He raised a brow. “You’re late to being first.”
She stomped toward him, offended. “Since when do you smoke?”
“Only on rare occasions.” He exhaled a swirl of fragrant smoke, then snuffed the cigar with precision. “Are you ready? Your luggage appears light.”
“I have money bags with me,” she jabbed a thumb toward him. “So I didn’t need much.”
He grumbled, which delighted her.
They boarded the carriage. The padded bench was soft, faintly scented of old perfume. They settled in while the coachman checked the reins.
Lucy hated that Esther wasn’t there to argue with her. To tell her she was overreacting. To ask if she really needed six rolls and three vials of onion tears.
The silence felt wrong.
Esther was always the quiet one—but she was never absent.
Absence was louder than silence. Lucy had spent years orbiting Esther’s presence—adjusting, compensating, protecting. Without her, the world felt poorly balanced.
Lucy had just begun imagining her future greatness as a traveling hero when a shrill screech split the air. Both she and Basil flinched. Lucy recognized the voice instantly and prayed she was wrong.
She stared in horror as Baroness Irene Levon sprinted toward them across the courtyard. She moved fast despite her heels, corset, two giant bags, and elaborate skirts swishing violently. Sunlight glinted off every jewel pinned to her bodice, making her look like a bedazzled runaway chandelier.
She looked ridiculous.
Ridiculous people rarely ran toward danger. Lucy clocked the bags. The speed. The refusal to stop. Something tightened in her chest despite herself.
Nobles didn’t move unless it benefited them. Which meant either Irene Levon was a fool—or she had decided Esther mattered more than decorum. Lucy quietly revised her mental ledger.
However, that did not mean Lucy wanted to get trapped with the Baroness on a wild princess hunt.
“Coachman,go!” She started hitting the carriage like her life depended on it. Because it did.
The coachman ignored her, dutifully finishing his inspection of the mare’s bridle.
The Baroness reached them in record time. Lucy cursed loudly, earning a disappointed look from Basil.
“Add these to the luggage,” she thrust her bags at the poor coachman.
“Absolutelynot!” Lucy threw herself across the carriage door like a rabid ferret, cursing colorfully as she almost fell out. “What are you doing?”
“Language!” Irene scolded, horrified. “I am joining you, of course.”
“You must be confused. You are not joining us.”
“King Arcturus informed me of the ordeal,” Irene said primly, glancing at the coachman so she wouldn’t reveal too much. “I am coming with you.”
“We don’t need a cuckoo bird!” Lucy hissed. What Lucy meant was:we don’t need another cage pretending to be protection.
“Cuckoo? You ungrateful child, move aside.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Lucy!” Basil’s voice cracked like a whip. She stiffened. He didn’t yell often, so when he did, she knew to listen. She sat down reluctantly, arms crossed, glaring murderously.
