Royal Fools

XXXI. Farewell

Two weeks after its arrival, the imperial ship of Gavaria was almost ready to sail home. Those concerned for the king's safety were, of course, ecstatic, save for the man himself.

Emory had set a few things in motion, and thus far, none had given him a satisfying card to play for Florence's hand. He had spent hours with the Clover to cover everything they had missed. Ideas bounced around his royal office, most of them attainable, and all with grave consequences. But he would not put his entire kingdom, and even Gavaria, at war.

While he was busy in Cloveshire, he received reports of Florence's activities. She rarely left the Ivory House, and when she did, she met with friends in Artemis. The women also held a farewell party for the princess, which was attended by many.

"No signs of any plans," reported Gabrielle Shaw.

"She won't attempt another escape," he said.

"She is also going to the Royal Theater tonight with her betrothed—I mean Hugh Lennox and the man's first wife."

That same night, he was in a private box in the Royal Theater, away from the rest, where he had the best view of the stage. But his eyes were never on the show, and he left without seeing anyone. He never approached her. Never talked to her. He could not risk it, he thought, because he didn't know what he'd do if he lost control.

His plan was going to work, but it had to be perfect.

And thus, he threw his own farewell party for the Gavarians. However, unlike the first one, this one was quite different.

This time, Emory invited Sutherland's most prominent businessmen. The perfect people to entice the Gavarians to open their gates to more ventures that would further strengthen ties. The party was intimate, designed for discussion and subtle manipulations. And thus far, the Emperor and the Crown Prince looked interested. They eagerly talked and listened to economic ideas from Sutherland's richest entrepreneurs; ones who survived wars and famine; and ones who maintained Sutherland's economy while it stood at the precipice of a civil war.

Emory had stepped back to assess the party, partially hidden by a large marble pillar, satisfied that everyone was with the right people. Lennox and Cassian were walking around the hall with at least three experts in artilleries; the Emperor and Steffan were seated in a corner, trapped in a conversation with Hayhurst and Erne, who owned shipping empires. The Empress was being entertained by his cousins, Anne and Margareth, and whatever they were saying was making the woman slowly fall asleep. Lennox's wife had been alone, but was now approached by Ellise Dior. And whatever the duchess was saying held the woman's attention.

Emory knew Florence was somewhere in the party because Lucy was there, too, and at the moment, the woman was making her way toward him with a reluctant smile. "Your Majesty," she started, moistening her lips. "I have not yet formally apologized."

"Your apology is accepted, Lady Lucy."

"And I'm—"

"Lucy." The whisper came from the other side of the column. Emory almost jumped at the sound of her voice, but remained where he was. "Lucy!"

A tight smile formed on Lucy's face as her eyes went to the unseen Florence. "Cousin, what are you doing?"

"Hiding," came Florence's whispered reply. "Elene's been chasing me the entire evening." She let out a snort, and Emory pressed his lips together to stop showing any form of amusement while Lucy struggled to silently send her cousin a warning, darting her eyes back and forth to the other side of the column. But Florence being Florence, was too focused on what she had to say. "She wants to apologize for how she behaved during our first meeting. And now she wants to be friends. Did you hear me, Lucy? Friends."