how many courtiers, all descending on us in a se’nnight. Every soul in Glenhaven must make ready, or else my brother’s head will surely spin from its shoulders.”
Beth nearly dropped the goblet she was holding. “They’re arriving sooner than you thought?”
“The messenger brought an update. They make better time than expected.”
A laugh escaped as Baldwin’s sister turned to her, looking around before lowering her voice.
“Lord Barnaby Skeffington. He is cousin to that imbecile, Cedric Whitmore, that feuds with my brother.” Her eyes sparkled.
“Seems he mistook Jacquetta of Luxembourg for a servant.” Eleanor pressed a hand to her mouth, shoulders shaking. “He was quite in his cups and told her to fetch him another cup of wine.”
“No.” Beth found herself leaning in, delighted at the juicy gossip. Back home, she was serious, keeping strict lines between work and personal, and no one ever spilled the tea to her.
“Then what happened?”
“He is no longer in favor with the king and is lucky to still have his head.” She looked around, a sigh escaping. “We are next on the king’s route, so here we are.” Eleanor tapped a slippered foot. “The Duchess of Bedford herself wrote, her script is nigh impossible to read, but her expectations shine clear enough.”
Beth managed a wan smile, glancing around at the controlled chaos. “No wonder everyone is in a panic.”
“Aye,” Eleanor said, blowing a stray curl from her brow. “Heaven help us all. The larder must be stocked, chambers prepared, entertainment arranged—” She broke off as the great doors swung open.
Baldwin strode in, his presence immediately commanding the room. Even the servants paused briefly in their tasks, bowing as he passed. His dark hair was disheveled, as if he’d been running his hands through it, and shadows beneath his eyes suggested he’d been up since before dawn. The simple tuniche wore, deep blue and unadorned save for a silver pin at the shoulder, somehow made him look more regal than any king Beth could imagine.
“Mistress Beth.” His gaze found her immediately, and something in his expression shifted, softened, perhaps, before hardening again as he turned to his sister. “Eleanor, have you?—”
“Yes, I’ve ordered the chambers prepared, and sent for more wine from the cellar, and told Cook to begin preparations, and?—”
“Good.” He cut her off with a nod, then addressed the steward, who hovered nearby. “Bring the accounts to the solar. I must know what we can spend without emptying our coffers.”
As Baldwin turned to leave, Beth stepped forward. “Can I help with anything?”
He paused, his grey eyes studying her face. For a moment, she thought he might refuse, but then he gave a curt nod. “Come with me.”
She followed him through the winding corridors of the castle, up a narrow staircase to a room she hadn’t yet seen. The solar was smaller than she’d expected, but bright with morning light streaming through leaded windows. A massive oak desk dominated the space, piled with parchments and leather-bound ledgers.
Baldwin closed the door behind them, then leaned against it, eyes closed, exhaling slowly.
“Bad timing?” Beth ventured.
He opened his eyes. “The king does not make social visits. He comes with purpose, and I must discover what that purpose is before he arrives.”
