“So, the man expects me to vie for the hand of Princess What’s-her-name?” Willem said, leaning his head against his hand. He was still in the upstairs rooms of the Society of Assured Prosperity, reeling after this news. Dirk and Suzanne had both left. “I can’t believe this.”

  “Her name is Clara Isabella Eugenia Maria Antonia van Ravenveld,” Tielman corrected. “Or… just Clara.”

  “I’m told she’s exceptionally beautiful and talented,” Viviene, who’d joined during the course of the conversation, piped up from a distant corner of the room. “They tend to say that about princesses, though. And Arnoud is a master of managing his reputation.”

  Willem tapped his foot against the ground angrily. “Conceited bastard… who does he think he is, the king?”

  Viviene laughed.

  “Look… I know I would win, but I don’t want to govern anything,” Willem said, holding his arms out. “Politics are insufferable. Politicians? Please. Don’t get me started. Can I refuse? Call in sick?”

  Both of them stared at him incredulously.

  “Let me tell you a story. My uncle the Duke of Dubois attempted to do something rather underhanded to get out of his obligations to the king,” Viviene said. “The king had him scourged to death, and seized a large part of our properties. He crippled the Dubois family. Now, my younger uncle’s taken over.”

  Willem blinked. “There wasn’t trouble after that?”

  “You’ve never heard this? I suppose it did happen before you were born,” Tielman said, leaning back in his chair. “Arnoud became king at two years old. The kingdom was under a very long regency of the Dubois family—his mother was a Dubois. His claim was fine.”

  “When he was only twenty years old, he abdicated to escape regency, writing a letter to the public accusing the Dubois family of embezzlement and treason,” Viviene picked up Tielman’s explanation. “There were mass public revolts, chaos—by the end of it, the nobility begged him to come back. He demanded certain concessions from them. And once he had them… he scapegoated us,” Viviene said, tapping her chest. “The Dubois family is still one of the stronger houses in the kingdom, but it’s not like it was before.”

  Tielman looked uncomfortable as he said, “Since then… King Arnoud’s hated the Dubois family.”

  “He’s got mommy issues, huh?”

  Willem looked at Viviene.

  “What?” Viviene said, crossing her arms defensively.

  “I didn’t say anything,” Willem pointed out.

  “Body language is still a language,” Viviene said pointedly.

  “So, this event… what is it?” Willem asked. “A big free-for-all? Throw a bunch of young kids in the ring, let them fight it out?”

  “I have no idea,” Tielman said. “Knowing the king… it won’t be conventional.”

  A silence settled in the room.

  “Are you balding, Tielman?” Viviene asked out of the blue.

  Tielman put his hand to his head, saying nothing.

  “By the goddess… I was half-joking, but I’ve seen that panicked look before,” Viviene said. “Well…”

  Tielman looked at her, evidently braced for some barb.

  “I… know some poultices,” she said, fiddling with her hands. “I’ll send you a list… or something.”

  Willem looked between them. “You’re serious, Viviene?”

  “What?” Viviene said defensively. “I can do nice things, sometimes.”

  Willem looked at her a few seconds, debating whether or not he should say something. “You told me he cut out your eye.”

  The room went dead silent, both Viviene and Tielman looked to the ground without saying anything.

  “Look, a member of the family told me to get more involved,” Willem said. “And that’s the sort of fundamental stuff that needs addressing.”

  Neither of them said anything, both looking everywhere but at Willem or each other.

  “I imagine that’s going to be impossible to reconcile from,” Willem said. “And frankly, Viviene, I think you’ve got a lot of self-control for being able to sit in the same room with him, let alone be so generous as to care about his balding.”

  Viviene looked a little softened at that remark, casting a brief glance at Tielman. He still stared despondently at the ground.

  “What happened between you two?” Willem asked.

  Silence.

  “From all I see, this family is in dire condition,” Willem continued. “All of your sons are going to the capital, Tielman. Three of them are going there for summer schooling, while one of them is going because he’s a major stud. But that stud is going to be under a lot of duress. A lot of weight on his broad shoulders, and a great many eyes on his handsome face.”

  Tielman finally managed to look at Willem.

  “Sounds to me like we need a united front,” Willem said deliberately. “And you’re the parents. What are you if not the commanders?”

  The two of them accepted his words with silence.

  “I can…” Viviene looked off to the side. “I can… forgive Tielman, I suppose. For you, at least, Willem. My boys need help. We’re your parents. I’m ready for that.”

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  Tielman looked over, his face one of horror. “No,” he said, voice hard.

  “No?” Willem repeated. “No, what?”

  “You don’t…!” Tielman stood up, his face a complex tapestry of emotions. Then, he abruptly stormed out of the room. Willem watched him leave, a little stunned.

  Viviene exhaled, wiping her eye. “Unfortunately, he doesn’t get to choose whether or not I forgive him.”

  Willem pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I told you my heartache,” he said. “Tell me yours?”

  “It’s not as grand as yours.” Viviene shook her head, then paused. “Not that… I’m not saying it’s grand, I meant… I’m sorry, Willem.”

  “I’ll never forgive you unless you make it up to me by spilling the beans,” Willem said jokingly.

  Viviene scoffed once. “Alright. Well… the Grand Crusade six years ago,” she said. “I wanted to go there, fight with all the rest. He refused to allow it. Things escalated until we fought, then…” she puffed air out of her mouth. “Your father and I… things weren’t ever perfect, but… I never thought he’d hurt me. I thought I was safe with him.”

