A Brazen Duty (#2 BRAZEN series-part of the GOLDEN universe) ✔

•F I F T Y - S E V E N•

♪ Go ahead and watch my heart burn
With the fire that you started in me ♪
{Billie Eilish—&burn}

"I swear to you, Harriet. I had nothing to do with it."

Eugene's plaintive, pitiful tone no longer had any effect on Harriet. As he leaned against his door, his sorrowful eyes desperate for forgiveness, she sneered at him in growing disgust.

"But were you aware?" She crossed her arms and wrinkled her nose, the stench of him finally reaching her. How had she not smelled him before, in the other times she'd visited? And how had she been so blind, keeping a tiny flicker of hope in her chest, that if she spared him, he'd be inclined to become a better person? "Did you have any inkling that your associates were involved with poisoning King Edouard?"

"I..." He pressed his forehead to the top of the window, closed his eyes, sighed. For a moment, Harriet expected him to shed a tear or two, sniffle, grovel. But when his eyelids pried apart again, there was no hint of remorse or care in his gaze. "I was. But I was not part of the plan, I did not have a say. And I... I wish I did, to tell it true. It would have been gratifying to be considered as an assassin of King Edouard. If you had seen him—"

She clicked her tongue as she stepped back, letting her arms dangle at her sides. "I tried. Truly, I did. Tried to decipher some speck of good in that corrupt and cruel soul of yours. But you," she gulped, "you will never change. You destroyed our reputation, destroyed the royals, destroyed me. And you never will again. Guards!" She snapped, and one of the men near the spiral staircase scurried up to her.

"Miss? Is everything all right?" He pointed at Eugene's cell. "Does he need a whipping? It would honor me to oblige."

She fought not to smile at the thought. "No, but I wish it to be known that I have decided his fate. As his daughter, the Vidame of Limesdale, I ask that you inform your overseer..." she winced, "Prince Jules, that I want Eugene Thatcher executed."

"Harriet!" Eugene's wails grew so loud and piercing Harriet almost had to cover her ears. "Do not do this! Please, I will repent, I will do anything—"

She flipped around, sparing him one last glance. Her throat constricted, viewing the man who had raised her, bullied her, tortured her, lied to her, prevented her from living the fulfilling life the daughter of a high-placed nobleman should. This creature conspired to dismantle those who had the God-given right to rule over them all.

This is my closure.

"No, you have done enough. Goodbye, Father."

***

The chaos that awaited her in Limesdale was so intense that she had to sneak through a secret entrance, and in disguise. Once in the manor, those who cared for her overwhelmed her with attention. Her advisors jumped on her, her staff prayed for her, Johanna embraced her.

To her shock, the Totresian soldiers were still there. She'd assumed their boss would have removed them by now, after what he had said to her in the cathedral courtyard.

After all had calmed down, she demanded to address the public herself, though Jacob disagreed and her mercenaries found it unwise. Everyone argued and worked to change her mind, but she won. She had to meet with her rioting citizens. So they sent out a notice to the townsfolk, informing them that Harriet Thatcher, Vidame of Limesdale, wished to speak to them urgently.

Atop her fortifications, encircled by a barricade of soldiers, she yelled down at those gathered below. Men in rags, women in satin, children in worn-out shoes; peasants and merchants and wealthy, angry and curious and confused; all assembled to listen to her. They gaped up at her, the one they'd hoped to punish for her father's actions, the one they believed was evil.

She cleared her throat as sweat coated her fingertips and ice slithered up and down her spine. "Eugene Thatcher has been sentenced to death."

Cries of joy and whistles broke from the crowd, but she knew this news wouldn't satisfy them. They needed more from her; promises she would keep, unlike Eugene.

"He did not partake directly in the attacks in Giroma, nor did he orchestrate the demise of King Edouard. But he was aware. He held his tongue and let the plots play on, and in doing so, he condemned us, his citizens. Condemned you." Boos and curses fizzled up to her, and she anticipated the residents would hurl a few rocks and vegetables up at her—yet they didn't. "As your Vidame, the unfortunate daughter of that foul man, I never got the opportunity to meet you. Never got to vow to you that I, though related to him by blood, am not Eugene Thatcher. I never will be. We will restore this town to the prosperity it deserves, and his name will fade away forever. I only ask... that you give me a chance."

The response was mixed, vague, a tad upsetting; but Harriet had done what she meant to. She'd shown herself as open and willing, and she prayed that in time, her townsfolk would accept her.

A few days later, as the city slowly returned to a somewhat normal rhythm, Harriet sat at her desk, pondering plans for a new library to replace the one that had burned down during the riots.

Johanna meandered in, her raven hair in a tidy bun, her new gown of sage silk fitting to her form. She tossed a message onto the table. "From the castle."

Harriet didn't hesitate to break the seal, and her eyes widened as she read. "Yes, from the castle." She handed the note to Johanna. "An invitation to Father's execution on February the twenty-first."

Quirking a brow, Johanna dropped the letter and sat across from Harriet. "And? Are you going? Should I come with you?"

Lips pursed as she glanced at the liquor cabinet, fighting with the urge to drain a bottle of brandy in celebration—or in mourning—she huffed. "Yes. I am." She gripped the edge of the desk. "One last trip to Torrinni... and after that I will not travel for a while. I have things to fix here." She cringed, hating what was about to spill out. "And marriage prospects to entertain. My new duty is to... find love."

But is love possible for a Thatcher?

•••