“Did I—did I do something?” she asked.
“Yes,” Lupin said gravely. “You existed within fifty feet of my father.”
“That’s illegal?”
“It is now,” he muttered. “Because he’s in a mood. Come on.”
Before she could fully panic, Esther sprinted into the office like a distraught duckling.
“Lucy! I tried to save you!” she wailed, flinging her arms around her.
“Save me from what!?”
“The king,” Esther sobbed. “He wouldn’t tell us why he summoned you! Nythir thinks it’s paperwork manipulation. Basil thinks it’s arcane punishment. Vorrik thinks you’re finally being offered a duchy—”
“I don’t want a duchy!”
“See?” Esther cried. “She doesn’t want a duchy! Father!”
From behind her, Sylva appeared silently, which she hated.
“Lucy,” he said, tone steady but tail flicking. “If he harms you, I will—”
“Yes?” she asked, hopeful.
“—file a formal complaint.”
“…Really?”
“And then kill him,” Lupin added.
“That too,” Sylva said with a nod.
Esther sniffled loudly. “We’ll wait outside the office door like emotional support gremlins.”
Lucy inhaled sharply, squared her shoulders, and marched toward the king’s study.
She had faced starvation, kidnapping, political warfare, and the Baroness’s etiquette critiques—She could handle one king. Probably.
Lucy pushed open the door—
And froze.
Inside stood the Baroness Irene Levon.
In a simple white dress.
Not elegant. Not glamorous. Simple, pure, and soft.
Beside her stood Basil in a beautifully tailored formal suit.
Behind them sat King Arcturus at his desk, looking like life had defeated him roundly and repeatedly.
Lucy blinked.
“…Did I die?” she asked.
“No,” King Arcturus said bleakly. “But I might have.”
