Chapter 3 To the northern lands
The carriage jolted along, rocked by ruts and loose stones. Inside the cabin, neither Abélie nor Oscar spoke. From time to time, the young man glanced at the young maid. She had been staring at her double-laced ankle boots ever since they had set off—nearly twenty minutes now, at least. His heart heavy, Oscar nonetheless made the effort to clear his throat before breaking the silence.
“So you knew yesterday morning, then.”
There was no accusation in his voice, but he still expected answers. After all, if there was one person who could give them to him, it was her.
Instead, she kept winding the strap of her satchel around her finger, over and over again.
A minute passed…
“Abélie,” he pressed, his voice firmer.
At last, she sighed.
“Yes—well… Let’s say your father caught me rummaging through his cupboards. He informed me of my departure shortly afterwards.”
Oscar remained silent for a few seconds before muttering under his breath.
“What did I tell you? Be discreet. D.I.S.C.R.E.E.T. You should count yourself lucky my father didn’t punish you—and knowing him, he very well could have.”
She abandoned the strap of her bag to fidget with her braids.
“To be honest, young master… I think this is his way of punishing me.”
The young man raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, really? Letting you wander freely through lands where he can’t keep an eye on you? What a strange punishment,” he scoffed.
“Perhaps. But I also believe the duke considers these lands punishment enough… We’ll be far from everything—possibly even in enemy territory. Didn’t it strike you as odd that your father would part with one of his best fighters—no offense meant, I’m referring to Günther? It makes sense when you consider that Günther openly opposed the Master’s decisions. And with him, all the soldiers accompanying our convoy. The loudest dissenters.”
Oscar considered her words for a moment. His signet ring suddenly felt far too tight.
“So my father seized this opportunity to rid himself of you, as well as me? I can’t say I’m surprised.”
He crossed his arms and sank back into the cushioned bench.
“Still… It’s not as if he’s sending us to our deaths,” he added sarcastically.
Abélie unbuttoned her trunk and pulled out some notes.
“You haven’t really looked into your future wife, have you?”
The stoic gaze of the young heir flickered with irritation.
“As if I’d had the time.”
“Even if you only learned of the marriage yesterday, you should at least know the name Wingfall… shouldn’t you?”
At his inquisitive look, she continued. Despite her serious tone, Oscar could tell she was delighted. This sort of exposition was her passion.
“Lady Brynn Wingfall, current Duchess of the Duchy of Wingfall. She’s a few years older than you. No living parents that we know of—she runs everything alone. That’s precisely why so many rumours surround her.”
“What kind of rumours?” Oscar asked, curious despite his indifferent expression.
“About her private life. Some claim she’s had hundreds of lovers—that she financially extorted their families using her charm. After all, how else can one explain her wealth?”
"The mines. Father said that the Wingfall family owed their immense wealth to mining."
She cleared her throat, ignoring him. “But that’s not all. Some even say she kills them once their purses are emptied… Suddenly, no trace of these gentlemen—or ladies—was ever to be found again. A few sensitive souls even claim she ate them.”
Oscar raised an eyebrow.
“I get the feeling you don’t believe me, young master.”
“All of this sounds a bit too… fanciful. Hundreds of lovers? All vanished, without a single investigation? Don’t make me laugh.”
Abélie smiled wryly.
“Of course, these are only rather imaginative rumours I picked up in passing. I can’t exactly say I had time to research the matter thoroughly…” She tucked her papers into a pocket of her trunk, then pressed her lips together.
“Still, my Lord, the rumours aren’t entirely unfounded.”
“Oh? So you’ve spoken to all her lovers, then?” he mocked.
“Not quite—but the name Wingfall wasn’t unfamiliar to me before yesterday either. Brynn Wingfall has drawn suspicious attention for several years now. Wealth drawn from otherwise poor lands—despite the mining, and the mining was founded within the last five years coincidentally—the mysterious disappearance of political rivals, and a duchess who has never married nor publicly appeared with a man—yet we know she invites them to her castle. She is even surrounded by staff whom visitors describe as… ‘strange’. No, truly, I maintain that you’ll need to be cautious.”
Though neither superstitious nor particularly gullible, the young man nodded. Perhaps it was the sudden softness in the maid’s voice that finally convinced him.
No—there was something else. He, too, had his suspicions. After all, why would a fiercely independent duchess marry a young noble like him? True, they were of equal rank, but he harboured no illusions. Rarely presented at court, he neither shone through boundless knowledge nor exuded extravagant charisma. No… she had likely not chosen him for that.
Perhaps, like his father, she hoped for a docile husband—one who would stay out of her way. Or perhaps she intended to make him disappear quietly…
After all, who would miss him?
Little by little, they left the domain of Eau-Claire behind. Verdant trees gave way to orange and red landscapes characteristic of the kingdom’s more central regions. The roads widened. Crossroads grew more frequent and broader. Oscar had never set foot in the capital, yet though he knew they were still far from it, he could already feel its influence reaching the edges of their duchy. Rivière remained a region fairly isolated from courtly intrigues, something reflected in its architecture—shaped by borderland cultures—whereas the central duchies shared similarities in buildings, roads, and even styles of dress. Nestled among them, the capital was a vast city whose influence radiated far beyond its borders.
Oscar sighed. And to think he was finally leaving Eau-Claire—only to get married.
Abélie lifted her head but said nothing, sensing the young heir’s need for reflection behind his sorrowful expression.