  Willem listened patiently, then nodded. “Sounds horrible.”

  Viviene didn’t say anything more.

  “You’re really willing to forget that?”

  “Forget?” Viviene looked at him. “No. But forgive?” She played with her fingers. “After what you told me… I just don’t care anymore. Life’s too short. Maybe if I’d have been… been there, in the barony, when my granddaughter…” She looked up, sniffling once. “I just decided I want to be there for my boys. You… and all of them, if the goddess wills it.”

  “So you have decided to adopt me into the Dubois family,” Willem said.

  Viviene clung to the laughter, glad to be drawn away from the sadder topics. She walked over to him as he sat there and knelt down. “You’re my son. Always will be, no matter what happens.”

  “I hope that’s true,” Willem said. “I really do, because it might be difficult. I’m tired of losing things. And I may be a dense bastard in some areas, but even I can tell that the winds of change are coming.”

  Viviene gave him a hug. And though it was awkward… for the first time, Willem reciprocated. She took note of that. After a while, she pulled back, smiling genuinely. There was some silence as she looked at him. She pursed her lips.

  “What?” Willem asked.

  “I’m your favorite parent, right?” Viviene whispered.

  “Definitely,” Willem responded without hesitation.

  “Then I can easily forgive him,” Viviene returned.

  ***

  Dirk sat across from Suzanne in a restaurant, more than a little on edge. She’d asked him here, and they’d been eating. He was waiting for her to get to the point where she asked something of him, like the rest of the members of House Brugh.

  “So, tell me about your siblings,” Suzanne said.

  Dirk wondered if that was a veiled threat. “I have two sisters and a brother, my lady.”

  “Blegh.” She stuck out her tongue and shook her head. “Stop with that ‘my lady’ stuff. So… are you the oldest?”

  “I am,” Dirk confirmed.

  Yeah, I figured as much,” Suzanne said, eating her veal pleasantly. “Willem said you send them your money?”

  “Much of it.” Dirk nodded. “And my mother. They’ve actually sent me letters saying that they don’t need so much, that I should do something for myself. I don’t know.”

  “You should,” Suzanne said.

  “Willem thinks I should invest with him,” Dirk said ponderously.

  Suzanne shrugged. “Seems to know what he’s doing.”

  “Doesn’t seem to know what he wants,” Dirk disagreed.

  “He wants money, no?” Suzanne pointed out.

  “But why?” Dirk leaned in. “He hates luxury. He doesn’t buy anything for anyone else. I thought he was courting that matriarch… but she left or something.”

  Suzanne looked at him squarely, those blue eyes of hers quite piercing and sharp. Dirk turned his attention back to his own food, just waiting for her to bring up what she’d brought him here to ask.

  “You seem like you’ve got a good head on your shoulders,” Suzanne said. “Smart, loyal, hard-working. I think I’d like to see more of you.”

  Dirk played with his utensils. “What does that mean?”

  Suzanne laughed for a while, cutting out a slice of her veal. “You’re a cute guy, Dirk.”

  Dirk blinked at that comment. At first he thought it was a condescending remark, but… looking at her, she seemed entirely sincere.

  “I should get going,” Suzanne said, standing up. “But I’m serious. Do you want to do this again?”

  “Uhh…” Dirk looked at her, his tongue tied. “I… wouldn’t say no?”

  “Great.” She smiled. “Good luck with Willem. I can relate to having an irredeemable slaver looking over your shoulder all the time, you know.”

  Suzanne gave him a pat on the shoulder, and then left. Dirk turned to watch her leave for a bit, and then faced back to the table. His eyes rolled about in his skull as a million thoughts bounced around in there. His cheeks felt a little hot when he thought about that one comment in particular.

  Usually, Dirk only realized that someone had been flirting with him three years after the fact.

  But this? Even he wasn’t clueless enough to miss that. But what if he was wrong? What if she meant cute like a… a small pet, like a dog or a cat? That must be it. Women don’t like ‘cute,’ right? The daughters of barons don’t waste their time on humble servants, right?

  Dirk put his arms on the table, falling into crisis. He wished she had just interrogated him about Willem, like Tielman or everybody else. It’d be a lot simpler that way.

  But… complications weren’t always bad, maybe.

  ***

  “Anne Claire, I’d like to be nepotistic,” Willem said straight-out.

  The Dowager Countess, who’d been enjoying a rare teatime with Willem, looked up in surprise. “What?”

  “I’ve been talking with Gustav, and I’ve started to see the benefits of rampant corruption in the power structure,” Willem continued. “Corruption can be a neutral term.”

  “Can it?” Anne Claire gave him a skeptical expression.

  “If, for example, nepotism was used to establish a manufactory that produced low-cost goods for the benefit of the people… it’d be nice.”

  Anne Claire looked at him. “You know… I’m getting the feeling that I know what this is about. Guildmaster Louis and a few other of the guilds have contacted my son about potential violation of their monopoly charters.”

  “You’re keen,” Willem said. “Yes, that’s exactly right.”

  “What is it you want?” Anne Claire asked him. “Guilds are guilds, Willem. We rely on their incomes a great deal. Despite my favorable view toward what you’ve done for this city, as of now, I’m inclined to use this as pressure for more favorable taxes from them.”

  “And I’m not looking for you to revoke monopoly charters or anything like that,” Willem said. “Instead, what I’d like is for you to give me a charter to establish a free-trade zone of sorts.”

  Anne Claire sipped her tea in thought, then looked at Willem. “I’m listening.”