Of Heirs and Havoc ✔️ | Of Crimes and Crowns Book 2

twenty-eight : of disappearances and dukes

Francisco had left the governor's manor with no word at all.

Despite Celeste's dismissal of her brother's disappearance as nothing more than a young lord's desires for freedom, away from court and society and all of its trappings, Matthew was anxious. Once, not so long ago, he had been a young nobleman who had vanished on a journey, and he was far from keen to see the same thing happen to another young man, even if they weren't particularly close friends.

But in urgent, chaotic times such as these, there was no time to spare on thoughts of his friends. No, there was only the need to map out the next chess move, to see the further political actions that needed to be taken. Rebellion had struck the city, and the governor's manor guards as well as the city watch had struck and beaten down the rioters.

It was no surprise, really. There had been whispers from the nobles at Arlean court that Matthew's youngest and eldest sister were planning to return the Sleeping Island to the Filipian crown. However, somehow those plans had clearly not come to fruition, and word had spread even to the commoners, who were now firmly against the sight of any Arlean flags planted on their soil... and would be even more opposed to the sight of an Arlean prince on their grounds. The mobs could very likely kill him in a rage or a fit of anger.

At least, he had Celeste on his side. Cunning, beautiful, wickedly smart Celeste, who could likely come out of a firestorm with her hair perfect and reputation unscathed. She was equal parts dangerous and glamorous as always when he entered her sewing room, like a well-decorated gambling parlour. One would certainly lose their livelihood there, but have a grand time doing it all the same.

"I see even a Prince is not immune to the rebellions currently taking place," Celeste murmured, patting the space on the chaise lounge next to her as he entered with a gentle knock. Her voice was barely audible over the sounds of shouting outside the manor gates. She had a piece of embroidery spread out in her lap, and her hands busily worked at it without the need for her to look at the cloth. "Have you any solutions, or did you come in here seeking mine?"

Outside, he could see dark smoke through the windows, billowing and ominous. The guards with their bats were protecting the gates against the angry crowd that swarmed it. Were those torches he saw? He squinted, moving quickly from his stance by the door to see the frightful image. They were burning the Arlean flag. Quickly, Matthew drew the drapes shut, not wanting to see any more of the people, the movement, that could possibly end his life.

"I always seek out your expert advice," he replied diplomatically, trying desperately to calm his racing heart, not to mention the thoughts that ran through his mind. Was he destined to a life of being hunted by revolutionaries? Was his family doomed to tragedy? "Particularly in times of crisis such as these."

"Have a seat, Matthew, you're looking awfully pale." Celeste waved a hand, then coolly called a servant over. "Bring a tea cart, please. Matteo, what tea will you have?"

"Black," he stuttered out before taking a seat next to Celeste, wringing his hands before stopping himself. "Please."

"Very well. Black it is, then, Tala."

Celeste's relaxed demeanour had the conflicting effect of frustrating and soothing him; surely if she was so calm, there was no real reason for Matthew to be upset? Yet simultaneously, it angered him, made him wish for someone to worry as much as he did, for someone to be as angered as he was. Not only for his own life but for his sister's crown, for her reign. She had only recently overcome a bout of instability in Arlea; could she survive another one in the colony?

"Do calm down, Matthew. I can see you white-knuckling the table from here," Celeste chided.

"I would be calm if there were something to be calm about."

He heard the snipping of scissors as she cut a thread in her embroidery. Looking for a distraction, he turned to see what image she was making on the scrap of white cloth. It was a lovely garden, with flowering vines and a bright blue sky, the sight of which unravelled his tension as much as the scent of the tea did when Tala returned pushing a tea cart. The cart was piled high with pastries, containers of sugar, and a large, gleaming silver pot resting next to a smaller pot of milk, ceramic cups, and two teaspoons. Celeste waved the maid away when she began pouring, insisting on doing it herself.

When they were both settled with cups of tea in hand, Celeste drank deeply as though she did not fear being burned. Matthew, however, waited for the tea to cool. "So, should I expect you to provide any reasons for my need to be calm and collected, such as your having formulated a plan that will save us from this mess?"

Celeste looked at him coquettishly from beneath her lashes. She was subtle in all ways but seduction, because that act had no impact on him. "Of course I do! You might as well ask a spider if it has spun a web."

He frowned. "Are you comparing yourself to a horrid creature that most despise?"

She gave him a coy smile. "It may be truer than you think. Though, I would hope that you do not despise me. Otherwise, I shall be most reluctant to tell you of my schemes for salvation."

"Well, what is it?" He leaned forwards, doing his best not to hold his breath.

And she told him.