**THE BRAZEN SERIES is part of the GOLDEN UNIVERSE**
♦YOU MUST HAVE READ BOOK ONE, A BRAZEN MAIDEN, TO READ THIS SEQUEL!♦
♦♦It is ALSO recommended that you read THE GOLDEN GIRL/DUCHESS/PRINCESS & QUEEN to better understand events in this novel, as...
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♪ 'Cause you're acting super shady You know it, you know it ♪ {Selena Gomez—Kinda Crazy}
Three cups of the strongest tea and a soak in the tub woke Harriet enough to face the rest of the day. But she refused to navigate the manor, socialize with her remaining guests, or deal with public appearances. Worried about bumping into Nestor or anyone else she didn't know the allegiances of, she preferred to stay out of sight.
Somehow, she'd gotten off the floor, wrapped a corset around her middle, and thrown the first gown she plucked from the closet over her tense figure. She braided her hair and puffed powder on her cheeks—but even with a mask of makeup on, she couldn't hide her wariness from herself.
She confined to the Study, reviewing the information she'd attempted to read the night before, while intoxicated. And even lucid, none of it made sense. She believed it was written in a blend of Latin and Greek—which confused her more, as most in Totresia had only the simplest of knowledge of such tongues, meaning not enough to compose page long letters. Since when did Eugene know either of those ancient languages?
She set the documents aside, hoping to ask her advisors if they understood it.
Advisors.
She'd sent most of those to jail, hadn't she? Which left Sir Fletcher and Sir Newton in her council; and only one of them was trustworthy, or so she thought.
Eugene's warnings warped into her mind again, and the dizziness returned, and the sickness in her stomach—
A rap on the door startled her out of her stupor. "Huh?"
"Miss?" The door opened, and she covered her face.
"Yes?" She smelled the mix of sweat and soap on her skin and wrinkled her nostrils.
"Are you... unwell?" The voice was soothing, and as she peeped through her clasped hands, she discovered Sir Fletcher standing at the threshold.
She readjusted her slinking posture at once. "Oh... yes, I am, but please, come in." She lowered her palms and cleared her throat, fixing the collar of her gown as it had traveled lower than she was comfortable with.
"I will come back later, if you prefer," said Sir Fletcher, closing the door behind him. His clean-shaven skin glowed in the sunlight pouring in from the window, and he tipped forward in a brief bow. A few cocoa-colored curls cascaded over his forehead as he redressed himself.
He was easy on the eyes, Harriet had to admit. If she hadn't been so busy being traumatized by last night and her father's letter, she would have offered him tea. Perhaps a stroll in the gardens. A ride into the city for a bite to eat. Something better than this lukewarm welcome into her dreary office space. "It is fine. How did the trip go?"
He motioned at a chair, silently asking for permission to sit, which Harriet granted. "Well. Oliver and I had no trouble transporting the prisoners to Rosford, and we presented them to the Count, who allowed us to set them up in his jail. He sent a rider to Torrinni to inform the King and congratulated you on your actions." He sat with poise, one leg folding over the other. His light beige trousers hugged his thighs to perfection, and his cravat tucked into a crisp white shirt that Harriet couldn't stop looking at.
